“You’re my enemy. You corrupted my husband. You’ve brought him on this lunatic’s journey. You—”
“What I am is running out of time. Rax is the one behind all of this. Put that pistol down, Norra Wexley. Let me do what I need to do.”
Brentin now comes up behind Norra, and she flinches, fearing he’s there to attack her—but all he does is say, “Please, Norra.”
Her hand shakes so hard she’s afraid it might fall off.
Norra lowers the pistol. “Go.”
“You could give me the pistol.”
“Only way I give you this pistol is by pulling the trigger first.”
“Fair enough. I don’t need a blaster anyway—I am weapon enough.” Sloane nods, as if summoning enough courage to make her last statement true. Then she turns on her heel and walks away, heading down an adjacent hallway. Not once does she look back over her shoulder.
Norra wheels on her husband and hisses at him: “You need to fix this. Brentin, listen very closely. Temmin is here, on Jakku. Your son. If you love him, and you love me, and you care at all about the New Republic that you once fought to build, fix this.”
Fear and uncertainly flash like lightning in Brentin’s eyes, but he nods and in a quiet, firm voice he says: “I will.”
—
She finds him waiting for her. Down a set of steps, past a wall lined with what look to be powered-down droids, Rax waits. An infernal glow rises behind him, with blue embers whirling in the air above.
“Hello, Rax,” Sloane says.
It’s just her in here with him. She has nothing. No weapon. That damnable Norra Wexley wouldn’t lend her a blaster. That awful woman was stubborn as the roots of an old tree. Smart move, admittedly. Sloane thought to simply take it from the woman, but in no world does she believe Brentin Wexley would allow that. And so she tells herself what she told them:
I am weapon enough.
At the very least, she knows they won’t be leaving her behind. The shuttle gave up the ghost moments before landing: It was already shot to hell when they took it from the Imperial base, and as the ship settled toward the ground, coming in to land through the blowing sand and whipping dust, the engines gave out, the repulsors failed, and the whole ship thudded dully as it dropped. The panel went dark. The ship died. There goes our ride, she thought. Good news was, they didn’t have to use the shuttle to blast the doors open. The door wasn’t locked. She stepped to it and it opened.
No turbolasers. No defenses at all. An unlocked door. Worry seized her: Was Rax even here? Were they too late?
Now she knows. He’s here. This ends.
Rax looks unarmed, as well. She sees no holster at his hip. Only him standing there, shoulders back, chest puffed out in his white naval uniform, a red cape sweeping behind him. My, he looks pleased with himself, she thinks. A smug twist to his lips adds further demonstration.
She thinks to punch that smug look right off his face.
“Did you see the show?” Rax asks her.
“I did,” she answers. “Was it all for me?”
“No. The whole galaxy was my audience. But you…” He kisses the air. “You know more than most. Which means you understood it better than almost anybody else.”
“I don’t understand any of it. So why don’t you explain it to me?” She holds up both her hands and gives a little shrug. “You’re so proud of what you did here. Tell me. What was this all about, Counselor? Or should I call you Galli? Precious little orphan.”
That stings him. He tries not to show it, but his lip twitches, his brow flinches. Her barb lands. “I don’t have time for this. I am leaving.”
Her hands form fists. “Only way out is through me.”
“So be it.” Rax walks toward her. Slow determination seems to urge him forward, the same determination of a predator stalking its prey—sure-footed, but with an easy, affable gait. Almost as if to say, Don’t worry your little whiskers about me. I won’t hurt you, little creature.
“I will say this,” Rax comments as he takes one deliberate step after the next. “You were so close to it. We were so close. I always thought you’d be with me here at the end. And here you are.” His face goes sour. “Just not how I pictured it.”
“You still thought I’d work with you? After Akiva? After Chandrila? You threw me into the fire again and again.”
“Fire forges some blades.” He makes a dismissive gesture with his hands, like someone throwing away a bit of garbage. “And it ruins others.”
He’s dead ahead of her now. Rax stops walking. He smiles.
“I’m not letting you leave here alive,” she says.
“How does this work, then? I don’t have a blaster.” He tugs back the curtain of his cape to show the void of weapons at either side. “I suppose I should have brought one. You should have, too.”
“If wishes were starships—”