Chapter 2
Lieutenant Karax
He strode past Cadet Sinclair.
She got on his nerves more than anyone else in the entire Academy.
Why?
She never tried. She was too weak to take ownership of her condition, too weak to do anything about it.
He was determined to fail her in survival training – not because he was vindictive, but because it was the right thing to do.
No one would be able to rely on Cadet Sinclair if she ever graduated. And in these uncertain times, they couldn't afford to graduate cadets until they could survive out there.
The Milky Way was more violent now. Every day a new skirmish broke out. Whether it was between the Barbarians or the Kore, or even deep within Coalition space.
Bottom line – it was too dangerous out there to vest responsibility in someone like Sinclair.
Especially not now. Not with the growing threat of the Ornax.
He straightened, his gut clenching like a fist. All it took was one thought about the Ornax to send his body into fight mode.
He felt the blood pump hard up his throat, his muscles contracting as he drew his teeth into a stiff line.
Doctor Wallace saw him striding forward and frowned. “What is it, Lieutenant?”
“I need a checkup.”
“This is a first – I usually have to drag you in here.”
“I'm having pain,” Karax admitted as he shifted his neck from side-to-side. He could feel his cybernetic implants sliding uncomfortably down his shoulders and into his spine.
Karax's spine and most of his left shoulder had been replaced with durable robotic implants. But no matter how durable they were, they still had to be checked. Constantly. Karax put them through so much of a pounding, he was continually pulling them out of alignment.
Wallace raised an eyebrow as he plucked a scanner up. “You must be in considerable pain if you've volunteered for a check-up.”
Karax didn't say anything.
Wallace let out a light sigh. “There you go – you've done it again. Your left latissimus dorsi has pulled your 14th cybernetic vertebra out of alignment. Again. When I keep telling you to take it easy for a little, to let yourself heal,” Wallace dropped his head down and stared at Karax meaningfully, “I'm not doing it just because I like to repeat myself. Lieutenant Karax, you need to give your implants a chance to adjust.”
“No time,” Karax said without pause. “I have to complete this latest training regime. We're getting slaughtered out there.”
Wallace shifted his gaze surreptitiously over his shoulder to check if anyone was in earshot. “You mean the Ornax?”
It was a top-level secret. Not that it could stay that way for long. The Ornax were operating within Coalition space. A new impossible enemy that had seemingly come from nowhere and had pushed beyond Coalition borders with no reprieve. Though their numbers were small for now, and their incursions sporadic, it wouldn't last.
This was the precursor to a proper invasion. The Ornax were just testing the waters to see how much resistance the Coalition could provide before they committed their forces to a full-on invasion.
“... We all appreciate what you're doing for us, Lieutenant.” Wallace bowed his head low.
The uncharacteristic move brought a half-smile to Karax's lips.
There were some at the Academy who thought Karax never smiled. They were wrong. Underneath the life of hardship and survival, he liked to have a good time. He enjoyed a laugh.
And that's what made all this harder to accept.
Deep down Karax knew he was never meant for this life.
It had chosen him, not the other way around.
“I'll work as quickly as I can – I heard you have a meeting with Admiral Forest later today,” Wallace said conspiratorially.
Karax couldn't help but laugh. “You part of her spy ring? You always know what's going on around here.”
“I'd love to profess that Forest has entrusted me with espionage duties, but the reality is, I just hear a lot. People are remarkably chatty when you've got their life in your hands.”
“Well, you're right. I do have a meeting with Forest.” Karax let his fingers drag down his brow.
“We'll find a way to beat the Ornax. It's early days, Lieutenant. The Coalition always finds a way.”
Karax looked at Wallace as he worked. It was easy to see that the doctor genuinely believed what he was saying.
To him, the Coalition were unbeatable. They'd never fallen in the past, right? So didn't that mean they'd last forever?
No. It did not.
If the Coalition wanted to survive these new tumultuous times, they'd have to learn to survive. Not flourish. Survive.
By any means possible.
One look around at the gentrified Academy, and it was clear there would be a steep learning curve.
There was an ever-growing gap between what the Coalition wanted to do and what they had to do to ensure their continued existence.
That gap was typified no better than in Cadet Sinclair.
She should have been turfed from day one.
She was still here. Why? Because someone out there had the erroneous belief she could pull through her troubles.
She didn't want to.
And that was the bottom line.
“You've gone all sullen and somber, Lieutenant. I'll repeat once more, the Coalition will beat the Ornax. We defeated the lost star – given time, we'll overcome this obstacle, too. Anyhow, lie on your stomach, close your eyes, and think pleasant thoughts while I deliberately break a few of your mechanical vertebrae and access their internal mechanisms.”
“Sounds painful.” Karax lay on the medical bed and nestled his head against his hands.
“Sure is. But someone like you knows how to push past pain. Oh, and I'll also half sedate you, which will help. You'll find your mind wandering during this procedure. Don't worry – it's a side effect of the anesthetic I have to use. Sit back and enjoy the show. It'll take an hour.”
Wallace got to work.
As soon as he injected something into Karax's neck, Karax felt a slow wave of unconsciousness shift through his mind.
It didn't pull him down into sleep. Not fully.
A part of him was still aware of his body pressed against the cold medical bed. The rest wandered.
Which was a bad idea. Because whenever Karax's mind wandered, it always returned to the same place.
His home world.
The invasions.
One after another, week after week – Barbarian raiding parties attacking his settlement relentlessly over a harrowing three-year period until finally they claimed the planet and pushed the settlers back.
Karax lost his whole family during the raids. One after another.
He... he'd survived.
He could see it now – the settlement around him, the stark brown and gray reclaimed cruisers that had been modified into habitable shelters.
They'd sat there, nestled in the verdant green grass as the trees and vines of the planet had massed around them.
The settlement had been situated at the foot of a hill. Behind had been a steep mountain Karax had played on with his brothers. If you climbed it, you'd see the greatest view in the galaxy – a massive mountainous valley dotted with crystal peaks, three silver-white moons constantly visible above the horizon.
He could still remember with perfect clarity standing on the edge of that cliff, wind blowing against his brown tunic, a smile pressing over his lips.
Then the Barbarians had come....
...
Lieutenant Karax, ten years ago, colony planets, border of Coalition space
“Come on, Karax, get your ass back to camp. We can't stay up here forever,” Karax's brother called.
Karax didn't move. He couldn't. That view sucked him in. It wrapped its hands around his gaze and drew it forward as he stared at each crystal peak in turn.
His attention inevitably drifted to
ward the three moons in the sky. They stood sentinel over the planet, like three guards watching her from space.
“Come on,” his brother said, terse voice filtering up from further down the hill.
Reluctantly Karax pushed back, ripped his mesmerized gaze from the moons, and trudged away.
As soon as his reclaimed leather boots sunk through the soft inch-high grass, his gut trembled.
Far in the distance, he swore he could hear something.
Something out of place.
“Kiros? Kiros? You there?” he shouted.
He didn't know why, but a flare of fear snagged his heart.
He shifted forward, boots crumpling the lush grass. His head swung from side-to-side as he scanned for his older brother. “Kiros?”
No reply.
Then he heard it, that odd rumble shaking through the hills.
Cruiser engines.
He stared at the topaz-blue sky just as three cruisers shot past the mountain peak, heading down to the settlement below.
At first, he thought they were suppliers.
They weren't.
The ships were ramshackle, cobbled-together, brown and black hull plating interspersed with pulser turrets and rotating cannon shafts.
“Kiros!” He pitched forward, heart pounding in his chest as he shunted into a sprint.
He flew down the grassy incline.
“Kiros!”
No reply.
It was a good 30-minute trek to the settlement below.
Karax lost all track of time as he flew down the peak, sprinting so fast over the grass, the tread of his hand-me-down boots dug it up, clumps of dirt scattering around him.
He kept calling Kiros' name, kept bellowing at his brother to reply.
Karax never made it to the settlement.
Halfway there, he came across a Barbarian warrior pushing through the undergrowth.
The guy was huge – easily three times Karax's size.
He was also wearing armor. It covered his broad chest, his legs, even his arms and fists. Only his head was unadorned. It meant Karax could see the warrior's yellowed, pinprick eyes as they focused on him.
The Barbarian pulled back its red lips to reveal its slobbery tusks.
It didn't say a word. It reached for the massive carved knife held in the holster by its side.
Karax's mind stopped, frozen still with fear.
The Barbarian laughed, twisted the knife around in its grip, and threw it at Karax.
At that exact moment, Kiros shot through the undergrowth, wrapped an arm around Karax, and pushed him out of the way.
The blade sank into Kiros' back. It was so long and thrown with such force that the tip of the blade sliced right through Kiros' chest and snagged Karax's tunic.
Karax screamed. One long, desperate, terrified bellow that tore from his throat as his brother died in his arms.
The Barbarian didn't waste any time. It pushed toward Karax, a smile curling around its fat, veiny lips.
Karax waited to be killed, his mind crawling to a stop as his brother's body twitched.
The Barbarian reached him and loomed above him like a sudden plume of smoke that had blocked out the sun.
Without a word, it leaned down and plucked the blade from Kiros' back.
The sound of it ripping through Kiros' muscle and bones was the most sickening thing Karax had ever heard.
The Barbarian considered Karax for one more second, then lurched toward his throat—
...
Lieutenant Karax
Karax awoke with a snap, sweaty fingers scrabbling over the edge of his medical bed.
“Whoa,” someone locked a firm hand on his back, “Relax there, Lieutenant. It seems you had a bad reaction to that anesthetic. It's okay now. It's all okay.”
Karax concentrated on Wallace's voice, letting it pull him back to reality.
With one final chest-punching sigh, he settled his mind.
And his heart.
“... You okay there, Lieutenant?”
“Yeah.” Karax pushed up. He glanced down to see most of his front was covered in sweat.
Wallace's gaze flashed with concern. “Sorry about that – seems you're one of the 1 in 1,000,000 who can't tolerate that kind of anesthetic. I've given you something to flush it from your system. You'll be alright soon.”
Karax responded by jumping up and standing.
Wallace put out a hand.
Karax didn't need it.
With another grounding breath, Karax tugged down his tunic, neatening it as best as he could, and nodded. “I feel fine now, doctor.” He experimentally shifted his shoulders out and arched his back. “Have you fixed my spine?”
“Kind of. It'll need more work. I want you back in here tomorrow, you got that?”
Karax didn't say anything as he tried to surreptitiously wipe the sweat from his brow.
“You want to do your job, Lieutenant, then you have to look after yourself. It's not a luxury – it's a requirement. It's also an order,” Wallace said curtly, gaze flashing.
“Fine. But I probably won't be able to make it tomorrow. That's when the summit's booked.”
Wallace's once direct stare flared with curiosity. “Summit?”
Karax laughed at himself as he shook his head. “Ha, I guess you're right, doc – your patients do tell you too much. I shouldn't have mentioned that. I trust you'll be discreet about it.”
“It depends on what it's about. This isn't to do with the Ornax, is it?”
Karax chose not to answer. He did, however, hold the doctor's gaze.
Eventually, Wallace nodded, shifted to the side, and gestured toward the door. “You'll be fine for the next few days, Lieutenant. But you will come and see me after that.”
Karax snapped a mock salute. He walked out of the room with a hurried, “Thanks, doc.”
The truth was, he wouldn't have the time to come back in a few days.
Time was a resource rapidly slipping through Karax's fingers.
Even as he thought that, his heart quickened.
His pace quickened, too.
He pushed into a half-jog as he made it through the med bay and out into the main grounds.
He couldn't be late for his meeting with the Admiral. Too much was riding on this.
As he flew across the main grassy area that separated the primary buildings of the Academy, he found his gaze flicking to the side and locking on someone.
Out of the sea of cadets and commissioned officers out on the grass, only one person could catch his attention.
Cadet Sinclair.
She was walking – not toward the Academy main buildings, but away from them.
Presumably back to her apartment.
She had her head tipped back as she stared at the sky, an odd, distant expression on her face.
It hardened his resolve.
If she dodged his class once more, she'd be out on her ear.
Karax just needed one good reason to kick her out.
Deliberately cutting class may not see her kicked out, but it would worsen her already appalling record.
So, despite the fact it was quicker to head up through the center of the campus, he found himself following her.
...
Cadet Sarah Sinclair
She shouldn't be doing this. But she was.
And a part of her just didn't care.
A part of her just couldn't put up with the Academy anymore.
When she'd first joined, she'd been filled with so much hope. So much potential.
Then the dreams had started, and....
She sighed and shook her head.
Instinctively she clutched a hand on her upper left shoulder.
Her fingers hovered around a very specific spot – just at the nape of her neck.
The skin was always red, always irritated, nail tracks permanently etched into it.
She couldn't count the number of times she'd woken up in the middle of the night scratching and clut
ching at it.
She... it sounded crazy, but she knew something was buried just underneath her flesh.
She'd told the doctors a few times. They could find nothing.
She shivered as she shoved her fingers harder into her skin.
She could feel it – that thing – just underneath the surface.
A cold, tight sensation shifted hard through her shoulders, and she took a quick gasp.
Sometimes she felt as if someone was walking over her grave.
It felt... it felt like she was dead, and this was all just a dream. The real her – she was somewhere else.
Sarah was nothing more than a walking talking corpse.
She'd never shared these particular thoughts with anyone – she didn't need to give the doctors any more reasons to think she was crazy.
Without realizing it, Sarah found herself taking a circuitous relatively secluded route back to her apartment block.
Though mostly she could ignore people's stares – even the muttered comments – today her natural resilience was diminished, flushed away by the vestiges of her violent dream.
She just wanted to be alone.
She needed to curl up on her bed and fall asleep.
... And then what? Have another one of those dreams?
She caught herself just in time. “They aren't dreams.”
They were memories. Or maybe she was somehow tapping into someone else's consciousness. Maybe a part of her shifted through dimensions at night.
It sounded crazy – but something was happening to her.
She dropped her hand, noting a few flecks of blood under her nails.
The skin along the nape of her neck smarted, but she made no attempt to check on it.
There were times she wanted to take a knife to her neck and cut the object out.
As Sarah made her way forward, that cold dead feeling – the one that felt like someone was walking over her grave – grew worse.
She had to stop and suck in a reassuring breath. It couldn't reassure her. It couldn't stop the nerves that ignited in her gut.
That thing in her shoulder felt like it was on fire.
At the same time, her consciousness felt like it was slipping through her fingers.
She staggered to the side, clamping a hand against the wall beside her.
As she started to lose her balance, she walked her sweating fingers down the wall until she crumpled into a ball.
As soon as her eyes closed, she returned to the dream.
The ice planet opened up before her. Her limbs instantly froze with a cloying, digging, numbing sensation.
She hunched down, wrapping her shaking hands around her body, her gloved fingers squeaking over the waterproof fabric of her torn snow jacket.
As her body gradually grew accustomed to the sudden shock of appearing on this planet, she straightened.
She realized she'd made it to the facility.
Occasionally she made it this far.
There were weapons in here.
Trapped far within the cold gray walls were guns and knives.
She was standing in the cavernous doorway, wind whistling past, catching along the powdery drifts and gathering the snow into an impromptu blizzard.
She pulled up a hand and protected her eyes as she shifted through the doorway.
She had no idea what this facility was, but she guessed it was either an underground base or a mining operation.
The massive gate-like doorway led down into a long wide ice-covered metal tunnel.
It was treacherous. She couldn't count the number of times she'd slipped on the icy tracks and broken a leg.
This time, she kept her balance as she spread her hands and walked down the tracks as fast as her boots would allow.
Behind, she heard the hunter.
Its footsteps sped up.
It knew – just like she did – that there were weapons in here.
Instantly Sarah threw herself forward. She slipped, but she controlled her fall, rolling and shifting onto her ass as she began to slide down the incline.
She used all her muscular control not to roll head over heels. Do that, and the ice would burn great tracks of her cheeks and forehead off.
Fortunately, her pants and jacket were sturdy enough to protect her from the friction, but they couldn't stop a desperate scream shaking from her throat and echoing down the cavernous expanse.
She slid for a whole minute until she reached the bottom of the shaft. She rolled, back striking a hard metal crate.
Though it winded her and a few splatters of blood jumped from her mouth and dotted through the snow, she didn't wait.
She forced her shaking body to stand as she locked her gloves on the side of the crate.
It was closed.
She yanked one glove off, forcing her rapidly freezing fingers against the ice-covered lid.
Instantly her fingers threatened to stick to the frozen metal.
She didn't let them. She tore them back, not caring that she left a few layers of skin behind.
She dug her nails into the gap between the lid and the rest of the case. With a desperate groan, she managed to shift it back.
Her back twinged, her broken left leg shook and threatened to buckle – but she held on.
With a grating noise that echoed through the tunnel, she shoved the lid off.
It fell to the side, split the ice-covered floor, and struck the metal shaft below with a thunderous clang.
She dived into the crate, half jumping inside as her stomach pushed against the high edge and her feet kicked out behind her.
With her breath freezing into white puffs that pushed around her cheeks, she scrabbled through the contents of the case, looking for the combat knife she knew would be there.
Just as fear ricocheted through her sternum and down into her gut, her frozen fingers grasped it.
She plucked it up and fell to her knees as she twisted and spied the hunter.
It was already halfway down the shaft.
Her eyes bulged, the fear rising in her throat as she scooped up her glove, clutched the knife, and pushed into a sprint.
Her broken leg buckled a few times, and she fell to the ice-covered floor, cutting her cheek.
She always pushed herself up, always kept the knife out at a safe angle.
Once, she hadn't been so lucky, and she'd sliced through her own throat as the knife had twisted in her grip.
She'd had just a few seconds to note the blood pouring from her neck before the hunter had caught up and finished the job.
Though Sarah knew she'd done all this before, it didn't change the immediacy of the situation. Nor the reality.
So Sarah grunted through her pain, crammed her glove on, and flicked the combat knife into action.
It immediately jerked open, revealing a blade that theoretically would never go dull and could slice through most objects, even armor.
As she clutched the knife, her fear gave way to anger.
She wouldn't run forever, as soon as she found stable ground, she would fight.
She was done being hunted....
...
Lieutenant Karax
He kept following her, even though reason and simple decency told him to turn around and head to the Admiral ASAP.
Reason and simple decency couldn't win out when he was dealing with Sarah Sinclair.
He knew his hatred for her was way out of line.
He couldn't control it. He couldn't forgive her, either. She ran around pretending to have faced true hardship – murderous, violent hardship.
But it was all pretense.
All for attention.
He couldn't forgive that. Couldn't even begin to understand how anyone could pretend to have gone through what he had.
She took a circuitous route between the buildings, obviously picking a secluded path so no one caught her going back to her apartment during class.
He tried to tell himself – no, beg himself – to turn around.
/>
When she muttered, “They're not just dreams,” his resolve hardened.
She'd already been warned on multiple occasions that she had to keep up with her treatment or be kicked out.
According to her counselor, Sarah had accepted her dreams weren't real.
Well, clearly Sarah had lied.
A part of him knew he was using Sarah as a distraction from other, much harder problems. He could kick Sarah out of the Academy and feel like he'd achieved something – like he'd saved people down the line.
But the fact was – it wouldn't make a goddamn difference to his real problem.
He had to find a way to train Coalition soldiers to survive the Ornax, and he was failing.
Just when reason won out and Karax almost turned around, Cadet Sinclair stopped.
Her shoulders shook a little, and she let out a trapped breath.
She teetered on her feet, pushed a hand out, and steadied herself against the wall.
Just as Karax's mind tried to tell him she was faking it, Cadet Sarah Sinclair crumpled, her head striking the cobble beneath her with a thud as her hair spilled across her face.
It was like she was a robot and someone had just switched her off.
He jolted forward.
That part in his head that kept telling him she was a faker was shoved to the side as genuine fear goaded his gut.
He skidded down to his knee, grabbed her left shoulder, and shifted it. “Cadet? Cadet? Wake up.”
She didn't wake.
He jerked his hand back and slammed it on his WD. As he did, he noted the blood on his fingers.
He'd seen her digging at her shoulder.
He frowned at his fingers as he ordered his WD to connect to the med bay.
A second later, it clicked to signal the call had been received.
He didn't wait. “I'm requesting a medical team to my current location,” he flicked a button on his WD that would broadcast his location, “A cadet has blacked out.”
“Sending a team. Can you identify the cadet?” the medical technician on duty asked in a professional tone.
“Cadet Sarah Sinclair.”
There was a long, pointed pause.
He knew exactly what it meant.
“... Are you sure she's injured?” the tech questioned.
It wasn't standard procedure to question a Lieutenant's assessment like this.
But this wasn't a standard situation, was it? From the little he knew about Sarah, she'd been to the med bay more times than any other cadet in the history of the Academy.
She had a deserved reputation for making things up and wasting people's time.
Though he usually agreed with that statement, he couldn't quell the fear curling around his gut. Every second it tightened little by little.
He cleared his throat. “She's not faking it. She blacked out. She needs help.”
The tech sighed. It was loud enough that it echoed around the cramped confines of the laneway him. “Fine, we'll send a team. They might take a while – we've got some serious cases back here. Just watch over her.”
“I don't have time—” Karax began.
The tech cut the line off.
Karax wanted to get pissed at the tech, but he had to remind himself he would have done the same thing in the guy's shoes.
He settled for hissing through his teeth.
Sarah jolted.
At first, he thought she was waking, but she wasn't.
Her head twisted to the side, her face pressing hard against the cobble at his feet, her hair scattering further across her face.
He stood there and watched her for a few seconds. Experimentally – and kinda cruelly – he prodded her lightly with his boot. “Wake up, cadet – I know you're faking this.”
No reaction.
That worry wound around his gut tighter.
She couldn't be faking it. She'd had no idea he was behind her.
Plus, she was sweating, her brow so slicked her fringe now stuck to it in clumps.
... He suddenly realized something. She was having a nightmare, wasn't she?
While nobody believed the wild tales Sarah span about her dreams, it was a fact that she did have them.
She wasn't being transported to some other dimension, and nor was she momentarily inhabiting someone else's mind.
But Sarah was having a nightmare.
He took another hissed breath, and once more Sarah violently twitched. Her hands grasped in and out as he if she were holding something – or desperately trying to grab at something.
Though he tried so hard to stop himself, compassion started to well in his heart.
It was easy to ignore Sarah's wild assertions when she was awake.
It was another thing to ignore her condition when she was twitching at his feet.
No, that didn't mean he suddenly believed her mind was being abducted by aliens.
It did mean he couldn't stop himself from leaning down on his haunches and brushing her hair from her face.
Sarah Sinclair was attractive. She had a great build, and there was something powerfully stark about her features.
That didn't mean his stomach kicked as he shifted her clumped hair from her mouth; he was just worried she'd choke on it.
He latched a hand on her shoulder again. “Wake up?” he tried as he shoved her once more.
Her head flopped to the side, a muted but still terrified half-cry pushing from her lips.
He locked his hand on her shoulder harder. “Sarah, it's fine. You're just dreaming. It's just a nightmare. Now wake up.”
As he clutched her shoulder, her collar bunched against his fingers, and his gaze locked on the left side of her neck.
... She'd dug the skin raw. He could see the nail tracks pushing over the flesh.
... She was torturing herself.
Despite Sarah's wild tales, she always had a smile on her face. When he wasn't telling her off, that was.
In between classes, he saw her occasionally – and she always seemed fine.
This – her thrashing around and the nail tracks through her skin – made him realize how much of an act it had to be.
... Or maybe it wasn't an act. Maybe despite the torture Sarah put herself through, she still found the strength to find happiness in between the horror.
A skill he'd never mastered.
Just as he clenched his teeth and took another sigh, she woke.
Her head twitched up, she jolted forward, and her eyes shot wide.
She also struck out at him. Before he could push her back, she locked her hands on his shoulders and shoved him.
It was hard enough that he toppled over.
He was a big guy – though Sarah was athletic, she didn't have the strength to down him.
And yet she did.
“Hey, what are you doing?” someone bellowed from further down the laneway.
Karax jerked his gaze to the left just in time to see a medical team finally arrive.
Sarah was panting, her eyes locked wide, her chest heaving in and out with every breath.
“Did she just attack you?” one of the med techs asked as they reached Karax and pushed a hand down to him.
Karax took the hand and allowed the tech to help him to his feet.
Sarah had withdrawn against the wall, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle.
“We saw it, Lieutenant – when you put in your report, we can confirm—” the tech began.
“She was confused, she had no idea what she was doing. She just woke up from a nightmare,” Karax said before he could stop himself.
He'd been looking for a reason to get Sarah kicked out of the Academy.
This, right here – her attacking an officer – was it.
He wouldn't need anything more than the med tech's witness report.
... And yet it didn't feel right.
Try as he might, Karax couldn't ignore the terror playing through her gaze as she wrapped her arms so tightly around her chest it looked
like she was trying to cut herself in half.
The med tech pressed his lips together in a tight frown. “Are you sure, sir? We've,” he looked over his shoulder at Sarah, “Investigated Sarah's illness many times. There is no medical reason to justify her attack.”
Other than the fact she looks terrified, Karax added in his mind.
When he caught himself defending Sarah, even it if was only in his head, he clenched his teeth and sighed.
Once more, Sarah appeared to react to it.
She jerked her head to the side, then locked her gaze on him.
... There was something hard about that look. No, not hard – hardened.
The technician appeared to be waiting for him. He knew all eyes were on him, Sarah's too.
Karax half shook his head and realized he had to do the right thing.
He cleared his throat. “I'll be making no report,” he said in a deliberate, loud voice that could not be misunderstood.
As the seconds ticked by, Sarah was growing more aware of her surroundings. The bloodless white hands clutching her knees gradually loosened. Soon she let them drop to her side.
Both med techs turned to look at her, and even though he couldn't see them fully, he saw enough of the sides of their faces to note their derision.
Sarah wouldn't look at them. She wouldn't look at him, either. Instead, she locked her gaze on her hands, tipped her head forward, and appeared to try to hide behind her hair.
The med techs muttered something unkind about her, then got to work.
“We've got this, sir. Please go about whatever you were doing,” one of them said.
Karax went to turn. To head to Admiral Forest – while he still had the time.
And yet... he hesitated.
For no other reason than this felt wrong.
As soon as he caught himself thinking that, he literally had to shake his head.
He was the one who hated Sarah Sinclair more than anyone else at the Academy. And yet here he was, bile rising up his throat at the way the techs were treating her.
Hadn't they seen the way she'd thrashed on the ground? The confusion that had torn through her eyes when she'd woken so violently?
“We've got this,” one of the techs turned around and spoke directly, as if they thought Karax hadn't heard them.
“Right,” Karax managed through a gruff cough.
He pushed weight through his leg, pivoted on his foot, and forced himself to walk away.
He didn't make it far. A few steps down the resounding cobbled laneway, and he found his neck contracting and turning to the side, his stare locking on her.
Though Sarah still had her arms tightly wrapped around her knees, she was now looking up, that once defiant gaze back as it locked on him.
... For some reason, it affected him. Sent a flurry of something close to nerves scattering up his back.
Before he could take any note of the sensation, his WD beeped.
The noise was so unexpected, he jumped and jerked around, slamming a hand a little too hard on the WD's screen.
“Lieutenant, you're late,” Admiral Forest said succinctly. “You better be dead or fighting the enemy.”
He half winced, pushed off into a quick jog, and cleared his throat once more. “I'm on my way, Admiral. I was attending to an accident.”
“Alright, then. How long until you reach my office?” Though her tone wasn't nervous – it would take the end of the Milky Way for Admiral Forest to show fright – it was quick. Snapped. You could hear the tension twisting through every word like snakes writhing in a pit.
It clutched at his stomach, clenching every muscle until his back was ramrod straight. “Two minutes,” he said, even though he'd have to push into a full sprint to make it.
So he did. He dashed through the Academy grounds. They were a startling sight when you had the time to appreciate them. More than anything, it was their scale that stole away your attention. Coming from the colony worlds, he was used to houses made from reclaimed containers. Pod-like structures only large enough to safely contain a family. Anything else was largess. You could use spare metal, spare bedding, spare anything on a colony world to make yourself safer.
Out here, there was no question that the Earth was safe, the Academy too. The Coalition Academy hadn't seen a direct attack since the Axira incident. Even then, though it had been extremely serious, it hadn't been as perilous as the attacks he'd gone through on the colony worlds.
So as he tilted his head back, he appreciated the enormity of the buildings as they reached for the sky. The sun glinted off their smooth glass walls, making it feel as if he was standing in a tall crystal forest.
And even if the scale of the buildings wasn't alien enough, the view of the bay and the horizon above was. Numerous ships darted in and out along the water, plunging up into the sky above. Even though it was the middle of the day, he could still see the numerous installations in orbit. Not everything – not the Earth defense security network – but the monolithic structures like the shipbuilding yards and Station Zero. They were faint outlines like the moon in the morning.
Realizing he was allowing himself to become distracted, he tucked his head down and concentrated on darting past every errant cadet and staff member as he powered toward Admiral Forest's room.
When he reached it, slamming a hand on the panel next to her door, he'd already caught his breath.
He was at the top of his fitness. And considering the numerous cybernetic implants that littered his body, even without armor, he was a match in most fights.
Yes, Doctor Wallace kept telling him to take it easy. But no, there was no way that was ever going to happen.
Lieutenant Karax had one goal in life – to make the colony worlds safe. The only way to do that would be to make the Coalition as strong as it could be. To push back every enemy, to take advantage of every resource.
And that meant no time for rest.
He patted a stiff hand down his uniform as he walked through Admiral Forest's door.
It opened onto a dark office.
It was in the middle of the building, with no windows, but that did not account for the gloom.
Admiral Forest often liked to work in the dark, with only the bare illumination from her desk lamp.
The light coming from the lamp was only sufficient to light up the underside of her chin, to play against her cheek, and to deepen the shadows under her eyes.
Karax drew to a stop in the middle of her room. He clasped his hands tightly behind his back, pushed his shoulders straight, and cleared his throat.
He waited.
Admiral Forest had one hand clutched against her cheek, the other rested on her desk as she drummed her fingers into the wood. “We need an edge, Lieutenant. I'm sick and tired of losing good people to the Ornax.”
Karax felt his stomach clench, a sinking feeling pushing down his shoulders. “What are the latest casualty reports?”
Admiral Forest hadn't been in a bad mood when he'd left her yesterday. That meant one thing.
More deaths. More Coalition soldiers lost to the Ornax.
As he realized that, he clutched a hand into such a tight fist it felt as if his cybernetic implants would tear through the flesh and crush his bone to powder.
“Yes, more deaths. More casualties. More injuries. More ships lost. More resources squandered on this enemy,” her voice became tighter until she spoke in hisses through her clenched teeth.
Involuntarily, it reminded him of Sarah. He saw a flash of her lying at his feet, her body crumpled, hair a mess over her face.
He shook his head to dislodge the uncomfortable image and tried to focus on the Admiral. “We're trying our hardest. I'm trying my hardest,” his voice dropped as he let his gaze drift down to the carpeted floor, “But we just can't prepare our soldiers for the Ornax. Their attacks are unconventional, their methods unlike anything we're used to.”
Admiral Forest lifted a hand. The fingers were stiff, white, so straight the
y looked like stone. “I have not brought you here to hear my troubles. I have brought you here, because we have been offered a solution,” again, her voice dropped. This time it became so low it felt as if it shifted through the floor and powered up his legs.
“Solution?” He couldn't help but take a jerked step forward, boots crushing the pile of her blue and black carpet.
“You're right – we can't prepare our soldiers to fight the Ornax unless we can replicate their ingenuity, their unconventional methods, and their goddamn unquenchable drive to survive.”
“... Admiral, what are you suggesting?”
“Are you familiar with the Corthanx Traders?”
He tilted his head to the side. “Yes. What have they got to do with this?”
“They claim to have replicated the same training method the Ornax go through. The Corthanx Traders came upon an abandoned Ornax training ship.”
Karax's hackles rose. They started at the base of his spine and powered up his back, even sending cold charges of energy sinking hard into his jaw.
His mouth jerked open. “Training methods?”
The Admiral stopped drumming her fingers on her desk. Her stiff fingers slowly spread out until her palm pressed flat against the wood. “They call them true intelligence holograms. Holograms that can't only take tangible, solid form, but possess so-called true intelligence – methods that replicate how a sentient being may fight, not the mechanical precision of an AI.”
He frowned, the move hard as it drove his lips down into his chin. “Forgive me, Admiral, but this sounds far-fetched.”
Admiral Forest let out a bare chuckle. She propped her chin in her hand, her fingers digging into her cheek. “That's exactly what I thought, too. Until the Corthanx Traders provided us with a demonstration.”
Though his mouth was open – another objection readying on his tongue – he stopped. He swallowed. “Demonstration?”
With her chin still propped in her hand, she nodded. “Some of our representatives have already met with the Corthanx Traders in the Ihio System. Let us say, our first impressions were promising enough that tomorrow we will receive an envoy from the traders.”
Karax was stunned. He made no attempt to control his expression. He also took another jerked step forward until he stood directly on the opposite side of the Admiral's desk. “Isn't there some talk that the Corthanx Traders are involved with the Barbarians?”
At first, she didn't react, then, once more, she nodded slowly, head still in her hand. “In the past, yes. However, we have no information that currently links the two.”
If Karax's hackles had risen before, it was nothing compared to the sick wave of anger and regret that now charged up his back and plunged into his heart. He had to use every ounce of reason not to slam a hand down on her desk.
He hadn't joined the Coalition to help the Barbarians in any way. He was here for revenge. Revenge, and to make sure what had happened to him could not happen to anyone else.
He knew that the Admiral watched him carefully. Though her gaze did not demonstrably lock on him, as her eyes shifted from left to right, he could tell how attentive her focus became.
“... Lieutenant, I know that this may appear to compromise your values. But do not fear – it does not. I repeat once more – we have no information that currently links the traders to the Barbarians.”
“Only the fact that those bastards will trade with anyone who can pay their exorbitant prices,” Karax said, incapable of holding his anger in.
Admiral Forest stared at him. Her expression didn't change, but the quality of her gaze did. She also slowly let her hand drop to her desk as she straightened up and pushed her shoulders into the back of her seat. “Lieutenant, I appreciate your past. I understand that this may be a hard pill to swallow. But understand this,” she sat further back, the bare illumination from the lamp barely touching her features. It only picked up her lips as they slowly moved around her words, “If we do not find a way to defeat the Ornax, they will drive a rift right through Coalition space. We cannot afford to lose any more resources,” her voice became so low, so dark, it sounded like little more than an ominous rumble.
Nerves traced over his back. He took a stuttering breath. He knew he couldn't win this.
Not considering how much was at stake.
So he stowed the anger that rose in his gut, the bile that climbed his throat. He squashed them down, straightened, half closed his eyes, and shook his head. “Fine. But how can we be so sure that these true intelligence holograms are what we're after?”
The Admiral did not reply with words. Instead, she leaned forward and pressed a finger against the table before her. To the untrained eye, it would look like nothing more than polished wood. Yet as her finger pressed against it, a holographic panel appeared from nowhere.
She manipulated the controls with targeted, practiced movements of her hands and fingers.
A second later, a hologram appeared over the desk, a few inches in front of Karax.
It depicted some kind of warrior. Female, if he had to guess. She was wearing white armor that covered most of her body but didn't reach around to the back of her head. She had chestnut brown hair clasped into a ponytail, with a few strands beaded and knotted and covered with scraps of fabric that played over her shoulders and were woven through the bulk of her ponytail.
The white armor was largely unadorned apart from two red streaks down the left cheek of her helmet.
If he had to guess, they were blood.
He frowned.
Something – some kind of feeling – escaped in his gut, chasing from left to right until it plunged down into his legs.
Without entirely being aware of what he was doing, he pressed forward, locked both his hands on the edge of the Admiral's desk, and leaned as close to the hologram as he could.
It was no more than a foot tall, but it was detailed enough that he felt as if he was looking at a miniaturized person.
“This is the program the Corthanx Traders are promising us. They say it's the best they have in their inventory,” the Admiral explained as she leaned back and crossed her arms.
It took him too long to tear his gaze off the hologram and lock it on the Admiral. His throat was dry, a strange aching pressure pushing down into his collar bone and spreading through his shoulders.
He reasoned it away by assuming it was a leftover symptom from his medical procedure that morning.
“Admittedly, this looks like an incredibly sophisticated hologram, Admiral, but I still don't get how this can work. Though the Coalition possesses sophisticated holographic technology, what you're describing here sounds like more than a program.”
The Admiral nodded, the move stiff, the muscles at the base of her neck looking like knotted roots from a gnarled tree. “You are correct, Lieutenant. This is more than just a program. And the Academy does not currently possess holographic technology to render this,” she leaned forward and gestured to the hologram, “In the manner in which we will require. However, part of the deal involves the traders upgrading the Academy's holographic systems.”
Karax frowned. No, it was more than a frown. If his lips had been knives, they would have sliced right through his chin and fallen to the floor.
A flicker of dread began to ignite in his gut. Though he couldn't push any further forward, he clutched his suddenly sweaty fingers around the edge of her desk. He ignored that perfect hologram and locked his attention on the Admiral. “Maybe I'm speaking out of line here, Admiral, but that sounds dangerous to me.”
Silence. For a few achingly long seconds the Admiral didn't say a word.
Though she allowed informality sometimes, she was not a woman you could overrule.
Just before the thought that he'd overstepped the line arose, Forest cleared her throat, pushed up from her seat, and stood.
The bare illumination of her lamp combined with the light coming off the hologram lit up the side of her arm as she paced around her desk.
&n
bsp; She came to a stop beside him.
She reached forward, swiped a hand under the hologram, and pulled it from the desk.
As she did so, she brought the hologram in front of her, and the emitters sustaining it switched from the side of the room to the ceiling. In those few seconds, the hologram flickered.
It reminded him it was nothing but light.
... And yet, he couldn't shake away the odd feeling it gave him. The strange sensation that kept shifting around in his gut like a growing storm.
He forced himself to swallow, despite his dry throat.
The Admiral appeared to be assessing the hologram. But eventually, she looked back at Karax. “You haven't even seen what this hologram can do.”
Karax's stomach kicked. He wasn't usually a nervous man. He'd been through so much hardship that fright was only something that visited him in the height of battle. Not on the quiet grounds of the Academy safely tucked on one of the most secure planets in the galaxy.
And yet he couldn't deny the race of nerves that charged up his back.
Without another word, the Admiral handed him the hologram.
Reluctantly, he accepted it, hiding the shake that threatened to push through his shoulders.
The Admiral leaned over, typed something on her desk, and the hologram began to move.
Began to fight.
Barbarian warriors came out of nowhere, three on each side.
The woman in white charged through them. Using whatever weapon she had at hand, whatever advantage she could scrounge – she defeated them. One after another.
She wasn't wearing sophisticated armor. Didn't have incredible weapons.
What kept her alive wasn't a tangible advantage – it was an intangible one.
The will to survive.
The desperation to find any advantage and to push past any obstacle.
As he stared at the fight unfolding in his very hands, it drew him in. Every punch, every blow, every desperate scream that tore from her lips – he recognized all of them.
They spoke to the knot of fear, regret, and loathsome disappointment that had taken root in his heart since the day he'd lost his brother.
...
Cadet Sarah Sinclair
It was time for combat training.
She'd finally been discharged from the medical bay.
She said finally, but in reality, they should have kept her longer.
She'd collapsed. For the love of god, she'd collapsed out in the laneway.
They should be investigating her condition. Trying to find out what was really wrong with her.
Instead, Doctor Wallace had blamed her blackout on the fact she hadn't taken her medication.
Sarah Sinclair didn't usually get angry.
Anger was this... place she couldn't go. It was like she deliberately locked it from her mind.
Right now, however, she couldn't deny how incensed she was becoming. She kept clutching her left hand into a fist, tighter and tighter, her fingers driving through the soft flesh of her palms until she left half-moon cuts.
As she strode across the Academy grounds, she caught sight of her other classmates heading toward the combat training center.
She saw Nora.
And Nora saw her.
Just as Sarah brought up a hand and waved at her friend, Nora turned. Deliberately. And walked off with another group of cadets.
Sarah froze.
She kept her hand in the air for an uncomfortably long period of time until she let it drop.
She knew her expression dropped with it. Knew fragility and loss washed down her pale cheeks like ice melt through a river.
... She couldn't blame Nora. Nora had stood by Sarah's side for too long. But....
Sarah hesitated. She shifted her head to the left, traced her gaze through the complex of Academy buildings until she spied her own accommodation block.
It would be so easy – too easy – to blow off class and head back to her room.
What was the point of trying anymore?
Before she could take a step in the wrong direction – or the right direction, considering how pointless it was to push herself more today – something happened.
Somebody cleared their throat from behind her, placed a hand on her shoulder, and pushed her forward.
It wasn't a hard move. Wasn't a shove. Just a light touch of guidance.
She jerked her head around to see Lieutenant Karax.
He dropped his hand immediately and let it hang loosely by his side. Without looking at her, he added, “Class is this way, cadet.”
She had to swallow her surprise. For one, the Lieutenant had just spoken to her – not shouted, not spat. And for another, he wasn't taking the opportunity to berate her. “... Sorry, sir, I mean, yes, I know class is in this direction. I mean, I'm not talking back to you, I just... I was already heading to class,” she lied.
She'd stumbled over her words so badly she was sure Lieutenant Karax was going to reprimand her for being an idiot.
He didn't. He twisted his head around, faced forward, and locked his gaze on the cadets before them.
... Sarah had absolutely no idea what was going on.
It took her just another second to realize it could have something to do with what had happened this morning. Lieutenant Karax, apparently, had found her in that laneway.
Though her memories of waking up were hazy, as she concentrated on them, she realized he'd been crouching before her. And....
She gasped and slammed a hand over her mouth.
The Lieutenant twitched to the side, brow compressing over his eyes. “What's the matter?”
She knew her cheeks reddened. “I am... sir, I'm sorry for attacking you in the laneway. I didn't—”
He returned his gaze forward and appeared to ignore her.
“I wasn't myself—” she continued.
“It doesn't matter, cadet.”
Though his tone was hardly light and friendly, it was definitely missing the distinct hatred that had once rippled through it.
She frowned. Deeply. And there wasn't a thing she could do to stop herself.
Once or twice she caught Lieutenant Karax's gaze slicing toward her. It locked on her frown. “What is it now?”
Though his words could have been brief, even disparaging, the hard tone wasn't there.
He sounded distracted.
“... Why are you walking with me, sir?”
It was definitely not the kind of question she should have asked the Lieutenant, and yet, considering everything she'd been through today, she couldn't stop herself from asking it.
He arched one eyebrow, and just as she thought she saw anger flaring in his gaze, he shook his head and sighed.
There was something about the heavy edge to that sigh that drew her in.
“I'm walking with you, cadet, to ensure you actually make it to class.”
“Oh. Look, Lieutenant, you may have seen me hesitating before, but I had no intention of heading back to my apartment,” she stuttered, sharing way too much, but again incapable of controlling herself.
She felt trapped by her emotions. If she didn't sway into anger, she swayed into fear and self-loathing instead.
“That's not what I meant, cadet,” he said quietly.
“... What?”
They were halfway toward the training facility, and nearly every other cadet had rushed ahead, knowing Lieutenant Karax hated it when people were late.
But Lieutenant Karax stopped. He repositioned himself until he was standing in front of her. For the first time since their awkward conversation had begun, he looked at her and only her, the vestiges of distraction flying from his gaze.
“... Sir?”
“I checked in with the doctors. They said you had that... episode in the laneway because you hadn't been taking your medication. Is that correct?”
She stiffened. She could no longer hold his gaze. Nor could she keep a straight face. She half wanted to cry – she could feel that fam
iliar pressure welling up behind her eyes.
Yet at the same time, she clenched a hand into a fist, her whole arm becoming so rigid it felt as if it would pull from its shoulder socket.
Lieutenant Karax noted the move. He did not, however, drop his direct, enquiring gaze. “You know the risks, cadet,” his voice dropped, almost sounding as if a note of compassion infiltrated it.
She still couldn't look at him. And her emotions still wavered between anger, self-pity, and sorrow. She knew her expression would look like a cracked mess. “I know the risks,” she forced herself to say through clenched teeth. “If I don't keep up with the regime, I'll be kicked out of the Academy.”
He paused. “That's not what I meant,” he said softly.
It was his tone – the gentle note to his voice – that managed to tear her gaze off the grass. She looked at him, knowing full well her eyes were wide and shimmering with tears.
His expression was unreadable. “You need to look after yourself, Sinclair. Staying in the Academy is one thing – but do you really want to keep going through what you're enduring?”
She'd never been asked a more direct question. It felt like being slapped.
It became almost impossible to hold back the tears.
Lieutenant Karax's expression was no longer unreadable. His eyebrows descended over his eyes, his cheeks pushing high as a frown pressed over his lips. It wasn't anger playing in his gaze – the exact opposite.
“Cadet, we want to see you get better – but to do that, you have to trust us. Go through the regime the doctors have put in place for you. Trust them. You will get better.”
She was stunned. His promise seemed genuine – as if he honestly believed what he was saying, but more than that, cared about it.
He suddenly dropped her gaze. “Anyway, it's probably best you head back to your room for now. You're in no condition for combat training today.”
Again, she was stunned. Lieutenant Karax was not exactly the kind of officer to show compassion. Especially to her.
Especially in regards to survival training.
He took it so seriously that you had to be unconscious to get a free ticket out of his class.
Maybe he picked up on her surprise, because he shook his head. “The offer's on the table, cadet, and I won't think any less of you if you accept it.”
It took her a few seconds to push past her surprise.
When she realized this was a genuine offer, she almost immediately snapped to take it.
... Then she stopped.
There was a reason Lieutenant Karax took survival training so seriously, and that reason was that now, more than ever, it was a requisite skill of any Coalition soldier.
Yes, she'd had a trying morning, and yes, maybe she'd lost her last friend, but rather than turn tail and run back to her room, Cadet Sarah Sinclair shook her head. “It's okay, sir, I can still come to class,” the words were out before she could retract them.
It was that strong part of her – that elusive side to her personality that always saw her prevail in her dreams – that said yes to Lieutenant Karax.
Karax watched her intently for several seconds, then half smiled.
It was the first time she'd ever seen him smile, especially around her.
It was a charming move and hinted at the fact that the Lieutenant had a personality beyond his battering-ram anger.
“Well, I guess that means you passed the test.”
Her brow compressed. “Sorry, sir? Test?”
“You're in no condition to go to survival training today, cadet. But it means something that you offered to do it, anyway.” He nodded low. “It can't wipe away your previous history, but it's a step in the right direction. Now, go get some rest, and when you're back on your feet, come back to class.” He turned and walked away without another word.
She stood there, mouth open, staring at him as he half jogged over the verdant green lawns toward the training facility.
Had that really just happened?
Had Lieutenant Karax really cut her some slack?
Before she could convince herself that she was somehow still in a dream, she turned and headed back toward her accommodation block. A few times she stopped, twisted over her shoulder, and caught sight of the Lieutenant far beyond.
A few times, he appeared to stop, and look over his shoulder at her, too.
Soon enough, however, she was back in her apartment.
She wasted no time in heading into her room, falling onto her bed, and closing her eyes.
...
Lieutenant Karax
Should he have done that?
Probably not. Just this morning he'd been looking for an excuse – any excuse – to kick Cadet Sinclair out on her ass.
This afternoon, he was giving her a break.
All because he couldn't get the image out of his mind of her twitching at his feet.
It seemed burnt onto the back of his retinas.
Again, he tried to tell himself he was just using the cadet as a distraction.
The looming threat of the Ornax kept shadowing his mind.
More than that, he didn't want to ponder this new true intelligence hologram.
Which was another thing that seemed as if it was burnt into the back of his retinas.
That image of the woman in white.
The way she'd fought. The desperation.
It reached inside his soul and reminded him – more than anything else could – of where he'd come from and what he'd had to do to survive.
By the time he reached the training facility, a cold sweat had slicked across his brow.
He kept swallowing uncomfortably, kept trying to focus on the all-important task of training the next wave of Coalition soldiers.
Soldiers. There was a time, not long ago, when the recruits the Academy produced weren't referred to as warriors – but explorers. And they had the requisite skills to chart this galaxy and beyond.
These days, exploring took a backseat to fighting.
With the uncertainty clouding the Milky Way like a thick fog over a river, you never knew what would happen next. What new enemy would lift its ugly head and threaten lives?
Just before he reached the training facility, his WD beeped.
Staring down at the screen, it flashed red, indicating that it was a private call.
He maneuvered himself until he was in a secluded position along the side of the building, then he tapped the screen. “Lieutenant Karax here.”
“It's Forest. The Corthanx Traders have arrived early. You're canceling your combat session. Meet me in room 2A in the diplomatic affairs building.” She signed off.
Karax's head spun.
His stomach also twinged with nerves.
He'd known the Admiral for a while, knew enough to appreciate that she never made snap decisions. She always did what was best for the Coalition on balance. He also appreciated that she had access to a great deal more information than he did. And yet he couldn't push away the feeling that trusting these traders was a step too far. As he canceled his class using his WD, pivoted on his foot, and sprinted back to the main grounds, the nerves kept building in his gut until it felt as if they would claw through his throat.
He tried to push them back; he couldn't.
A part of him knew this was wrong.
They were taking a turn down a dangerous path, and once that turn was taken, there would be no going back.