Starchild- Exile, page 28
Still, Kalh kind of wished they had.
No, she could do this.
She breathed.
Her heart beat like a sun, radiating from her core. She sensed her body—her nose, her fingers, her hamstrings. She wiggled her toes. She acknowledged their existence, feeling them. But it was more than that. She was in them, inside them—her spirit animated them, as if she were wearing them like a glove.
So alive.
And yet she might die at any time.
Though getting shot and dying out here seemed better than going inside and getting captured by the redhelms—who would give her to the Witch Hunters.
Lasers streaked past the defending Nightwatchmen and blasted into the Athenaeum. The sound repeated like a sporadic drummer with no sense of rhythm. It mixed with the thrum of her heartbeat. She pulled off a glove and put two fingers to her neck. Blood pulsed through her veins. Her heart was beating much too quickly.
A soldier screamed, and she thought she could smell burning flesh.
The longer she took, the more people would die.
A clatter came from directly above. She flinched and squinted, turning her face away from the wall expecting grains of sand and shards of stone to fall on her, but the wall had been protected by the shields.
It seemed insane: She was looking for solitude on a battlefield. She was supposed to find peace while she could die at any moment and while she headed into a place that might return her to Building 13.
The clouds above soared so high they could see the distant sun, which turned them pink and gray. The blue sky peeked through wherever it could, and in one of the gaps the starlike surge gate twinkled its glowing white, peering down on them all.
Nak was up there.
She didn’t know why she let him kiss her. Either time.
She hardly knew him. It was too impulsive for her. And yet whenever he was around, she acted more like that, more like him, as if his emotions radiated out into hers. It was unusual. Like no one else she’d ever been with.
It didn’t mean anything though.
Over the din, another soldier screamed in pain, and not just once; it was as if some continual horror mauled him, and he kept on screaming. She felt an impulse to go help, but she had to stay. She had to focus.
She breathed through her nose and exhaled.
They’d gathered here for her. Some had already given their lives for her. And more would, the longer she took, the more times her heart beat.
It was taking her too long.
She felt like an imposter. Nearly a whole planet believed she was some heroine here to liberate them, but she was nothing of the sort.
She was just Kalhette, a confused little girl.
She put her fingers back to her neck. The pulse had gotten slower. Still not enough.
The Renegades had many supporters, but the uprising had been kept a secret to defend it from spies, so no one would know the rebellion had begun unless she told them. And it wasn’t just telling them either. She had to convince them to act. What if her speech wasn’t enough to do that? If she did succeed, her victory would cost her more of her anonymity, and she already had none to spare.
A mortar exploded behind her, causing a massive concussion that shoved against her. The pressure threatened to pop her eardrums. She jerked her hands up and caught herself as her chest and face pressed into the wall. The sound of pebbles fell behind her, tapping like heavy rain. She pushed off the wall, back into her kneeling lunge, placed her gloved knuckles back against each other, and breathed.
This might all end in disaster. If she couldn’t surge, they’d all die here waiting. As she faced the reality of her own death, her mind unexpectedly jumped to the strangest thought: It wasn’t her own life she feared to lose. It was the lives of her unborn children.
Her legacy.
She’d wanted to be a mother all her life. She’d wanted that future so wholly that it seemed a lot more substantial than speculation or hope. It felt like destiny.
She was doing this to create a better world for them. This thought filled her with a peaceful melancholy, a longing for something she couldn’t even fully imagine, a vast feeling, bigger than she could even feel all at once—
She felt reverence.
Reverence for her children. And for some reason, reverence for Nak.
Her heart steadied.
Not that she was thinking about having kids with him. But she wasn’t not thinking about having kids with him. She wasn’t thinking about that.
For a moment, his personality filled the whole space of her mind. She felt his energy, capable and dangerous. She felt his strength, like an unconquerable fortress. She felt his need for her and hers for him—a connection between two lonely, exiled souls. Without any coercion, he’d come back and said those few words, which for a man of few words meant so much:
Kalh, my name is Brek Starchild, and I’m going to help you liberate Solace.
He’d volunteered his service and his priceless ship.
And that probably meant something.
It seemed too soon to have feelings for him though. Unfounded feelings. But as she faced death, she didn’t care about those counterarguments.
She cared about him.
And she breathed in the Song.
Through it, she felt the inevitable harmony of all things.
Maybe she would fail, and maybe he would die up there in the sky, and maybe no children would ever come to light, but even that was not too much for the Song to overcome. She would accept whatever happened, and things would be all right in the end. She knew they would.
Her breath slowed. She felt as calm as one falling to sleep.
And yet her mind was perfectly alive, her soul kinetic. She stared at the wall, her eyes began to glow, and she intended to be on the other side.
Then in a bright flash of light, she surged.
It felt like rushing forward from one place to another, but it also felt like she hardly moved at all. To the world outside, no time elapsed. One moment she glared at the wet stone surface and in that same exact moment, she was inside. To her, the transition was slightly slower. It felt like it took about a sequel, maybe two, as her soul dragged across spacetime through the massive walls till she could clearly see the darkness of the building’s interior, with faint red lights flashing from somewhere down the hallway.
When it was over, when she was whole again, her heart thumped rapidly, and she gasped. She’d done it.
She was in.
* * *
She put both knees and both hands on the ground, gasping.
Surging was not easy.
With mouth hanging open, she looked around. The hall was dark and empty, but it was only a matter of time till she ran into the occupants, and she would have to defend herself alone.
The wall behind her gave a dull thump. The battle continued. And if the Nightwatchmen failed to hold their ground, she’d die inside alone, executed by redhelms. She shook her head and thought back to the floor plans Benton had obsessively reviewed with her, now feeling grateful for the over-preparation. She stood and dashed off toward the flashing red lights, gasping for more breath.
As she rounded the corner, a PSD officer was suddenly facing her—a young woman, probably about her same age. The officer’s eyes got wide, preparing to yell.
Kalh grabbed at the air, constricting the young woman’s throat.
The officer clutched at her own neck, unable to find the thing that choked her. She collapsed to her knees, crawling toward Kalh, her eyes staring desperately.
Kalh backed up, keeping out of reach while maintaining her grip.
It took a long time, much too long, but the officer’s face went toward despair and then morphed into confusion. Sweat glistened on her brow and the veins began to bulge. Her pallor dropped in shade. Finally, she passed out on the cold stone floor of the Athenaeum, her body giving one final shudder.
In a few moments the officer would wake, feeling weak, maybe unable to move at first, perhaps confused, disoriented, and, with any luck, not remembering exactly what happened. Was this the only way—either to be enslaved to their violence or to return it in kind? But Kalh had to do it. The alternative was to risk going back to Building 13.
She turned the next two corners without incident and found herself outside of the glass of the broadcast room. She entered, found a chair, and wedged it against the door handle. Then she sat in another chair and scooted it up to the console. With the weight off her feet, she again became aware of her exhaustion. Surging always took a heavy toll, and her body hadn’t completely recovered from the damage in Building 13 yet either.
As she prepared to initiate the relay, she felt a dark feeling, as if someone were watching her. She swivelled her chair and stared warily at the glass wall at her back. No one was there. Only low lights illuminated the hallway beyond.
She turned back to the instrument panel and began hitting dials as she’d trained.
She’d already gained more fame and infamy than she ever wanted. This act would increase those monumentally. Her relay would go across a wide band of audio and video frequencies, reaching most of Solace and probably much of the rest of the galaxy. She knew no other course than to fulfill her part.
She punched the final keys:
Platform initiated.
Just like that, the broadcast was live.
What if she called and no one came? What if her words didn’t ignite their hearts? The sequels counted up, ticking one after another. She had to speak now. This was her time, the moment that counted most.
“People of Solace, this is Kalhette Whitesun.”
Her voice sounded timid.
She imagined kids in classrooms, like the ones she’d taught on Sream, hearing her voice. She imagined people in homes and pilots in freighters and miina on the starside, each tuning in to what she was saying. They’d won this power at a cost, the power to speak freely, even when those words were considered treason.
So she had to somehow make it count.
She had too.
She fought against her feelings of weakness, instead willing confidence into her own heart. She leaned closer to the microphone, speaking softly, enunciating clearly and now more boldly:
“In the name of safety and protection, the PSD has been monitoring its people. Here on Solace, that surveillance led to arrests and charges of sedition. It led to PSD citizens being held indefinitely without trial. It led to the Solace Sunset and more recently the Shartrinn Massacre. People murdered in cold blood were called agitators. People demanding their own independence were called traitors. Some of them may have been your friends. Some of them were mine.”
As she spoke, her melancholy returned, a sadness that then fueled an indignant anger. This spirit filled her as she stepped more fully into her role, and her confidence grew. She leaned at the microphone, raising her voice.
“Many galactic citizens withdrew because of the danger of speaking the truth. People with a shared mindset were isolated from each other, our unity shattered. I’ve known this struggle personally. I was thrown into the dungeons of the Strand simply because I had the potential to commit a crime. A bureaucracy put chains on my wrists and on my mind, believing they could govern my life better than I could.
“Well now I’ve escaped. I’m speaking to you from the Athenaeum in New Kingstrong. Our forces have captured armories in Nosaui, Delasiin, Bronse, Franu, and Haas. We will soon have control of our surge gate. With these retaken grounds, we have reclaimed the basic right to speak our minds. We’ve thrown off tyrannical control for a moment, but this may not be enough.”
In the dark room, a pale blue glow fell on her shaved crown, casting her shadow onto the floor. Her hazel eyes reflected a white gleam.
“One by one, they have conquered our whole planet. Each of us alone cannot withstand a force so terrible. Isolated, we’re all doomed to slavery. But if we unite, they cannot withstand us. Our populace numbers in the hundreds of millions. As each individual stands, as we create a massive harmony, we become a force that cannot be dominated—”
She gasped.
And the people listening surely heard her.
She’d felt something like the icy breath of doom on her neck, which caused her to leap up so forcefully that the chair went spinning to the side.
She jerked her prism free, and her eyes glowed.
In a blinding flash, the blade roared to life, casting its rays through the glass wall.
The light revealed a miin crawling on all sixes in the hallway beyond the glass. His dark fur blended easily with the shadows, and his intent was clear—she could feel the violence of it.
Then she recognized him. He’d helped Taiberos and the Witch Hunters capture her on Sream. The same one.
She hadn’t finished her speech. She hadn’t spoken the climax. She at least wanted to tell people she was okay. Only she couldn’t turn her eyes from this threat.
He rose from all sixes onto just two feet, like a human. On his hind legs, he towered over her. He lifted two paws on the left side. In them he held a prism. His eyes began to glow white just like hers. Then his fiery psykatana blazed to life. Not many miina could do that. In fact, few of any species could. With a mighty swing, he bashed the blade into the glass wall, and the pieces went flying.
She waved an arm, pressing with kinosis to keep the projectiles from cutting into her skin.
The miin stomped through the broken glass, glaring.
She remembered how they’d locked eyes in that conference room on Sream, how she’d begun to believe he might be an ally sent from Benton. These were the same eyes now, only this time their true quality showed, glowing with hypocrisy. “Your friends rescued you from the Strand.”
“Yes.” She didn’t know why she answered him. The courtesy seemed instinctual.
“The building’s on lockdown. They won’t help you this time.”
“You’re the one who’s going to need help.”
“Well, I brought a friend.” Below those wicked glowing eyes, he grinned an ugly alien grin.
She glanced behind him.
White mechanical armor reflected the light from her psykatana. A Witch Hunter came walking from the shadows. He held a rifle in hand, aimed at her face, a full-length weapon with a snub-nosed stun gun attachment beneath. Extra gear and other mechanical contraptions hung from his shoulders and waist. He was human beneath all that, only he wouldn’t act human toward her.
They closed in.
She had nowhere to run. Because one of her own had turned against her. “You’re a radiance, and you’re helping them?”
The miin nodded with smug satisfaction. He’d probably even used his abilities in the Song to ferret her out back on Sream.
“You’re a hypocrite and a traitor.”
“I’m no traitor.” His voice was the deep growl of a predator. “I maintain allegiance to myself, and I’m smart enough to side with the winners. More than I can say for you.” At that, he lunged at her, chopping down with his glowing blade.
She caught the attack against her own psykatana, and the two locked together with immense friction. She shoved against him, launching herself back.
His strength was incredible. Shining fury glowed in his alien eyes. “No, you idiot. Not while she’s near me!”
He must’ve been talking to the Witch Hunter behind her. It meant she wouldn’t be fired upon as long as she stayed close to the miin.
She made the next attack, banging aggressively with her weapon.
People still listening to the broadcast would’ve heard all the sounds of the fight.
The miin moved to the side, changing the line of attack.
She faced him, parrying his counter. The force of each impact felt like it was bruising her bones. Her arms hadn’t healed all the way. They weren’t ready for this kind of trauma.
The miin continued moving, forcing her to face him, leaving her more and more exposed to the white-clad Witch Hunter behind.
She wanted to withdraw, to put her back to the broadcast console, but if she allowed for too much distance, she would be shot.
The miin jabbed again.
She turned toward him, bringing her blade up defensively.
He shoved hard against her.
That was all it took.
She stumbled back, leaving some small distance between the two of them.
A blast came from the Witch Hunter’s rifle.
It played out just like it had on Sream, like a recurring nightmare. The gun coughed its low, rumbling BOOM! The shot moved so fast it caused the air to ripple in a tight cone, so she could see it, moving much too quickly for her to get out of the way.
The ripples impacted hard against her nervous system.
Her muscles locked.
And just like that, it was over.
She collapsed helplessly onto the floor.
23. Rebel Assault
Nak held the steering yoke with one hand.
Colorful streaks lit up the black sky, beams going in all directions. The surge gate shined brightly whenever it flashed into view. It was the center of this whole operation.
Nak shouted into his comms: “Knix, watch your back!” His bodyweight doubled as he banked The Spirit upward—he aimed the laser cannons on the bowsprit by maneuvering the ship. As he brought the enemy fighter into focus, he pulled the trigger. Yellow beams flashed out from beneath his feet, sending a squealing vibration, which he felt through his chair. His shot made contact, the last of many.
The goeb looked like a disc zipping through space. When its shields failed, Nak’s lasers penetrated the hull. Nak kept firing furiously till he hit its fuel batteries. They ignited, and the goeb silently exploded in a burst of light. As quickly as the flames appeared, they gulped up the spilled oxygen and vanished again, swallowed by the empty vacuum of space. The particles of what had been a ship splashed outward, roughly following the trajectory of its final breath. Nak’s dashboard then showed one less red diamond on it.
“Thanks.” Knix’s voice came through the white headphones.
Without a moment of celebration, Nak spun The Spirit and locked on another target.
