“Don’t we want them off-planet, sir?”
“What we want isn’t relevant. Our inland allies want the tribe extinct. We’re not going to stand in their way. The zhee in the ZQ face the same. We’re hemming them in by using up the last of our drone package missiles. The joint tribes are staging around the ZQ to clear it of all inhabitants. It won’t be pretty, but it’s also not your fight or our say.”
“Roger that.”
Pikkek comes shambling up to me.
“Stand by, sir.”
“No problem, but… I have something important for you.”
I look at the big koob. He’s covered in gore and his airsac is inflating and deflating with rapid excitement. “Pikkek?”
“Mookta… leejonayehr… kik… asking for you to let warriors join big die. Spaceport. Big die. Donk town… biiiig die.”
I nod, knowing that for Pikkek and his warriors, this is everything. This is the final stage of a fight for their independence from the remnants of an imperial House of Reason and their zhee lackeys. Although, you never knew exactly who was holding the leash when it came to the zhee and the House of Reason.
“Permission granted.”
Pikkek holds out a black, polished stone tomahawk. It’s dripping with blood, the hilt caked with gore. It’s the same one he used to kill the zhee high priest and his bodyguard. “For… k’kik… Mookta. Kill with honor… this kik blade.”
I take the blade and then pull my sidearm, tossing it to Pikkek. He catches it with one hand, the three fingers wrapping deftly about the grip, avoiding the trigger well. “For you. Go shoot the Pashta’k chief in the face with it.”
Pikkek looks at the blaster and then lets loose a loud, bellowing croak of a laugh. He slaps my shoulder and then hop-walks away with the rest of his team, mounting their repulsor ATVs and screaming toward the still exploding quarters of the ZQ and spaceports.
Overhead, a frigate takes off, lumbering low across the cityscape, causing the street to rumble. It’s trying to get out of the Soob as fast as possible, which means flying low until it escapes the city limits by way of the sea. Then it can safely climb and leave atmo.
The frigate casts a temporary shadow over us—a micro eclipse of the punishing sun. The first wave of the last of the Republic’s influence on Kublar is there. Probably all the soldiers too, because they were armed. That’s how it goes.
A moment later a series of smaller ships—medium and light freighters, a few transport shuttles—takes off. One of them gets tagged by a missile fired from somewhere inside the ZQ. It spins and then races to meet the earth almost startlingly fast. It crashes into the ZQ itself, leaving a new trail of smoke to fill the air.
I look over at Lash. He has the new rifle completely disassembled, studying the parts. He shakes his head at me. Whether over the ship going down or the fact that these were handed so freely to the enemy, I can’t say. Maybe both.
“Sir,” I say, back on the comm. “Awaiting instructions.”
“Set up a security detail inside the museum and wait for me. Your team, only. I don’t want to see anyone else there.”
“Where exactly, sir?”
“Just follow the bodies.”
49
Carter and Lash only had to wait fifteen minutes before Nilo arrived, still wearing the same dashing suit he’d had on during the interview with the young, almost too perfect reporter. Surber followed his boss, remaining a step behind at all times.
“No one in or out?” asked Nilo.
Carter cleared his throat. “Not since we showed up, no.”
“And you didn’t go inside yourselves?”
“No, sir.”
Nilo smiled. “Well, let’s take a look together then.”
He stepped through the still open vault doors, into the clean room with the destroyed war bots and waited for the others. But as Carter and Lash waited for Surber to go first, Nilo held up a hand. “I’m sorry. Only Carter. You two stay out here.”
Lash shrugged, now carrying the new Black Leaf rifle, leaving his SAB with the perimeter defenses.
If Surber was bothered by being excluded, he didn’t show it. He merely nodded and fixed his tie.
Nilo power-walked through the clean room, causing Carter to jog to catch up at his side.
“These,” Nilo said, gesturing to the destroyed treaded war bots. “Priceless.”
“Were they yours?” Carter asked.
Nilo stopped, looked Carter in the face, and smiled. “No.”
He moved past the scorched remains scattered at our feet. “No. Warbots are always a mistake. Every time humanity flirts with death machines, humanity regrets it.”
“Glad to hear you say it,” Carter answered, examining the ruined bots as he passed them by. “Got my fill of war bots with the Cybar.”
“Case in point,” agreed Nilo.
They emerged from the clean room. Into the top secret vault itself. Where Bowie had fought for his life. It was all empty. Blood but no bodies. Bot parts, but no bot. And every display piece was void. Even the holographic letters describing what secrets once hid there were scrambled and illegible.
Nilo hung his head, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, the other on his hip. “Gone. All gone.”
Carter wasn’t quite sure what to say. “This was… your stuff?”
Nilo smiled again. “No. But it was a big part of why we were here. Why this campaign started on Kublar.”
Carter’s mind raced with thoughts of untold treasure. Credits piled to the ceiling. Silvene bars and precious jewels. A legendary treasure stashed by the House of Reason on distant Kublar in case of emergency. But, as fantastic as those thoughts were, he knew that wasn’t it. That wasn’t what they were after.
“In the sled,” Nilo said, rapping a fist against an empty display case. “When we talked about Goth Sullus.”
“Yeah,” Carter said.
That conversation had made him nervous. Not because Nilo had objectively held some admiration for the former emperor, but because everything Nilo had said about the need for a change in the galaxy had rung true. Carter agreed. Goth Sullus had sought to
