Kira turned to face Cade, examining him as if the questions she had in her mind were somehow written on his body. “I always wondered about that. How did you and Tristan wind up in this dump?”
“Well,” Cade said, squinting his right eye as he tried to conjure the best entry point for what was essentially his life’s story, “I guess the simplest answer is that my parents were aid workers, and this is where their lives took them.”
“Aid workers? On Kyysring?”
Cade snorted. “As strange as it sounds, my parents discovered that it’s easier to get relief to people by making creative partnerships with pirates and smugglers rather than navigating the Galactic Alliance’s bureaucracy.”
“No, that doesn’t sound strange,” Kira sighed. “That actually sounds pretty accurate.”
Kira spun back to check their progress and, seeing they’d only reached the fourth floor, kicked the elevator door. “Is someone literally pulling us to the roof?”
“Kyysring ingenuity at work.” Cade shrugged.
“All right,” Kira said, facing Cade again, “since we’re clearly going nowhere fast, I want more answers. Let’s just dive right into the deep end. You ready?” Kira asked.
“I’m currently scanning the elevator for an escape hatch. What do you think?”
“What happened to your parents?”
“Next.”
“How did your parents die?”
“Next.”
“Who killed your parents?”
Cade looked up at Kira, feeling like she’d cut him to the quick. She hadn’t, as there was nothing really wrong with what she’d asked; maybe inappropriate, but this was Kira, so all things were relative. Still, Cade couldn’t help feeling that he’d been wounded. There were chambers in Cade’s mind that he worked hard to keep closed. Closed from himself and especially closed to others. He used these chambers to store things that he couldn’t forget but didn’t want to think about anymore. Things like his true thoughts about the Well and his role within it, or the grief he’d felt since Tristan’s death. It’d been a long time since Cade had burrowed into the deep dark of these mental tunnels and pried open the first chamber he’d ever constructed: the chamber that stored the details of his parents’ deaths.
“I-I don’t know,” Cade stammered, though he couldn’t even convince himself of his uncertainty. Sure, he could recite the official report the Kyysring port officials had written up for him—he still had it memorized, even after all these years—but he knew it was all a lie. There was no accident, no “systems malfunction that triggered a catastrophic event.” It was Praxis. Praxis killed Cade’s parents.
“I told you my parents were aid workers; that’s what they did—it was who they were,” Cade said, steeling himself as he slowly pulled aside the rusted, heavy chamber door. “One day, pretty much like any other day, they went off to do their work. But they never came home again.
“They had an appointment to meet some Kaldorian smugglers who had been helping my folks get supplies off Kyysring and delivered wherever they were needed. A meeting like that would last a few hours. My mom and dad would jet out of Kyysring’s orbit, board one of their partners’ ships, and they’d be right back. But then nighttime came. Then the next morning. I was terrified even as Tristan tried to convince me that everything was going to be all right. But I knew nothing was all right, and he did, too.
“A few terrible days went by until finally our neighbor sat Tristan and me down and told us that the Kaldorian ship had exploded. Nobody knew why, because everyone on board was dead.”
Cade paused as he realized that his hands were balled into tight fists, so tight the muscles were beginning to spasm. The chamber had been blown wide open, and Cade couldn’t shove its contents back inside even if he tried. Instead he allowed the release to happen as the intensity of the moment rolled off his face like warmth from a glass. He continued:
“The Kyysring port authority—yeah, whatever that’s worth—said it was some kind of hull breach that led to a bunch of other things and led to the explosion. A nearly impossible chain of events, they said. But then, a few days later, we heard some rumors. The Kaldorians were apparently in the heat of an uprising against Praxis back on their home planet, and all Kaldorian ships were being targeted across the galaxy to make sure supplies couldn’t reach the freedom fighters on the ground.
“The Kaldorian ship in the sky above Kyysring, the one my parents were delivering aid supplies to—it didn’t erupt in some kind of freak accident. It was attacked, and it was Praxis cannons that tore that ship apart. The kingdom was so pissed that someone would dare stand up to them, it went around destroying whatever ship it caught in its sites, just because. And that is why my mom and dad never came home again.”
The rhythmic humming of the elevator as it willed its way upward was the only sound occupying the intimate space shared by Cade and Kira. Cade had told this story very few times in his life, and when he did, he was met, always, with pity. People apologized for something that, obviously, they weren’t responsible for; they’d comment on how terrible everything that’d happened was, and that’d be that. But the look on Kira’s face—it was different. And it wasn’t that she wasn’t affected by Cade’s loss; it’s that she didn’t offer any kind of put-on sadness. It was more genuine. It was real.
“Well, what happened then? I mean, you and Tristan were still practically kids. Who took care of you?”
“Took care of us? Kira, this place tried to eat us alive. After the Kaldorian ship explosion, Praxis started sticking its nose in Kyysring’s business, assuming—wrongly—that my parents had been funneling supplies to the Kaldorian insurgency and that others might do the same. Praxis being here stopped the usual way of things for a while, and people didn’t like that. And, somehow, they got it in their heads that killing Tristan and me would make things better.”
“Can I ask one more question?”
Cade snorted. “Do I have a say in the matter?”
“It’s probably a tough question to answer. But, I’m just curious why you aren’t raging at Praxis. I mean, they killed your parents. How are you not furious and dedicating every second of your life to plotting a bloody revenge?”
“Like you?” Cade asked, dryly.
Kira smirked. “Nice try; this is about you. Come on, for real, why aren’t you more mad? Why aren’t you determined to tear their kingdom apart, piece by piece, for what they did to you?”
“I was furious—I am furious. But…” Cade paused and ran his hands over his face. He felt the stubble growing along his cheeks and what seemed like wrinkles etched into his skin. It would make sense if he had developed wrinkles; he felt like he’d aged years in the past few days. “I spent a lot of time, a lot of time, trying to track down the Praxis ship that was responsible for killing my parents. But there was nothing. No records, no witnesses, and no one—not a single person, not even Praxis defectors—who would divulge a single useful thing to me. It was hopeless. I knew I’d never find out who issued the order to fire on the Kaldorian ship, and I knew there was nothing I could do to hurt the Praxis kingdom. Not by myself.”
And with that acknowledgment, Cade felt an urgent need to slam his mental chamber shut and bury it deep once more. He’d never come to terms with losing his parents, but what still raked hot coals over his heart was the fact that he couldn’t do a thing about it. Cade couldn’t save his parents nor could he avenge them. He felt shame, he felt disappointment, and he didn’t know how to cope with either.
Kira swung her dreads away from her face and wrapped him in a stare from her soft blue eyes. “But what if you could?” she asked.
“Could what?”
“Could hurt the Praxis kingdom. How would you do it?”
Cade lowered his head, considering, but it only took a moment to get to his conclusion. He looked back up at Kira, now with a sly smile breaking across his face. “I’d make a bomb,” Cade said. “I’d make a bomb, and I’d use it to destroy Praxis as muc
h as they destroyed me.”
“Well, there you go,” Kira said as the elevator chimed, notifying them that they’d reached their destination.
The door shuddered opened—finally—revealing the high-stakes room at the very top of the Koga Club.
“Wow,” Kira said as they stepped off the elevator. “This is nice.”
So different was the high-stakes room from the lobby that it felt less like they’d gone to another floor and more like they’d traveled to a different planet. Maybe that was the reason it took so long to get there. Where the casino’s opening salvo couldn’t have been any more crass, crude, and obnoxious, the top floor was subdued and, dare Cade say it, dignified. The place was still jam-packed with criminals and cheats, but at least they were of a more refined stock. Floor-to-ceiling windows covered the exterior wall, and the ceiling opened to a glass dome that, because the room was so dimly lit, gave a stirring view of a blanket of stars, twinkling planets, and a purple-and-orange nebula that looked like a giant bruise in the universe. Cade didn’t want to admit it to himself, but the fact was that he kind of enjoyed this place. He had no delusions about being surrounded by people doing things they weren’t supposed to be doing. People gambled with stolen money; they were accompanied by illegal companion drones; they carried volatile weapons that were outlawed across half the galaxy. But that was the appeal. He kind of liked the allure of danger and the implicit promise of trouble for those who were looking for it, and even for those who weren’t. The Well’s rigidity did Cade no favors when it came to him fitting in; everyone was always training, meditating, working out, or training to work out while meditating. It was hard, for Cade at least, to operate at such a high level of discipline. And while the Kyysring casino was the pendulum swinging from one extreme to another, Cade still welcomed the sweet world of lower standards.
“Well, what now?” Kira asked.
“We mingle,” Cade answered with his most charming of smiles.
Cade took the first step into the room, and Kira followed closely behind. How well they blended in, Cade understood, was in direct proportion to how well they avoided trouble; standing by the elevators like a couple of squares clocking everything going on might have given them away. There were at least a hundred people inside, so it was doubtful that everyone knew each other, but it was best not to draw unwanted attention and have people already asking who Cade and Kira were and wondering why they were there. The room wasn’t closed to the general public, not officially, but it was clear that a certain type of clientele wasn’t welcome here. And when it came to the Koga Club, you were smart not to go where you weren’t welcome.
“When I spotted Mig, he seemed pretty cozy at the tatow table that’s straight ahead, near the back of the room. He’s got his winnings from the fighting pit, so he’s probably not going anywhere soon.”
“He’s alone?”
Cade made a weighing gesture with his two hands, then shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t know. I didn’t see the Qel, but at the same time, where else would it be? That’s the thing, we need to watch Mig without watching Mig and find out what his status is around here. Because if he’s a beloved figure—which I doubt—and I get into a confrontation with him, we don’t want the entire room turning on us.”
“And we can’t just wait him out?”
“He could be here for like twelve hours, and I don’t want to be on this planet for twelve more minutes. Besides, with Praxis having Ticus in its sights and doubtless on our tails, we don’t have all day to sit around and wait for Mig.”
Cade led them to a wellington table where there was room for them both to sit. He tossed some coin onto the purple felt table, betting that one of the spinning die would land on a knight.
“Okay, so we’re basically trying to see who, if anyone, is going to jump in when you and your former pal get into a fight.”
“Um, well,” Cade said, watching the die spin in the clear oscillator. “Yeah, pretty much.”
Kira shook her head; the die tumbled out, and two of the six landed with the knight facing up. For a moment, just one brief moment, Cade felt like his luck was starting to change.
“What did you do to this guy, anyway, that you two hate each other so much?” Kira asked.
“Whoa, whoa,” Cade said, collecting his winnings. “I don’t hate Mig. He hates me.”
“Ah, I see. So it’s one of those ‘I didn’t do anything wrong; the other person’s feelings are totally unjustified’ situations. Gotcha.”
“No, not at all. Well, yes—sort of. I messed up, but Mig put me in a bad spot. And he could stand to be a little more understanding about the whole thing.”
Cade tossed another bet, this time on the pirate. He looked over at Kira, who shot him an expectant look.
“Okay,” she said. “Are you going to tell me what you did?”
“Yeah, friend,” said a voice coming from behind Cade. It was accompanied by the feeling of a sidewinder’s barrel digging into Cade’s back. “Why don’t you tell your girlfriend what happened between us?”
Cade groaned. He swore to himself and slowly turned around. There was Mig, as expected. It was the closest they’d been to each other in two years, but Mig still looked the same. The crazy tufts of black hair sprouting all over his head, those thick horn-rimmed glasses, and that ever-present sneer that called attention to the unseen chip that claimed residence on his shoulder.
“Hey, Mig,” Cade said as they met eye to eye. “We were just talking about you.”
“Don’t let me interrupt,” Mig said with a fake-gracious smile. “Go on.”
“Nah,” Cade said, casual as he could be with a blaster poking into his gut. “Digging up the past gets you nothing but dirty.”
“I said ‘Go on,’” Mig stressed, pushing his sidewinder farther into Cade’s belly.
“You little—” Cade said, but stopped himself. He smiled though his jaw was clenched. “Okay, Mig. I’ll explain why you’re sooooo mad at me.
“It’s really simple: The Well sent me to Ragnar on a scouting assignment. Mig was there running some kind of … what was it? Selling faulty exhumation equipment to archaeologists?”
“No, no. See? You can’t even get the basics right,” Mig said, turning to Kira. “Sorry to be rude, but I haven’t gotten your name yet.”
“I’m Kira,” Kira said with an amused smile. Cade couldn’t tell if it was fake or not. “It’s nice to meet you, Mig.”
Mig took Kira’s hand and kissed it. “It’s nice to meet you as well. And the equipment I sold was fine. Now, Cade, if you would—continue on with the version of this story that you probably concocted on one of your long nights doing nothing as a Rai.”
Cade could feel his nostrils flair as he let out a deep, hostile breath. “You’re pushing it, Mig.”
“I’ll push what I want,” Mig replied, jamming his sidewinder into Cade’s belly to prove his point.
“Anyway,” Cade continued, “when we were kids, Mig and I always said we’d get a cargo ship and go into some kind of transport business. Nothing big, nothing that would catch Praxis’s attention. Just enough to get by and have no one on our backs. Well, on Ragnar, Mig decided that he’d take it upon himself to fulfill a promise we made when we were children, and he got his hands on a cargo ship. Not knowing it was a diplomatic vessel, my loose lips got it confiscated by the Alliance. Which was an ac-ci-dent.
“Mig had to flee Ragnar,” Cade grudgingly conceded, “because the Galactic Alliance put a warrant out for his arrest.”
“And it still is a live warrant to this day, all because of you,” Mig added.
“Dang,” Kira said. “You messed up, Cade. I mean, if it were me, I don’t think I’d want to kill you, but I would want to hurt you. Even more than usual.”
Cade shot a displeased look at Kira, and she winked in return.
“It’s hurt me, it really has,” Mig said to Kira, fake tenderness in his voice.
“Oh, screw you, Mig. This whole thing with this shi
p isn’t even why you’re mad. You’re pissed, still, that Tristan and I left Kyysring for the Well. Every fight we’ve had since then, it’s really about that.”
“This again?!” Mig said, his voice getting heated. “How many times do I have to tell you that I’m over that?”
“Sure,” Cade said, getting off his stool and pushing Mig back a half step. “You keep telling yourself that.”
Cade knew Mig wasn’t going to kill him. This whole situation was turning into more of an annoyance than anything else, and the only reason Cade was practicing delicacy was because he needed Mig. Mig knew how to push his buttons, though, and he knew, better than anyone, how to start trouble. But that didn’t change the fact that Cade was bigger than him, and a trained fighter, and if Mig jammed that sidewinder in his stomach one more time, he was liable to shove it up Mig’s ass.
Yet that’s exactly what he did. Responding to Cade’s resistance, Mig again pushed his sidewinder, this time with more force, into Cade’s abdomen. Cade sucked in a deep breath between his teeth and shoved down the urge to knock Mig out, but it wasn’t easy. He could see the taunting in Mig’s eyes; there was no doubt that Mig was wise to Cade wanting something, and that gave him the power to push whatever boundaries he felt like pushing. Cade knew Mig better than anyone; he’d seen him use his sharp wit to play people like a conductor orchestrates a symphony. Mig’s parents were a couple of degenerate zep addicts who didn’t care if their only son lived or died, which meant that the only real parents he ever had were Cade’s mom and dad. He spent most of his adolescence undersized and underdeveloped in what was probably the worst place in the galaxy to be either, as there was no sympathy for the weak on Kyysring. Cade knew how rough it had been for him when he and Tristan—Mig’s only family, friends, and protectors—left, and Cade was tormented by guilt over it. Still, he didn’t have time to argue over who was mad at whom and for what, and he was in no mood to have a lethal weapon pointed at him. Again.
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