Starchild exile, p.30
Starchild- Exile, page 30
“I’m scared, Nak,” said Cup.
Nak wanted to stay. He really did. And he might’ve even gone against the insurmountable odds of the Behemoths. For Kalh, he might’ve done something that crazy, but with Taiberos here, it was too much. “We’re going.”
At that same moment, as Nak steered away, the comms blinked again.
Valt’s pyramid glowed: “Activate the surface channel. She’s on.”
Nak did as directed, and he heard Kalh’s voice coming through the white headphones: “… led to arrests and charges of sedition. It led to PSD citizens being held indefinitely without trial.”
Just hearing her voice lightened his heart. He hated to be so susceptible, but he was. Was she enough to get him to stay, even against Taiberos?
He had a goeb hot on his tail. More and more kept streaming out from the Behemoths. He pulled up hard on the yoke and felt the strain going through his neck.
Without her and her rebellion, he’d still have the galaxy to himself, but the whole thing felt like empty space.
Just empty space.
He curved his retreating course back toward the fight.
“Each of us alone cannot withstand a force so terrible. Isolated, we’re all doomed to slavery.”
It felt like she was talking directly to him.
Maybe she was.
And he started to feel like even if he died here it would be okay.
“As each individual stands, as we create a massive harmony, we become a force that cannot be dominated—”
She gasped—
He heard her gasp over the comms.
Something was wrong. His heart thumped rapidly for the first time this whole fight. Something was happening down there, and he could do nothing but wait and hope.
The lasers squealed as he fired from beneath his feet, but he was a world away from her.
He twisted the yoke, and his knuckles went white. The turn was so sharp, it felt like he was hanging on to save his life. He brought the goeb into his sights and mashed the triggers with the rage he wished he could use to defend her.
Another voice came through on the public channel.
A dark and threatening voice.
“Citizens of Solace, the Athenaeum has been recaptured by its rightful governor, your own Pangalactic Socialist Democracy, in which you have voted and to which you owe your loyalty. Our Behemoths rule the sky.”
Nak glared at the comms in horror as the battle raged quietly all around.
“To those who would incite revolution, know this: Your Prophetess is dead, and your uprising will die just like her.”
The feed went silent.
Nak felt like throwing up in the cockpit.
She was dead.
He didn’t even switch off the comms. Without any more deliberation, he turned the yoke, steering away from the fight.
Away from his dream of having a home.
Away from Kalh.
He punched the throttle.
Heading in a sickened daze for empty space.
24. Violent Sky
A red cloth covered the gaping hole in Dray’s head.
He peered with one dread eye.
His soul had been left empty too, with nothing to fill it but profound sadness.
As he increased his use of kerse, his encounters with most emotions had become increasingly rare. But he had to keep himself in that state or he knew he wouldn’t be able to do what he had to do.
Even if soon he might not be able to feel anything at all.
He’d planned it all so carefully, including her role. After this battle, his obligation to Lethos would be fulfilled, and he could get on with fixing the galaxy, undoing the wrongs he’d committed while serving the PSD.
He’d felt a void growing inside since his second stay in Building 13. After paying such a heavy price for her rescue, he then paid an even heavier one for his own, but if they could overthrow the PSD, starting with this moment, it would all be worth it. At least, he thought so logically, but he couldn’t feel whether it was true in any deeper way.
“Sir?” asked Trillion.
Dray turned back to the glowing table in front of him, placing both hands on the frame and leaning in for a closer view. His wild gray hair hung forward as he looked down. “Yes?”
Trillion paused, embarrassed. “Is everything all right, sir?”
Dray’s mouth moved into the shape of a weak, forced smile. “Yes, Captain. Everything is all right.”
But Dray doubted the captain believed it.
The makeshift command center was hidden in a cave, and the damp smell of old cement filled the space. Dim lights illuminated the floor, but the ceiling itself was dark. Holographic boards were set up in a grid across the room. From here, he and his staff could monitor the progress of each of the battle’s key points.
At the central table, a hologram glowed, showing a map and several vital statistics. Seven armories had been captured, while two others met with heavy casualties and failure. But that number wouldn’t matter unless the citizen militias came to arms.
Dray’s one eye glazed over.
Even if they could rally the militias, until the surge gate was under Renegade control, no success on the ground would matter. The PSD commanded the mightiest fleet the galaxy had ever seen. Everything depended on the battle in the black.
He was called back to the present when an officer stepped up:
“A report from Mr. Valt, sir. The surge gate has been captured, and he would like to speak to you.”
“Patch it through,” said Dray.
The captain did so.
Dray reached for a board on the table and pressed a button. “Mr. Valt, this is Lord Admiral Dray.”
The comms began to crackle and then words, intermingled with static, poured through the air: “— to the — — be somebody — — a set up — — — — us — — — — — the bomb coming — — at all — — —”
Dray frowned and turned away from the holographs. “What’s wrong with the signal?”
“I’ll go see, sir. Might be on his end.”
Dray pressed the relay button again. “Valt, I’m having trouble hearing you.” Their fleet was rickety, after all.
Valt’s voice continued, intermittently, in a tone of calm despite some confusion: “— — sorry — — — through the surge gate — the attack even started — — left us alone — — — be a problem — — — maybe a Behemoth — — — — — — hundreds, maybe more — — — — if we can stop them — —”
The radio fell silent.
Dray closed the comms channel and frowned, checking the grid, making sure Valt’s ship was still online. It was. He stared with one eye at the hologram.
Anyone else might have written it off as coincidence, but Dray knew better, and the implications weren’t good.
Maybe his missing eye had seen more clearly than the other.
Maybe he’d been foolish to rush into this battle. Maybe he still wasn’t in his right mind after Building 13. He’d acted on the information Lethos had given him access to. The decrease in PSD troops had made this a unique opportunity, and rushing made it easier to keep secret, but maybe his judgement wasn’t as sound as he believed.
He should’ve foreseen this betrayal. The population of Solace was a fractured mess, and any number of the factions might have wanted to see Benton’s insurrection fail. If they lost the surge gate, the PSD’s retaliation would be monstrous. And it seemed to be already in progress.
Dray didn’t feel worry though.
He didn’t feel sad that it might have all come to nothing, that his careful planning had amounted only to this. He should’ve at least felt rage at being betrayed, but he couldn’t even seem to feel that.
He just felt nothing.
Maybe because this battle was of little consequence compared to his greater purpose. Just so long as what he’d planned for her still came to pass.
“Sir, we received a textual message. It seems a massive fleet has come through the surge gate, one queued before the attack even started. Valt currently controls the gate, but it’s only a matter of time…”
This confirmed Dray’s suspicions. The cause was lost. Solace was lost.
But he would survive.
“Queue our transportation, Trillion.”
Dray had one thing to do before he fled: He had to finish his obligation to Lethos.
And that meant her time had come.
Trillion turned and looked at the ceiling in surprise as her voice came on over the public comms at that very moment. Her voice had a melodic quality to it, and she spoke with a conviction that surely would’ve brought many to their cause, but it didn’t matter now. They had lost the sky.
Though Dray would still send her across the threshold of death and immortality so that he could become the most powerful mortal in the galaxy. While speaking with her on the balcony, he’d felt hesitant to end her life. That sentiment had vanished. He felt no sympathy for her now.
Suddenly, her speech was cut off. Then a series of crashes sounded over the comms. Maybe it was a stroke of fortune.
A second voice came on, declaring her dead.
Dray took a quick breath and tapped several keys, flagging her unit specifically on the board.
Her vitality readout beeped as it appeared on the holograph, revealing that mysterious voice’s lie.
She was still alive.
How unfortunate. It wasn’t enough for her to be thought dead. She needed to be actually dead. The map showed she was still inside the Athenaeum. Maybe they had stopped her broadcast but hadn’t subdued her completely. Perhaps she was still trying to escape and had a chance of getting out.
Dray couldn’t let that happen. He had to fulfill the covenant.
“Your transport is ready for evac, sir.”
“Thank you.” Dray turned toward Trillion. “Get Colonel Blackserpent on the comms.”
“Yes, sir.” The captain bowed and walked to another table.
Colonel Blackserpent, the leader of the Nightwatchmen, was particularly gallant but also quite loyal to his men. They were an elite squad, not the kind that should be used as cannon fodder in a direct assault. Yet that was what Dray sent them into—heavy combat, where their ranks would be decimated with each passing sequel.
It was one part of Dray’s master plan that still seemed to be in place.
He’d given Blackserpent a secret order before the battle: “Your men are too precious to be wasted for even a sequel more than necessary. If I send the code violent sky, I want you to withdraw immediately. Cut all losses and retreat without hesitation, no matter who might be left behind. Is that clear?”
Blackserpent had no special loyalty to the woman others called the Prophetess, so he accepted the order without the slightest misgiving. What he didn’t know was that he himself would never make it back alive. One of the dropships was going to crash with him inside. Dray had seen to that too.
He thought he sensed some distant remorse buried deep inside himself. He searched for it, tried to cultivate it even, but it remained elusive. All because he’d taken kerse, shoved it into his palms. It soaked up his emotion, his mood, what the zhani called spirit. As Lethos promised, it had been a boon. It made Dray’s other abilities much stronger. It also kept him from feeling. He felt nothing, no regret nor pity, not even the fear of getting caught. Part of him still wanted to feel fear, or anything, really, as long as he could feel something. Even anger would be better than nothing.
He did sense a slight reluctance, a preference to escape his side of the bargain. Logically, though, he knew that would fail to serve the greater cause. Good things only came by paying the price, by conforming to the conditions of reality. In the end, his feelings or lack of them didn’t matter. He would do what had to be done. He would make sure she died so that he could make recompense for his past.
For his sin.
The redhelms within the building would try to stop her, and she’d be forced to fight her way past. It would take her time to surge back through the wall too, not an easy task. If she did manage all that, she’d find herself facing the PSD’s entire sozo force alone.
And she would not be kept alive.
When facing an enemy with her power, any smart soldier would shoot to kill, and that included the redhelms. Capturing an enemy required much more risk. And she, knowing what stood ahead, would most likely not want to be captured anyway—better to die fighting. Even if by some chance she did surrender before being shot, she’d already sealed her fate. They wouldn’t send her to Building 13 this time, not after such a public affront on the sanctity of the PSD. That lunatic Taiberos would never allow that, not with his pride at stake. No, she’d be tried for treason and publicly executed, which she might prefer to being put back in that hell anyway.
Her martyrdom would fulfill Dray’s pledge to Lethos. It would also spur the rebel cause, weakening the PSD.
For the greater good.
Trillion gestured an open palm toward the glowing table. “Sir, Colonel Blackserpent is on the comms.”
Dray leaned over and pressed several buttons. “Colonel Blackserpent, this is Lord Admiral Dray. Do you copy?”
“Loud and clear.”
“What is your status?”
“We’ve sustained heavy casualties, sir, but we’re holding.”
“Valt has sent word of a violent sky. Just hold on a little longer.”
“Understood, sir.”
The hint of a smile crept on the corner of Dray’s mouth.
25. Retreat
Benton felt a sick feeling go through his stomach, the symptoms of all his hopes and dreams collapsing.
“Kalhette? Do you copy? Kalhette?”
That voice had come on over the comms saying she was dead. It couldn’t be true though.
“Oh, no,” interrupted Liink.
Benton looked at him but did not ask for an explanation.
Liink pointed toward a great orange light glowing on the horizon. “They set Tonkston on fire.” It meant the citizens had heeded Kalhette’s call. They’d probably been firing as snipers from those buildings, forcing the redhelms to escalate. That was Spooner’s home. It would give people more reason to rebel.
But none of that mattered because Kalhette…
The ground shook with an explosion.
Rubble and dirt pattered down, followed by tufts of grass.
His fireteam of bloods stood in a semicircle around him, their backs to the massive wall of the Athenaeum, guarding the spot where she’d gone in. Next sat the dropships in a half ring, waiting to fly them all safely back out of the sozo. The Nightwatchmen formed an outer perimeter. Spooner and his comrades made up the extreme left flank.
They held that line throughout the battle, and they did their job so well that Benton’s fireteam did almost nothing. He ignited his psykatana several times in expectation, but each time the threat was subverted before it got far up the hill.
“Kalhette, come in.” The comms remained silent. Benton patted his prism nervously against his thigh. He tapped several buttons, putting another relay through. “This is General Xylander. I need a vitality report on someone. No. Then put me through to logistics. Uh, sure. Okay. Out.”
He felt defeated.
Then another voice came through his earpiece: “Generals, this is Lord Admiral Dray.”
Benton put a hand to the side of his helmet.
“Just got word from Mr. Valt. Behemoths have come through the surge gate. They were queued before our attack began. We were betrayed.”
Benton looked around against an irrational worry that someone might’ve overheard. He didn’t want anyone to hear it, and he didn’t want it to be true. Then, although it was a group relay, he put in a request to interject. It was not granted. He wanted to ask whether they were really sure. Maybe it was some kind of trick.
“There isn’t much we can do,” said Dray’s voice. “Prepare your troops to surrender, and see to your own safety. The PSD will exact strong punishments on the leadership if you are caught.”
Benton submitted another request on the channel. They couldn’t give up now. They had to keep trying. Keep hoping. But maybe defeat was inevitable. If so, their cause was lost. The successful raids from the various local militias meant nothing if they didn’t win the sky. Valt’s privateers would be overwhelmed. Worse, if Benton admitted this news to Colonel Blackserpent, the Nightwatchmen might leave, abandoning Kalhette to her fate.
Benton couldn’t risk that. He couldn’t risk telling the truth. So he didn’t. And he felt glad Private Spooner wasn’t around to see his shame.
“Sir!” Dr. Warnur pointed toward the left flank, at the edge of the Athenaeum. The Nightwatchmen there were retreating, creating a gap in the line, and the redhelms were already starting to break through.
“Follow me!” Benton led the Bloods and Dr. Warnur toward the broken line. He knelt behind a stone, and his fireteam followed suit. He put his rifle to his shoulder and fired. Soon they had the breach closed.
Colonel Blackserpent dropped down into the mud next to Benton. “We’re withdrawing.” Apparently they’d gotten the news from someone else, outside the chain of command.
Benton shook his head. “No we’re not. I’m the commanding officer.”
“You were the commanding officer while we had chance of winning. Now all bets are off.”
“But she’s still in there.”
“It said she’s dead.”
Benton shook his head vehemently. “She’s not dead.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m getting them to check her vitality.”
“We’re leaving. You have the time it takes for us to make a controlled retreat. I won’t be waiting.” Blackserpent pressed the comms on his helmet as he scrambled away. The same voice then came through the speaker in Benton’s helmet: “Nightwatchmen, this is Blackserpent. Pull back. We’re getting out of here.”
The sickness welled up in Benton’s stomach, crawling toward his throat. Not only might he lose Solace, he might lose Kalhette too.
His comms buzzed, and he connected it. His finger went back to his earpiece. “Yes, this is General Xylander.”
