“Those who would act in defense of others’ lives are predictable, and predictability is what leads to weakness.”

—Torvalan Conqueror Hymoss Kai

In a loud voice, Almada said, “I’ve had enough of this—of your circumventing Synatorium law—trying to take what’s mine.”

Fell, now facing Ondor, pointed his rotating scrap cannon at the chairman. Ondor was unflinching, not even raising his shield.

“Go ahead,” Ondor said. “Seal your fates—and the people’s. The Synatorium will not let the death of a chairman stand. The next ships coming to Archava would be Militarium Allegiant—and even if you manage to escape this garbage world, they’ll never stop hunting you—or them.”

“Your political protections won’t do you much good in the moment,” Fell replied. “Especially if I just take the heat for everything.”

A smirk came over Ondor’s face. “Precisely why I didn’t rely on that alone.”

One of the mercenaries behind him grabbed a hostage—a boy no older than five—by the wrist, and dragged the screaming child over to Ondor. The mother, another of the hostages, began to wail and kick and scream, but was butted in the back of the head by a birifle and subdued.

The chairman leaned over to quiet the boy with reassurance, then stood and put one hand on the boy’s shoulder; the other held the phase cycler to his head.

Fell growled. “This is between you and me, Almada—don’t bring the kid into it!”

A scoff came from Ondor’s mouth. “As if you’ve left me any other choice—every grain of sand upon which you stand is mine. Your refusal to cooperate is what’s led us to this. Don’t blame me for the lengths to which I will go to claim what is rightfully owed to me.”

The warsuit’s modulation distorted Fell’s voice as he growled, “The people aren’t yours.”

“Oh, but they are—any non-Synatorium citizens were purchased along with the rest of the trash. The Synatorium has no duty to people who are not its citizens. At this point, though, I’ve little use for seventy starving squatters. Maybe, when all this madness is over and what’s owed to me is mine, I’ll have use for them in a salt mine—maybe not.”

The warsuit’s arm twitched, still honed on Ondor; Fell gave no reply.

The chairman continued, “Of course, you still won’t let these people die in front of you, even knowing what awaits them. It’s how you see yourself. I’m sure, for the past two years, you’ve likened yourself to a hero—but you and yours are nothing more than dirty, filthy vagrants taking what isn’t yours. Thieves and criminals. Scum, vermin—the lowest of the low.”

Zaina stepped forward. “Ondor—”

His attention shifted to her. “And you—don’t even get me started on how disappointed I am in you. I thought, when first we met, that there was an understanding between us.”

In a serious tone, she replied, “You tried to have us killed.”

Ondor waved his hand dismissively. “A little extra motivation to go at Fell, that’s all. I knew you two were capable enough to defeat that rag-tag crew, and that Gilvus stood a good chance of surviving; little came of it, didn’t it?”

“Little—look at me!” Zaina replied, stepping forward and stretching out her arms for Ondor to see the blood soaked into her armor. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone, but they made me! And you made them do that to me!”

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A sigh erupted from Ondor. “Yes, because I hoped you’d see reason. Instead, you fell for his tricks.”

“You mean I didn’t fall for yours,” she said. “You killed all those people.”

Ondor faced his palms to her. “No blood here—throw your accusations all you want, but my hands are clean.”

Pointing a finger at him, she said, “Your mercenaries—your orders.”

A darkened expression came over Ondor. “He may as well have killed them—it’s all just business, Zaina. It doesn’t matter now. I want this to end, so we’re going to settle it. Unless you want to see this poor child get a very bad headache, lower all your weapons.”

Zaina’s hands, wrapped around her cipher’s hilt, trembled with the weight of the decision. These people were all doomed anyway. If they acted now, they could save the rest of the hiding townsfolk, but no matter what, these hostages were going to die. Her eyes darted toward Xyrthe, and their eyes met in understanding; Zaina turned to Fell—the warsuit’s arm was slowly lowering, falling to the side. The lancers followed suit.

Ondor smiled. “And tell your little sniper in the window to step out as well, please.”

The warsuit’s mechanical voice said, “Leda—they’ve got us. Come on out.”

A tense minute of silence washed over everyone as they waited until Leda Longuin, hands raised and unarmed, came outside and joined the defeated Fell, Zaina, and Xyrthe.

Zaina’s heart was pounding in her chest, her mind desperately scraping for a way out. The cold grasp of defeat was slowly taking hold of her heart.

It can’t end like this. It can’t all be for nothing.

“And now we’re all here,” he said, raising his wrist to his mouth to speak into a vis-screen. “Deadeye.”

Zaina’s head swiveled in disbelief—there, amid the jagged ruin of the rocks in the distance, the sniper jumped atop one of the cracked boulders. Somehow Veimla was still alive.

“Zaina—Xyrthe,” Ondor said, making Zaina turn back. “Come. There’s no need for you two to die here now that this matter will be settled—of course, given your performance here, I’ll be reconsidering my annual donation to the Order’s coffers.”

Zaina glared. “And what if we decide to tell someone about what happened here?”

“Even if anyone believed you, no one would care,” Ondor said. “Tell them. Tell them how all these people died for nothing because they didn’t want to accept that this is the way things are. How they thought they could steal and cheat and skim off my property, and the lengths to which I was forced to go to enforce my legal rights. Tell them about their grand two-year party in the sand, thieving from the people with real responsibilities. Do you have any idea how far behind schedule I am—how angry investors are that some rat in the desert is keeping their money tied up in a resort that was supposed to start construction six months ago? I stand to lose a great deal of money off delays already. But yes, I’m sure everyone will be sympathetic to the plight of these peasants—please. I’ll bet the fact that people died on the resort’s material will attract visitors if the story gets out. No one cares about nobodies.”

“You’re wrong,” Fell replied. “Someone cares about them. Someone always does—it’s just you that doesn’t, and you think no one could possibly feel different from you.”

Ondor’s hateful gaze shot back toward Fell. “Of course, you care so much—the white knight in shining armor, sent to deliver these poor, salt-of-the-worlds folk from their misery at my hands. You think you’re their salvation, but you’re their doom. This ends right now. Unless you want to see this boy and all the rest turned inside out, you’ll do exactly as I say—understood?”

Smoldering anger and hatred were fighting with the frigid grip of fear inside Zaina’s chest. There had to be something she could do, and there was—but nothing would save the boy or the other hostages. Zaina’s blood-covered hands clenched into fists. Even if they couldn’t be saved, if they died because she made a move too soon—could she live with that?

Ondor continued, “Now—you’re going to step out of that little suit. Without turning around, you’re going to step twenty paces to your left and then stand perfectly still so your hands can be bound. Understood?”

Silence hung over Freewater for a moment. Then, the warsuit groaned as the metal fastenings covering the hatch unzipped.

Zaina was panicking now. “No—Fell! Don’t do it!”

Reister Fell shot her a resolved glance and said, “Come on, now. Don’t you feel bad—you did everything you could. You two go on and get out of here—this was never your fight, and there ain’t any need for your skins to be fried over it.”

Stunned into silence, Zaina didn’t reply as Fell hopped out of the warsuit’s hatch, landing quietly on the sand below. He took a deep breath and then walked his twenty paces before coming to a stop facing Freewater. He spread his arms and took a deep breath, staring out over the town he had sworn to protect.

“It’s beautiful,” he said. “Even now. That’s what you’ll never—”

Ondor raised his vis-screen once more and said, “Veimla.”

A flash of light sparked behind him. Zaina stared in horror, her heart skipping a beat as Reister Fell’s head cracked open, the flesh seared from the inside, spilling charred brain matter and skull fragments into the sand. The headless corpse crumbled with a damp thud.