Page 99 of Last of Her Name
“The Prisms cannot be allowed to exist,” he says. “They are the greatest threat in the galaxy, bombs just waiting to go off, just like they did on Emerault’s moon. As long as they power our worlds, and as long as the Prismata exists to turn that power against us, we will never be safe. We will never befree.”
His eyes alight with fervor, even as behind him, the Committee members begin to murmur among themselves.
“Give me the Firebird, Anya Leonova, so that I can do what should have been done centuries ago—rid our race of the Prisms for good.”
Shouts of protest and anger rise from the Committee.
“Here, now, Volkov,” says the Head of Defense, stepping forward. “What in the stars are you talking about, man? You said we wouldcontrolthe Prisms, not destroy them!”
“Yes!” cries Commerce. “You can’t destroy the Prismata. It powers everything in the galaxy! Warp travel, every city and station in the Belt, all of it would be lost.”
“The man’s gone mad!” says Education. “Every ship in the sky would fall, cities would shut down, hospitals and schools—millions would die!”
Defense steps forward, his face red.
“Stand down, Volkov. We never authorized this!”
Their voices rise and blend, their faces contorting with anger. My heart rises, hope flickering.
The Committee will never let Volkov carry out this madness. They might be ruthless in their rule of the Belt, likely each of them more deserving of a prison cell than an office in the Rezidencia, but even they see that he has gone over the edge. I don’t fully understand the Prismata, but if it’s the source of all Prismic energy, then even I can see how devastating its loss would be. I can’t imagine what Volkov’s motive is—unless he really has gone insane.
The Committee shouts at the vityazes, calling for the direktor to be seized. In response, the soldiers draw their guns, falling into attack formations, calling commands to one another. They move like machines, precise and deadly. Pol, Riyan, and Mara huddle together, watching in shock, but the men guarding them are too attentive. No chance of them breaking free, even with the activity bubbling behind them.
Then Volkov just shakes his head and raises his hand.
And the vityazes all turn, weapons aimed—at the Grand Committee.
The men and women fall silent, eyes wide. The wineglass falls from the Head of Commerce’s hand; it shatters on the floor, a pale pool of liquid spreading around her expensive shoes.
“What’s the meaning of this, Alexei?” calls the Head of Defense, moving to shield her.
“Friends, friends,” Volkov says, his hand still raised. “I know you are confused. But trust me. All of it, from the beginning, has been for the greater good. A cause that I would gladly sacrifice my life for. But until I’ve seen it to the end, I cannot let anything stand in the way. Humanity will not be ruled by gods, and so the gods must be slain.”
The members of the Committee start to panic, some of them bolting for the doors only to find them blocked by soldiers, and I realize it a moment after they do: Volkov was ready for this. Hewantedit. He had to know the Committee would never go along with his true plan, and he never intended for any of them to leave this room alive. That’s why he wanted them assembled in person. He’s been three steps ahead of us all this entire time, the way he always was when he forced me to play Triangulum. I keep underestimating him, but so does everyone else, it seems.
“Volkov!” shouts the Head of Commerce, her dark curls slightly undone after the scuffle. “You wouldn’t dare—”
He drops his hand, and deadly Prismic rays erupt from the vityazes’ guns.
I quickly turn away, covering my eyes, but cannot block out the sound of two dozen bodies hitting the floor. It seems to last an eternity, the sickening thuds, the whine of the guns, the screams.
And then it’s over.
A terrible silence falls.
I wait another moment before turning, horror bitter on my tongue.
Unable to look directly at the carnage, I stare instead at Pol, and he stares back, his face pale, his eyes wide. He shakes his head slightly, as if he doesn’t know what to make of it. As if he’s askingmewhat to do.
But I am utterly at a loss.
This is so much worse than we could have ever imagined.
The Grand Committee, the feared iron hand controlling the galaxy, isgone. Wiped out in moments by a madman with dark aspirations far greater than anything my cursed ancestors ever dreamed up. The only people who might have stopped him are dead, littering the floor of the Solariat, where the Leonov family also met their end. This room is soaked with the blood of the past and present, and all of it, all of it comes down to one man.
In the midst of the bloodbath, Alexei Volkov stands with his head cocked, as if he were watching live theater. The vityazes wait in silence, guns lowered, their faces shadowed by their helmets.
Volkov slowly lowers himself to a crouch and reaches out to touch the face of the Head of Press and Public Affairs; her curated smile will never again greet the citizens of the Belt on the morning news. Smoke rises from the holes riddling her body.