“What?” 4-Qel asked. “We don’t have time to do a thorough scientific analysis of the material in your hand. Now we know it’s koruvite.”
Though his testing methods left room for improvement, 4-Qel was right. Cade hadn’t even felt the charge from his blaster touch the koruvite. It had been absorbed, totally, by the strange material.
“Everyone grab a case,” Cade said as he put the koruvite away and clutched at his heart. It had resumed beating, which was nice. “We still might need to fight our way back out, so let’s also be sure to keep our weapons handy.”
Everyone did as Cade instructed, and, koruvite in tow, they rushed back up the stairs. Eighteen minutes to go, but Cade had a feeling that they’d need every last second.
But the moment they exited the silo, Cade’s life went right back to normal. Meaning, everything had once again gone pear-shaped. Cade figured he ought to at least take some satisfaction in assuming the worst and being right. But as he stared in the face of twenty sentry drones moving in on the silo’s entrance, he just couldn’t muster the energy to pat himself on the back.
Besides, he had running to do.
“Get back!” Cade yelled. “GET BACK!”
Cade dove into the silo, taking cover behind the still-remaining chunk of shutter that 4-Qel hadn’t torn a hole through. He pulled Kira and Mig to the ground with him, and they all managed to reach safety a split second before the sentries opened fire. Cade’s best guess was that Praxis had gotten wise to what was happening within the colony and sent the sentries to retrieve as much koruvite as possible. Had the ruthless drones been sent specifically to intercept the intruders—Cade and his team—they’d be dead. Luckily, their meeting was nothing more than bad timing. Which was nothing new to Cade.
The shutter door was drilled by a barrage of blaster fire coming from the sentries on the other side. The noise of the relentless assault echoed throughout the silo, like it was physically squeezing Cade and his friends for space. They all knew, after all, that it was only a matter of time before the door gave out. Or before the sentries played their odds and rushed inside.
“Okay, okay,” Mig said, his analytical brain working overtime to assess the situation. “All we need to do is get back down to where we got the koruvite, get to the exit, and—”
“The exits were blocked by the cases,” Kira interrupted. “Those cases were probably arranged for a pickup; the only way out is the way we came in.”
“I can distract them,” 4-Qel said, standing tall. “I can grab some koruvite and deflect enough fire as I thin their numbers so the rest of you can escape.”
“No,” Mig firmly said. “We’re not doing that again.”
Cade poked his head around the shutter’s entrance to assess the situation. The sentries, having processed and reevaluated the situation, began closing in.
“Mig’s right,” he said, drawing the Rokura. “It’s about time we see if I can use this thing or not.”
There was no margin for error. Once Cade turned past the shutter and into the open, he had to either get the Rokura to do something or experience blaster fire tearing through pieces of his body that he couldn’t live without. Cade tried to convince himself that he could do this, whatever “this” was, but a nagging voice kept playing over and over in his ear. Percival’s voice, telling Cade he needed training, that he needed to be and feel powerful. Cade had no training, and he certainly didn’t feel powerful. He was scared. Terrified. The only thing that was more likely to happen than the sentries killing him was the Rokura killing him. Still, he had to try. He vowed to keep his friends safe.
Cade took a deep, uneasy breath, and just as he was about to roll the dice on fate, he heard an explosion erupt from the other side of the shutter. The ground trembled, and bits of smoldering drones came flying through the shutter’s opening. Cautiously, Cade moved to survey the area past the shutter, and he was stunned by what he found. He turned to Kira, Mig, and 4-Qel, who were still behind the safety of the shutter’s cover, a look of relief-fueled joy on his face.
“Let’s go!” he yelled. “We’ve got backup!”
Kira, Mig, and 4-Qel piled out behind Cade, all captivated by the same sight: Hovering just over the platform were three transport shuttles armed with light weaponry. They were firing on the drones, mowing them down from above; the enemy stood no chance, but still Cade and his team joined the effort. They fired at will at the drones, destroying as many as they could to clear the way for their escape. It took no time at all for the shuttles and Cade’s team to deplete the drone squadron, reducing its numbers to a smoking heap of metal.
“We saw you were in a jam,” a voice said, calling out from a speaker in the center transport unit. Cade took a few steps forward, needing visual confirmation of what he suspected, because he couldn’t believe his ears. But there he was, sitting right in the cockpit.
Percival.
Cade forced a smile and a wave. That was as good as Percival was going to get, and he better not start thinking Cade owed him because his waving could easily turn into a different hand gesture. After all, Percival tried to capture and use him; they’d just have to call it even.
“Go,” Percival said through the speaker. “You only have fifteen minutes to get out of—”
But before Cade could catch Percival’s final words, his voice was drowned out by the sound of the transport shuttle on Percival’s right as it erupted into a ball of fire.
“NO!” Cade yelled, and as the burning shuttle spun wildly out of control and plunged out of sight, he spotted what was responsible for the shuttle’s explosion. His heart dropped at the sight:
Three Intruders in the distance, speeding right at him.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“GO, GO, GO!” Cade yelled, leading Kira, Mig, and 4-Qel over the ruins of the sentry drones and back over the catwalk. Cade turned to see Percival’s shuttle, and the one that accompanied him on his left, turn to retreat. Picking off drones was one thing, but those shuttles were made for transport, not battle. Even with the weapons Percival had strapped to them, they were no match for Intruders. The Praxis ships were faster, more agile, and carried ten times the firepower. Cade only hoped they’d be able to make it to a mass-jump lane in time.
“Damn it!” Kira yelled. “They’re relentless!”
“Just keep moving!” Cade yelled in return as his heart thumped in his chest. He could almost feel the Intruders’ fire bearing down on him. “If we can just get to the ground, we’ll at least have some coverage overhead. But we have to keep moving!”
But as soon as Cade issued his rallying charge, he turned to see the second transport vessel torn apart by a pair of Intruders working in tandem. And worse still—half of the shuttle’s flaming wreckage was propelled forward and was spinning right toward Cade and his team.
“BACK!” Cade screamed. “GET BACK!”
Cade couldn’t tell if he leapt off his feet or if the force of the shuttle’s impact with the catwalk threw him off his feet. Maybe it was both. Either way, the flaming metal smashed through the catwalk, taking out a ten-foot chunk of it with its wild descent to the ground. The remaining catwalk screeched and groaned as it swayed from side to side, threatening to collapse. As Cade pulled himself off the catwalk’s surface, he realized that the remaining platform was miraculously hanging on. He quickly took stock. Kira was next to him, holding a bloody gash on her head as she also struggled to get to her feet. 4-Qel was standing at the edge of the catwalk, right where it ended in a tangle of twisted metal. Cade looked behind him. He looked ahead again.
He couldn’t see Mig.
“MIG!” he screamed, searching the ground below. “MIG!”
Cade’s chest began to tighten as he felt tears begin to burn in his eyes. He couldn’t lose Mig. Just the thought of Praxis taking someone else from him filled him with a rage that overwhelmed his despair. He grabbed the Rokura’s hilt; if it wanted power, he’d show it power as he tore through these Intruders. He’d show it power as he
tore through the entire Praxis fleet.
But just as he was about to draw the dangerous weapon, something grasped his hand. Cade looked up, coming out of his blinding fury, and saw 4-Qel standing next to him. The drone was stopping Cade’s decision to make a pact with the Rokura, as if he realized what was happening in his mind; it was as if he knew.
“I threw him,” 4-Qel said. “I threw him ahead.”
4-Qel motioned to the other side of the catwalk—the side they all needed to be on, and Cade saw Mig lying there. Cade exhaled so hard that he nearly fell over when Mig raised his hand and grabbed the catwalk’s railing, using it to help pull himself up.
Cade looked at 4-Qel, who gave a thumbs-up.
Cade was about to call out to Mig but stopped short. A Praxis transport cruiser slowly descended into view on the platform behind Mig. And there was nothing Cade could do to intervene with whatever was going to happen next. The gulf between him and Mig was too wide, and there was no telling what was going to come out of that shuttle. Cade just had to wait, and when the time was right, he’d have 4-Qel launch him into the fray. He’d just figure out what to do on the fly. It was becoming what he did best. Or maybe it was what he did out of necessity and happened to keep getting lucky.
With a soft hiss, the cruiser’s landing gear perched the ship on the platform. Cade gripped the Rokura, tight, and dropped his case of koruvite so he could also arm himself with his sidewinder. Behind him, he felt Kira and 4-Qel position themselves over each of his shoulders, their sidewinders trained on the ship. Mig started to get to his feet, but Cade ordered him to stay down. He anticipated a firefight the moment its doors opened; he had a vision of the ship’s blood-red ramp lowering and gunners charging forward, their numbers and firepower far greater than Cade’s side. That’s what Praxis did: They smothered their enemies with numbers. With firepower. With an insatiable appetite to kill. But if that’s what awaited, Cade would go down fighting. He’d take as many with him as possible.
The cruiser’s ramp lowered, slowly, but nothing happened. Not at first. No one charged forward. No shots were fired. Cade looked back at Kira, who raised an eyebrow; this was equally confounding to her.
“Can someone tell me what’s happening?” Mig yelled. He was crouched on the catwalk, his arms covering his head. “Wait, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Actually … no, tell me. What’s happening?!”
“Someone’s coming,” Kira said, and Cade could feel her body tense behind him.
It was just a single person. One solitary person, that was it, walking slowly down the ramp. For some reason, it scared Cade more than a squadron of gunners coming at him.
The figure came into view. He wore a black-and-red cloak with a huge hood pulled over his head. And in the hood’s cavity, darkness. Complete darkness.
“Don’t take another step!” Cade yelled, pointing his sidewinder forward. “Come any closer, and we will punch you full of holes.”
“No, Cade,” the shadowy figure said. “I don’t think you will.”
The man within the cloak raised his hands to his hood and pulled it back. Cade froze, his body numb. He didn’t see the half-dozen gunners that charged down the ramp; he didn’t see them focus their blasters on Cade. All he saw was the revealed face of the shadowy figure.
The face of Ser Jorken.
For a moment, for the briefest moment, Cade entertained the idea that this was a mistake. That this was all part of Jorken’s plan to come to Cade’s rescue. But he looked in his Master’s eyes, and he knew. He knew. This was what the Fatebreaker in the spire was talking about. All the things Cade didn’t know. It was what Percival meant when he talked about Ga Halle’s roots spreading deep and far into the Well. Jorken was the enemy, and he’d been the enemy the entire time.
“Jorken, you are a dead man,” Cade said, his voice even. He didn’t yell, he didn’t roar his words. He simply stated fact: Cade was going to kill his Master.
Jorken laughed. “Oh, I don’t think so, Cade. In fact, I’ve never felt so alive. It’s as if I shed a skin that’d been rotting on me for years. The skin of incompetence and fear that covers the entire Well. I’m finally free.
“Now, what’s going to happen is very simple. You’re going to throw me the Rokura, and I won’t kill your friend. Mig, if I recall?”
“Screw you,” Mig said.
“Lovely selection for what could be your last words,” Jorken said with a smirk. He then turned his attention back to Cade. “Ready to exchange? I hear the clock’s ticking.”
Scenarios ran through Cade’s mind, none of them any good. He could kill Jorken, easily. A few pulls of his sidewinder’s trigger and Jorken would be dead. But so would Mig. The gunners would pulverize him. And then they’d kill Cade. And Kira. And 4-Qel, maybe. In a rage, the killer drone might be able to end all six gunners on his own. But Cade would never know, because he himself would be long gone.
Or, he could just take the Rokura and throw it into the colony’s labyrinth and hope no one could find it before the planet was wiped clean off the galaxy. They’d all be dead, but no one would be able to retrieve the Rokura before the entire place went boom. Assuming the Rokura could be destroyed, Cade would just have to figure this was a win. Maybe.
“Don’t you give him the Rokura,” Mig yelled. With a quick push of his arm, he shoved his case of koruvite off the side of the catwalk, sending it to the ground below. “I don’t care about—”
Mig’s words were cut off by Jorken lifting him up by his hair. He held him tight against his chest and dug one of his shido’s blades against his throat. One flick of his wrist, and Mig would be gone.
“Ten minutes,” Jorken yelled. “Last chance before we kill you all and take what we came here for anyway.”
Cade looked at Jorken, and he had no doubt he’d slaughter each and every one of them. He looked at Mig, whose eyes were focused ahead, but not on Cade. His gaze had diverted to over Cade’s shoulder, at 4-Qel. Mig winked, and just as Cade was about to pull the Rokura from his back, he felt 4-Qel’s arm grip him around his chest.
“Four-Qel, no!” Cade yelled, but it was too late. Before Cade knew it, he was squeezed in 4-Qel’s grasp and diving off the side of the catwalk. In the second he had before impact with the ground, Cade looked over to see Kira held in 4-Qel’s other arm; the drone was bending his torso back and positioning Cade and Kira as high as he could. He was going to absorb the fall.
They crashed to the ground. Cade heard metal crunch and shred; he heard 4-Qel’s internal mechanics, just beneath him, flutter and grind. 4-Qel’s arm went limp, and his hold released; Cade rolled several times, pounding his head and body before coming to a stop. Kira did the same but, like Cade, the worst of her fall was taken by 4-Qel.
Cade staggered to his feet and dove for 4-Qel. He was alive, but Cade could see how dim the lights of his eyes were glowing. The joints at his knees must have erupted upon impact; both legs, from the knee joint down, were torn and pointed in impossible angles. The legs were connected, but it didn’t much matter. They were destroyed.
“Four-Qel, look at me,” Cade said, trying to focus 4-Qel’s eyes. If any human had made the same jump as 4-Qel, they would have broken everything. On one hand, 4-Qel was fortunate that his body was so resilient, because it was the only reason he survived. On the other hand, the cost of damaging that body looked to be agonizing. Cade was convinced he saw fear in 4-Qel’s eyes.
“Go,” 4-Qel wheezed as Cade took his hand. “Run.”
“No chance,” Cade said. “We—”
“Cade!” Jorken yelled, interrupting from above. Cade looked up and saw Jorken hanging over the catwalk’s railing, shido still positioned over Mig’s throat. “That Rokura does not belong to you. We both know it. I will give you one day to deliver it to the War Hammer. After that, I kill your friend, and then I come hunting.
“One. Day. You can find us above Ticus, sucking the life out of its star. Do what you’re told, and we may even spare the pitiful planet you ca
ll home,” Jorken said, then he disappeared from view.
“No!” Cade called out as he staggered backward, trying to get one last glimpse of Mig. But his friend was already gone, and Cade was left with nothing but the sound of Jorken’s cruiser as it took off.
“Mig!” Cade cried, firing his sidewinder pointlessly into the burning sky. “MIG, NO!”
He wanted to fall to his knees; he wanted to pound his fist into the ground until it was mashed into tender meat. But Cade couldn’t. Eight minutes. That’s all the time he had to somehow get Kira and 4-Qel off Mithlador or lose them, too. Desperately, Cade tried to pull 4-Qel up, but it was no use. He was so heavy that it felt like his body was magnetized to the ground. He’d hoped to be able to drag him to the dasher bike, but there was no chance.
“You have to go,” 4-Qel implored. “Get out of here. Save Mig.”
“He’s right.” Cade looked up to see Kira, holding her side, stumble toward them. “We might not even have enough time to get ourselves out of here. We have to run. Now.”
Cade searched the grounds—they couldn’t leave empty-handed, not after all this. He spotted Mig’s case and what he assumed was 4-Qel’s a few feet ahead, mining orbs hovering over them. Cade’s eyes lit up. He had their ticket out of Mithlador.
They were going to make it. All of them.
Cade dove for the cases and opened one up. He held up a slice of koruvite and kicked the two cases over to Kira.
“Grab the cases and get ready, both of you!”
“Ready for what?!” Kira shouted. “We have no time!”
“Ready for our ride,” Cade said, preparing himself to time this stunt perfectly.
The mining orbs that had been circling the cases were attracted to the koruvite inside. Now they were locked in. One was leading the pack, angling down at the koruvite Cade held up in his hands, its claws extended out. Cade tightened his grip on the koruvite and, as the orb grabbed the koruvite and pulled it up, Cade used the momentum to his advantage; he flipped over to the top of the orb, landing uneasily on its glass dome. Righting himself, Cade whipped out his shido and drove it through the glass, shattering it. Before the orb could take whatever defensive measures it’d been programmed with, Cade plunged his arms inside the orb and took the controls. He was in control now.
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