Epilogue

Ines entered Mek’s bar, unsure of what she sought there. Not another job—she had more than enough money from her last mission. Considering how it had turned out, she was in no mood to get involved in anything else. She glanced at the ceiling, wondering what Mek had named his bar that night.

She blinked, startled by the word: Winterreise.

Must be a coincidence. She walked to the bar. Looking up, she saw that Mek had tuned the screen behind the bar to a news channel. A video of Marcus Streger at a corporate-looking event splashed across it, and the headline along the bottom stated: “Chief Architect of Acuitas dies in tragic accident.”

So that’s the story they’re going with. Ines found it somewhat amusing how little the rest of the galaxy knew. In all likelihood, few people would ever know the truth about what had happened with Streger, Rourke, and Sector 1708. The death of someone as famous as Streger was big news, and people would undoubtedly research his life in order to write books and stage holodramas, but they would never know just how fucked up he’d been.

The bartender bot approached Ines. She glanced at it. “Flamethower, straight.”

The bot beeped and floated off.

“Flamethrower, eh?” Mek approached. “You must’ve had a rough day.”

“Every day’s a rough day.” Ines leaned her elbows on the bar. “What’re you doing out here anyway? Someone request a room?”

“Nah, came to see my new act’s first performance.” He jerked his head at the stage. “She’ll be going on in five.”

Ines turned. What the hell?

Sitting at a table by the stage was none other than Jane Colt, all dolled up in a sparkling violet dress. Her copious hair, appearing almost black in the dim light, framed her face.

In the chair beside her, Adam Palmer handed her a blinking slate. A metal mask covered almost half his face, stretching across his forehead and down his cheek. A metal crown around his head secured the mask in place. Ines recognized the mask as the type usually used by those disfigured by scars or burns. A white bandage covered the side of his neck.

What happened to him? Ines regarded Adam, the first lifelike AI she’d ever seen. She supposed she should have marveled at the technological wonder or recoiled at the thought of artificial life, but she found herself unable to care. He seemed like any other kid, unremarkable and quite ordinary. Her only conclusion was that he and Jane must have pissed off someone powerful, since they’d ended up on Asylum.

Hoping to catch some hint of the reason behind their presence on the Rogue Planet, Ines kept her gaze in their direction as Jane swiped the slate on the table in front of her. In case they glimpsed her, Ines kept her eyes unfocused.

“Riley!” Jane sounded excited. “Did you find him?”

A boyish voice responded from the slate, “You bet I did!”

Jane pulled the slate close, as if anxious. “Where is he?”

“Yo, chill. He’s in a hospital on Caoine.”

Jane relaxed visibly. Adam did as well. Ines had a feeling she knew whom they were concerned with. She turned away as the bartender bot returned with her drink.

“Why’s he at the hospital?” Jane’s voice rose with worry.

“Uh… He’s pretty banged up.” Riley sounded nervous. “Been out since he arrived. I can send you his medical report, but basically, he got shot really bad and lost a ton of blood.”

“He’s been unconscious this whole time? How’d he get to the hospital?”

“No idea. From what I found, he showed up randomly in the emergency room.”

Ines took a swig of her drink, wishing she could block her ears. She’d come to Mek’s bar for an escape, not a reminder. She noticed Mek watching her and threw him a cross look. “What?”

“Something’s troubling you.” Mek peered into her eyes. He was trying to read her—he’d always seemed overly concerned with her.

“None of your fucking business.”

“I get it. You want to be alone.” Mek sighed. “Just consider this, Dancer: What if you’re not alone?”

Ines looked up with a scowl. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean you still have time to prevent tomorrow’s regrets.” Mek ran his fingers through his white hair. “What I wouldn’t give for your youth!”

The old man’s waxing philosophical. Ines turned her attention to her drink to avoid his gaze. He may have envied her youth, but she envied his certainty. He’d found his place in life and settled down somewhere he belonged. As for her—the future held more what-ifs than she cared to handle. Mek would probably tell her that it was better to have what-ifs lying ahead than haunting the past, but Ines found it easier to accept the unchangeable past than deal with the pressures of the ever-moving future.

She glanced up and saw that Mek had walked away.

“Thanks, Riley.” Jane sounded relieved. Ines realized she’d missed part of the conversation, but she didn’t care. From the topic, nothing Jane said would tell Ines how she’d ended up a fugitive. “Take care of him, will you?” Jane’s voice was soft. “I don’t know if I’ll ever… I mean… Just keep an eye on him for me, okay?”

“Sure thing.” Riley’s voice carried a hint of pride. “I’ll keep you updated.”

Ines downed the rest of her drink, hoping it would silence the irksome part of her that itched to tell Jane what had happened. What good would that do? She slammed the glass onto the bar.

She’d jumped into her Silverside and sped away from the Pride. She’d done her job, and what happened next, as she’d reminded herself repeatedly, wasn’t her fucking problem. Pretender had created the mess, and she shouldn’t have given a fuck about whatever became of him.

Except she did. As she flew from the condemned Moray, she felt a tugging in her chest, as though she’d left part of herself behind. With each additional light-second, the tugging grew stronger, until she couldn’t bear it anymore.

Fuck.

She’d flipped the Silverside and flown back to the Pride. It was God’s will, she’d told herself. It had to be—why else would she care? After all the lives she’d taken, He demanded that she save just one. After all, her duty was to protect the innocents, and while Pretender didn’t exactly fall into that category, he wasn’t among the wicked, either. Abandoning him would have been the same as killing him, and God wouldn’t allow it.

As she neared, she glanced at the place where Pretender had docked, hoping his ship would be gone. It was still latched onto the Moray’s side, which meant he was on board. She swore. Not much time remained before the self-destruct sequence began. Pretender could be anywhere on the Moray. If she entered the ship and didn’t find him, all she would do was get herself blown up. She tried telling herself that was a good reason to turn away, but the need to continue overpowered her.

I’m fast. I’ll get out in time.

Through her window, she noticed the end of the Moray’s second starcar. From the positions of the mechanisms, the third starcar of the Moray had detached; the cowardly Streger must have run away. Ines steered her Silverside toward the front of the first starcar, figuring that way, she’d run into Pretender if he headed back to his ship. “Activate invasion protocol.”

“Invasion protocol activated,” the computer responded.

A red circle with crosshairs appeared on the viewscreen. Ines angled her ship so that they fell on a wide, flat area. She accelerated.

The sharp front of her Silverside crashed into the Moray’s hull, piercing it. Ines lurched forward from the impact, and the straps of her safety belt cut into her torso. No matter how many times she pulled that move, it was never pleasant. A flashing red circle appeared across the viewscreen. The ship hummed as it locked against the Pride and sealed off any breaches.

Ines unbuckled herself and stood. She pushed a lever on the controls. Beeping alarms told her it wasn’t safe to exit yet, but she ignored them. The countdown wouldn’t wait for the magnetic seals to find every crack she’d created in the Moray’s hull and close them off, making the tunnel airtight. According the control screen, the remaining breaches were small. She’d be all right.

A hatch beneath her slid open, leading to a short tunnel. She crawled out, entering a room on the Pride, and straightened. Pretender had evidently been that way, since the room’s door lay flat on the ground, its edges charred by laser blasts. She sprinted out the doorway.

“Pretender!”

No response. She raced down the corridor, following the blasted doors and calling for Pretender.

“Three minutes to self-destruct.”

Good, I have some time. Ines continued running, not bothering to look inside the rooms unless the doors were open. Pretender would have no reason to enter a room and close the door behind him.

Maybe he was on the third starcar when it detached. That was a logical possibility, but some instinct within her refused to believe it. Every fiber of her being pressed her to keep going. But she didn’t have time to cover the entire top level.

She stopped by the doorway to a stairwell. “Pretender!”

Again, no response.

“Two minutes to self-destruct.”

Figuring he would have responded if he were nearby, she ran down a flight of stairs and searched the starcar’s second level. Each time her shouts were met with silence, part of her wanted to believe that he’d left already, but each time, a fierce drive within pushed her to continue.

Another stairwell greeted her ahead. Though she’d only covered a fraction of the level she was on, she should have heard some sign of him if he were there. She dashed down to the lowest level.

“One minute to self-destruct.”

I’ve been in more dire situations. Once again, she found herself racing through empty corridors and shouting at the top of her lungs. She cursed the Moray for being so large. After calling for Pretender one more time, she decided he couldn’t be on the first starcar. If he were, I would have encountered him or heard him by now.

She crossed the tunnel between starcars and entered the second. “Pretender!”

The sonuvabitch still didn’t respond. With time so short, he should have been heading for his Barracuda to flee, which meant he should have crossed her path. He must have been on that third starcar when it detached. Ten more seconds of this, then I’m getting out.

She swung around a corner, her lungs burning from the effort of running so quickly. A wide open door lay ahead, leading to a room with curved walls. She recognized it as a Moray’s crew lounge, which meant the open door on the other side of it led to the control room. No reason for him to be in there. If he were, he would have responded when I called.

She started to turn away. A splotch of dark liquid on the ground caught her eye. She froze, staring at it. The pool seemed to grow. Blood.

Her heart jumped. “Devin!” The name spilled out of her mouth.

She bolted into the room. He lay face down on the ground, his eyes closed. The blood flowed from his side, spreading toward her. A silent scream filled her head. Unable to see any injuries on his back, she dropped down beside him, grabbed his shoulders, and turned him over. Slipping her hands onto the torn part of his body armor, she felt a gaping wound and pressed her hands into it.

There was so much blood—her efforts were likely futile. She leaned forward and pressed her ear against his chest. A heartbeat. A soft breath rustled her hair.

He’s alive.

He didn’t have long. Neither did she. Seconds remained before the self-destruct sequence began. Dragging him back to the Silverside would take too long.

She took her hands off the wound to pull out her slate. Devin’s blood smeared the touchscreen as she swiped the emergency invasion icon, which would command her Silverside to disengage from wherever it was and ram into the slate’s location.

She flung the slate into the crew lounge to give the Silverside some space, then pressed her hands into Devin’s wound again.

“Self-destruct sequence initiated.”

A distant explosion. Ines closed her eyes. God, if I’ve done anything good in my life, hear me now. Let me fulfill Your command to save him.

Another explosion, close enough that heat scorched Ines’s skin. Her conscience scratched at her heart. She could lie to herself, but not to God. Though she tried to deny it, she knew the true reason she’d come back. Forgive me. I confess: I want to save him. God, please let me save him. So be it, truly.

A noise boomed through the air—not an explosion. The ground shook. The whoosh of escaping air filled her ears.

Ines opened her eyes. Wind swirled around her as air rushed from the breach created by the Silverside. The metal point of her ship protruded from the floor. The square entrance slid open. Thank You.

She’d managed to drag Devin onto the ship. Each second she’d spent at the controls had felt too long. After steering the Silverside away from the Moray, she’d set the autopilot and rushed to grab her medical kit. Sophisticated as her equipment was, she couldn’t count on her healing skills.

It had taken hours to reach the nearest IC system. She’d remained by Devin’s side the entire time, held there by the fear that if she left, he’d slip away. At the same time, she’d avoided looking at his face, for each time she did, her heart stirred in a way she wished it wouldn’t, and she didn’t dare un-cage those feelings. She’d followed them in the past, and they’d led her to nothing but misery.

The bartender bot collected Ines’s empty glass and asked if she wanted another.

“Yes. Same.” Ines stared blankly at the metal bar.

Caring was a liability. Yet she’d cared—enough to make a miserable attempt at doing something good. And enough to call Devin by his name. Since she had, she couldn’t go back to knowing him as Pretender. Names were more powerful than most realized. They were a piece of a person, an unshakable part of who they were. She’d denied his real name for a reason. Pretender was a fake merc with ISARK troubles and a willingness to pay. He was just a figure passing through her life. But Devin Colt was a person, a person she couldn’t get out of her head.

What a joke. He’s just a projection of a fantasy.

She would never see him again. Even if he ventured into the Fringe, she’d make sure their paths never crossed.

A girl’s voice wafted through the air, shimmering above the noise of the bar. Mek’s new act had taken to the stage.

 

Trusting still, though I’m deceived,

For all that’s real is what’s believed,

The rest, illusions…

 

Figuring she couldn’t avoid seeing Devin’s sister forever, Ines turned around. Jane stood alone center stage, singing to a crowd of marginally interested bar patrons. At the table in the front, Adam watched her. From the look on his face, he might have laid eyes on Heaven itself. Jane glanced down at him, and her lips lifted into a glowing smile. Ines could almost see the connection between them, a kind of bond meant for the innocent and hopeful, the kind she’d once yearned for but knew she could never have.

Unable to stand the sight, Ines turned back to the bar. The bot placed her second drink before her. She grabbed it, staring at her image in the bar’s reflective surface.

Ines Valentin stared back. Not Flame Dancer, not the Tenebrarum Woman, not the Lady Merc with Silver Armbands. Ines Valentin, whose shields had failed her, and who had emerged from her cell to save a life that shouldn’t have mattered.