most. Here in the Fold I can’t see the violet of his iris. But his stare is still piercing in intensity. I find myself pinned and helpless before it, as if he can actually see into my soul.
His mere presence onscreen brings quiet to the bridge, even in the midst of an all-out firefight. He radiates authority, gravity, fear, like a star radiates heat.
He speaks to Saedii, his voice dark as smoke and smooth as Larassian semptar. The transmission is coming from Maker knows where, so Saedii speaks quickly, spilling it all. I hear her say Aurora’s name. Kal’s name. Attack and Terran and battle and can’t.
It’ll take a good few minutes for her message to reach him across interstellar space, even through the shortened distances in the Fold. In the meantime, Saedii turns back to the battle raging outside. Damage reports are coming in from all over the ship. Andarael’s engines are now offline. Alert sirens are still blaring, the stink of smoke is getting stronger, the tactical displays are filled with the dance and fire patterns of the fighters still waging war outside.
Finally, I see the Starslayer’s beautiful face twist—Saedii’s reply has arrived at his end. His stare darkens and his lips draw into a tight, thin line. I see incredulity, quickly running through to fury and hatred—the kind of rage that could bring a man to rip his own homeworld apart. The kind of rage that murders billions.
“They dare?” he spits.
He opens his mouth to speak again, but we never get to hear the rest. Something hits the Andarael’s bridge hard, a bloom of white light and screaming fire, and suddenly I’m hurled sideways, smashing into the wall behind me as the entire world turns upside down. The explosion is blinding, pummeling, almost deafening, and for a brief moment I wonder if this is it. If this is the place I die.
I’ve followed the tenets of the United Faith, lived them as best I can; I should be at peace. But I don’t want to go yet—there’s too much to leave behind, too many people I care about, too much at stake. And so I hang on, grim, digging my fingernails in and refusing to let go. Screaming at that dark.
Not yet.
Not yet.
I open my eyes. I see twisted metal. Choke on black smoke.
The bridge has suffered a direct hit, the blast shredding the hull like tinfoil. The power is dead, the displays shot. Unbroken bodies lie where they’ve fallen, dead or dying, purple Syldrathi blood turned gray by the Fold and spattered over the floor. The guard who was watching me has been impaled on a twisted stanchion, eyes lifeless. Fires are burning among the computer systems. The deck slopes away to the left—the artificial gravity systems are still online, but engines are dead, and Andarael is now drifting, sideways and helpless in the dark.
I check to see if anything is broken, but though I’m gonna be black and blue in a few hours (presuming I make it out of the Fold alive), a few deep gashes seem to be the worst of it. My ears are bleeding. Eyes burning in the fumes. I stagger to my feet with a groan, drag the breather mask off the dead guard’s head and the disruptor pistol from his belt. All the Syldrathi on the bridge are on their backs or bellies, but through the crushed metal and rains of sparks, I can see that more than a few are moving, coming to after the explosion.
I need to get out of here.
I need to find Scar and the others.
But my chances of that are zero. I’ve studied Syldrathi capital ships, but I don’t know their internal layouts as well as those of Terran vessels—I’ve only got the vaguest sense of where the hangar bays are, let alone the detention levels. And even if the lower decks weren’t crawling with Terran marines, there’s still the Unbroken to deal with. I’ve got no edge here, no …
Leverage.
I hear a reptilian screech, spot Isha through the smoke, wings spread, shrieking her distress. The little drakkan is perched on a collapsed section of the ceiling, and beneath it, on her back, I see Saedii. Her legs are pinned, her teeth bared in a snarl. She’s trying to claw her way free, but she’s got no way to get out from under the weight.
The temperfoam floors and instrumentation are ablaze, alarms screaming. The fire-suppression systems must be offline, and the flames are spreading toward