Day 5

  The Papuru Inn ranked among the largest and most extravagant hotel chains in the galaxy, its sponsorship of Coalition Carnage evident in every polished surface and carefully curated luxury. Inside one of its premier super suites, Kane Urasa stood before a full-length mirror set into the wall, arms spread slightly as he examined himself from every angle.

  The suit was dark blue, formal without being stiff, trimmed with thin black accents that caught the light when he moved. Kane turned once, then again, smoothing a minor wrinkle at the sleeve before nodding with satisfaction.

  “Looking good,” he said. “Thanks to Star Thread Tailors. If you want me promoting your work, I’ll do it for half my usual rate.”

  He flashed a grin at his reflection, checked the sharp line of his fresh haircut, then settled a stylish hat onto his head at just the right tilt. Two finger guns followed, aimed squarely at the mirror.

  “You’re gonna rock this gala.”

  A soft chime sounded at the door.

  Kane stepped through the bedroom’s carved wooden double doors into the much larger living area, where cream-patterned décor and expensive furnishings filled the space without feeling crowded. A serv-tek glided silently across the carpet, cleaning a floor Kane was already certain no one had ever managed to dirty.

  He ignored it and headed for the entrance.

  “What’s good, bro?”

  Claude stood waiting, dressed in a tailored steel-gray suit that complemented his sky-blue complexion with quiet elegance. Kane bumped fists with him, the motion casual and familiar.

  “Good to see you,” Claude said. “I take it you slept well after last night?”

  “Yeah,” Kane replied. “Lost big, though.”

  Claude’s brow lifted slightly. “I warned you about playing poker with professionals. It felt like they came to that casino specifically to find you.”

  “They probably did,” Kane said. “I’m kind of a big deal on the gambling circuit. Everybody wants to knock off one of the greats.”

  “And they succeeded.”

  Kane waved a dismissive hand. “Poker’s not my game. If it had been holostar, different story. Besides, it was only a few thousand c-chips. Nothing worth stressing over.”

  Claude regarded him calmly. “And when should one worry about misplaced funds?”

  “When you can’t afford to lose them,” Kane said.

  They walked together into the building’s private garage, where a sleek limo waited with its door already open. No entourage, no handlers. Just the two of them.

  They settled into opposite seats as the driver eased the vehicle into motion. Topaz City unfolded beyond the tinted windows, its roads dense with traffic that barely seemed to touch the ground. Hover systems smoothed the ride to a gentle glide. In designated corridors, the driver lifted cleanly off the lanes, angling into open sky routes that cut above the congestion and toward twin spotlights slicing through the darkening evening.

  “I have never been to a gala event,” Claude said.

  “Me neither,” Kane replied. “But I have walked into a few important parties.”

  “With celebrities and politicians?”

  “Not big-name celebrities,” Kane said dismissively. “But politicians, sure. I hung out at the same event as the President of Freedom once. Spent a whole weekend vacationing with the President of Hope and his family too. They had this big gathering with local officials. I was dating the governor’s granddaughter at the time, so I got invited.”

  Claude listened, attentive.

  “It was fine,” Kane added. “Little boring.”

  “Do you believe this will be the same,” Claude asked. “Boring, I mean.”

  Kane leaned back, hands folded behind his head. “Not a chance. Think about it. Representatives from major countries and power blocs, all from different worlds. Everyone trying to get leverage over someone else or their neighbor. Different values, different morals, different religions. Culture clashes are guaranteed.”

  Claude nodded.

  “And on top of that,” Kane continued, “you throw in paparazzi, entertainment reporters, and a whole army of self-important people dragging their entourages behind them. Honestly, I would not miss this even if someone offered me the chance to excavate the ancient ruins of the Americas.”

  Claude considered that. “Now that is an endorsement. I find myself more enthusiastic.”

  The limo slowed and came to a smooth stop. The door opened to chaos.

  Flashes exploded in rapid succession as cam-bots hovered and pivoted, their lenses snapping images from every angle. Voices rose over one another.

  “Kane, over here!”

  “Claude, this way!”

  “Look this way, Claude!”

  Dozens of bodies pressed against the barriers lining the entrance to the five-story oval structure ahead, floating recorders crowding the air above them.

  Claude smiled and waved, calm as ever, his expression open and composed, not a trace of unease on his face.

  Kane leaned into it.

  He paused, turned, gave a practiced pose, tossed out a few quick remarks that sent the crowd buzzing louder. After several moments, they slipped past the noise and onto the blue carpet stretching from the curb to the entrance, massive spotlights standing like sentinels on either side.

  “Hey, Kane! Over here!” a woman shouted from the crowd. “Let’s get a sexy pic!”

  Kane paused mid-step and obliged, lifting a hand to remove his hat.

  “What!” the woman gasped. “You cut your hair?!”

  “Had to change things up,” Kane said easily.

  “That hair was mine!”

  She lunged out of the crowd and grabbed the front of his tailored coat, her black wig slipping free and tumbling to the ground to reveal vivid pink hair beneath.

  “I needed that hair!” she cried. “Who did it? Where did you have it cut? Tell me! Wow, you sure are pretty solid under all that fabric.”

  Security rushed in, prying her hands loose and hauling the still-screaming woman away.

  Claude watched the scene pass with mild curiosity.

  “Who was that?”

  “Some enthusiastic fan,” Kane said. “Never mind her. Let’s get inside. I think I saw Hark Mamel head in a minute ago.”

  “And who is that?”

  “The actor who plays Walker Lukewarm in the Planetary Wars remakes,” Kane said. “You really need to get out of the monastery and into a theater.”

  The scale of the gala announced itself the moment they stepped inside.

  Hovering chandeliers drifted beneath a ceiling of fine glass, opening the room to the night sky above. Gold-hued walls caught the light and reflected it outward, bathing the space in a warm glow. Furnishings from dozens of planets shared the floor, each piece distinct, each unmistakably expensive. Celebrities and dignitaries moved through the room in clusters, laughter and conversation weaving together into a steady hum.

  “Claude, look,” Kane said, pointing. “Windel of Lincone. You recognize him, at least.”

  “Yes,” Claude said. “The first Dycordian to win an Oscar for portraying a corrupt defense force officer in That First Day. I have not seen a film in years, but I remember liking that one.”

  Kane’s eyes widened again. “Oh wow. Over there by the band. His first ex-wife, Dododanna.”

  “I do not know that name.”

  “Are you serious?” Kane said gasped. “She is one of the highest-grossing recording artists of all time. Not just among the Tilris.”

  Claude studied the area briefly. “I was not expecting her to attend.”

  “I know,” Kane said. “She barely leaves her mansion on Ksush, but it is Coalition Car—”

  “I meant her.”

  Claude nodded toward the back of the room, near a doorway leading into a larger ballroom.

  Avia stood there in a flowing green gown that highlighted the strength of her shoulders and back. She scanned the room with visible caution. When she spotted Kane and Claude, her mouth tightened into a small but unmistakable grimace.

  She started toward them. Kane slowed a step, lowering his voice.

  “Wow.”

  They met Avia amid the hum of conversation and drifting light.

  “It is a pleasure to see you again, Avia,” Claude said.

  “Yeah,” Kane added. “You look great.”

  She hesitated, then nodded. “Uh… thanks. You both clean up well.”

  “We just arrived,” Kane said. “What about you?”

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “About twenty minutes,” Avia replied.

  Claude glanced around the room. “I wonder if we will see any other Superstars. Perhaps the one with the mech suit.”

  “We should,” Avia said. “It is mandatory.”

  “No it isn't,” Kane said.

  She blinked. “What?”

  “Events like this and the race a few days ago are optional for us,” Claude said.

  Kane grinned. “Kind of wish they were mandatory. I want to see a Ja'ir in a tux.”

  “I'm leaving,” Avia said.

  “Wait,” Kane reached for her softly. “Why?”

  She had already turned toward the exit, then stopped and faced them again.

  “If I don't have to be here,” she said, gesturing at the gown, “then I'm changing out of this.”

  “You are already here,” Claude said. “Why not keep us company.”

  “Yeah,” Kane said. “Don't abandon me with just the reverend for conversation.”

  Avia studied them both, one after the other. Her long ears twitched with restrained amusement.

  “As long as you promise not to punch anyone,” Kane said. “That anyone being us.”

  “And you promise not to spy on me in the latrine,” Avia shot back.

  “Then it is settled,” Claude said. “Would either of you like a drink?”

  “Holy men drink?” Kane asked.

  “Of course,” Claude said. “All living beings must drink to survive.”

  “I meant alcohol.”

  “I smell no strong liquor here,” Avia said.

  “By Pian standards, I am sure the alcohol content is modest,” Claude replied. “But it is still satisfying to the palate. As for Hearers of the World Voice, the use of mild stimulants is not discouraged, nor does it interfere with communion.”

  Kane scanned a passing tray. “Does the planet tell you what the best thing to eat is here? Because I cannot decide.”

  “It does smell good,” Avia said, eyeing the spread. “I say we dive in. With all these wealthy tongues, I'm sure any of it could be served at my family banquets.”

  The three sampled the refreshments as conversation drifted from one famous face to another. Kane carried most of it, pointing out actors, performers, and political figures with the ease of someone who lived half his life in public spaces. Avia followed along politely, though it quickly became clear she had no idea who anyone was. Until recently, she had never left her planet, let alone seen a holoview.

  One figure did catch her attention.

  A slender Pian moved through the room wearing a hat so long, its curved tip trailed across the floor behind him. His posture was relaxed, his smile practiced.

  Avia tilted her head slightly. “That one I recognize. An ambassador who deals in off-world politics.”

  “He carries weight in your court?" Claude asked, conversationally.

  “My father's court." Avia replied courtly. "His silver tongue has worked miracles on more than a few members.”

  Claude considered that. “Do you take part in Pian politics?”

  “Not even a little,” she said without hesitation.

  Kane’s attention shifted suddenly. “Hey. Look who just came in.”

  They followed his gaze.

  The Dawn entered the room in a gown as golden as the walls themselves, the fabric catching the light with every step. The cut mirrored Avia’s in elegance, though the effect was colder, more deliberate.

  “The Superstar of Braloor,” Avia said quietly. “She seems formidable.”

  “Oh yeah,” Kane said dryly. “She is going to be a joy to fight.”

  The Dawn moved to the edge of the room and took a glass from a passing tray. She did not look around. Her eyes stayed lowered until a bald Human in ceremonial robes came to stand beside her.

  “You're late,” Xenzalin said. “I want you to mingle. See if the Locket reacts to anyone.”

  “I don't mingle,” The Dawn replied flatly.

  “Do not make this difficult.”

  “I'm not good at small talk.”

  “And yet,” Xenzalin said with a pleased chuckle, “you are an Instructor at one of my schools.”

  “Children are easier to speak with than everyone in this room,” she said, glancing sideways. “Present company included.”

  Xenzalin laughed, genuinely amused.

  “There are individuals here who, if seen in the company of one of the most illustrious Instructors of this age, could send us a wave of new students,” he said. “It has been far too long since our academy enjoyed truly diverse talent. Will you do this for the future of the school?”

  The Dawn exhaled slowly. She took another drink from a passing serv-tek and moved off into the crowd without another word.

  Kane and Claude watched her go.

  “Any idea who that was,” Kane asked.

  "None," was Claude's reply.

  Avia did not answer.

  “This looks like an interesting group,” she said instead.

  They followed her line of sight.

  Three green-skinned men had entered the gala, dressed in dark, understated attire. Conversation near them died almost instantly, with some guests stepping away without even trying to hide their discomfort.

  All three had white hair. One wore it cropped short. Another let it fall to his shoulders. The third, positioned between them, had his hair straight down to his calves. He also wore dark shades that concealed his eyes and a smirk that suggested he was enjoying the reaction.

  The room subtly shifted around them. And not in a good way.

  “I can feel the hostility coming off them,” Avia said quietly. “Especially the one in the middle.”

  “The Quil ambassadors,” Claude replied.

  Kane squinted toward the trio. “Yeah. I recognize the white hair from old stories told around the games table. The Harvas. Family of firearms.”

  “I hear all Finan are killers by nature,” Avia said. Her face reflected the urge to test the rumor.

  “The art of assassination is embedded deep within their culture,” Claude said evenly.

  “That’s how they pick their heads of state or whatever they call them on Quil,” Kane added.

  Avia glanced between them. “Is that why you are here? To critique the guest list?”

  Claude folded his hands behind his back. “I believed this would be a pleasant and uneventful gathering of influential people. Observing who associates with whom can be beneficial.”

  “What,” Kane said, smirking. “You planning on running for office?”

  “No,” Claude said, smiling fondly. “But these people guide the futures of many worlds. The company one keeps, as is the Earth saying.”

  Avia turned her attention to Kane. “And you?”

  “There are a couple of people I want to see,” Kane said. “They put a lot of faith in me. I want to tell them I appreciate it.”

  “And these people are,” Avia prompted.

  “Julius Gilbert and Jesse McDonald,” Kane said. “Members of the Council of Presidents.”

  Avia’s ears lifted slightly. “Leaders of Earth.”

  “Yeah,” Kane said. “And they trusted me—”

  The sentence died as a disturbance rippled through the room.

  The Harvas with the longest hair had draped an arm around a woman who was clearly uncomfortable, her body rigid beneath his grip. The man accompanying her stared down at the floor, pretending not to exist. A loud, belly-deep laugh burst from the slender Finan, far too big for his frame. The woman slapped him.

  His smile vanished. He reached into the folds of his coat, fury flashing across his face, only to be stopped by a firm hand from one of his kin. A sharp warning followed, a voice telling the man known as Gunmeister to remain civil.

  Gunmeister smirked again.

  He drained his glass in a single gulp, plucked another from a passing tray, and the three continued weaving through the suddenly muted crowd.

  “I wish he tried that with me,” Avia muttered. “He would learn something painful.”

  Her words remind him of another strong personality, and he spots The Dawn entering the ballroom.

  ---

  She had tolerated exactly one self-absorbed celebrity before dismissing him outright, leaving the man staring after her in stunned silence. The Dawn wanted to be anywhere else, but the echo of Xenzalin’s expectations lingered, unrelenting.

  The ballroom itself shimmered with motion. Crystalline shapes floated overhead, arranged in intricate patterns that shifted and drifted as if alive. Couples moved across the floor in countless interpretations of the same dance, some graceful, others enthusiastic.

  “May I have this dance?”

  She startled, the reaction sharp enough to betray genuine surprise. When she saw who stood next to her, she recovered quickly, posture smoothing as if nothing had happened.

  “Claude of Styfe.”

  “Just Claude,” he said gently. “Family names hold little meaning in Dycordian society. They exist mainly to determine what path one is expected to follow.”

  “And what does Styfe mean?”

  He offered his hand.

  “Loosely translated from Dycordian,” Claude said, “taxes. Shall we?”

  She hesitated only a fraction of a second before taking his hand. A smile nearly formed, restrained but real, as they stepped onto the dance floor together.

  It became immediately clear that The Dawn was capable of more than combat, and just as clear that Claude was not always a priest. Their movements were confident, unselfconscious, the kind born from experience rather than rehearsal. Around them, other couples slowed or stopped entirely, watching the unlikely pairing move with ease and enjoyment, unconcerned with who might be observing.

  The tempo held for a while, lively and playful, before shifting smoothly into a slower rhythm. The change carried an unspoken invitation. The Dawn paused, considering, then stepped into his arms. Only a handful of other dancers followed their lead.

  “I did not expect you to know the double ripo shuffle flex,” Claude said, mildly impressed.

  “I learned that back in Supreme school,” she replied, coyly.

  “Supreme school,” Claude echoed. “Is that a higher form of education on Braloor?”

  “In a sense,” she said. “Only those selected are allowed to attend.”

  “The man I saw you speaking with earlier,” Claude said after a moment. “He is Braloorian as well?”

  “Yes. He is the headmaster of the school where I currently reside.”

  “You are a teacher?”

  “We use the term instructor,” she corrected. “But yes. I teach second-years.”

  Claude regarded her with new interest. “And what would compel an instructor responsible for the next generation to enter such a dangerous competition?”

  She looked at him sidelong. “Asks the combat priest.”

  “I am trained only in self-defense,” Claude replied, “and in the ways of the World Voice.”

  “The world taught you how to fight and how to dance?”

  “I learned to fight when I was part of a gang,” Claude said evenly. “I learned to hear when I came to my senses.”

  Her expression softened. “Tell me more.”

  And he did.

  They continued to turn slowly at the center of the floor, conversation weaving naturally between steps. Nearby, Kane remained occupied pointing out figures of note among the wealthy and influential, occasionally pausing when someone escaped his running commentary. He and Avia strolled among the guests; a few even approached to offer well-wishes, but for the most part, they were left alone.

  “Have those presidents arrived yet?” Avia asked.

  “I haven’t seen them,” Kane said. “But they’re world leaders. They get to be late, or not show at all. It’s not like they knew I’d be here.”

  “How did you meet them?”

  “It’s a long story, but—”

  The sentence was swallowed by noise.

  Shouts spilled in from outside the room, sharp and panicked. Kane and Avia rushed into the corridor and straight into chaos. Reporters ran in every direction, some shouting into holo-calls, others sprinting toward exits where something worse was clearly unfolding. Security struggled to impose order.

  Kane’s holopad chimed. He pulled it out without thinking. The words hovering above the screen hit harder than any blow.

  Breaking News:

  Earth Presidents Julius Gilbert and Jesse McDonald killed during diplomatic visit to Dycord. Updates to follow.

  Kane stood still, the noise around him fading to nothing.

  Day 6

  Kane’s streamjet rested in its berth, engines cold.

  Kane sat alone in the cockpit, staring out through the viewport at the dark hangar beyond. The cabin door slid open behind him, light cutting across the floor as two identical figures stepped inside.

  “Hey, man,” Dane said quietly.

  “Go away,” Kane responded, flatly.

  Zane folded his arms. “We know what they meant to you. We have your memories too, remember?”

  Kane didn't turn. “What do you want?”

  “Just checking on you,” Dane said. “That’s it.”

  “I’m fine,” Kane snapped. “Now leave.”

  “Our mom died on this planet too,” Dane said. “We get it.”

  Kane was on his feet in a heartbeat, eyes burning.

  “She was my mother,” he said. “They were my friends. And you two are nothing but—”

  The words failed him.

  He stopped, chest tight, and finally noticed their expressions. Calm. Steady. Not judging him. He closed his eyes and took a breath. He dropped back into his seat and rubbed a hand over his face.

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “That was out of line.”

  “No worries,” Dane thumbed back out the door. “If you want food, I can make something.”

  “I’m good,” Kane sighed. “I just need time. I keep running it back, trying to figure out what happened."

  Zane hesitated, then spoke.

  “Could have something to do with those Quil assassins.”

  Kane looked up. “Say what now?”

  Dane cut in smoothly. “It was reported they met with the Quil ambassadors before they were killed.”

  Kane paused, then nodded once. “Oh really.”

  ---

  The presidential suite of the Papuru Inn was quiet, almost peaceful.

  A serv-tek rolled into the main room where the three Harvas family members lounged amid holograms and luxury.

  “Please excuse the interruption, dear sirs,” it said. “A Kane Urasa of Earth is requesting an audience.”

  Gunmeister waved a hand. “What is it with Earth today? Fine. Send him in.”

  “No need,” Kane said from behind it. “I’m already here.”

  He stepped past the serv-tek as it hesitated, then rolled out of the room, sealing the door behind it.

  The Finan with short white hair rose from behind a projection of scrolling numbers, irritation flickering as he dismissed them.

  “The serv-tek here lacks refinement,” he muttered.

  “Speaks for the whole race,” Gunmeister said with a grin. “You’re Earth’s Superstar, right? Saw your first match. You’ve got a long way to go.”

  Kane stopped a few steps inside the room.

  “You met with the Presidents of Earth,” he said. “I want to hear it from you.”

  The three Finan exchanged a glance.

  “So what if we did?” Gunmeister replied.

  Kane’s eyes never left him. “Something went wrong. And they didn’t walk out.”

  The short-haired Finan sat back down, already pulling his numbers back into view. The third, medium-haired Finan steepled his fingers, a faint smile touching his lips.

  “Our reputation precedes us,” he said.

  Gunmeister laughed. “Yeah. I did it. Shot them both. Point blank. Right between the eyes. They annoyed me. Begging us to train their upstart little Superstar. So I shut them up.” He leaned forward, smirking. “What are you gonna do about it?”

  Kane exhaled slowly.

  “Plenty.”

  Silver light snapped to life as Kane activated his Will Blade.