I fold my arms and glare. He stares at me, tilting his head.
“Are you … angry with me?” he asks.
I just stare at him, gobsmacked.
“Why are you angry?” he asks. “I have been protecting you.”
“No, you’ve been treating me like a little kid,” I say. “I’m not stupid. You haven’t taken your eyes off those other Syldrathi since we sat down, and your hand’s never left your pistol. So if you want to protect me so much, maybe help me understand why you’re on edge instead of ignoring me?”
He stares at me for a long, silent moment. I wonder if he’ll even answer. This boy’s lukewarm one minute, ice-cold the next, and I don’t understand him at all.
But finally, he speaks.
“My people are divided into what we call cabals. Weavers. Workers. Watchers. The Syldrathi you met on Sagan station were Waywalkers. The most mystical of our number, devoted to the study of the Fold.” He taps the tattoo etched on his forehead. “We all wear a glyf here. The sigil of our cabal.”
I feel my temper calm a little. He’s still talking like Lord Snooty McSnootface, but at least he’s talking. That’s a point in his favor.
“Your glyf was different than the others on Sagan,” I say.
“Yes.” The word is heavy once again. “I am Warbreed. We are warriors.”
I consider him. Yes. That’s exactly what he is. Looking him over, I realize Kal was built for violence. The way he walks, the way he talks—every move he makes communicates it in subtle ways. There’s an anger in this boy, smoldering just below the cold, composed surface. He keeps a leash on it, but I could sense it when he squared off against Aedra on Sagan station. And I can sense it again now as he turns back to look at the other Syldrathi.
“So which cabal are they?” I ask, nodding toward the group in black.
“None,” he replies. “They are Unbroken.”
“I thought you just said—”
“My people and yours fought for many years,” he interrupts, erasing all his points and just annoying me again. “The war between us was bitter. I am one of only a few Syldrathi to have joined the Aurora Legion after the peace treaty. Most still mistrust me. That is why I was left to join the squad of Tyler Jones. But even after the hostilities ended, some Warbreed still refused to acknowledge the treaty between humans and Syldrathi. They called themselves the Unbroken, and they now war against those Syldrathi who supported peace with Terra.”
“They sound … friendly,” I venture.
“You are being sarcastic, I hope.”
“Well, duh.”
Tyler slides in beside me in time to catch the end of what Kal is saying. He has three glasses that look so cold they’re sporting a thin coating of ice. Each one has an insulation band so you can hold it without your fingers getting stuck to the surface. A second band of rubber circles the rim, to save your tongue the same fate.
“So, what are we talking about?” he asks, handing out the drinks.
“Jackasses,” Kal replies.
“Whose side are the humans on?” I ask Tyler, just wanting to know more. “In the Syldrathi war, I mean?”
Ty looks between Kal and me, obviously deciding how much to tell me.
“Nobody’s,” he finally says. “The Starslayer made sure of that.”
He pauses, and Kal closes his eyes at the strange word.
“… What’s a Starslayer?” I ask, looking between them.
“Not what,” Kal murmurs. “Who.”
A small beep comes from my breast pocket. “Caersan, aka, The Starslayer, is a renegade Syldrathi Archon, and leader of the Unbroken. His faction splintered from the Syldrathi government back in 2370, when it seemed peace talks with Earth were about to succeed. The Unbroken attacked Terran forces during a negotiated ceasefire, hitting the shipyards at Sigma Orionis.” Another beep sounds. “Would you like to know more?”
“Magellan, hush,” I whisper.
I touch the screen, putting him in silent mode. It’s one thing to have a talking encyclopedia in my pocket, but it’s another thing entirely to have an actual conversation with people who’ve lived this stuff. And I can see both Tyler and Kal have more to say here. That this all means something to them both.
I look at Tyler, waiting for him to speak.
He touches the chain around his neck, a faraway look in his eyes. I remember him doing the same thing in the med center, the ring hanging at the end of it. “My dad … he was a senator.