“Dawn. You were a good teacher. I’m glad I met you,” Alice’s pink light warmed the inside of her pod. Suddenly Dawn couldn’t see.
Anything left from the tremor of Machaeus disintegrated. The white heat of a newborn star swallowed it all.
Epilogue: Splintered Fates
Drogan and DA-Vos couldn’t have known. Machaeus’ warning about the Dragons had been true. Their sleep had ended. They hardly had a chance to claw their way free, however, before his second contingency plan enacted. The one he hadn’t warned anyone about. Machaeus was a truly formless mass of particles, like Drogan or a DA-Vos, though a much, much older one. Machaeus began in a time when life was subatomic. Once he’d been reduced to his beginnings, his essence was launched across the cosmos, like it had been when he first came to Mukurus. The force of it was enough to render the planet to pieces.
Drogan and DA-Vos went unaware of anything that’d happened after Machaeus’ defeat. Drogan went unaware of anything but his own breathing in the dark. He’d been enclosed in a rigid orb formed from DA-Vos’ mass since the end of the world. He couldn’t leave the shell until the radiation from the fuse pulse faded. There was nothing left of Mukurus. Not one stone. In its place was a smoldering mass of pure combustion. It had started with the magnitude of an actual star, created from a similar fusion of particles
. Now it was the size of the planet it had incinerated, quickly burning itself out.
Another thing Drogan couldn’t tell was that, just outside his DA-Vos shell, he was surrounded by Dragons. Those of lesser rank had been incinerated or scattered. Only the strongest had survived the core of the fusion pulse. The bright white and gold scales of the Higher Order floated all around Drogan, stunned back to temporary paralysis. Where once there had been a planet, there hung a cloud of mortal enemies. They drifted on, unaware in slumber or shelter, through the abyss.
Until a talon twitched alive.
Dawn was asleep when the crane grabbed her pod, four days from the explosion. It took Morgan’s ship that long to trace her in the desolate vacuum of Antila 2. She hardly stirred when the WCC’s prototype based on the Arcadia pulled her into the cargo hold. The Eternia. No sooner than Dawn’s pod was tucked away, Morgan pulled up a screen connected to Councilman Marcus Brass.
“Our readers picked up something extremely alarming,” Marcus said the second he appeared on screen.
“Miller and Alice blew up Mukurus,” Morgan said, just as straightforward. She didn’t have time for indiscretions now, with all the blood she’d coughed up yesterday.
“What do you mean, blew up?”
“I mean that there used to be a planet called Mukurus full of Dragons. Now there’s a star burning out and a handful of Dragons where it used to be. It looks like the Arcadia and Miller were lost in the blast. The rest of the crew is scattered across Antila 2.” Morgan grinned, not at the tragedy, but the bargaining chip she’s salvaged from the middle of it all.
“Care to tell me how I’m going to explain this to the rest of the WCC?” Marcus asked. Morgan shook her half-robotic, knowing head.
“Funny. If I had to guess, I’d say you don’t give a damn about explaining yourself to them. Or anyone. Not since the Wellsworth incident on Mars that killed Sheba and Tim Carver,” she said, “You tried to take what they did, without them, for some reason. Didn’t count on Tim’s memory drives or his bloodline’s stubbornness, I guess.” For but a moment, Marcus looked taken back. Then he spread a wide, white grin.
“How much do you know?”
“I know that you haven’t made one public appearance since the start of your career. I know that you don’t have any recorded start date. It’s almost like you were always there, even though no one can confirm that. The only way that’s possible is if you used someone else’s pre-existing information. There’s only one person affiliated with the WCC who would know what Tim and Sheba were really up to on Mars. Someone who was someone involved in the Precinct 117 incident. Dorothy Brass,” it took all of Morgan’s breath to get it out.
Marcus took a step closer to his screen, into the light. He came close enough for Morgan to see the seams in his dark face. Beneath his skin were circuits, between layers of artificial flesh. Beneath that was a blackbox, just like any thinking machine.
“My, you have been digging,” Marcus commended her. “Tim wasn’t the only one to cram his soul in a memory drive. Of course, it was thanks to his grandson’s work that I’m still here. A lifetime ago, I was who you say. When I learned what Sheba and Tim knew about Dragons… I chose to go on. I had to see how it all ended for myself. But we’re not there yet. I prefer you continue to call me Marcus, to uphold the ruse, of course,” Marcus gave an impressed little bow.
“Of course,” Morgan returned the gesture, “It’s funny you mentioned that particular motive… it’s one we share. I’m not quite ready to let this story go on without me.”
“What can I do for you, then, Morgan?” Marcus flashed an inhumanly charming grin.
“I want into one of your off-the-books projects. I caught wind of it in the outerworlds and it seems now like you can use all the help you can get. The Slayer Program.” At the sound of it, Marcus yipped with laughter.
“I assume you have more to bargain with, than blackmail that no one will believe?” he prompted. Morgan crossed her arms, one of steel and one of tattooed flesh. The light of her screen showed the inked illustration of Dragons.
“How does Captain Dawn Redding sound?” coaxed Morgan. She and Marcus grinned to one another, from one galaxy to the next.