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Chapter 31

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Jayce scratched his heel against his shin. The new flesh on his wound didn’t hurt, but the itching was starting to get to him. The shuttle rumbled as it flew through turbulence. High clouds around the shuttle were lit up from a sea of light beneath them.

The shuttle was small but comfortable, a departure from the military-grade utility Jayce had experienced aboard the Iron Soul and Star Strider.

Jayce wore his new Light Armor, now colored in shades of red and gold—the Sodality’s colors. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with the finished uniform. The Syndicate had strict and draconian measures against anyone who ever “repped the colors” without explicit permission and indoctrination. Dastin assured him that the Sodality wasn’t run by thugs, and Jayce needed to present something to give those about to meet him a bump in confidence.

The gunnery sergeant sat next to him in the shuttle. He wore his dress Governance Marine Corps uniform and had a fruit salad of ribbons and medals. Captain Tarasin, despite being many years younger, was in the same uniform and sported several more rows of ribbons and a few more badges that Jayce didn’t recognize.

Tarasin hadn’t shown much interest in Jayce after the debriefing once he’d secured every inch of the Star Strider. He was a few years older than Jayce, but every time Jayce looked at the Marine officer an acute sense of inadequacy came over him. Tarasin always projected an air of calm and command around him. Jayce never heard a snide remark about the captain during the FTL passage.

He had his ankles crossed and his chin lowered to his chest. Jayce thought the man was asleep until he spoke.

“You ever been this far into the Core before?” Tarasin asked.

“Huh? No, sir, just my world and Illara,” Jayce said.

“And the Veil. Not many get in there.” Tarasin raised his chin, then tilted his head toward a porthole. “Take a gander. Governance won’t allow landings in the Capital District during a state of emergency. Doubt you’ll ever get another chance to see it like this again.”

Jayce went to the porthole and his breath caught in his chest.

A city stretched beyond the horizon. Skyscrapers reached so high that lit beacons at the tops didn’t shine from atmospheric distortion. Raised maglev highways spiderwebbed through multiple levels and into stacks of housing blocks and smoking industrial sectors. Running lights from police cruisers pulsed as they loitered over the never-ending city.

“How many people live here?” Jayce asked.

“Pointless to count,” Tarasin said. “Soon as a census is done, so many births and deaths have happened that that the number is useless, but most agree it’s around ten-ish billion.”

“Final approach to the Citadel approved,” came over the speakers and the shuttle descended.

Jayce sat down next to Dastin, who had been unusually quiet.

“Gunny . . . what do I do when we land?” Jayce asked.

“Head down. Mouth shut until you’re asked direct questions,” Dastin said. “The High Chancellor isn’t one to waste time. She’ll know what to do.”

“She’s not always rational,” Tarasin said. “Especially when she’s right about something she warned others about. Prefect Jessina will probably be waiting for me—us—soon as we land.”

The shuttle passed into a hangar and landed. Jayce heard the thump of blast doors closing. The craft powered down and a flight of stairs unfolded from a side hatch. Tarasin was the first out; Jayce followed.

The landing bay was sterile, with pristine lighting built into the walls and floor, but there were no other ships.

A tall woman with golden hair done up high, golden threading woven through the style to make it appear almost like a flower bouquet, was waiting for them. She wore a gown with small antigrav suspensors that kept the train and hem off the ground. A sash across her torso had a single large badge with the same seal as all the Governance flags Jayce had seen. Prefect Jessina, he assumed.

Marines in heavy armor were posted throughout the room. Two Sodality Paragons flanked the woman, each in Light Armor that fit them far better than what Jayce wore. A Paragon with reddish skin and long black hair—and a tail—stood a few steps behind the reception.

Prefect Jessina opened her arms and hurried toward Tarasin.

“My boy.” She hugged Tarasin and put a hand to the back of his neck. “When we heard of the assault on Nashar’s Star I feared the worse.”

“We expected reinforcements,” Tarasin said. “That’s why Admiral Julkatta tried to hold the system for so long.”

“It wasn’t just Nashar’s Star the Tyrant attacked,” said one of the Paragons, an elderly human man with a long white beard that hung to his sternum and was tied into a Veil-stone bead. “They struck three way-stone worlds at the same time. The decision was made to secure Khergova and Odush and prevent an attack here.”

“Wise,” Tarasin said. “Nashar’s Star has fallen . . . Iridani as well, I assume.”

“Perceptive as always,” the Paragon said. He leaned to one side and stared at the stone in Jayce’s harness. “By my ancestors . . . I didn’t think a Breaking was this close. Who has the other stone, boy? Where is Maru?”

Jayce froze until Dastin nudged him.

“Sarai. She took it from the Pinnacle. Hers was darker, golden cracks in it,” Jayce said. “Maru . . . died in the Veil. Killed by a shape-shifter serving the Tyrant. He also . . . took Sarai.”

The prefect looked away.

“How bad is it?” she said after a moment. “Tell me, High Paragons, how long until the Tyrant can destroy everything?”

“He may not know where to find the Dark Hold,” the older Paragon said. “Even then, he needs both stones to break the Cycle. We only have surface knowledge left, Marshall Tulkan is the authority on this. He’s the only one that knows where to find the Dark Hold.”

“Then we need to find him before the Tyrant does.” The red-skinned Paragon stepped forward. He bowed his head slightly.

“It was our insistence on knowing where the Dark Hold is hidden that drove Tulkan away, Kairos,” the High Paragon said. “He may be convinced to end his self-imposed exile . . . if he’s even alive.”

Jessina approached Jayce. She looked him over and held up her fingers to the stone in his harness.

“Who the hell are you?” she asked.

“Jayce Artan . . . of Hemenway. I don’t really have anything else to add about myself. Nice to meet you?”

“For being a nobody you’re armed like a hero of old,” she said. “My beloved’s hilt finally chose a new champion. That stone is . . . even I can sense its power. There is a new war raging, Jayce Artan—the Tyrant’s Court survived his downfall and now the galaxy will burn under their ambition.”

“I’ve seen it firsthand,” Jayce said. “You’ll need soldiers.”

“I need heroes,” she snapped. “The Governance needs hope. The darkness of the Tyrant’s rule is still in everyone’s mind and there are a number of system and sector governors ready to swear fealty to the Court if it will save their skins. I stitched the Governance back together and now it is all falling apart. Are you the man we need?”

Jayce balked at an answer and the prefect shook her head.

“Prefect, he’s a bit rough around the edges but he’s brave,” Dastin said. “Braver than Marines who’ve died beside me. I saw him take on an entire platoon of the Tyrant’s Own without hesitation. There’s only one man I know who took on that fight and lived . . . and Jayce carries his weapon. He’s raw iron that can be forged into the hero you need, but it will take time. And that’s not a task for a knob like me.”

Jessina nodded slightly, then looked to the pair of High Paragons.

“Take him and find Marshall Tulkan,” she said.

“Such things are beyond us these days, Prefect,” the bearded Paragon said. “And a simple command from you will not bring him back. He’ll need to see the stone that Adept Jayce carries to convince him that he’s needed again. And this young one hasn’t even forged his own hilt to reach his full potential. The constant thought spikes from him tell me he’s in dire need of training.”

The two High Paragons and Prefect Jessina turned and looked at Kairos.

Kairos’s eyes brightened with surprise. He put one hand to his chest and bowed deeply.

“Stars damn it,” Tarasin grumbled. “How’d he even get here before us?”

“I hitched a ride on the Iron Soul,” Kairos said. “Shipmaster Uusanar was most agreeable to linking back up with you. He’s anxious to get Neff off his ship.”

“The Tyrant shouldn’t be able to track that ship as it’s been erased from Governance records. Take him”—the prefect pointed her hand at Jayce and turned her palm up—“to Gehenna. Take him to the war waged without end and find the marshall. I tolerated his self-exile because the fight against the Tyrant was over. I was wrong. We were all wrong!”

She paused to compose herself.

“Take him to Gehenna and find the marshall,” she repeated. She turned back to Dastin and her face darkened. “You . . . you had one job and now my daughter is gone. You don’t deserve this!”

She reached out for Dastin’s Protective Detail pendant.

Jayce caught her by the wrist and the Marines around the room raised their weapons.

The prefect raised an eyebrow at Jayce.

“I need him,” Jayce said. “Some place that has a war without end? I want him with me. Please.” He let her go. “I’m responsible for what happened to Sarai too. I’ll find her. And who else besides Dastin wants to save her more than him?”

“I’m her mother,” the prefect said flatly.

“Send me,” Tarasin said. “One crippled Paragon and a barely trained Adept aren’t enough to survive on Gehenna, even if Dastin’s there. And if the Tyrant needs both stones . . . Jayce is a target. Whoever took Sarai may come back for him.”

“There’s wisdom in this,” one of the High Paragons said.

“My husband is long dead, my daughter is in the hands of the enemy, and now my only son wishes to go to the deepest hell pit in the galaxy,” she said. “No. Tarasin, I’ll have you reassigned to the Supreme Command staff and—”

“Not the deal,” Tarasin said sharply. “Sarai was going to be your protégé soon as Maru got her back here with a stone. My career is mine.”

“That was before—”

Tarasin reached for his rank insignia.

“Stop!” Jessina clutched her gown. “Go. You are just like your father, you know that?”

Tarasin shrugged.

She touched an earpiece and sighed.

“There’s another crisis I have to deal with,” she said. “Bring Tulkan to me. Don’t get hurt again.” She kissed Tarasin on the cheek and left the bay with her entourage. Kairos stayed behind, a bemused expression on his face.

“Gehenna?” Jayce asked.

“Fuck.” Dastin stomped the deck. “Of all the awful, shitty places that the marshall could pick to die on, he went there.”

“Yes, Gehenna,” Tarasin said. “I’ll have to get volunteers for this one. I can’t order anyone on a suicide mission. Likely suicide.” He put a hand on Jayce’s shoulder. “Sure hope you’re up for this.”

“What’s so bad about this Gehenna?” Jayce asked.

“It’s a world where the war against the Tyrant never ended,” Tarasin said. “The war there started before the Tyrant ever picked up a coil rifle. It’s a place of death and suffering.”

“Oh . . . oh great.” Jayce looked at Dastin and mimed shooting a gun in the air with his thumb and forefinger.

“Yeah, kid, I’ll take you to the range. You’re going to need it,” Dastin said.


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