And there it is.
The end of the loop.
We will always have the next one, I suppose.
I glance at the timer on my wrist, then fall still.
I feel a small furrow forming in my brow.
Nari tilts her head. “Zila?”
I must have miscalculated earlier. I told Finian and Scarlett the core overloaded fifty-eight minutes after the quantum lightning strike. Usually I am right. But it has only been fifty-one minutes… .
I must be tired. I did not sleep when the others did.
I do not speak of my mistake.
Instead, I finish what work I can, committing as much of the data to memory as possible. Nari watches me from the window, the starlight glowing on her skin. And finally, when there are only moments left, I rise to my feet, ready to meet what is coming. “I will see you soon, Nari.”
“WARNING: CORE IMPLOSION IMMINENT, T MINUS THIRTY SECONDS. ALL HANDS EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY. REPEAT: CORE IMPLOSION IN THIRTY SECONDS.”
“I hate this part,” she admits.
I meet her eyes again and, without knowing why my instinct is to comfort her, reply, “You are not alone.”
She takes a step toward me.
Her eyes are very pretty.
“WARNING: CORE IMPLOSION IMMINENT. FIVE SECONDS. WARNING.”
She is not tall.
“Zila, I know this is terrible timing, but I really think you’re—”
“WARNING.”
BOOM.
17
TYLER
There are advantages to being one of the galaxy’s most wanted criminals.
My whole life I played by the rules. Studied hard, worked harder, never really made time for trouble. But turning the collar of my long black coat up against the chill, pulling up my hood, and stepping into the bar, much as I hate to admit it, I kind of enjoy the feeling of being a wanted man.
The place is totally packed—freighter pilots and longhaul crews, gangsters and drug/sim/skin dealers, hundreds of faces, a dozen different races. Through the crowd, the Betraskan girl behind the bar gives me an appreciative smile, and the various lowlifes, scumbags, and villains I’ve scoped over the last day or two nod greeting or just cradle their drinks. But nobody messes with me, even in a place rough as this.
I’m a galactic terrorist, after all. An Aurora legionnaire gone rogue. A mass murderer, responsible for the deaths of hundreds of Syldrathi aboard Sagan Station, not to mention an Interdiction breach, a heist, a couple of explosions aboard Emerald City, and any number of other charges the GIA has drummed up against me.
That’s not the kind of guy you mess with head-on.
I belly up to the bar, drenched in the thumping beat of the deep dub, surrounded by glowing holos advertising the latest stimcasts, newsfeeds of distant battles, the growing pulse of the war that’s rising across the stars. Nobody seems particularly worried by it. Most of them aren’t even aware it’s happening. The girl behind the bar slides a glass of synth semptar down the polished plasteel at me. As I lift the glass, I see the coaster underneath has her palmglass number written on it.
Like I say, there’s advantages to being a badass.
I’ve been on MaZ4-VII Station for thirty-two hours. It’s a starport at the intersection of a dozen major shipping routes, orbiting a gas giant right next to the FoldGate into the Stellanis system. Longhaul flights use it as a stopover for crews to avoid Fold psychosis, but it’s also on the border of Betraskan, Rigellian, Terran, and Free space. Which means it’s as busy as a one-handed Chellerian in an arm-wrestling competition.
Saedii and Co. dropped me off here almost two days ago, and I can still feel her farewell kiss on my lips. Still see the look in her eyes as she handed me that knife and refused to say goodbye, even knowing we’d probably never see each other again.
I will see you in the stars, Tyler Jones.
Best-case scenario, she unites the Unbroken, I somehow keep the Ra’haam from destroying Aurora Academy, and we’re still stuck without the Weapon, still all die fighting the Ra’haam.
Far more likely, we end up on opposing sides of an everdevolving galactic war. Or most likely of all, I just get arrested for being a traitor to Earth and the Legion, and executed.
Being one of the galaxy’s most wanted criminals isn’t all free drinks and pretty girls’ palmglass numbers, see. And truth is, I’m running out of time.
I scan the crowd, looking for my contact, rubbing the plastique disk in my pocket. The credits Saedii gave me are enough to buy passage to the Aurora system, but there’s still a summit of the entire Galactic Caucus being held at the academy in three days. What I’m saying is, getting to the system isn’t the real drama. Getting onto the station is. Security is going to be scarier than Scarlett without her morning coffee.