A Galaxy Divided

by Spencer Maxwell

  Sae said, “We have inside sources in the Dominion, people who can help us—help you. And your friend is on the same planet where a few dozen of our fellow rebels are being held captive. Eradice has already confirmed that. Wylow arrived and was moved to a cell not long ago. Now, if we work together, all can be set free.”

  “Really, it’s perfect,” Jade added.

  “Who’s Eradice? No, never mind—” Ryze crossed the room and sat down, mumbling, “Damn it. I’m going to Sker, and I’m probably gonna die.”

  “So you’re in?” Jade asked. “It would be you, Blue, and two others going to Sker—”

  “Great, so I’m gonna die with a psychic green blob—” Ryze said.

  BALL, Blue interrupted.

  “Yeah, yeah—ball.”

  Jade raised a hand before Ryze could go on. “You aren’t going to die. No one will. I know you, Starlo, and I know you won’t fail.”

  “What about you? Where are you going?”

  Jade grabbed the crystal and rolled it between her fingers. “I’m going to end this damn thing!”

  Thirteen

  “You move once and I’ll cut your ear off, Silver,” Akyra said.

  Ace was on his knees in a communication chamber on some distant world he had never heard of, so strung out on cheap, expired medpacks that he couldn’t even remember the name of the place. Fisku or Discu, something like that. Since he’d been captured by the Thrathan bounty hunter, it seemed he was always on his knees, fluttering in and out of consciousness. The burns on his body were healing, albeit slowly and painfully, but the mental wounds would never heal.

  Slurring, he spoke. “You’re never-r g-going to get t-through to him. He doesn’t c-care.”

  “We’ll find out. You'd better hope he does, or it’s”—she ran a finger across her long, blue neck—“for you, my friend. After that, I’ll ship your head off to one of the people whose planets you’ve massacred, and they can use it to play bontoball.”

  “That’ll b-be the day.”

  “Keep talking, Silver. Keep up the cockiness. I love it. It’ll make your downfall all the more sweet.” She flashed her rows of needle-sharp teeth, then she turned and went to the controls on the walls. Her fingers flittered over them.

  With her back to Ace, he thought of making a move. He always did. The blaster on her belt glowed like an angel’s halo. If only his hands weren’t behind him...

  That’s the plan, Silver. Stick to the plan! Control yourself, control!

  Though Thrathan females weren’t exactly anything to write home about in the looks department, they were formidable warriors. If you needed an enemy roughed up or taken out, one could do worse than employing a Thrathan. Strong, quick, but not cunning, like Ace Silver was.

  Akyra had been feeding Silver the medicine on a regular basis, a potentially lethal mixture of antibiotics and an old drug known as deracil, but commonly referred to on the streets as Death. Her dosage, she had told him, was largely guesswork. She didn’t know enough about the anatomy of humans, their tolerance levels, what poisoned them or what cured them.

  Wasn’t there a part of your mind that wished she’d just pump you full of the Death so you could get this dying thing over with? his mind had asked. The answer was very simple: Yes. Yes, there was.

  But that was just a fleeting thought. He wouldn’t give up. Not now, not ever.

  Ace was usually one step ahead, and though his capture had thrown him for a loop, he was eventually able to recover and gain the mental ground on the mercenary. Doing so against a Thrathan—well, that wasn’t too difficult a task. Whether Akyra had been ignorant of it or too cocky, Ace didn’t know, but he did know she hadn’t taken the idea that Ace would purge the drugs from his system into account, which he had.

  It was easy, really.

  For starters, he would convulse, force foaming spit to leak out of the corners of his mouth, and then “faint.” Akyra would laugh, thinking he was in major pain—which he was—and get on with her day. Eventually, like most creatures in the galaxy, Akyra needed rest. Without a partner, she couldn’t exactly take shifts. And Ace used that to his advantage, too. As soon as the Thrathan got to snoring—and Gods, did she snore loud—he would silently vomit as much of the deracil up as he could. Sometimes it was a lot; other times it was next to nothing. And he would spend the nights in a waking coma, hallucinating of vibrant blood on the battlefield of the past.

  This went on for days, and the pain of his burns began to recede. They still hurt terribly, of course, but they were bearable. In his condition, that was all he could ask for. Besides, he’d handled much worse before. The little bit of medicine his body retained proved to be more than enough.

  Even a blind man could see his wounds were healing, however. So on the nights when the dosage was off or he couldn’t purge before it was too late, he would pick at his sores, rub them against the ground, and rip them until they were bloody and oozing. The pain was nothing compared to staying quiet; not screaming was the hard part. Yet he did, and the Thrathan bought it.

  Now, kneeling in the communication chamber on some remote planet with an odd name, Ace Silver was as close to one-hundred percent as a man tortured over a long span of time could be.

  Still, he kept up the act.

  Just a little while longer, he told himself. When she least expects it.

  But when will that be? You’ve sat on your ass long enough, Silver! It was his father’s voice, the man who drank and beat his mother and sometimes brought a revolving door of different women home. Ace hated his father, yet…he respected the man, and if he was hearing his voice now, after the old bastard had been dead for forty years…

  Then you’re further gone than you originally thought, aren’t ya, son?

  “Shut up,” he mumbled.

  Akyra snapped her head towards him. “What was that, Silver?”

  He made his eyes roll, showing whites.

  That was close, Ace, his father said. Don’t blow it now, not when you’re almost home free.

  He resisted the urge to say shut up again, instead biting his lip hard enough to draw a drop of blood. It tasted terrible.

  Akyra turned back to the chamber console. She pulled out two coiled antennae and wrapped them around a signaler she wore on her belt. Ace watched with interest. The communicator was near-obsolete technology. He had only seen it used in old films and Holo Net shows. Being in one was almost like a hallucination.

  She had picked this place because she knew the Dominion wouldn’t be able to trace her. Ace thought that was funny—the new tech edged out the old tech in all but one way. It just so happened his livelihood hung on the feature that the new tech lacked. For as dumb as Thrathans were, Ace had to admit Akyra wasn’t the dumbest he’d come across. He’d seen one swallow a pulse mine during the Battle of the Duvejao because he thought it was an MRE. How one could confuse the two, Ace had not the slightest idea.

  In the end, Akyra’s level of intelligence would make no difference to him, especially when he slit her throat.

  Blood was blood, no matter the color.

  A spark flashed from the console. To Ace it looked detrimental to the machine’s functionality, but he was wrong. Seconds after the flash, the communicator darkened. Ace couldn’t see anything; it was almost as if he were in the blackest part of space, not even a distant star in sight.

  Then, with a hum that shook the floor of the communicator, the surrounding screens lit up, a spinning green widget showing all around them. It was like plummeting through a planet’s atmosphere in a battlepod—something he hadn’t had to do since his days as a soldier, days long gone.

  Akyra took a step back, smiling.

  A buzz-buzz echoed all around them

  It was like a nightmare.

  Until—

  A familiar voice broadcasted through the speakers. Well, not exactly a familiar voice, but a familiar greeting.

  “Department of Dominion Services, how may I assist you?”

  Ace alm
ost shouted for help, almost broke down and blew his cover. He was so close. But what could this man on the other end of a comm do for him?

  “I have Ace Silver,” Akyra answered. “Put me through to the God-King.”

  The man sighed, fed up with his job. “Ma’am, we don’t take kindly to prank calls. Our lines are busy enough as it—”

  “This is no prank call. My name is Akyra, I was hired by the God-King himself to find a priceless artifact on the planet Xovia. The job was a failure”—Meaning you failed, Ace thought bitterly—“and I was forced to gain some leverage. Upon being pursued by Ace Silver, I overpowered him and took him hostage. I would like to discuss the terms of his release. With. The. God-King.”

  Overpowered? More like you hid and set a trap like a coward, Ace thought. Overcoward. Heh-heh.

  A trap you fell for, son… his father added in a conniving voice. It was amazing how much that voice sounded like his own father, dead and gone, rotted in the ground. Or not. The man was probably so bitter, even worms and beetles wouldn’t touch him.

  “Hold on, please,” the man said on the other end of the line, business as usual. “Geez, I don’t get paid enough for this sh—”

  “I don’t hold on,” Akyra said. “Do not transfer me to someone other than the God-King, do you understand?”

  The line had already disconnected and was currently rerouting to a different person, who Ace would bet wasn’t his old best friend, the only man beside himself who could get him out of this predicament.

  Sure enough, the green widget stopped spinning. Bright light filled the screens. A round face. Distorted? A collection of terminals in the background. Officers bustling to and from.

  Not distorted, Ace realized.

  “This is the God-King’s Second-in-Command, to whom am I speaking with, please?” the man with the distorted face said.

  Second-in-Command? What? Him? I’ve never seen that man in my life. He’s an elanty! Ace swallowed down a bout of laughter. This wasn’t easy. He bit himself again, feeling the well of warm blood rolling back toward his tongue. Gods, this must be some kind of joke.

  Not a joke, Ace, his father said. Zaidre found a better person for the job. Look at him! He’s been monitoring the service lines for hints of your whereabouts! That’s something you’d never do. Always cutting corners and phoning it in. This guy’s better, it’s that simple, son. Don’t take it too personal. You’ve always been a joke, but you already knew that.

  Shut up, shut up, shut up, shutup-shutup-shutup-SHUTUP!

  “Second in Command?” Akyra repeated, as if reading Ace’s mind. She glanced down at him, a slight smirk on her face. It took everything not to spring up right then and there and wipe that smirk away. “Your name, sir?”

  “Danning. Ricz Danning.”

  “Well Ricz Danning, let’s cut to the chase. I’ve got a valuable prisoner in my possession, and I’m willing to negotiate a deal for his release.”

  “I am sure you understand that I’ll need proof of this. Ace Silver is presumed dead.”

  Not dead. Right here, asshole, Ace thought. His stare on the screen was hard and fixed, like his eyes might set the man on fire through the comm despite the lightyears separating them.

  “Nope. I’ve got the son of a bitch right here. He’s a little…under the weather, but he’s here. I promise you.”

  “Show me.”

  “Not until I deal with the God-King face-to-face,” Akyra said.

  “As you know, he’s a very busy man—”

  “And I’m a very busy woman. So either put me in contact with him now, or I kill his precious best friend right here.” Despite their video feed not being on, Akyra’s hand went down to the knife on her belt. She meant business. Ace didn’t blame her, either. He was dead weight. If she let him go, he would hunt her down until his last breath, no matter how old he got or how weak his body became. “I know it’s not in your best interest to keep this a secret from your little God-King, especially if you still want your job, but Ace has told me how close he and Zaidre are. Their past stretches farther than your puny brain could ever imagine. They’re family. Simple as that. And if the God-King found out you were keeping this from him, your job title would be the least of your worries. It would be your life you’d be fearing for, my friend.”

  Danning stood stock-still on the screen, his hands behind his back, his Dominion officer’s hat canted to one side. He looked like a man with the entire galaxy pressing down on his shoulders. His brow wrinkled, lending more distortion to his already distorted face.

  “One moment please,” he finally said.

  The screen went dark, and the connecting sound chirped. They were being redirected to another line.

  By the Gods, she did it, Ace thought. How?

  “They’re trying to trace me,” Akyra said. “Best of luck to them, the Dominion idiots.”

  She was right, but the chances of them ever finding out their location was slim to none. No one would give them away, either. Akyra had made sure of that. The unfortunate owner of the communicator was currently dead just outside the door, the ground drinking up the man’s blood. His daughter’s corpse not far. According to Akyra’s ship’s scanners, the man and the girl were the only sentient beings on the planet. He’d gotten the communicator from a scrap pile on Ypso, fixed it up, and tried selling it. No one wanted the outdated tech, so he kept it, hoping it would eventually bring him profit, but all it brought was his and his daughter’s death. The girl couldn’t have been more than sixteen Common years old with her whole life ahead of her. Not even Ace was cold-blooded enough to kill a harmless teenager. At least, that was what he told himself.

  That’s the way the galaxy works sometimes, son, his father said.

  Smiling, Akyra said, “You’re going to get me a lot of frags, my friend. And for that, I’m grateful.” She reached down and grabbed a tuft of Ace’s hair. It was longer than it had ever been in his life. As a military man, he never let it grow more than a buzzcut’s length. Now hair tickled the skin of his forehead and often caught in the wound. It bothered him nearly as much as the burns. Deracil was partially to blame. One of its side effects was rapid hair and nail growth.

  The screen crackled, panning onto a dark room. Ace knew the room well. He had spent countless hours in there, scheming with his best childhood friend. Zaidre sat in his throne. He wore a dark blue robe with gold trim. The hood was up, casting a shadow over his face, but not completely obscuring it from the camera’s view. The bit of flesh Ace could see was more haggard and aged than it had ever been. It was as if Zaidre had lived another lifetime since Ace had been missing.

  Though the Essence had changed Ace’s friend, somewhere deep inside of him he was still that funny, determined young man Ace would always remember, the one who’d pranked the other cadets in the academy on Eitas so many times that they’d often grind toothbrushes down to nubs when cleaning the bathroom floors as their punishment. He was there, Ace knew it. He could feel it, just like he could feel that he was going to get out of this. Alive.

  Somehow, someway.

  Don’t count your chickens before they hatch, Ace, his father crooned in his head. You’re a lot older and weaker than you were back in your heyday. No reason to get too hung up on it, though. Age gets the best of us all. Time is undefeated.

  Ace ignored this remark, telling himself over and over that it was his own mind speaking, that his father wasn’t actually there, that he was dead. Dead. That the deracil was causing these hallucinations.

  Ace focused on the screen with lively eyes, not caring if the bounty hunter saw him how he was. Because it was going to be okay.

  It was all going to be okay.

  The God-King looked up, the low lighting of the throne room hitting his face and revealing his eyes. Those eyes were hardly human. They were unnatural.

  “You called on me?” the God-King said. His voice was deeper and grating.

  In his presence, Akyra’s cocky confidence faltered. She slouched, a
nd her breathing sped up. Ace thought he heard her heart pounding on the inside of her chest.

  It was actually his.

  “I-I did,” she answered.

  “I understand you have my former war-master? Or at least you claim you do.”

  “I-I do.” She was shaking. “Sir,” she quickly added.

  He hasn’t given up on me yet. There’s still hope, Ace thought. His funds are endless. He’ll pay whatever the Thrathan scum asks to get me back. Because without me, he would’ve never conquered as many planets as he did. He knows he owes me more than anyone else. Who did all his dirty work? Who slaughtered millions at the touch of a button? Who commanded his armies? Who kept the galaxy in order?

  Me.

  Me.

  ME!

  “Show him. You got what you wanted. Now give me what I want,” the God-King said impatiently.

  Akyra jumped, went toward the console, and flicked a few switches. A small white orb emerged from the screen. The middle of it was a menacing red—Like Zaidre’s eyes, Ace thought—and it blinked.

  “Can you see us?” Akyra asked.

  The God-King squinted. “I see a blasted Thrathan on my screen. That’s all.”

  Akyra growled. It seemed her confidence came back with her anger. “Watch it, asshole. Okay? I won’t hesitate to kill your little bugint.”

  Oh, you messed up big-time now, sweetheart, he thought. No one insults the God-King to his face and gets away with it.

  Akyra gripped Ace’s arm tightly, her nails digging into his flesh. He fought the pain and continued his drug-addled performance. “Up, you piece of hiquet,” she grunted. He was hovering off the floor, near Akyra’s height, looking straight into the camera.

  The God-King folded his arms and leaned back in his throne. A smirk stretched across his face. “And how much are you asking for his release?”

  Akyra didn’t answer. She hadn’t expected to get this far, Ace realized. Because she hasn’t tasted much success in her life, that’s why.

  “Six million,” she finally said.

  Ace suppressed a smile. That wasn’t much, a lot less than he’d expected. Surely, Zaidre would pay that. Hell, he’d probably pay that much for that creep Danning.