My head’s pounding by the time we reach the World Ship, and I watch through the Vindicator’s viewscreen as the last sanctuary in the entire Milky Way comes into view.
Kal rests his hands on my shoulders, thumbs pressing in to find the spot at the base of my neck where I always carry my tension. He must have done this hundreds of times in the Echo, patiently talking me down from my fits of despair over Esh’s impossible training tasks. It feels so long ago.
Now we watch together as we draw closer to Sempiternity, a looming shadow floating against the backdrop of a brilliant rainbow nebula. At first, I think not much has changed in twenty-seven years—it’s still a hodgepodge of ships and stations bolted together, towers and satellites jabbing out into the black, docking tunnels twisting away from its body like trailing tentacles.
But it’s speckled all over with lights, except for the upper right-hand quarter. That part’s completely dark, and as we draw in closer and I get a better look, I can see it’s been blasted open to space, twisted and broken. The explosion—or the attack—must have been massive.
“Home,” Toshh murmurs from her seat beside me.
“Good place to keep your heart,” I say.
She looks at me strangely, one brow rising toward her horns.
“It’s an old Earth saying,” I smile. “Home is where the heart is.”
Over at the helm, Lae glances at Kal. “That would explain a great deal. Given what the Starslayer did to his own.”
Kal breathes deep at that, but he doesn’t call her on it. I suppose in an awful way it’s true. As I reach back and squeeze his hand, Lae glances at me, then to the boy beside me.
It’s a little strange when I look at her, to be honest. The other members of Tyler’s crew, even Ty himself … I can feel them in my head so easily now. Their feelings. The currents of their emotions, flowing together into a river all around me. But I can’t quite get a read on Lae. She keeps herself closed off, like she’s used her Waywalker powers to draw a veil over her mind.
She’s strong. Nothing like me or Caersan. But still …
She seemed to appreciate my help getting the rift drive going again, at least—ironically, I provided the “unsophisticated push” Caersan wants from me to transport the Weapon home. I’m not sure of the science of it—Lae was the one guiding us, I was the raw power, diving into that stream again, immolating and exhilarating. Together, we used the fragment of Eshvaren crystal in the Vindicator’s core to open a series of gates over a span of eight hours, jumping the ship half a dozen times across the gulf of space.
It required a fraction of effort from me. Almost inconsequential. But from the cracks around Lae’s eyes, I can tell how much it costs her every time they travel. Despite her hardcase attitude, that alone tells me she’s a good person. Everyone on Tyler’s crew is. Giving so much of themselves to bring survivors here.
The last piece of civilization in the galaxy.
“About damn time,” Tyler mutters.
I rise from my seat, standing at his shoulder as we cruise in closer to the World Ship. He glances at me, and for an instant his eye widens, breath catching, body tensing in the space between heartbeats.
“Tyler?” Half the crew frowns every time I use his name instead of his title, but I know switching to Commander isn’t the way to remind him we’re friends. I reach out for his hand. “You okay?”
“It’s nothing,” he replies, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’ve been in the Fold a long time. I’m too old for this shit.”
Fold psychosis. I’d forgotten. Aurora Legion squads form when the legionnaires are eighteen because by age twenty-five or so, more than seven hours in the Fold puts too much strain on you. It’s why I was in coldsleep on my way to Octavia—Fold psychosis is no joke. And Tyler’s in his late forties now. Which is just weird.
What did he just see when he looked at me?
What is it doing to him?
“Never thought I’d see this place again,” I say, offering him a small smile, diverting the conversation. It’s not just that I need him on my side. It’s that I can’t bear to see him like this. “Last time I saw this view, we were following my weird backward directions, didn’t even know why we were coming, let alone that we’d soon be pulling a heist, facing down the Great Ultrasaur of Abraaxis IV.”
“Wait,” says a voice behind us. Elin, the Betraskan, is sitting forward. “That chakk about the Great Ultrasaur was true?”
“You should have seen the pants your boss was wearing,” I reply.
Just for an instant I win a smirk from Elin. Then she remembers that I disappeared at the Battle of Terra and caused the end of everything, and her expression hardens again.
“You wouldn’t believe how many favors I ended up owing Dariel over the years,” Tyler says, something about him a touch softer. “He kept threatening to collect, but he never did.” He pauses a beat and then closes his eye, rubbing at the patch covering the other. “He died six years back on a retrieval mission.”
Kal comes up to stand beside me as I search for something, anything, to say to that. But as always, he fills the void for me.
“This place has seen many battles,” he murmurs.
Tyler nods. “The Ra’haam. We’ve fought at least fifty engagements with it. No matter where we hide, eventually it tracks us down.”
“But you fight it off each time?” Kal asks.
“Hell no. We run.” Tyler nods to the massive ship. “There’s a rift drive inside her. All the rest of the Eshvaren crystal we managed to scrounge. And every Waywalker left alive in the galaxy. When the Ra’haam appears, they open up a gate and fling Sempiternity as far away as they can.”
“Giving another piece of themselves each time they do so,” Lae says softly. “Until there is nothing left.”
Tyler looks at her with concern in his eyes, lips thin.
“But the Weeds always manage to find us again anyway,” Toshh growls. “Bastards can sense us. Smell us.”
Tyler nods. “Usually takes them around three weeks. A month if we’re lucky. The last time they hit us was only ten days back, so we should be safe in this location for a while.”
I’m horrified by the thought. Of never being safe. Never being able to rest. Always being hunted by that … thing that consumed my father. Cat. Octavia. And if it gets its way, everything else in the galaxy.
The power crackles at my fingertips. Every hair on my body stands up.
I can’t let this be the galaxy’s future.
I won’t.
“What can you tell us about the council we’ll be meeting?” I ask.
“The Council of Free Peoples,” Tyler replies. “There’s four sitting members. The three largest groups of survivors supply one each, and the smaller take turns to cycle in two representatives a year. So there’s a Syldrathi from the Watcher Cabal, a Betraskan, and a Rikerite—a politician, a pragmatist, and a warrior. And right now the minority rep is an Ulemna.”
“Humans are one of the minorities?” I ask, my heart curling in on itself.
“No,” he replies, eye on the station ahead. “We’re banned from the council. Elin, get on comms and notify Sempiternity command we’re inbound. And remind them about the massive Eshvaren crystal we have in tow so nobody pops the panic button and chucks a nuke in our direction.”
“Roger that, boss,” the Betraskan nods. “I’m presuming I still shouldn’t mention the planet-killing genocidal maniac aboard it?”
Tyler rubs his chin. “That’s probably more a face-to-face conversation.”
“Why?” I ask softly, as Elin sets to work on comms.
“You don’t think the Starslayer—”
“No, I mean why are we banned from the council?”
Finally Tyler takes his eye off the World Ship and looks to me. I can see how tired he is. How angry. How sad. “Because this is our fault, Auri. Octavia was our colony. We woke the Ra’haam early. And it consumed our colonists, and they managed to get back to Terra and spend the next two centuries infiltrating the GIA, and nobody fucking noticed. Those agents sliced the heads off every planetary government in the galaxy. Ruined any chance we had to cut the Ra’haam off at the root. And to top all that off, our Trigger disappeared with the only real Weapon we had at the battle where the tide turned.”
My breath’s shallowing and my legs don’t feel right—like I need to sit down, or else I’ll fall. All this, because of me—the smallest of their hurts, as well as the biggest. Kal’s arm goes around me, and I feel the gold and violet of his mind pressing in comfortingly against mine.
“Brother,” he says quietly. “The Terrans stumbled across the Ra’haam nursery through ill fortune. Who is to say any other race would have detected impostors? And Aurora abandoned no one. You are a commander, you are respected here. So there must be some room for understanding.”
“It’s taken me most of my life to prove myself,” Tyler replies. “Forgiveness is in short supply around here.”
“Do you think there’s any chance the council will help us?” I ask, trying to still the new wave of despair inside me.
“Anything’s possible,” Tyler replies. But he’s looking at Sempiternity again, and he won’t meet my eyes.
• • • • •
We stand off from Sempiternity for another hour before the council sends for Tyler. He boards the Vindicator’s shuttle and heads off to brief them, leaving us to a silent and uncomfortable wait among his crew.
After the third hour, word comes that they’re ready, and Lae and Toshh escort us to Sempiternity. We pull into one of the docking bays along the transparent umbilicals snaking out from the station—last time I was here, they were all full, different aliens endlessly coming and going. Fin and I talked about how his people live underground, and how he didn’t like the stars.
A sky full of ghosts, he said. His words were prophetic.
You’re not dead, I promise him silently. I’ll get back in time. I’ll change the way the story ends.
When we step off our shuttle, the Sempiternity survivors are waiting for us. The corridor is lined with bodies large and small, young and old, dozens of races, hundreds and hundreds of people. Every one of them is dressed in clothes that have been patched and mended to last through the decades, every one of them silent.
Their hollow stares follow us as we walk—Lae in front, Toshh and Dacca behind—and the weight of it is almost impossible to bear. This is all that’s left. These people. Out of everyone in the galaxy. I reach for Kal’s hand, just to feel his skin warm against mine.
It turns out the Council of Free Peoples meets in Casseldon Bianchi’s old ballroom. The lights have been turned on now, the swirling galaxies as long gone as the beautiful red dress I wore here that night. The fantastic aquarium that lined the walls is now full of frames and little buoys, seaweed and algae farms taking up every centimeter—they need it for the protein, I guess. To feed those thousands in the station outside. It’s a huge room, and rows of chairs suggest there’s usually an audience, but now our footsteps echo as we walk up to the table at the far end, where the four council members sit.
The Rikerite is at one end—he’s ancient, his horns sweeping back from his forehead and curling around so far they make up full circles, his expression lost in a sea of wrinkles. The warrior, Tyler called him.
Beside him is a Betraskan woman who doesn’t look that much older than me, her white hair buzzed short. She’s studying a tablet, and only looks up at us for a moment. The pragmatist.
The third is a Syldrathi from the Watcher Cabal, the first of those I’ve met. He looks to be in his fifties, immaculate braids matching his immaculate posture. His glyf is of two circles, one inside the other. The politician.
The last must be the Ulemna. I can’t make out much of them—they wear a dark brown hood drawn over their features, but I can see a pair of navy blue hands folded neatly on the table in front of them. Tyler didn’t say anything about the minority representative, and now I’m wishing I’d asked.
Tyler himself stands in front of the table already—Kal and I halt beside him, Toshh and Lae behind us. There are a handful of other Syldrathi around the room, glyfs of the Waywalker Cabal marked on their brows. They feel it a few moments after I do—all of them tensing, jaws clenching. I see Lae’s scowl darken as the energy around us shifts, the air before us thrums. She tosses a silver-gold braid off her shoulder, fist closing about her null blade’s hilt.
And in the middle of the room, Caersan appears.
It’s only a projection, of course, shimmering into focus like a mirage on a hot day. He’s not stupid enough to leave the Neridaa, to risk himself on a ship full of enemies. He stands like a dark shadow in the room’s heart, and the lights seem to dim around him. The Waywalkers bristle with hostility. The council members glower as one.
He glances around the room, radiating disdain.
“Let us commence,” he says.
Cold silence hangs in the room. The weight of countless lost lives. It’s the Syldrathi who finally breaks it, voice steady despite the rage in his eyes.
“Commander Jones has informed us of the circumstances of your arrival. Outlandish as your claims may seem, our Waywalkers have confirmed your identities.” His violet eyes roam over us all, lingering on the Starslayer. “So. What is it you want from us?”
“The Weapon we came here in is damaged,” I say. “We need to visit a spacetime anomaly in the Theta sector. It leads to a facility on the Eshvaren homeworld. If we can repair the Weapon anywhere, it’s going to be there.”
“Presuming the Ra’haam has not already destroyed this facility,” the Betraskan woman says. “You are certain you could return to your own time if the Weapon is repaired?”
Caersan is studying the Waywalkers around him, one by one, with something like … hunger in his eyes. So I reply.
“Yes, I could provide the propulsion, I think, while he steered.”
The woman leans forward, fingers steepled beneath her chin. “You are aware the Theta sector is completely overrun by the Ra’haam?”
I nod. “From what Tyler said, we’d need to fight our way in. And probably fight the Ra’haam off while we repaired the Weapon, too.”
Now the Rikerite speaks, his voice like a creaky door. “And by we, child, of course you mean us.” He looks between Caersan and me, scowling. “You want us to devote the last of our resources to helping you in what seems a mad gamble? Assuming these repairs can even be effected, who is to say your returning to the past will make any difference at all?”
“If we can make it back, we can destroy the Ra’haam before it ever gets a chance to bloom and burst,” I say, my voice echoing around the empty room. “This is what I’m here for. It’s what I was made to do.”
The Syldrathi shakes his head and sighs. “And yet, if you do not return to your own time safely, you doom not just yourself but everyone in this time as well. You ask us to risk extinguishing the last light in the galaxy.”
“You are already doomed, fool.”
All eyes turn as Caersan’s apparition speaks, his gaze roaming the room and assembled councilors.
“This is no sanctuary. This is a tomb. You hide here in the shadows, praying the true darkness does not find you. But it will. And all of you know it.”
The Watcher comes to his feet in one fluid movement. “You are present against my explicit objection, Starslayer. I will take no counsel from he who destroyed Syldra, who killed billions of her children in a single moment, who left those who survived alone and adrift.”
“Peace is the way the cur cries, ‘Surrender,’ Watcher,” Caersan growls.
“He is no cur,” the old Rikerite spits. “You know nothing of what we have suffered, Starslayer. Nothing of the price we have all paid.”
“I know you are being presented a chance to avoid that price. That suffering. One last glorious battle to be fought for the future of everything.” Caersan lifts his hands, then drops them slowly to his sides. “And still you tremble at the thought of it. Like children. Like cowards.”
The Watcher’s lip curls. “This, from the coward who could have faced the Ra’haam, but fled.”
Caersan turns toward the man, rage flaring, and the power seethes through me, hot and vibrant and deafening. I throw up a mental barrier between the Starslayer and the defiant council members in front of him, my midnight blue crackling as it meets his bloody red, the clash visible for a blink, bringing the Betraskan and the Rikerite to their feet as the Waywalkers, Toshh, Tyler, and Lae lift their weapons as one.
Kal steps forward, shouting, “Father!”
For an instant I feel the fury that flashes through my love’s mind, his instinct for combat. But Caersan only chuckles softly, and his power ebbs. Slowly, I lower my guard, the tension in the air fading.
The Waywalkers around the Starslayer are pale, sharing uneasy glances—they know that they have no hope of overcoming Caersan now, or me. Lae is whispering in Tyler’s ear, one hand on his shoulder. The Watcher remains on his feet, his gaze on the man who murdered his people.
“This is their overture?” he scoffs, looking around at his fellow councilors. “We should send these beggars back to their ship at once.”
“Or,” I say urgently, butting in before the two of them can unzip and start comparing, “we can talk about how we can save lives. Not just yours. Not just ours. Everyone’s. Then and now. Believe me, I understand how you feel about the Starslayer. I feel the same way. But he’s the one who knows how to transport the Weapon back home. I don’t. We need him alive.”
“And if you reach your home?” the Rikerite asks. “What then?”
“Then Caersan and I will have a little … discussion,” I say.
The Starslayer’s projection watches me, cool and imperious. Even if we make it through this alive, somehow make it back to when we came from, we can both feel that conflict rushing toward us headlong. I know if I win, I’ll fire the Weapon. I’ll give everything I have to destroy the Ra’haam.
But mothercustard, that’s a big If.
“The simple fact is, I can’t get back to our own time without him. So please, please, hard as it is, we need to set whatever we’re feeling aside and figure out a way to pull this off.”
The Rikerite shakes his head. “You ask much.”
“She asks for nothing she is not willing to give herself,” Kal replies.
“… Meaning what?”
I square my shoulders, breathe deep. “Meaning it’s—it’s not a renewable resource. This power inside us. We can only use it so many times before we …” I trail off, my hand lifting to the cracks around my eye. “Firing the Weapon enough times will kill the Trigger.”
Kal squeezes my hand. I try not to dwell on the fear in his eyes.
“You see?” Caersan sneers. “Even this girlchild is willing to give her life in the fight to save you. But you will not fight to save yourselves?”
The Rikerite scowls, and the Watcher draws breath to spit more insults, and I can see the whole thing spiraling around the drain. But then, finally, the Ulemna moves, reaching up to draw back her hood.
She’s intoxicatingly beautiful, her skin a marbled blue and purple, and it swirls with what look like miniature galaxies beneath the surface, each in constant, hypnotic movement. Her eyes are silver, and her voice sounds like a musical chord in a minor key, three notes all at once.
“Even if we do as you ask, Terrachild,” she says, “and even if you could repair the Weapon and transport yourselves back to your own time, what then? If you defeat the Ra’haam in the past, you ensure this future does not come to pass. You are effectively unmaking all of us.”
“Only this version of you,” Kal says. “Other versions will live on. In a galaxy at peace. A galaxy without the Ra’haam.”
“And what about the people born after the Ra’haam bloomed?”
We turn to Tyler, standing among his crew. Lae meets her commander’s eyes, but he’s looking at Kal, at me, his jaw clenched.
“You go back and change things, who’s to say they’ll exist at all?”
“Destiny, Brother,” Kal replies. “Destiny.”
“You could always allow them to linger here,” Caersan says. “Consigning them to slow suffocation and consumption into the collective.”
“We cannot trust him,” the Watcher glares. “Cho’taa. Sai’nuit.”
“You have no honor,” Lae scoffs at Caersan. “Your name is disgraced. Your blood is shamed. We cannot trust a single word you say, murderer. And you honestly wish us to fight for you? To lay down our lives? For you?”
The Starslayer glances around the room. I remember what this place looked like that night Squad 312 came to Sempiternity, not so long ago. The galaxy spinning above us, beautiful people, fabulous gowns. But now it’s flickering lights, and broken fixtures, and a stinking algae farm to feed the starving dregs huddled downstairs in the growing dark.
“You call this,” Caersan sneers, “life?”
The meeting explodes into shouting again—the Watcher, the Rikerite, and even the Betraskan raise their voices as the Ulemna sits back, drawing up her hood once more. Lae is pointing at Caersan and yelling something at Tyler, who’s throwing up his hands and talking past her to Toshh.
Kal tightens his hand around mine, and I close my eyes. This is hopeless—the room is full of fear and anger, and the Weeds are out there in the black searching for us, and we’re trapped in the middle as the last life in the galaxy waits for its turn to die.
And then the sirens start wailing.
The dim lighting dims even further, the arguments stop, fear and confusion in the eyes of the councilors washing through their thoughts.
“Is that … ?”
“RED ALERT. RED ALERT. RA’HAAM FLEET DETECTED AT MARKER OMEGA. REPEAT: RA’HAAM FLEET DETECTED. ALL HANDS, BATTLE STATIONS.”
“That’s impossible,” Tyler whispers.
“Were you followed?” the Rikerite demands.
“Of course not!” he snaps. “We jumped half a dozen times to get here! We followed all inbound protocols!”
“Then how is it they have found us so soon?” the Betraskan demands. “Their last attack was only ten days ago! They should never have …”
“Oh, son of a biscuit …”
All eyes in the room turn toward me as I whisper, “They can sense me.” I look to Caersan, heart sinking. “Sense us.”
He inclines his head. “… Possibly.”
I swallow hard, look Kal in the eye. “We brought them here… .”
“RED ALERT. RA’HAAM FLEET INBOUND. ALL HANDS, BATTLE STATIONS.”
“You have brought doom upon us all, Starslayer!” the Watcher cries, rising to his feet. “Commander Jones, you should never have—”
“All due respect, Councilor,” Tyler growls. “But maybe we can point the finger after we climb out of this bowl of shitstew!”
“Can’t you just create a gate and jump out of here?” I ask. “You said this place has a rift drive—”
“It’s offline!” Tyler shouts over the wailing sirens. “Next attack wasn’t due for at least ten more days! The techs have to run maintenance, do repairs. And our Waywalkers need to recover between each jump!”
“How long until you can get it up and running?” Kal demands.
Tyler looks at the Watcher, still pale with fury. “Councilor?”
“At least forty minutes,” he replies. “Perhaps an hour—”
“RED ALERT. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. TIME TO RA’HAAM INTERCEPT: TWENTY-THREE MINUTES. RED ALERT.”
I glare at Caersan, questioning, and with a lazy quirk of one silver eyebrow, he inclines his head. I look Kal in the eye, and he nods once. Hand in hand, we turn and run.
“Auri!” Tyler shouts behind us. “Where the hells are you going?”
“To buy you forty minutes!”