The First Spark (Dynasty of Fire Book 1), page 8
“I understand you need a win.” Kalie raised her chin. “I can give you one.”
“What do you propose, then?”
Kalie opened her mouth, but her voice failed her. Her body betrayed her by shaking. She’d negotiated countless deals, but Aunt Calida or one of her advisors had always guided her. Now she was alone, and one misstep could end her life. No one was coming to save her.
Everything rested on her shoulders. Everything.
If she failed, if she died, a war of revenge was not the only outcome.
Carik could install a puppet on Dali and raze the world so many called paradise.
Or Selene would become Duchissa, and her greed would plunge the world into ruin.
She needed to think quickly. She had to keep Dali, that was non-negotiable. No puppet of Carik’s would ever sit the throne while she lived. There was no way in hell she was letting Carik call her the murderer of her family. But the vow she’d made was what he feared, and if she had any chance of saving Dali, she’d have to sacrifice her revenge.
Kalie clenched her teeth.
Someday, she would make Carik pay. But that would not be today.
“I—I’m willing to—”
Her voice cracked, and she dug her nails into her skin. Normally, this was where Uncle Jerran would take over. But he wasn’t here now, so she forced herself to take a deep breath and start again.
“I’m willing to recognize Carik as the Prime Minister of the Federation if he recognizes me as Calida’s heir and the rightful Duchissa of Dali. The bogus charges against me will be dropped, and I will return to Dali at once. If any harm has come to the people on the Chimaera, they’ll be freed; they committed no crime.” Kalie gave Krii a quick once-over, taking in his military-grade watch, his polished boots. “For your leniency, Admiral, I will grant you ten million credits. And, of course, you can take full responsibility for the success of our negotiations.”
Krii pivoted. His agitated pacing slowed.
Kalie inhaled deeply, wishing she could avoid what came next. As she exhaled, she forced the words out. They tasted like poison, acidic and bitter.
“I will, as you demanded, issue a formal deca—declaration—” her nails bit into her palm at the stumble—don’t think about it, just don’t think— “that the Federation and Prime Minister Carik had no role in the deaths of Senator Pool and my aunt the Duchissa.”
An acid taste burned her mouth. Aunt Calida had raised her. Lexie was like her sister. The idea that she’d never get justice for their deaths was a dagger to the heart. It wasn’t fair.
But if she wanted to walk away from this alive, she’d have to let it go. For now.
“And,” Kalie continued, as a knot formed in her throat, “I will declare that the attack on my fleet in Sector Five was not led by the Federation, but by pirates or rebels, your pick, who wanted to rob my convoy and hold me for ransom.”
Ariah.
That was the worst blow of all. Her best friend, her sister, the one she’d cried to, fought with, and sought advice from. Ariah was loyal to the end, and this was how she repaid that loyalty: by agreeing to let her memory die in the darkness of space. No one else would mourn her sister, not like Marcus or Aunt Calida or Lexie. No one would remember Ariah, because no one had ever truly known her.
Carik would never pay the price for Ariah’s murder. That wound would never heal.
Krii raised his eyebrows, and Kalie swallowed thickly. He would not let her go unless she agreed to one last, critical term.
“If there’s war…” Her voice gave out, and she cleared her throat. “Dali will remain loyal to the Federation. I will commit all of our resources to Carik’s cause.”
“And if Etov is on the side of the rebels?”
For now, she had no choice but to give Krii the answer he wanted. “I’d beg my father to see reason. If that failed, I’d remain loyal to the Prime Minister and hope I wouldn’t face my family on the battlefield.”
Krii studied her.
Kalie’s hands shook, and she locked them together, meeting Krii’s scrutinizing gaze with a blank stare. The terms were the best Carik could hope for. Krii would be a fool not to agree.
“I consent to your terms, on one more condition. Carik will need an assurance of your good behavior. If you go back to Dali, there’s nothing stopping you from discarding these terms and declaring war anyway. I want hostages, as a symbol of good faith.”
Kalie’s mouth fell open. She almost refused on the spot.
But negotiations were a battlefield, and she’d already gained ground. She’d watched Aunt Calida trade and barter, haggle over terms. She could do the same.
The future of Dali depended on it.
So she nodded.
The dance began.
“I think we’d better ask for your brother, Prince Theron, as a hostage. That’ll keep you and your father in line.”
Kalie bit the inside of her cheek. Danae was the only child Father loved, and even for her, he wouldn’t hand over his Crown Prince.
“My father won’t give him up.”
Krii’s pulser twitched towards her. “Perhaps you should compel him.”
“My sister.” Kalie injected a tremor into her voice, to make the lies sound like truth. “Selene is my father’s favorite child. If he did surrender Theron to your custody, he’d sacrifice him in the end. He has another son, a spare. But the child he and my mother love most is Selene. If you take her, my father will never risk a revolt.”
‘Nor would I’ would be laying on the lies a little too thick.
Kalie held his gaze, keeping her arms resting on the chair. She tried to channel honesty into her expression, her posture. In a dark, twisted way, it would benefit both her and Carik. As long as her favorite child was held hostage, Mother would use whatever scraps of power Father gave her to prevent a revolt against Carik. And if Selene was in Carik’s hands, she’d be incapable of causing any problems for Dali.
“Our intelligence indicates that your half-sister Danae is the Emperor’s favorite.” Krii’s voice was distant, but his focus was sharp. “Perhaps we should take her.”
Kalie’s heart faltered, but cycles of practice kept her face blank.
“His bastard?” The disdain in her tone, the curl to her lip—all of it was a careful study in dismissal. It hurt her to do so, but she scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Danae is nothing. My father only keeps her around because he swore an oath to her mother, a courtesan he bedded. Take her off his hands. You’d be doing him a favor.”
Krii tilted his head. “Alright. We’ll take Princess Selene. And Governor Roth, he’s too powerful to be left out.”
Kalie’s knuckles turned white on the armrests. Uncle Jerran was out of the question. He was the ruler of Dali in all but name. Without him, she would be nothing but a title, trampled over by nobles who’d grown too powerful. Carik would be able to invade easily.
Before she could think of a way to spin it and exclude Uncle Jerran from the agreement, the door burst open.
Kalie looked over her shoulder, and her heart all but stopped.
It was Wells.
His hands were braced behind his head. The dark-haired woman standing behind him jabbed him forward with her pulser, and his grime-caked legs trembled with every step. He’d clearly been shot. Stained bandages were wrapped around his arm and patches were taped over his skin. Blood dribbled from a nasty gash above his eye.
Guilt churned in Kalie’s stomach.
He was an arrogant, disgusting wretch, and when he’d said good riddance about Aunt Calida’s death, she’d wished him dead… but holy gods, she hadn’t meant it.
“Sergeant Vega.” Krii looked bewildered. “What’s this?”
The woman, Vega, snapped off a salute. “I’ve apprehended her accomplice, sir. My team caught him hiding out on the Chimaera.”
“Interesting.” Krii flicked his hand. “Find out what he knows, and if he refuses to cooperate, schedule him for execution.”
“He’s—he’s not my accomplice,” Kalie protested, as two legionnaires stomped towards Wells. She lurched to her feet. Rifles whipped towards her, and her pulse thundered, but she didn’t flinch away. No one else could die for her. “He was trying to stop me—he—he chased me through the tunnels—”
Wells grunted. Vega had stopped between the high countertops.
Vega winked.
Wells mouthed, down.
As all hell broke loose, Kalie dove for cover.
Pulsers shrieked and blasts roared above her. Panting, she crawled across the carpet. A laser flew close enough to singe her hair. She whimpered, dropping flat on the floor. There was no cover near her. The room was so open.
A table.
Kalie lunged, catching one of the metal legs. She tugged; it wobbled and lurched over.
She rolled out of the way. Another blast sailed past her, and she scrambled behind the overturned table.
Behind the cover of the tabletop, Kalie gasped for air. It didn’t go into her lungs.
She peeked around the corner.
The legionnaires had no cover on their half of the room, but Wells and Vega each crouched behind an onyx counter. Red blasts peppered the dark wall behind them. Krii’s crumpled corpse bled out into the carpet’s golden logo. It was a horrible sin to thank the gods for a death, but she did anyway.
The legionnaires paused their fire, inching forward.
Wells and Vega popped up with their pulsers ablaze.
Red bolts lit the room. Pulsers shrieked, blasts wailed. Smoke twisted up her nose.
Kalie weighed the distance to the closed door. Too far.
But she didn’t have a choice. She’d prayed to the gods to save her, and this was probably her only chance.
Another legionnaire fell, landing beside Krii’s motionless body.
Kalie tried to push herself up. She couldn’t get her legs to move.
Someone screamed. Not Wells or Vega; they were still shooting. Wells had dropped into a crouch, firing around the corner of his counter. His blast struck a legionnaire in the arm. Vega’s finished him off.
Kalie could’ve sworn the woman smirked.
A legionnaire popped up from behind cover. Their blasts struck him as one.
Six corpses littered the floor. The room was still.
Rising to her feet, she let out a sigh of relief. There had been six legionnaires. They’d got them all.
Breaths rattled in Kalie’s ear as an arm snaked around her neck. Soul-crushing cold swept through her veins. Too late, her gaze landed on Krii’s body. Six corpses, but not all six legionnaires.
Something cool pressed against her temple, paralyzing her. Every hair on her skin stood on end. A band of pressure closed around her ribs, making it impossible to breathe, not that she would’ve dared try.
There was a pulser jammed against her skull.
She could’ve cried. Not again. This couldn’t happen again.
Wells’s eyes narrowed, and he rose with his pulser outstretched. “Don’t move, Hannover.”
“I’ll pull the trigger!” the legionnaire barked. “Drop your—”
Heat seared her cheek, and a shrill shriek pierced her eardrum. The pulser fell away. Vibrations shot up her legs as something thudded to the floor.
Blinking rapidly, not daring to breathe, Kalie turned.
A smoking hole was carved between the soldier’s eyes.
Vega rose to her feet. Smoke blew from her pulser.
The tinny shot rang in Kalie’s ears, and her cheek burned from the laser’s searing heat. That was too close. Way too close.
Vega dusted off her filthy black uniform. “Four.”
“Three.” Wells jerked his head towards Krii’s corpse. “But he counts as two.”
Kalie gawked at them. They were comparing kills. Wonderful. She’d traded legionnaires for people who made a game out of murder.
Vega scoffed. “Yes, but I saved her, so that’s an extra—”
Alarms whined. Pain jolted through Kalie’s skull, and she clapped her hands to her ears. Vega’s grin slid away as Wells’s expression hardened.
“We need to get out of here.” Vega grabbed a device from her pocket, a thick piece of metal resembling a remote. “I’ll take you one at a time. Grab my hand. You’ll go first.”
Kalie tensed. “Go where?”
Vega snatched her arm, and nausea crashed over Kalie as she lurched into a black void of nothingness. Panic crushed her lungs. Vega floated beside her, rigid, her lips set in a flat line. Arcs of color sprang to life and danced around them. Whistling wind rushed against Kalie’s skin, but all she could focus on was the pure terror coursing through her veins.
Bile lurched into her mouth. Within seconds, it was over.
Stargate Route 219, Sector 7
Decemmensis-9, 817 cycles A.F.C.
Pain jolted through Kalie’s bones as she slammed into the floor. The impact knocked the wind out of her. Gasping, she rolled over. Patched leather couches, a low table, a dusty holoprojector—everything was shaking. The holopad sitting on top of the projector wobbled closer to the edge. Tremors ran along the steel floor, vibrating through her, and as the ship lurched violently, the holopad fell and cracked. Kalie winced, but roaring thrusters drowned out the clatter.
Thrusters. She was on a ship.
Kalie pushed herself up, but before she could ask, Vega’s skin glowed golden and she disappeared.
She was using a transporter.
Kalie gaped at the spot where she’d disappeared. Prototypes had been around for a few cycles, but the technology hadn’t hit the market yet. Even Aunt Calida hadn’t been able to get her hands on one.
A legionnaire wouldn’t have that sort of tech. A legionnaire wouldn’t have shot Admiral Krii either, yet he’d known her by name.
Heavy metal footfalls thudded behind her.
Kalie spun, and her eyes widened. A humanoid aibot that appeared to be held together by its sheer force of will stood behind her, clutching a pulser in its spindly arm.
The pulser was pointing at her head.
“Intruder,” the aibot drawled, in a monotone voice. “Identify yourself or be destroyed. Five… four… one!”
“Wait! Don’t shoot!” Kalie yelped, raising her hands. There was a door on her right. Close, but not close enough. “I’m Princessa Kalista Hannover. Some woman transported me here. Vega—Vega, right? She brought me—”
Vega popped into existence next to Kalie, swearing like a drunken smuggler. Wells dropped to the floor at her feet.
“Get us out of here, Cybel,” Vega gasped, pressing a hand to her chest.
The aibot lowered its pulser and marched across the cabin. Kalie breathed in the sterile scent of metal.
Then the sight caught up with her.
Wells was gasping. He clutched at his arm as blood bubbled between his fingers.
Vega staggered across the room and braced herself against the wall.
Burgundy box braids rippled across her head, replacing her glossy black curls. She groaned and strained, clutching a pipe that spanned the wall, and Kalie’s mouth fell open as Vega grew. Her rapid panting turned into muted cries as her lithe figure morphed into a tall, muscular woman.
Wells placed a hand on Vega’s shoulder.
“Breathe, Mira,” he said, rubbing her arm. Blood stained his sleeve and pain warped his face. “Breathe.”
Vega turned, and Kalie’s mouth fell open. Her tawny skin had morphed into a darker brown. Agony twisted her hard features.
Shapeshifter. Kalie edged away, glancing at the sealed exit ramp. Shapeshifters couldn’t really exist.
Vega’s chest heaved. “The cybermod—”
Kalie did a double take. The floor rumbled beneath her, and she nearly lost her balance. Vega had a transporter and a cybermod?
“It exploded, broke the morph—”
A thunderous jolt rocked the ship, and Kalie crashed into the floor. A booming explosion drowned out the roaring thrusters. The world swam around her as she pushed herself up, shaking her head to clear her vision. Alarms flashed red and screeched through the ship’s dingy cabin.
Vega bolted through an open door. Wells hobbled after her, wincing with each step. His lips moved, but the sound didn’t reach her ears.
He vanished through the door.
Kalie stood, wobbled on her feet, and pressed a hand to her sweat-soaked forehead.
“Thruster’s out, dammit!”
Vega’s voice hadn’t changed with her.
Another blast rocked the ship, and Kalie caught herself against a rusted ladder. The metal was rough and flaky under her palms.
If that was the only thruster, they wouldn’t be able to move. Whoever was attacking them, probably Carik’s minions, would destroy the ship. They’d saved her, sure, but Wells was only out for himself. She didn’t know what to make of Vega, but someone who made killing a competition didn’t seem trustworthy.
Explosions boomed beyond the shaking walls.
“Thirty degrees, portside!” Wells roared. “Blast them!”
There had to be an escape pod here. Any ship this size would have one, especially if it had fighting capabilities.
Kalie’s pulse hammered in her ears. There weren’t any doors in the sleek kitchenette, which—if she overlooked the shattered plates sliding across the floor—was the only decent part of the rundown ship. Bright light shone through the open door beside it, where Vega had disappeared. That had to be the cockpit.
Sidestepping the metal column at the center of the room, Kalie scanned the far wall. Four metal doors, all scratched and chipped, spanned the wall between the folded-up ramp and the cockpit. Those were out. An escape pod usually had an airlock door to defend it. There was an airlock door next to the ramp, but that spot was always reserved for a boarding tube.
An impact hurled her into a battered chest of drawers. Pain pulsed down her spine. Groaning, she pushed herself into a crouch.
Beneath a filthy old rug was a sunken yellow hatch with three concentric dials.
