Flashing blue neon. A haze of smoke and steam in subzero, pre-dawn darkness—streetside grills open for breakfast amidst stained concrete towers and looming black cliffs.
The Lower Crush. The deepest of Indigo City's scars; its first crystal quarry, exhausted, abandoned, and now reclaimed by what many termed the planet's "human vermin."
The descendants of Klotho 9's original colonists.
Crouched amongst frost-covered refuse, Ren Asari looked past the garbage sorter rumbling at her elbow. In the bitter gloom of the street beyond, local Dal-Kri in ragged shawls and jackets gathered to welcome the coming day with grill cakes and rum-spiked tea and coffee. Not exactly the wild celebration the gossip streams had been predicting all week.
While music competed with traffic noise from the surrounding streets and the higher districts of the canyon city, it was mournfully operatic, not jubilant—apart from the occasional fast-food jingle. Conversation buzzed over drinks doctored with fermented cactus, but no laughter punctuated it, except for that of children.
As vindictive rebellions against the Planetary Government went, it was a decidedly subdued affair.
Ren curled her lip, allowing cynicism and resentment the smallest outlet. Today was supposed to be the day the oppressed indigenous population got what they'd wanted for decades.
Vindication of their maligned beliefs. A little petty retribution.
Her death.
Twenty years ago, on the day Klotho 9's newly appointed Planetary Governor Maraven Asari had given birth, Dal-Kri seers had stared into their crystals and foreseen the child's violent, untimely death.
Her mother, true to form, had promptly ordered the arrest of all Dal-Kri seers. She'd exiled them to the planet's thermally volatile crystal fields out in the wastes and, in the very next breath, granted United Planetary Alliance mining rights on sacred land.
Towering natural cathedrals of midnight crystal had been turned to blue-kryst dust, product for the UPA's thermoelectric heat-sink and energy-capture markets.
Ren rolled her hood-covered head back against the wall behind her. Breath pale in the cold air, she threaded her gaze past grit-blasted residential high-rises, the curves of the lower city's hover-rail track, and the jagged black outcrops of stone that spanned the canyon metropolis. Far above, pierced by the High Citadel's silver towers on the cliffs, the early morning sky had turned from pitch to ink, the first sign of sunrise.
Her last, if the Dal-Kri were to be believed.
Which they weren't, despite the gossip streams' enthusiastic promotion of the prophecy. Hundreds of years ago, the Dal-Kri had been space explorers, some of humanity's first. Now, as her mother liked to put it, they were "cave-dwelling, crystal-gazing primitives." They believed time flowed to 'Kry-Gon,' the supermassive black hole at the center of the galaxy. They believed their seers could tap into that temporal tide using the purest of the blue crystal abundant on planet.
UPA scientists had another theory: Klotho 9's cave systems had a diversity of troglobiontic fungi, most with hallucinogenic spores.
Ren returned grim eyes to the gathered Dal-Kri, shabby bodies dressed in every shade of blue, from palest sky to deepest indigo—the colors of native crystal. Beyond the stalls, faded cobalt lanterns lit fractured gemstone pillars, the ruins of an old temple. Amongst them, wizened ki-ki hunched about braziers, their bent forms wrapped in ragged blankets and beaded shawls, their gnarled hands busy with knitting and sticky-fingered toddlers.
Ren exhaled, adding more frost to strands of azure hair—the Dal-Kri color a silent rebellion.
She knew her mother's move today. Play the victim. Claim to be threatened by an impoverished minority to excuse all past and future actions against those same people.
Ren mouthed an oath. Frak that. She'd be no one's politically convenient victim—dead or alive.
"Have your plans changed, Ms. Renata?" A cool, clipped question in her ear: Cupid, her companion bot, linking to her audio bud. The tiny palm bot—a pink plastic disc covered in faded flower and unicorn stickers—rode in her back pocket, as it had since she was five. "Do you now wish to skulk in an alley for the remainder of your life, rather than seek enlightenment? Details on the prophecy are sparse, but Dal-Kri socials indicate you have until after dawn. Approximately one hour and thirty minutes."
Ren rolled her eyes. "Are you ever going to develop tact?" After fifteen years of artificial-intelligence upgrades and adaptive learning, her onetime children's toy had evolved beyond teaching times tables, sparing him the junk-draw fate of her dolls and glitter pens. In a house ruled by politics and high security, friends were hard to come by. As were people who'd tell her the truth, and Cue had acquired sophisticated intel-gathering abilities, along with the blunt personality needed to deliver unvarnished fact.
"Tact does have some social benefit," the bot acknowledged. "However, it is counterproductive with regard to dialog accuracy and succinctness. I recommend keeping current communication settings to maintain optimal effectiveness. The appropriate colloquialism would be, 'You have little time to waste.'"
"Cue, if there's any truth to the prophecy, you'll be in my pocket when I get hit by a hovertrain or falling air-conditioner."
"I am backed up. Your concern is unnecessary. But yes, those modes of termination have been proposed on social coms, among many others, ranging from brain vaporization via an assassin's laser to being boiled alive in a wasteland geyser. The lack of specificity suggests two things—those discussing your death are as poorly informed as you are and the UPA's efforts to suppress rebel communications have been effective."
"I'm sure my mother will be pleased." Contact with exiled Dal-Kri was prohibited under anti-insurgency laws—rules that of course had nothing to do with the fact a coordinated indigenous population would be detrimental to local mining operations. "Anything new on the accuracy of past prophecies?" As her predicted death approached, off-world media not affected by local restrictions had begun sharing intel. She'd learned more in the past week than she had since hearing of the prophecy at age ten. A visiting pre-teen prince had shoved her into a drained plunge pool and declared her "a corpse waiting for a grave"—her first ever diplomatic incident. One exacerbated by her bloodying the little shit's nose.
"Data are still limited," Cue replied. "But as the visions are assumed to be spore-induced hallucinations, the Ministry of Planetary Cultures has stated Dal-Kri seers' accuracy to be similar to that of random chance."
"And yet this morning, you're operating on the assumption I am going to die." The bot had acted that way since waking her an hour before her usual alarm. "Why?"
"Two reasons," Cue answered—no hesitation, no sympathy. "First, investment forums predict a positive effect on land acquisition and mining permit approvals if you die and the Dal-Kri are blamed. Many people will financially benefit from your demise. Therefore, there is a greater than random chance at least one will act to ensure a profitable outcome."
Ren winced. Shit. Woo-woo magic-mushroom prophecies she could laugh off, but the suggestion a mining exec might hire someone to 'facilitate' growth opportunities in the blue-kryst market was no farfetched fantasy. "And the second reason for your pessimism?"
"An investigative reporter has uncovered a fifty-year-old report from when the UPA first surveyed the planet. An anthropological team tasked with studying the indigenous population estimated the predictive accuracy rate of Dal-Kri visions to be ninety-nine point five percent."
Ren sat up, her heart skipping despite her skepticism. "Please be joking."
"You have told me multiple times statistics make dull comedy. However, the sample size of publicly known prophecies at the time was 'comically' small at only twenty. Therefore, there is a large margin for error in the estimate. Is that enough to lighten your mood?"
"No. How do you get ninety-nine point five percent accuracy out of a sample of twenty?"
"Nineteen accurately predicted events and one foreseen correctly except for a deviation in the death count. A UPA geo-surveyor crashed as predicted, but not all crew perished as foreseen. There was one survivor."
Ren felt the bands that'd tightened around her chest loosen. "Someone lived past their predicted death. The Dal-Kri got it wrong."
"Not according to the seers interviewed. They stipulated the deviation was due to the prophecy having 'a dual facet tuned by a wistri.'"
"A what?"
"No further data. I advise following through on the original purpose of your excursion."
Ren looked past the garbage sorter and the collection robot currently feeding it. "You mean talk to the aggrieved mob drinking alcohol-spiked tea in anticipation of my death? People who loath my mother with the fire of a thousand suns? Sure. Why not? I'm supposed to die at dawn. It's way too early for them to murder me."
"I detect sarcasm in your intonation, Ms. Renata. Does this mean you wish to proceed with your alternative plan, to suffer mild hypothermia amongst frozen hop rat dung and stone-fruit peelings?"
Ren grimaced and climbed to her feet. "Set a reminder for me to delete your corrupted humor algorithms later."
"Reminder set: zero eight hundred zero five hours."
Five minutes after her predicted death. "You're hilarious."
"Logical," Cue countered. "Given you are the primary source of the socially deviant inputs into my system, efforts to purge the corruption prior to your demise would be futile."
"As I said, hilarious." Ren glanced up as a UPA Security air-speeder wailed overhead, threading its way through the lower city's tangle of buildings, transport tracks, and pinnacles of black stone. She stilled, held her breath, until she verified the unit wasn't heading for her.
One eventually would.
Unlike his governor wife, Ehno Asari would notice his daughter's absence and hit the parental panic button. He'd soon rise, immaculate and haughty, to call her for a nutritious breakfast and the first lecture of her day—a pre-emptive reprimand for what they both knew would be another day of her actively disappointing her mother. The second he confirmed her missing, a fleet of security bots would be dispatched to retrieve her. The obligatory lecture and a total lockdown on her liberties would follow.
She'd not get another chance to find answers.
To understand why the Dal-Kri had cursed an innocent child only just born.
Killing resentment with the obstinate will her mother called 'problematic,' she tugged down her jacket's hood and ensured the therm-ply of her thrift-shop scarf covered her face. In her parents' rarefied world, she'd made a practice of not living up to people's expectations. Always late—if she showed up at all. Always dressed in grungy 'down-recycled' haute couture. Always ready to forget manners and challenge political double-talk. Today, a planet's worth of people breathlessly awaited her death, cameras and champagne at the ready.
She planned to continue to disappoint.
*
She'd been right about the crowd—its less than celebratory mood.
Moving into the shadows of a waffle stall, Ren fisted her hands in her jacket's pockets, fighting nerves. In the sign-lit steam of the street, people milled about, ordering food with minimal conversation. Expressions trended towards grim on faces not hidden by scarves or h'bi—shaggy, loose-knit shawls. Eyes gleamed hard and blue in the flashing light of adverts and menus.
Ren pulled her hood lower. She'd forgotten about Dal-Kri eyes. The High Citadel filtered its water, but blue-kryst minerals infused local aquafers. Anyone native to or who'd lived on planet more than a few years earned themselves a blue tongue and stained eyes. She'd dressed for the lower city, her clothing rough, inexpensive, and dark blue, but her eyes—a clear topaz—marked her as a tourist or, worse, one of the abhorred elite.
"Monitoring conversations within five meters," Cue informed her via her audio bud. "All revolve around toppings for deep-fried batter, no mention of your name or the prophecy. I suggest you relocate to improve topic diversity."
Ren ignored him. While the scent of syrup and coffee sweetened the black morning air, few smiles did. "Cue, this family-friendly breakfast party feels more like a wake."
"The Dal-Kri appear to have a pessimistic view of their future in the city," Cue observed. "Two people have just mentioned plans to leave on dawn transports. Another has stated she has shifted her domicile into the local cave system and will be withdrawing her children from school."
Ren grimaced, an uncomfortable realization coalescing. Unlike the melodrama fans on the gossip streams, the Dal-Kri actually believed her death was imminent. And based on past UPA actions—if not some seer's vision—they predicted unhappy consequences. Just meters away, temple ruins glinted in the darkness, one of many culturally significant sites blue-kryst miners had destroyed with her mother's permission.
Amongst those fractured crystals, giggling sounded. Young voices rang out: "A mist jet, a blast jet! A black and yellow casket!" A rhyme, a taunt—black and yellow, UPA colors. "Death hacked into the Upa's heart, just so he could snatch it!" Shrieks sounded as children scattered, the rhyme the start of a game of chase.
Innocent voices. Not so innocent words: 'Upa' the Dal-Kri's term for the UPA; 'death' hacking and snatching the Upa's heart an allusion to the rebel activity in the wastes outside the city. A local group of insurgents, Dakk d'Kryt, the Crystal Death, frequently e-hijacked blue-kryst robo-transports to scuttle them, at great cost to the mine corporations. No UPA tech appeared safe from the rebels' interference.
Ren eyed the crowd warily. Children in pom-pom hats with cartoon rock lizards on their padded jackets were reciting insurgent poetry while their elders made plans to flee or hide. The extended families gathered around her took on a chilling significance. "They expect a backlash against them, and they think this will be their last chance to be together before things go to hell."
"A logical conclusion," Cue agreed. "There is a high probability your death will lead to them losing their Protected Indigenous Peoples status." Unsettling words, heartlessly delivered.
Ren hardened her jaw. "Except I'm not going to die."
"That is a statement of hope, not logic or probability."
She resisted the urge to yank out her audio bud—barely; fought to calm the emotions she'd been tamping down all week. She'd tried to keep her sense of humor. She'd tried to keep the situation in perspective. But looking at the Dal-Kri around her now, she couldn't find anything amusing or reassuring. In that moment, she knew the day was going to be a total shitshow. "Frak."
"You alright?" A male voice behind her.
She swung about—found vivid eyes watching her, a deep sapphire with sclera the color of arctic ice, not humans' usual creamy white. They stared out of a tawny brown face all long, smooth planes and sharp angles. Five lines of tattooed dots and dashes cut over one high cheekbone and opposite temple, an unapologetic display of heritage and allegiance as much as the dark, knitted h'bi wrapped around the man's head and shoulders.
Ren snapped her gaze away. Frak. She'd just outed herself as UPA.
"I'd ask if you were lost, but..." A hand in a tatty fingerless glove tugged on her dyed hair. "You seem to have dressed for this particular party."
Hearing humor, not hostility, Ren looked up. "I like the color." She met the bright gaze fixed on her. Too late for caution. "And I don't put much store in rules that dictate what I can and cannot wear." Because of the Dal-Kri's preference for blue, in higher parts of the city, the color was shunned for its association with low status, poverty, and insurgency.
A long dimple appeared in the Dal-Kri's cheek as he folded his hands into the pockets of his ankle-length coat. "A rebel, are you?"
"No, just contrarian."
"Well, contrarian, you're asking for trouble coming down to the Crush this morning."
"Because of my eye color?" She angled up her chin. "Or because you people have pissed the Governor off by threatening her daughter? Security is probably five minutes away from stomping this district back to quarry dust, Dal-Kri."
"It's Az." A cool introduction—a mild reprimand, politeness in the face of rudeness. "I'm going to assume you're not in the Upa's diplomatic service."
She smirked at the jibe; took the Dal-Kri's measure. No, not hostile, but not strictly safe. His amusement at her 'manners' spoke of confidence—not something a Dal-Kri could afford to have in a UPA-controlled city. "A friend recently pointed out tact inhibited efficient communication. With that in mind, I'll be blunt. I have questions. Like why did your seers take aim at the Governor's daughter? You're mistaken if you think targeting her will hurt the coldblooded reptile that birthed her."
A dark brow arched. "I take it you don't have a high opinion of the Governor."
"Her only child is predicted to die today." Ren let that fact hang a beat. "And the witch's on a business trip."
Az inclined his head, lips curving. "Point taken. In answer to your question, seers don't choose what they see. They see only fates fated to be seen, as witnessing them is one of the events that will lead to that future."
Ren lifted both brows. She'd not expected a straight answer—and she hadn't been given one. "That's some fatalistic, circular mind gymnastics. Do you really believe that?" She was honestly curious. This Dal-Kri seemed too clear-eyed and cynical for fantasy.
"All Dal-Kri believe that once the future has been witnessed, time will unfold as predicted, and any efforts to avoid that fate are inevitable and will only lead to that fate." Az shifted his gaze to the crowd, amusement fading. "An unwelcome future cannot be changed, only endured."
Ren followed his stare, unease rising. "Is that why your elders add so much cactus rum to their tea?"
Az turned back to her—winked. "One must enjoy life while one is alive. And you haven't lived until you've tried Crush pekoe." Before she could do more than blink, he'd dragged her to the front of the stall, to where large, ornate teapots steamed, their glass bodies enclosed in metal filigree and filled with ink-blue liquid.
"Your father is calling," Cue informed her. "Your absence has been noted."
Ren swallowed a curse; swiped away the call icon on her wrist-wrap's screen to dismiss it. Regret hit as Az turned back to her, a pottery cup in each hand and a wry dare in his gaze. She had no doubt, given the chance, she'd enjoy spending time with this Dal-Kri, trying out lower-city breakfast specialties, learning more about his people. But given UPA Security surveillance tech and their response time for priority clients, she had no seconds to waste.
She took the cup offered. Just the smell confirmed the tea was half alcohol—an amusement, like Az's grin, she couldn't afford to indulge. "You say your seers' predictions always come true, but a UPA anthropological study reported a case where the outcome was different from that foreseen."
Az lifted his drink, the humor in his gaze turning cool. "I know the Upa research you refer to. A shuttle crash was foreseen and occurred, but one of the crew survived when their more likely fate was to die."
"More likely fate? I thought Dal-Kri visions were meant to be absolute?"
Az nodded. "Time's course is usually unswerving, but there are moments of flux where paths diverge. The most probable future appears in one facet of a seer's crystal, and the less likely outcome shows itself as a ghost in another surface."
Ren glanced around the crowd; noted it was thinning—people leaving, perhaps to catch a hovertrain out of town. "If the Governor's daughter has an alternative fate to death, you should be advertising it. The Governor's already labeled the prophecy 'a veiled threat from violent insurgents'—which further undermines your people's standing and weighs in favor of a military crackdown. They'll come down hard on local rebels, like the gang that's been targeting shipments to the skyport, Dakk d'Kryt."
"That's an individual—a holy man—not a group." Az knocked back his tea; looked to the city above, where Security air-speeders wailed—lower now, within the walls of the reclaimed quarry, some trouble nearby. "He acts when there's a chance to choose a path, but he has foreseen many bloody battles ahead, much unavoidable suffering."
Ren eyed the speeders. "This would be a good time for him to act—as in, disavow the prophecy and make himself scarce."
"You Upa, thinking denial will change fate." Az shook his shawl-wrapped head. "The Governor's husband took that path. He hunted down the seers who saw his daughter's death and demanded they withdraw their words and proclaim a better future for his child. Not a wish they could grant, despite wanting to avoid arrest, beatings, and exile." The Dal-Kri sighed. "Few fates have a second facet, and those that do aren't easily turned toward the less likely outcome. One must identify the wistri. No easy task."
Ren jolted as her wrist-wrap vibrated—priority call. She dismissed it without looking at the screen, her heart off rhythm. Her father had gone to the seers? He was one of the least superstitious people she knew, 'fashion' his religion, his personal shopper his spiritual guide. But despite their many arguments over the years, she'd never doubted his love for her. Belatedly glancing to her e-wrap, she confirmed who'd just called. Was her father actually worried for her?
Pulse stumbling, she looked back to Az. "What's a wistri?"
"Comes from 'wish-tree.' The person or people who are present in the branch moment or moments needed to divert time's course. There can be thousands, spread over years, or just one in a single instant. Wistri are usually seers, people able to monitor the shifts in probability and intervene at the right time. But our seers know their fates, and none have foreseen themselves successfully intervening in what is to come."
"You truly believe the Governor's daughter will die today and that there's nothing you can do to stop it or the UPA moving against your people?"
Az returned his cup to the stall as its owner started packing up. "Even if time's flow is frayed between possibilities right now, the branch leading to disaster has the strongest current."
"So, you'll just give up. You won't fight?"
Az plucked her untouched tea from her hand. "Of course we will—and have been." He knocked back the drink with a grimace. "And in doing so, we will bring about the future we wish to avoid." He placed the cup aside, eyes lifting to the lightening sky, mouth twisting. "That is the great irony of fate."
"Security inbound," Cue advised via her earbud. "Public unrest is being reported throughout the lower city."
Ren glanced about the dispersing crowd; felt her gut sink. Given what the Dal-Kri believed, there'd have been other family gatherings like this across the city—all technically violations of Dal-Kri non-congregation laws. "Az, you and your people need to leave. Now."
Az sighed and stepped back; raised his hands behind his head, just as shouts sounded—then shrieks. As darkly armored UPA Security swarmed in from side streets, he smiled ruefully, bright gaze turning hard. "Renata Asari, what will be, will be."
She registered shock at the use of her name—had no time to do more. Hot light burst at Az's back, driving him to his knees. Another violent flash laid him out flat.
Ren threw herself onto the icy ground as UPA stun bolts lit the morning darkness like a storm.
*
Disbelief spun her mind. Horror locked her throat.
Breath shallow, Ren held herself still as armored boots stomped around her, narrowly missing her hands—but not missing Az's ribcage multiple times. The blatant vindictiveness of the blows had her head go light. She'd told Az her mother would use his people's prediction as an excuse to crack down on them. But when she'd said those words, they'd been an intellectual proposition, a statement given without comprehension of what that reality might look like—sound like.
Screams, shouts, panicked cries. Brutal thuds—bodies falling to stun guns and batons.
From her position on the ground, she saw parents take bolts to the back just for reaching for their children. Rage swept past fear. She'd known her mother had a slippery moral code and little tolerance for dissent, but this? Fisting her hands, she started planning all the ways she'd make the planet's Governor suffer in kind.
Rough hands cuffed her with plastic ties, yanked her upright, and shoved her towards a black shuttle striped with UPA yellow—a prison transport. Finding Az beside her, she started to ask if he was okay—got an armored fist to her side. Aghast, she met the visor-wrapped gaze of the officer who'd struck her; saw the man do a doubletake as he clocked her untainted, UPA eyes. Rather than avoid further action that might land him in a Citadel court, the officer bared his teeth, unclipped his stun baton from his belt—and punched it on.
Vehicle ground thrusters roared. Frosted kryst dust blasted legs as a dark air-speeder stamped with gold UPA insignia whirled to a stop just a meter away. Its twin doors opened like arching wings, and a familiar figure in a black suit unfolded himself from the vehicle, long auburn hair rippling like silk down his back. One-hundred and ninety centimeters of exquisite tailoring and prestigious salon styling, Ehno Asari knew how to make an entrance.
He snarled, perfect teeth perfectly ready to take a bite out of someone's throat. When he spotted her, relief flickered through his hot amber gaze; then it was back to murderous. She was in the passenger seat of his speeder before any Security officer could do more than shout. One point of her father's manicured finger had every officer within five meters stepping the hell back.
Sliding into the yellow, luxury leather-Tex of the pilot's seat, her father slapped the speeder's controls to secure her door, then rounded on her. "Do you even understand how much trouble you are in?"
She didn't care. Beyond the speeder's nose, innocent people were being assaulted and arrested. "Dad, you have to stop this. The Dal-Kri haven't done anything wrong. The Governor can't—"
"Your mother is the least of your problems," Ehno snapped. "She wants to send you to the UPA Military Academy, not the damn grave." He jerked her into his arms; squeezed her hard enough to kill breath. "Renata, there are three contract hits out on you, and those are just the bounties the Intelligence Division knows about." His hold tightened further. "I didn't want to believe this would happen."
Caught in her father's embrace, hands still tied, Ren felt a chill reach her soul. Her father was terrified for her. With reason. The statistical accuracy of Dal-Kri prophecies was moot. Cue had been right; if people believed her death would free up mining rights, some wouldn't leave such a windfall to chance.
A tug on her wrists—her bindings cut.
Her father pressed a kiss to her forehead, then pulled away, sliding a thin blade back into a tailored sleeve. "You're not safe in the city. With the bounties being offered, we can't trust even law enforcement. Stay here." He started to exit the speeder, then turned to yank her into another hug. "There are people working to keep you safe, Jellybean. Do whatever you have to to stay alive."
"Dad—" She broke off as he pushed her away and exited the speeder. What the hell? Why was he leaving? She gaped as her father strode straight to Az and punched him in the stomach, doubling the Dal-Kri over. With his hands secured behind his back, Az couldn't defend himself. Ren watched in horror as her father slammed the Dal-Kri face down on the speeder's polished, wedge-shaped nose.
Security officers raced to intervene. Ehno Asari went into full politically privileged rant mode, turning on the officers to dress them down, slinging orders he had no right to issue—before driving his fist into the face of the officer who appeared to be in command.
Ren scrambled to open her door as officers jerked stunners up, aimed them at her father—
A hand grabbed her; yanked her back from the speeder's opening door—a hand in a tatty fingerless glove.
Jolting back in her seat, Ren found Az beside her, his hands free and on the air-speeder's control yoke.
"Cue," Az rapped out. "Activate gypped ignition key and override biometric security protocols, secure doors, and fire ventral thrusters—maximum lift."
"Cue? What—" Ren jumped as her door snapped closed; flinched as the seat harness coiled around her. As thrusters thrummed to life, she tried to make sense of what was happening. Az had just ordered her AI to hack her father's speeder. He now appeared to be abducting her—possibly with her father's blessing, because how else had the Dal-Kri got free? "What the hell is going on?"
"UPA Security scanned your biometrics when arresting you," Cue responded via the speeder's sound system. "Freelance assassins will know your position. You are being evacuated to a safer location."
"Evacu—" The speeder punched straight upward, slamming her next question back down her throat. Her stomach plummeted away, along with the lower city's lights, concrete, and stone. Bracing herself, hands on roof and door, she fought fear and confusion. "Cue, why are you following Az's orders?" And since when had the bot had the ability to infiltrate high-tech security systems like those of her father's speeder?
"Azrael is my primary admin. I have always followed his orders."
Her breath stalled. She snapped her gaze to Az. Strapped into the pilot's seat, he tapped nav icons at the center of the control yoke. As the speeder lifted into the whirling transport lanes and cantilevered cliff buildings of the Mid City, disbelief gave way to something closer to panic. "Who the hell are you, 'Azrael'? And why the frak do you have admin access to my AI?"
Az rolled the speeder to starboard, sliding into the busy flow of morning traffic. "The seers told your father twenty years ago there was no wistri born to the Dal-Kri who could change your fate." He punched rear thrusters, slapping her back in her seat. "Your father is not someone who takes 'no' for an answer."
Ren held back curses, the speeder slicing past other vehicles, speed and collision alerts pinging. "My father gave you access to Cue? When I was a kid? You're not much older than—"
"Attempts to change fate require a guide. I've been yours since I first read crystal." Az wrenched them around the pizza-promoting panels of a delivery vehicle. "And your father gave the Dal-Kri access to a lot more than your companion bot to convince us to take up this futile battle. Security protocols and mining transport routes—information that has helped us slow the UPA's incursion into our lands. For all the good it will do." He shot her a grim look before slapping the speeder up into a higher traffic lane. "I am sorry, Renata Asari. As I have told your father many times, it is not my fate to save you or my people. It is my fate to try, and fail. Cue, how many tails have we picked up?"
"Two unregistered air-speeders approaching from the Southeast," the bot responded without pause. "And one in a vertical transport corridor directly overhead, currently in a dive. Estimated time to intercept one minute."
Ren whipped her head around to check the vehicles and buildings rapidly receding behind them. A sense of unreality gripped her. People were out to murder her. Her father had bribed Dal-Kri rebels—given them access to Cue and who knew what else. All because of some mushroom-induced vision? "This is not happening."
"Pursuing vehicles show signs of illegal modification," Cue piped up through collision warnings. "Armor, ox-jet boosters, nose-mounted pulse cannons, all visually confirmed. Closest will intercept in thirty seconds."
"Time to change the game." Az rammed the control yoke forward; sent the speeder plunging between lines of air traffic. He spared Ren a taut glance. "You ever seen the crystal fields at dawn, Upa?"
Braced against the dive, illuminated signs and the lights of other vehicles flashing past in wild streaks, Ren choked on a curse. "Are you spore drunk?" The Dal-Kri could not be suggesting what she thought he was. Right now, beyond the city's canyon walls and sky shields, the wastes lay harsh and still. But the sun was rising; radiant energy was heating night-frosted, unstable rock spiked with thermally conductive, pyroelectric crystal. Sunlit gullies and plains would soon become a storm of ground-level lightning, rupturing razer-edged crystal, and geysers as crystal transferred heat to underground reservoirs.
Ren frantically looked back—up—through the speeder's rear window, past traffic and buildings, to the brightening sky. Dawn was breaking. "Az, don't you frakking—Shit!" Her stomach dove through the floor as the speeder snapped level and powered directly toward a building-laden rockface—a wall of cubic domiciles, cafes, and laundromats lit with early-bird specials. "Az!"
At the last second, the Dal-Kri rolled the craft ninety degrees—sliced between a hotel sign and an apartment block, straight into a black fissure in the rock. The mouth of a cave.
A tunnel. Flashes of blue streaked by in the darkness, the speeder's lights hitting walls veined with crystal.
Ren gripped her harness; tried to find breath. Before the UPA, the Dal-Kri had lived underground; the old city under the new was a maze of tunnels. Given Az's connection to local rebels, she didn't doubt he knew the passages, but the speed at which rock was whipping past—"Az, how exactly am I supposed to die? Smeared along a frakking cave wall?"
Az snapped around a bend, ramming her against the speeder's door. "Details aren't clear, but fiery destruction is likely involved. However, you don't die in darkness. Cue, we still have our tail?"
"Traffic sensors have detected three other vehicles in close proximity behind us."
Az railed around another corner, fast enough to have the speeder ride up towards the tunnel roof. "Warn the outer sentries we're coming in hot, with company."
Outer sentries? Ren's gut lurched. Az didn't mean UPA units, and any Dal-Kri out in the wastes answered to Dakk d'Kryt, the holy man who—"Oh, shit no." She turned wide eyes on Az, a Dal-Kri seer, a man who had all kinds of unlawful access, likely enough to disrupt mining transports. Had her father's actions created her mother's rebel nemesis? Wow. Epic reason for a long overdue divorce.
A dull light appeared ahead: the tunnel's exit. The speeder burst out into a dark, jagged landscape rimmed by the gold of dawn. Sunlit ridges and exposed canyons already fumed: geyser steam and the dust of exploding rock.
Az arrowed the speeder straight down into the dawn's waking violence. "Cue, we still have our tail?"
"Yes," the bot confirmed. "And two heavy assault craft have just breached the city's shields and are inbound."
Steam a blinding haze, debris clattering over the roof and windshield, Az raced along the snaking bed of a gully. "Tell everyone on the ground to find solid cover. Ren—" a hard sideways glance "—get ready to run."
Around the next bend, a wall of dark rock loomed, a jagged, ground-level split cleaving it almost in two.
Az slammed the speeder down into the protective shadows of a huge, crack-crazed boulder. "This temple's entrance is too narrow to allow vehicles. Anyone wants to pay you a visit, they'll have to do it on foot." He triggered the speeder's doors. "Move!"
Ren tumbled out; questioned her own sanity, steam hissing up around her under the strengthening sunlight. How had she ended up in the wastes, in the company of rebels, only minutes before the planet's surface completely erupted—on the day she was predicted to die? As she ran with Az for the cave, a cold sense of inevitability washed over her. Dal-Kri seers had a ninety-nine point five percent accuracy rate. Az had said he'd tried for years to guide her and his people's destiny—but he was fated to fail.
Az pulled her into subterranean gloom, amongst hurrying Dal-Kri and piles of supplies. "The volatile crystal outside will keep them from storming the entrance, but we can expect a bombardment." He yanked her into a side passage. "Stay clear of the entrance. They'll be sending everything they have right through it—armored air-drones, explosive tech." As people rushed to him, he turned to issue orders and strap on armor and weapons.
Ren looked wildly around the dripping cavern; had her heart jolt. In the gloom high above and beyond supply crates, a wonderland of blue crystal glittered. Multifaceted clusters and towering columns; a cathedral of midnight and azure crystal. Awe rolled through her. Then horror as she recalled the shattered ruins in the city. Dread hit next as people rushed around her, grabbing up weapons and survival supplies. Heavy assault craft were inbound. This temple—a sacred, natural wonder—and everyone sheltering in it would likely be obliterated. Because of her.
She watched Az and his people loading handheld anti-aircraft weapons, their faces grim. He'd said they'd fight, but none believed they could change their fate.
She looked to the cave entrance, where sunlight backlit steam. Her father's speeder lay just meters beyond, likely still in shadow.
She didn't think. She just ran. She was out of the cave in seconds, boots pounding across fuming rock, the day's rising heat hitting like a slap. Pops and bangs echoed around her, rock shattering in sunlit parts of the gully—a warning she had next to no time.
Shouts and footfalls rang out behind her—
Scolding water burst upward over her. Her insulated jacket and pants spared her burns, but the geyser's haze wiped out visibility. As she stumbled forward blindly, more jets erupting around her, the Dal-Kri children's rhyme flashed to mind:
A mist jet, a blast jet.
Her gloved hands hit glossy ebony paint—the speeder. Relief a roar in her skull, she yanked Cue from her pocket; wrenched open the door to vivid yellow, luxury upholstery.
A black and yellow casket.
She felt fate's trap snap shut.
Az had told her. Seeing a vision was the first step in bringing about that fate.
All his efforts, all her father's, and now hers had led to this moment.
A deep thrumming. Violently swirling mist. Multiple assault craft swooped into the gully to hover over boiling geysers and spitting rock. A nose-mounted pulse cannon swiveled her way.
She threw Cue into the speeder. "Go—"
A blast of water and rock. She knew she fell; she felt the jolting pain. Everything a deafening, whirling haze, she fought to get back up. The speeder's thrusters knocked her back down, shunted her, tumbled her over rock as the craft powered straight up—
The boom of a pulse cannon.
Impact—force like a wall hitting her. For an instant, there was raining fire and pain.
Then black nothingness swallowed her.
*
A jolt: something striking her cheek. Ringing tinnitus. Then distant voices. Awareness snapped back.
Ren opened her eyes to cool gloom and towering crystals. For a second, relief hit—but panic came right on its heels.
She struggled against the pair of arms locked around her. She couldn't be there. She couldn't allow—
"Calm down, you lunatic." Az's voice; his arms trapping her against his chest. "Just be still. You're fine. Everything's fine."
"The assault—"
"It's over. They're gone. They saw what everyone saw—a damn crazy woman running through geysers and exploding rock. When the speeder took off, the bastards turned it to scorched frag, then left to collect their bounty."
Ren slumped; closed her eyes on a wince. "Cue." She'd never see his little sticker-covered body again. "Gods, he better have been backed up."
"It'll all be fine." Az leant his head against hers; released a long breath. "You're not Dal-Kri."
She opened her eyes, abruptly aware of how many blue eyes watched her in the gloom. "And you're bringing up the obvious now because?"
"None of us were fated to change fate." Az reached out to touch a column of crystal. Under his palm, inky gemstone turned sunlit turquoise. "A crazy Upa who chose to run, but not get in a speeder, chose the less likely path." Shapes swirled; seemed to push to the crystal's surface as if rising through turbulent water. An image formed...
Her and Az, sitting as they were, filthy with grit, his arm around her.
Ignoring her jumping pulse, Ren frowned. Dal-Kri crystal readings were controversial—notorious. This was... "It's just our reflections."
Az pulled her close; rested his chin on her head. "That, Renata Asari, is the vision we seers have seen in the weaker facet of your crystal reading for the past twenty years. This moment, right now, is the start of the future my people wished for—one you're in."
Ren jumped as wild whooping broke out around her; blinked as tea kettles and rum bottles rapidly appeared out of crates. "Okay... What now? Another damn party?"
Az tugged her upright. "Let's start with calling your father and ending any plan to declare my people terrorists and wipe us off the planet."
"Agreed." Looking about the merry chaos breaking out, Ren recalled Az's earlier words. "But after..." Her lips lifted, the Dal Kri's revelry contagious. "One must enjoy life while one's alive—and you owe me a drink."
Az grinned. As he pulled her away, she looked back, felt her heart race as her reflection faded to blank crystal.
A window closing on a story she was about to write.