Page 42 of Shadows of Stardust

Zandrel

My footsteps echo on the hammered metal bridge connecting the spectator’s gallery in the Aux Council Chamber to the center platform where my judgment awaits.

On that platform, twelve council members and Chairman Riddik watch me approach. Seated at a raised, crescent-shaped bench, their expressions rage from mild confusion to bored indifference to one viciously pointed glower that stabs against my armor plating like the strike of shrapnel.

“Zandrel of Revexor, former unit leader of company Gamma-eighteen and recently reinstated member of Sigma-nine, come to address the council.”

The Council Chamber sits near the heart of the Aux Headquarters station, inside a vast spherical chamber no doubt designed with an eye toward intimidation and prestige. The chamber steward’s pronouncement echoes in the cavernous space, reverberating through my bones as I take my place at the speaker’s podium to argue my case.

Thirteen gazes fix on me, but my hands don’t shake and my voice comes out clear.

“It’s an honor to address the Council today, and I hope you’ll remain open to listening to what I have to say.”

It’s obvious which Council members are going to be the hardest to win over.

Several expressions harden along the length of the crescent, arms folding, brows furrowing.

And then there’s Veren.

The bastard’s somehow earned himself a Council spot in the months I’ve been away, and a flame kicks up in the bottom of my gut when I meet his eye.

Disdain, pure and skewering, sets itself in every line of his blunt, merciless features.

Cowards, I remind myself, always cowards at their cores—males like Veren, prone to crumbling completely when their ill-gotten authority is challenged.

I flick the band on my wrist, and a holo opens. Large and looming over the entire Council, it displays dozens of photos.

Aux-issued identification photos.

“What is this?” Veren asks.

“You don’t recognize any of them?” He doesn’t respond, so I fill the silence for him. “No. I don’t imagine you would.”

I run my fingers over the band again, and the face of a golden-feathered Aventri fills the holo screen.

“This is Zenya. She was recruited from the rubble of a battlefield on her homeworld. She was fifteen.”

Riddik leans forward slightly in his seat. “What is the meaning of—”

“She died when she was sixteen. On a training exercise in the Abdor System.”

Interrupting a question by the Council Chair may not be the smartest move here. But the words keep coming—unstoppable now that they’ve started—followed by more faces on the screen.

“Jensor. Age fourteen when he was recruited out of a dying world. He was removed from service following a catastrophic brain injury at age twenty.”

Another flick, another face.

“Annis. Just twelve when a recruiter picked them out of a juvenile detention facility. They still serve today at age twenty-five.”

One after another, I offer evidence of how long this has been going on, how many children have been manipulated with promises of glory, pretty tales about leaving their lives of misery behind.

Until there’s just one more picture left.

“Zandrel. Recruited in a foundling home at thirteen. Demoted from his rank in the Aux when he dared speak out to his commanding officer about the abhorrent practice of recruiting children into mercenary service.”

Perhaps a bit dramatic, but the impact of my own face filling the screen seems to jolt some of the Council back to life. Murmurs ripple along the crescent and in the gallery behind me.

I touch my wrist and the image fades. It leaves me alone before the Council, the focus of those thirteen stares once more.

Silence falls, and I hope it’s enough.

I hope all those stories meant something.

Finding them has taken the last two months, though I can’t take all the credit for myself.

Marva became the ally I desperately needed. She’s worked right alongside me behind the scenes, moving pieces around the board with the same deftness she used to manage her Mate Match crew, and rallying the support I’ll need to make this final play.

At least four Council members are already in her pocket. They’ve been briefed and convinced, and having at least a handful of friendly votes for what’s coming next might not be the certainty I’d like, but it’s something.

“I stand before the Council and ask for these abuses to end. Abuses which would certainly tarnish the Aux’s reputation were they to come to light in the wider sector.”

If I didn’t have the full attention of the Council before, I certainly have it now. Postures straighten, nervous glances pass between members of this most esteemed body, and the gallery behind me falls utterly silent.

“Brought to light by who?” Veren spits. “One disgraced Aux member spreading lies in the sector is hardly a concern for this Council.”

Our eyes meet, and for a moment, the years disappear.

I’m thirteen again, leaving the foundling home for a promise of glory.

I’m twenty, heaped with accolades and praise, rising through the ranks like all of it meant something.

I’m thirty-three, looking into the face of the male who I’d seen as a second father, realizing his complicity in ruining countless lives.

I’m here, now, on the precipice of doing something about it, ready to change the course I’ve been on since I was too young to understand what it all meant, taking that very first step.

I look away from Veren, turning to face Riddik directly. “In case you haven’t heard, I’m about to be the most famous face of the Aux.”

Another ripple of murmurs, and Riddik lets out a snort.

“We’ve heard. A reality vidcomm star, Zandrel? Really?”

I force myself to shrug, letting the insult slide off me.

If there’s one thing in my entire fatesforsaken life that I’ll never regret, it’s my time on the Mate Match beach.

“Really,” I say, a smirk tugging at the corner of my lip. “And think what you want about that, but there won’t be any denying the influence I’ll be able to wield. The stories I’ll be able to tell in the media.”

“Your contract prohibits slandering the Aux in the public sphere,” Veren says, incensed. “You’ll face the full might of our legal—”

“Slander implies a lie.” I can’t stop the warning growl that builds from the depths of my chest. “Tell me where the lie is, Veren.”

He opens his mouth to continue arguing, but Riddik raises a hand.

“Silence.”

Veren complies, though he grits his teeth into a snarl.

Sensing the chaos roiling beneath the surface, the tension rising in the room, I press on, appealing directly to Riddik once more.

“The Aux works with plenty of governments and intergalactic corporations who are very sensitive to optics. Contracting with a corrupt band of mercenaries preying on vulnerable children won’t do any favors for their public perception, or for their willingness to pay a premium for those services.”

At the corners of Riddik’s mouth, I might almost be able to convince myself I see the faintest hint of a wry smile.

I’m sure I’m imagining it, but when he steeples his fingers in front of him and sits back comfortably in his seat, some of the aching tension in my chest loosens.

“So, Zandrel, what would you have us do about this?”

The bare bones of my plan take only a few minutes to communicate.

A newly created commission—working independently of the influence of the Councilors, reporting directly to the Council Chair—to look into all matters of recruiting within the Aux. To root out the corruption. To make sure no child is ever again compelled to sign up for a future they are in no way equipped to fully understand.

“And I suppose you’d be the one to lead this commission?”

Riddik’s question isn’t unexpected, but my heart fists painfully before I answer, knowing what it will mean to agree.

“It would be the honor of my career, Sir.”

He leans forward, raises a brow. “You’d give up working in the field? Give up all you’ve earned and your unit command?”

“For this? Yes. Without question.”

Something sparks in Riddik’s eyes, something I very much want to believe is approval. But as soon as it appears, it’s gone, and he addresses the rest of the Council.

“Very well. We’ll break for an hour, then put it to a vote.”

The Council stands and files out of chambers, and I allow myself a moment. Just one. Hands clasped on the speaker’s podium, a deep, shaking breath drawn into my lungs.

It will be enough.

It has to be enough.

The joints of my knees buckle for one terrible, embarrassing moment, but snap back together at the touch of a hand on my shoulder.

“You’ll get your votes.”

I huff a breath through my nose and turn to face Marva. “You sound certain.”

“I am.” Her gaze drifts to the empty crescent and she shakes her head. “I never imagined there could be anything that would make me miss that saintsforsaken beach, but being back here has proven me wrong.”

“You know I couldn’t have done it without you. And I can’t say how grateful I am that you—”

“Save it,” she says, every bit as uncomfortable as I am with emoting. “Do the work. Make it mean something. Then you can thank me.”

“Alright. I’ll do that.”

With a curt nod, Marva shakes her shoulders like she could dislodge the oppressive weight of this place. “I’ve got a shuttle to catch. You’ll let me know when you get the votes?”

“I will.”

No further niceties needed, she turns to go, only pausing briefly on the bridge to toss back one last parting order.

“And you’ll let me know when you get the rest of it figured out, too. Severin’s only a couple of jumpgates from here, you know.”

My throat tightens, and I have to clear it before answering. “I’m aware.”

“Good.”

That tightness sticks with me as Marva leaves the chamber, as I find an unoccupied seat to wait, as the Council files back in an hour later.

And even when I get my vote, it doesn’t entirely loosen.

In the end, I get nine hands.

Enough. It’s enough.

It’s also a reminder.

A reminder of how deep the issues within the Aux run. A reminder of the work ahead—work that may not even be completed in my lifetime, but that’s necessary, right, worth the effort.

“Are we done here?” Veren asks as the Council prepares to wrap up the day’s business. He hasn’t looked at me since the session resumed, but I tuck away my blade-sharp need for vengeance.

His time will come, and I look forward to figuring out how to one day serve him the justice he’s earned for himself.

“I suppose we are,” Riddik says, raising his gavel to strike the conclusion of the session.

But I’m not done, and though I’m more than ready to take up the mantle of leading this new commission, there’s something I need to do first.

“Chairman Riddik.”

The old male turns, good-natured exasperation clear on his face, but I press on.

In fact, I barely even see him, barely see the Council, barely see anything in front of me as I reach in triumph for the demand I already know he’ll acquiesce to.

All I see as I prepare to give it are a pair of tear-damp emerald eyes and shoulders squared against a universe not known for doling out mercy. I see a flash of dark brown hair walking away from me, one last glimpse of skin marked by violence and hope.

“Before I step down from active service, I’ve got one last mission I’d like to run.”