“I’m sorry to beam like this,” Jorken continued when Cade failed to respond. “I know that Tristan didn’t make the trip back, so I can only assume … I can only assume the worst, I’m afraid.”
Cade sighed and rubbed his hand, his new hand, over his face and was reminded of what had happened to him in the spire. His hand was dead and gone, yet here he was with a brand-new hand and five digits, moving and touching just like the real thing. Only they weren’t, Cade ruefully acknowledged. And the presence of this replacement felt like a reminder of what the Rokura was capable of and what it would do if Cade stepped out of line again. Not only that, but Cade felt like the weapon was assaulting him from afar, reminding him of how incomplete he was. When Cade left Tristan behind in the spire, he left part of himself as well—part of his spirit, part of his heart. That, like his hand, was gone forever, and any substitution would only serve to remind him of how much he was missing.
“It was…” Cade struggled to find the words, to find any suitable way to express how he was feeling. He knew it was impossible. “I can’t believe he’s gone. He’s all I had. He’s the only family—”
Jorken squeezed Cade’s fake hand. “You have me,” he said.
Cade smiled, gently, hoping that his expression conveyed the gratitude he felt for his Master. It was nice to know there was someone in the galaxy who still cared about him—someone, maybe more important, he could still trust.
“We need to talk about what happened in the spire,” Cade said, angling closer to Jorken. “About what happened to Tristan.”
For a moment, Jorken furrowed his brow as if Cade wanting to talk about his dead brother was an oddity. But he quickly snapped back into focus, lending Cade his sympathetic ear. “What of it?”
“There was a man in the spire with us. We didn’t even know he was there until … until it was too late. The spire was dark, and it all happened so fast. He just … he came out of nowhere.”
“And this is the man who killed Tristan? And ruined your hand?” Jorken asked. “One of the Praxis drones must have detected you, and it—”
“No, you don’t understand,” Cade interrupted. “This man, he was there before we got there—like he was waiting.”
Jorken flinched. “Waiting?”
“That’s not all. He wore this … this armor, this indestructible black armor. He was powerful, and fast. And mean. And whoever this guy was, whatever he was—he had a shido.”
Jorken’s face remained impassive, much to Cade’s surprise. He expected shock, even disbelief. Instead, Jorken steepled his fingers in front of his face, and Cade could almost hear the gears in his head turning as he choose his next words very carefully.
“Cade, what I’m going to tell you is something only top members of the Well know. But, being that you are what you are now, nothing will be kept secret from you. Not anymore.”
Cade nodded along, wondering just how many secrets there were to reveal to him. And who gave the Masters the right to keep things secret in the first place?
“You encountered what’s known as a Fatebreaker.”
“I’m sorry—a what?”
“Put simply? They are the personal killing force of Praxis’s Supreme Queen—Ga Halle herself. Whether she’s in the mood for a political assassination, or a revenge murder, or she just wants to send a message to anyone who dares oppose her will, the Fatebreakers carry out her command. They operate only in the darkest corners of the world, and they leave no trace or witnesses to their deplorable acts.”
Cade propped himself up, carefully, and shook his head. He couldn’t decide what was more unbelievable: that an entire force of these Fatebreakers existed, or that the Masters had kept their existence totally hidden. “But he had a shido. He fought like a Rai. How is that even possible? And why do it?”
Jorken sighed. “We don’t know. Maybe to taunt us? Maybe to rival us? One thing I do know is that you were lucky to leave that spire with your life. How did you manage to survive?”
“What do you mean ‘How did I survive?’” Cade replied, feigning arrogance at being asked such a question. He was the Paragon, after all. Yet beneath the display, Cade concealed paranoia and doubt. Was Jorken suspicious of what really happened in the spire? “I used the Rokura to blast that murderous thug into oblivion.”
“Of course,” Jorken replied, a hint of hesitation in his voice. “I don’t know why I even asked that. I suppose I’m still getting used to … well, what you’ve become. May I advise something, though?”
“You’re still my Master,” Cade said, shifting into a smile. “Giving me guidance is your job.”
Jorken tried to smile in return, but it wouldn’t come. Instead, a shadow fell across his face. “Be cautious using the weapon. Until you learn to master it, it could be very dangerous—even for you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Cade said, sarcastically. “Speaking of the Rokura—where is it?”
“Your ship’s drone is a stubborn one,” Jorken said as he stood up. “He refused to hand it over to anyone but you, so we agreed to let him watch over it in the Masters’ inner sanctum. It works out well, as we Masters agree that no human hand should touch it. Other than yours, of course.”
“I hope you’re keeping an eye on him,” Cade said. “I wouldn’t put it past him to try making off with it so he can sell the thing.”
“He’s being guarded at all times, and only select individuals even know the Rokura is there. Or that you’re the Paragon. We figured it’s best to keep this quiet until you’re back on your feet and we all take the time to say our good-byes to your brother.
“Now it’s late and you need to rest. Is there anything I can do for you before I go?”
Was there anything Cade needed? Cade had to chuckle at the question and fight back the urge to tell Jorken to get comfortable. There were plenty of things Cade needed, like, for instance, he needed to unburden his soul of the terrible guilt he felt over Tristan’s death. If one of them had to die, there was no question Cade was the one who should have gone, not the savior of the entire galaxy. But here he was, alive and sort of well, with the most powerful weapon known to all sentient life his to control. And his plan? To plunge it into the heart of a burning sun—or something equally dramatic—the first chance he got. Cade needed to explain to Jorken how wrong they all might be about Wu-Xia and the Rokura, and how, if in the wrong hands, it was a means to terror, not peace. He wanted someone to understand why he had to destroy the thing, even though he knew no one possibly could. When the Masters discovered Cade wasn’t the Paragon, he’d again be just some reckless screw-up whose opinion held no value; he’d be discredited and cast aside the moment he confessed what really happened in the spire. And if he did manage to complete his mission of destroying what everyone believed was their one chance for galactic peace, his name would be demonized until the very last human took its very last breath. So, did Cade need anything? Yeah, one or two things. But he wasn’t going to get any of them.
“I’m good,” Cade said, bottling up all his anxiety, guilt, and dread. “Just need to rest.”
“Have someone notify me when you’re discharged, and I’ll come for you. There’s a memorial service for Tristan tomorrow at dusk. We wanted to wait until you could attend. Cardinal Master Teeg will oversee the procession himself, and we’ll make sure Tristan gets the send-off he deserves.”
Cade looked at Jorken, holding back the emotions that were building up inside of him. Jorken started to leave, but then he stopped himself. He held on to the doorframe, physically preventing himself from exiting.
“I know I shouldn’t say this, Cade, but on a personal note, I couldn’t be more gratified by what’s happened to you. I’ve always known there was something special about you, that a destiny awaited that none of us could predict, and it turns out I was right.” Jorken looked at Cade, smiling and withholding tears of his own. “You’ve made me proud, my boy.”
Cade smiled in return, even though he knew soon enough he was g
oing to break Jorken’s heart.
Jorken left, and Cade stretched his neck to see him walk down the med center’s corridor and disappear around a corner. The moment he was out of sight, Cade fought against his pain—which was, as Jorken promised, beginning to reduce—and stepped out of bed. He refused to stay in the med center for another second. He needed to be free, he needed to be where no one could find him, talk to him, even look at him. His clothes had been cleaned and were folded on a chair in the corner, and he assumed the Horizon Dawn was docked in its usual bay. If there was one thing growing up as a teenager at the Well had taught him, it was how to sneak off and back on to Ticus without a single person noticing. It might have been Cade’s greatest skill as a Rai.
The Masters would advise him to meditate, to withdraw within himself and find his center, Cade reminded himself as he yanked his tunic over his head. They’d tell him that peace would come with focus.
But Cade didn’t need focus. And he especially didn’t hope for the harmony he couldn’t find when his brother was still with him. Cade needed a drink.
CHAPTER FIVE
Ticus’s three moons shone brightly in the southern sky as twilight fell over the planet. Cade gave the serene sky a long look before hopping into the Horizon Dawn to make his getaway. Beyond those moons, countless stars and their many systems. Some, like Ticus, were still free; others had fallen to Praxis annexation, and others still, like Quarry, had been conquered by the evil kingdom, their stars shining a little dimmer than they had before. Word of the Rokura’s retrieval, and Cade’s ascension, would soon be reaching all of them, free and annexed, and they’d all be looking to Cade to do things he could not: protect them. Free them. Put an end to Praxis’s reign of fear and violent control. What they really needed was a time machine so they could all go back and stop Praxis’s reign before it even started. There was a window in which the Well, the Galactic Alliance, and every responsible planet could have taken measures to halt Praxis’s transition from an irksome star system to a totalitarian kingdom. But they all blew it. They either failed to take Praxis threat seriously—despite the crystal-clear writing on the wall—or they poor-mouthed their available resources and ability to fight a war, or, like the Well, they couldn’t agree on a course of action and did nothing, secretly hoping that the problem would just go away. Their negligence, in whatever form it took, played no small role in getting them to where they were today—desperate for one single, solitary person with a magical weapon to come along and save their asses.
Cade tried not to bother himself with thoughts of the galaxy’s fate now that its lone chance for salvation—Tristan—was buried beneath a metric ton of rubble back on Quarry. He sat with his feet kicked up in the pilot seat of his beloved Horizon Dawn, eyes closed, hands resting on his chest. He felt comforted to be in his ship, the one place he could truly call home. Technically, it belonged to the Well, but come tomorrow night, after Tristan’s service ended and the Rokura was back in Cade’s possession, the ship would be all his as he sailed away from Ticus one final time. What was a little theft when it came to saving the galaxy from the very thing that was supposed to set it free? If the Well was the galaxy’s protector, then it had no higher calling than to provide Cade with a ship so he could see his mission through to the end.
Or maybe that was just Cade’s justification for stealing his ship from under the Well’s nose. The Dawn was a little worse for wear, but as far as Cade could tell, it was still spaceworthy. At least for now. Saying he didn’t foresee any problems arising with his ship in the very near future greatly downplayed his level of concern. Cade wouldn’t have been surprised if the Dawn’s operations ceased altogether and he was left to float through space in a useless tin can. He just hoped it didn’t come to that.
An alert sounded and Cade jumped. Even though he was safely back home and the secret of his “role” as the Paragon was at least still sort of safe, Cade couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone in the galaxy was after him. Some to enlist him, others to kill him. For now, the alarm coming from his ship was only the proximity alarm, telling him he was nearing his destination. “Get ahold of yourself, Sura,” he whispered as he took control of the ship and entered his landing vector.
With the autopilot switched off, the blackout shutters that covered the Dawn’s viewport automatically raised. Through the splintered glass, Cade caught an eyeful of Aria, Ticus’s orange-tinted moon.
Thousands upon thousands of points of light spread across the diminutive orb, the mark of the multitudinous agricultural companies that occupied the surface. Greenhouses, water reclaimers, harvesting bulbs, and other necessities for cultivating kerbis crisscrossed the entire moon, blanketing it in active, and lucrative, industry. Although kerbis was native to Aria—the only location in the galaxy it was native to, as far as anyone knew—not enough of it grew naturally to satiate the galaxy’s demand. Hence, the need for farmers and botanists to occupy the moon and keep that little plant growing fast and strong. The leafy herb had more uses than Cade could list, from medicinal to culinary to being a rudimentary energy source. Cade even heard rumor that if you let the plant dry out, crumbled it into tiny bits, and then smoked it, it served a recreational purpose. Not that he knew anything about that. Not at all.
The best thing about Aria, though, was its liquor. If Cade knew one thing about the moon’s botanists, laborers, and farmers—and he probably only did know one thing about them—it’s that they loved to drink. The number of bars ran second only to greenhouses, although very few of them welcomed visitors from Ticus. And for good reason. After all, not everyone shared the Well’s principles of keeping and enforcing peace by stocking a well-trained and well-armed military force. Some believed that the most effective path to peace was through diplomacy and nonviolent resistance. Although Cade thought this view of the galaxy was naive and uninformed—while it’s true he didn’t get off Ticus all that much, he’d seen enough to know that some people simply could not be bargained with—he respected freedom of speech and opinions, even if he disagreed. The Well tried its best to be a reactionary state, providing relief and offering diplomacy first when possible, but there was always the underlying knowledge that they could, and would, resolve any galactic conflict through their Rai, fighter squadrons, or ground troops. Most of the people on Aria happened to stand firm against these methods, which meant Cade had to play nice. After all, he didn’t sneak off Ticus to engage in political debate; he came for booze—which was strictly forbidden by the buzzkills who ran the Well.
Cade stepped off his ship and breathed in air so thick and musty he was convinced he could catch it between his fingers and it would leave an oily residue behind. He crisscrossed a path between harvesting bulbs quietly churning a dim orange glow, the only light to be found in the dark, and empty, kerbis field. A farming drone expended a series of curious chimes and beeps as Cade passed it by, no doubt assessing the stranger in its fields; Cade had made it a point to dock in a secluded spot, another precaution against drawing attention. Dropping a signature Well cruiser that looked like it had just gotten out of a dogfight into Aria’s public port wasn’t the kind of subtlety Cade was after. He knew the proprietor of the field he parked on, and he knew where to leave the fee for doing so. Since trouble was attracted to Cade like a magnet, he figured dropping some coin to help him keep a low profile was a wise investment.
Just beyond the kerbis field, the glow of one of Aria’s public centers began to take shape—the lights of the squat buildings, the din of the denizens crowding between the narrow corridors that separated the small trading kiosks, food counters, and public houses were just beyond Cade’s grasp. But only one establishment had any value to Cade. He stepped through the final row of sweet-smelling kerbis—trying his best to look inconspicuous—and spotted his destination straight ahead:
The Gray Ghost.
There was nothing remarkable about the Ghost other than its reputation. Its exterior was crafted from reinforced blown glass—salvaged, likely,
from nearby greenhouses—and its inside was a public house like any other. But there was one exception: The proprietors didn’t care who they slung drinks to, including the occasional wayward denizen from the Well. Other establishments tended to let their politics get in the way of a good time, and that generally spelled trouble of one kind or another. Cade could handle trouble, but he had no interest in the grief he’d be slapped with once word of his indulgence got back to the Masters. All he wanted was to unwind with a couple of quiet drinks alone and then stumble back to his ship so he could pass out on its rock-hard drop-down bed.
But the moment Cade walked in, he knew the possibility of a peaceful drink had been taken out back and executed with a single, merciless shot from a sidewinder.
He grumbled the worst curse he could conceive to himself.
Cade slumped at the door and surveyed the crowd. It was packed with a dozen different species from around the galaxy, people who worked the kerbis fields in one way or another. Cade spied their dirt-encrusted hands, sun-beaten skin, and their lean, trim bodies; he breathed in a rich organic smell, like wet dirt mixed with the faintest whiff of compost. Keeping up the supply to meet the kerbis demand was no small task, and the reward was whatever liquor places like the Ghost managed to concoct throughout the day. The locals, though, weren’t Cade’s problem. That distinction was reserved for the crass, arrogant jerks of the Well’s Omega Squadron.
They had positioned themselves in the middle of the Ghost—all sixteen of them—spreading their numbers across three tables that were covered by empty beer mugs. Terrific, Cade thought as his jaw clenched.
Cade couldn’t turn back. If he shuffled back to his ship now, he’d have nothing in his belly but defeat, and that wasn’t what he came to Aria for. He came for booze, so he’d have to hope to be lucky enough to avoid detection until he could find a dark corner to disappear into.
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