“So you like the idea of hurtling through space with a questionable amount of control over your body?” Cade said. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“I’ll be like a graceful speck among the cosmos, as close as I will ever get to being united with the fabric that binds all sentient life.”
Cade and Kira shared a curious look.
“Or,” 4-Qel continued, “a weapon of massive power, out to exact my destructive purpose.”
“That’s more like it,” Kira said.
Mig punched in the code on the cargo hold’s control panel. The hold’s door lowered slowly, revealing a deep blackness punctuated by pinpricks of stars.
“From here, the drop to the Kundarian trade ship should take no more than two minutes,” Mig informed the team. “Use the suit exactly like I showed you; let it do most of the work, and you’re good.”
Mig joined Cade, Kira, and 4-Qel, and together they walked toward the lip of the cargo door. In just seconds, they’d be jumping off it; Cade tried to convince himself that he was relieved to finally have it done with. He’d been sweating this solution to liberating the Praxis-occupied Kundarian vessel ever since it was conceived, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t bring himself to liking it. In fact, he hated it.
“Oh, one other thing!” Mig yelled over the din of the cargo door’s hydraulic system. “Do not forget that last thing I told you!”
Cade shot a panic-stricken look at Mig. “Wait, what?” he asked. “What last thing?”
“Huh?” Mig said, holding his armored hand up to where his ear was, beneath his helmet. “Sorry, I can’t hear you.”
“What last thing? You didn’t—” Cade looked over and saw Kira practically bursting as she tried to hold in her laughter.
“Oh, hilarious,” Cade said. “Real mature.”
“Still can’t hear you,” Mig toyed.
“Then read my lips!” Cade yelled, and then he mouthed, very clearly, a pointed obscenity.
But then the noise stopped as the door was completely lowered.
“All right, boys,” Kira said. “Time to fly.”
* * *
The space above the planet Kundar was punctuated by streaks of light screaming across the sky. Kundarian freedom fighters engaged Praxian Intruders with the goal of drawing them away from the trade ship that’d been hijacked by the evil Praxis kingdom weeks earlier. It’d been sitting inert since, a bargaining chip against the Kundarian freedom fighters who were waging a bloody ground assault against Praxis’s occupation of their planet. Praxis’s deal with Kundar was simple: Surrender, join the kingdom, and the trade ship carrying essential supplies would be released from orbit. Kundar’s answer, as evidenced by the dogfight taking place over their planet, was clear.
Resistance to its imperial ambitions—ambitions that wouldn’t settle for anything less than complete control of the entire galaxy—was new to Praxis. The kingdom used to be able to rely on its War Hammer—a massive starship that had the power to drain the energy from a planet’s nearest star, leaving it dark, cold, and dead—to be the ultimate deterrent, but Cade and his friends changed all that. Defying the odds, defying orders to relent, Cade, Kira, Mig, and 4-Qel pulled off what had previously been an unthinkable task: They blew the War Hammer into a million little pieces, and that strike wound up being the opening salvo in a war across the galaxy.
But Praxis wasn’t about to relinquish its control so easily.
In the wake of having the crown jewel of its fleet blown out of the sky, the evil kingdom doubled down on its assault of neutral planets like Kundar, forcing more and more worlds to fly Praxis’s bloodred flag. Praxis smothered planets with numbers; no system could match its air and ground forces. The planet’s enlistment rate was ten times higher than the next highest planet, and if that wasn’t enough, Praxis also conscripted ancillary forces from the planets they annexed. Still, the destruction of the War Hammer proved that sometimes might doesn’t matter; sometimes sheer numbers aren’t enough. Not when you have willingness. Not when you’re fighting for what you believe is right. And that’s why Cade was hurtling through space at a clip he didn’t even want to think about, soaring toward the Kundarian trade ship so he and his friends could free it from Praxis’s control and, from there, aid the planet’s freedom fighters in their efforts to evict Praxis from their home once and for all. Cade and his friends—referred to as the Black Star Renegades, a moniker Mig anonymously spread through the galaxy because he said it made them sound “more legit”—had become Praxis’s fulcrum, balancing its agenda of conquest and control with the hope for freedom. The hope to resist and win.
Below Cade, Kundarian starfighters, with their sleek dual engines and chromium shells, executed evasive maneuvers as they deftly flew circles around Praxis’s Intruders; the Kundarians unleashed proton blast after blast, but only as a defensive measure and to keep the Intruders off-balance. The barrage filled the space with innumerable points of light; to Cade, it was like looking through a kaleidoscope while high on kerbis. Still, it kept Praxian fighters away from the trade ship for the time being. This little plan of Mig’s was plenty suicidal already; the last thing Cade needed was to navigate his way through airspace that was littered with both enemy and friendly fire and the flaming wreckage of countless starships. That’d be the only thing that could make this worse, Cade thought.
Until things got worse in a way Cade didn’t anticipate.
The Kundarian trade ship was in Cade’s sights and coming on fast. But as he got closer to the vessel—shaped like a crescent moon with a bulbous command console in its center—Cade noticed small disks launch from the ship’s starboard side. Dozens of them spun in Cade’s direction. Hundreds of them.
His heart sank into his guts.
“Guys!” he yelled into his comms. “We’ve got incoming!”
“Damn it,” Kira snarled. “Razor drones.”
Destruction didn’t even begin to describe a razor drone’s purpose. Cade had to make up a word because no existing word appropriately captured the razors’ single-minded penchant for carnage. Annihilatory. That would do. The drones were designed for one purpose and one purpose only: to magnetically attach to the hull of a ship and tear it to shreds. Which was bad. Because ships without exteriors to keep them, among other things, pressurized and stabilized? They tend to fall from the sky. Uncontrollably. And the people inside fare even worse than the ship after it crash-lands.
Cade was currently covered in a material identical to the hulls of most ships. He had seen the razors’ work with his own eyes. It didn’t take much for him to conjure an image of what the drones would do to his grav suit and then his skin, intestines, and so on.
But Cade wasn’t a ship. He wasn’t just some sack of meat in a grav suit. He was the Paragon … kind of. Of sorts. A Paragon in training. Despite his leveling up, or maybe because of it, Cade still relished any opportunity to be reckless. Possessing the Rokura was just an excuse for him to double down on his wanton disregard for his own well-being.
“So, Mig, weren’t you the one saying how we’d be too small to be picked up by the trade ship’s sensors?” Cade ribbed, exacting a small amount of payback on his friend. “That was you, right?”
“Well,” Mig casually responded, “looks like I was wrong.”
“All right, here’s what we’re going to do,” Kira said, taking the lead. “Mig, Qel, push yourselves toward the center, to Cade and me. We’ll tighten formation and blast our way—”
“Nah,” Cade interrupted. “I’ve got this.”
Cade fired his thrusters to maximum burn and was just getting out of suit-to-suit comms range when he heard Kira yell, “I hate it when you do that!” Cade smiled; Kira really did hate it. The thing was, Kira would have flung herself headfirst into a hive of razor drones if it meant fulfilling the mission, even though the odds of her not making it out were slightly worse than taking a sidewinder blast point-blank to the face. Cade recognized how similar they were in their appetit
e for danger, although their motives were different. Kira chased it because she was a dedicated soldier, and no risk was too great when doing the right thing was at stake; Cade because he had a massive chip on his shoulder—circumstance had yoked him to the belief that he had something to prove, that he’d always have something to prove. What separated Cade and Kira now was simple: Cade had the most powerful weapon in the galaxy at his side, and the upside of that was that he could take stupid risks; the downside was that he often had to strand his friends on the sidelines. The Rokura was too dangerous, and Cade wasn’t certain he could tame the weapon if its powers exceeded his control. Still, even if it was for their own good, Cade couldn’t help but feel like he was drifting away from the people closest to him.
As Cade drew within spitting distance of the razor drones, their finer details came into focus. Two amber-hued ocular lenses were set into the core of their bulbous bodies and, protruding from their sides, four pincers snapped greedily, anticipating their prey. Cade knew he was an easy target; the Rokura, though, was no one’s lunch, and these drones were about to learn what it was like to have the power of destiny shoved up their tailpipes.
Cade aimed the Rokura forward. White-hot energy began to spark off its three blades. Cade thought he should say something witty and clever, but so far, his attempts to craft a catchphrase had only yielded “Taste the heat,” and he wasn’t sure what that even meant. Besides, his friends already had a lifetime’s worth of fodder to bust his chops about in his sometimes-clumsy attempts to play the role of Paragon. So instead, he’d just kick back and let the mystical weapon perform its magic. That’s how this whole thing worked; though Cade would never admit it to anyone, he knew the truth: The Rokura was in charge, not him.
Sure, they’d settled into a tense truce since the weapon chose him over Ga Halle. Cade used it as seldom as possible, and in those instances, the Rokura obliged his commands. It helped free him and Kira from a nakal beast’s den on Ryson, and it destroyed Praxis’s prototype mobile drone garrison on Bondra before it could escape the planet’s orbit. The Rokura had no choice. Until Ga Halle could prove her worthiness over Cade or another true Paragon—like Cade’s brother, Tristan—came along, it would just have to make the best of whatever the galaxy threw its way, even if it was a second-best destiny. Still, even though the Rokura was as stuck with Cade as he was with it, he felt its darkness swirling on the periphery of their alliance. Deep down, the weapon was still intent on shaping Cade into the Paragon it deemed worthy of the mantle. And that worthiness, it seemed to Cade all too often, required pursuing a path that was darker than he’d ever be comfortable with. The weapon still spoke to him, still urged him to quench a thirst for power that he didn’t possess. Light existed in it as well, and Cade felt it struggle for domination against the darkness. What kept Cade awake at night was his fear that he’d never find a way to harmonize both sides. As he struggled, the Rokura’s more aggressive half taunted Cade with the promise of unlocking its full, true power. In his meditations, Cade caught glimpses of what that power had to offer, and it terrified him. Images of a city engulfed in flames, of a Praxian warship being torn apart, of innocent, frightened people begging for mercy clouded his mind, and Cade knew that he’d never acquiesce to such terrifying expectations. But he also knew that, until he did, he’d never be the Paragon’s true master, let alone partner. And that meant he was vulnerable. That meant, one day, the Rokura would stop working on his behalf.
What happened after that was anyone’s guess. Cade could only hope, as the razor drones buzzed around his head, that that day wasn’t today.
Energy of incalculable might poured off the Rokura, and the first razor drone that tested that crackling white light received the teeniest taste of its power. It was enough to obliterate the drone from existence. One jolt from the Rokura and the drone convulsed, briefly, and then it was gone.
Cade wished that small sample of the Rokura’s might would be enough to deter the hundreds of other drones from attacking. But no one ever learns.
“Stupid machines,” Cade grumbled as the drones descended on him en masse. He shut off his propulsors, and the abrupt end of his momentum was enough to drop Cade out of the capsule the razors were attempting to cover him in. As he drifted back, Cade aimed the Rokura at the pursuing drones and let it rip. A single blast shot out from its head and shredded the drones in his vicinity. His path clear, Cade activated his propulsors and carved an upward arc with the firing Rokura leading the way. With the razors in pursuit, Cade angled the Rokura down and widened its blast radius; he eliminated swaths at a time, but the relentless drones still continued their pursuit.
Nonetheless, Cade assumed victory was just a matter of letting the weapon wrap up its large-scale destruction and then mopping up whatever stragglers remained. What he didn’t know was that there was a second wave of drones at his back, purged from the trade ship while he wasn’t looking. But Cade got a good feel for their presence when he detected one chewing through the back of his grav suit. Before he could swat it away, Cade felt something crash against his suit, strong enough to jolt his body upright; he looked over his shoulder and saw Kira, a sidewinder in each hand, picking off the drones that were zeroing in on him.
“You really have to stop shooting at me,” Cade said.
“Oh, come on,” Kira said. “I’ve only done it twice, and I saved your butt in both instances. Literally this time.”
Cade and Kira closed the distance to each other; Kira continued to pierce drone after drone between their orange lenses, and Cade took out a batch with the Rokura. But the things kept coming.
“I’m running out of charges!” Kira said, and though Cade was focused on obliterating the drones in front of him, he could feel more and more coming at his back. A lot more.
They were about to be overwhelmed.
“Cade, we’ve got to get out of here. There are way too many of them.”
Cade broke off the Rokura’s killing spree and turned to see what Kira was looking at.
“Come on! What is that, all the drones?”
If Cade’s knowledge of Kundar’s star chart was correct, he should have been able to look out to this swath of space and see the Erso Nebula. But no. Instead, all Cade saw was a wall of razor drones so immense that it blotted out the world beyond. And these drones were coming on fast. Even with their propulsors pressed to maximum burn, Cade figured they had a fifty-fifty chance of outrunning the drones, though Duke wouldn’t be able to get the ship to their location in time to save their asses. Which meant Cade had to do something that probably wasn’t safe. In fact, he knew it was definitely unsafe, but it was all they had.
With a firm grip, Cade grabbed hold of Kira’s waist and pulled her close. He held her in an embrace, their bodies pressed together, and brought the Rokura close to his chest.
“Hey!” Kira snapped. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Saving us, I think?” Cade said. “Now hold still.”
This was the moment Cade dreaded. Sure, the Rokura provided him with enough juice to look cool and win some battles, but there was a danger in allowing himself to slip too close to the weapon. He felt that danger down to his core, and it made him think that should his connection to the Rokura get too deep, and vice versa, he might not be able to pull back out. But he had no choice, so he pushed his fear of potential consequences aside and concentrated. Cade channeled himself into the Rokura and felt it flowing into him in return. The effort made him grimace; Cade squeezed his eyes shut as he pushed his will outward, straining with every fiber of his being. Kira called for him, but her voice was lost as his mind went deeper into his focus. Cade began to feel his efforts taking shape; the Rokura’s energy was expanding outward, forming a shell around himself and Kira. He opened his eyes and realized they were safely cocooned in crackling white energy.
“Whoa,” Kira said.
Cade looked at her and smiled. “Yeah? Well, check this out.”
Suddenly, an immense surge of
energy erupted from the cocoon, a 360-degree blast that vaporized every single razor drone in sight. Nothing was left of them but barely visible particles shimmering in the eruption’s afterglow. They rained down over Cade and Kira, brilliant specks glowing and fading all around. Kira reached out a hand and let them fall into her palm, where they evaporated like snowflakes. It made her smile.
They were safe, but when Cade looked down, he realized he was still holding Kira close to his side. He loosened the grip his fingers had on her grav suit, but his arm wouldn’t let go. His eyes drifted to her suit’s helmet; there, the remaining luminous bits of the razor drones reflected in the glass casing, obscuring half her face in wonderment.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey yourself.”
“I feel like … like we never see each other anymore,” Cade said, and it was true. With Cade training with Percival to become a more suitable Paragon and Kira strategizing the rebellion against Praxis, there had been hardly any time for much else.
“Well,” Kira said, “here I am.”
Cade stammered. He wanted to tell Kira that he missed her, but to what end? The separate paths that created a wedge between them—not to mention the burgeoning war—weren’t going to converge anytime soon. If anything, the demands placed on Cade by Percival were only driving him further from Kira. Further from all his friends. And taxing Kira with his feelings for her—however genuine, however true—was unfair to her. The squadrons under her command were counting on her to deliver on the promise she and Cade forged together: that they could defeat Praxis. That their risk and sacrifice was worth it. To fulfill that promise, Kira needed to remain focused on the task at hand; she needed to rally enough systems to contest the Praxis kingdom at their almost immeasurable scale. Kira needed to be more than diligent, more than dedicated; she had to be an unstoppable force, and Cade had no doubt that it was the role she was destined to play.
We Are Mayhem--A Black Star Renegades Novel Page 2