The Starlight Lancer

Chapter Eighty-Nine: Out-Leveraged

"Those who would act in defense of others' lives are predictable, and predictability is what leads to weakness."

—Torvalan Conqueror Hymoss Kai

In a loud voice, Almada said, "I've had enough of this—of your circumventing Synatorium law—trying to take what's mine."

Fell, now facing Ondor, pointed his rotating scrap cannon at the chairman. Ondor was unflinching, not even raising his shield.

"Go ahead," Ondor said. "Seal your fates—and the people's. The Synatorium will not let the death of a chairman stand. The next ships coming to Archava would be Militarium Allegiant—and even if you manage to escape this garbage world, they'll never stop hunting you—or them."

"Your political protections won't do you much good in the moment," Fell replied. "Especially if I just take the heat for everything."

A smirk came over Ondor's face. "Precisely why I didn't rely on that alone."

One of the mercenaries behind him grabbed a hostage—a boy no older than five—by the wrist, and dragged the screaming child over to Ondor. The mother, another of the hostages, began to wail and kick and scream, but was butted in the back of the head by a birifle and subdued.

The chairman leaned over to quiet the boy with reassurance, then stood and put one hand on the boy's shoulder; the other held the phase cycler to his head.

Fell growled. "This is between you and me, Almada—don't bring the kid into it!"

A scoff came from Ondor's mouth. "As if you've left me any other choice—every grain of sand upon which you stand is mine. Your refusal to cooperate is what's led us to this. Don't blame me for the lengths to which I will go to claim what is rightfully owed to me."

The warsuit's modulation distorted Fell's voice as he growled, "The people aren't yours."

"Oh, but they are—any non-Synatorium citizens were purchased along with the rest of the trash. The Synatorium has no duty to people who are not its citizens. At this point, though, I've little use for seventy starving squatters. Maybe, when all this madness is over and what's owed to me is mine, I'll have use for them in a salt mine—maybe not."

The warsuit's arm twitched, still honed on Ondor; Fell gave no reply.

The chairman continued, "Of course, you still won't let these people die in front of you, even knowing what awaits them. It's how you see yourself. I'm sure, for the past two years, you've likened yourself to a hero—but you and yours are nothing more than dirty, filthy vagrants taking what isn't yours. Thieves and criminals. Scum, vermin—the lowest of the low."

Zaina stepped forward. "Ondor—"

His attention shifted to her. "And you—don't even get me started on how disappointed I am in you. I thought, when first we met, that there was an understanding between us."

In a serious tone, she replied, "You tried to have us killed."

Ondor waved his hand dismissively. "A little extra motivation to go at Fell, that's all. I knew you two were capable enough to defeat that rag-tag crew, and that Gilvus stood a good chance of surviving; little came of it, didn't it?"

"Little—look at me!" Zaina replied, stepping forward and stretching out her arms for Ondor to see the blood soaked into her armor. "I didn't want to hurt anyone, but they made me! And you made them do that to me!"

A sigh erupted from Ondor. "Yes, because I hoped you'd see reason. Instead, you fell for his tricks."

"You mean I didn't fall for yours," she said. "You killed all those people."