The Exiled Earthborn by Paul Tassi Page A

least been spared. She … was so young. She had nothing to do with any of it.”
    “I’m sorry, Alpha,” Lucas said.
    “And I am too,” Tannon said. “But what about the intel we just lost? All you got him to say was what we already know.”
    Alpha shook off his shock momentarily.
    “I extracted a large amount of encrypted data from his workstation in the Rhylos base. He would not have said anything further to me or you, but I may be able to glean useful information from what we recovered during the raid. I will set to work decoding it immediately … assuming I am not about to be executed or imprisoned.”
    Tannon sighed and rubbed his eyes with his hands.
    “Get out of here and cleaned up. The rest of you, incinerate this piece of shit and make sure Maston doesn’t do this to Tulwar next door.”
    Alpha walked to the door as soldiers parted in front of him. Lucas followed him toward the lift and could see he was still shaking.
    “This war,” he said with a wavering voice, “it has changed me, deeply.”
    “Not many of us still recognize ourselves,” Lucas said. “I certainly don’t.”
    “I must … I must decode his data. I am sorry you had to witness that.”
    He stepped into the lift with four armed guards accompanying him. Apparently Tannon wasn’t letting him stroll around unmonitored after that incident.
    “I would have done the same,” Lucas said. The look in Alpha’s eyes was one of haunting sorrow.
    “Alpha, what is the Desecrator?”
    Alpha glanced up at him.
    “A story. Nothing more.”
    But there was no mistaking the expression of fear he wore as the doors closed.
    Lucas returned to the holding block and found Mars Maston slouched against the wall opposite another pane of one-way glass. Inside was Hex Tulwar, his remaining arm restrained while his stump was wrapped in a bloody pressurized bandage hooked up to a nearby machine. He legs were firmly planted to the floor inside unmoving metal cuffs, and his shirt remained torn open to show his scars. His face was battered from the crash and Maston’s subsequent assault. No one was questioning him, and he barely looked conscious. Lucas figured he must be on a steady flow of painkillers for the recent loss of his limb.
    Maston was disheveled with his uniform unbuttoned and curled black hair covering his eyes. He rubbed his raw knuckles, which were split open from their recent contact with Tulwar’s face. He spoke without looking at Lucas.
    “If you’re here to stop me from finishing the job, don’t worry, everyone on this level has strict orders not to let me in there.”
    He turned to him.
    “Though I hear no one made any such restrictions on your friend down the hall. I didn’t think he had it in him.”
    Lucas stared through the glass at Tulwar, whose head was bobbing slightly.
    “He was provoked.”
    Maston let out a short laugh. Lucas thought he smelled the all-too-familiar scent of alcohol, or whatever its equivalent was here.
    “Provoked? You’re going to tell me about being provoked when you stopped me from killing the man who murdered Cora in cold blood?”
    Lucas sighed.
    “No one cares about another dead Xalan. But they’ll care about him.”
    He nodded toward Tulwar.
    “Not for long,” Maston said darkly. “We’re already releasing evidence onto the Stream about his conspiracy with the Xalans. We got plenty from the raid, and even his allies will find it indefensible. The wildfire of the Fourth Order is about to be extinguished. And when it’s his turn to be put down for good, I’ll be the one to do it.”
    Lucas turned to Maston.
    “When he was on his knees back there, he said something about being greeted by Kyneth and Zurana. Who are they?”
    Maston scoffed.
    “Pagan nonsense, though a belief half the planet used to share back in ancient times.”
    He scratched his head and continued staring straight ahead.
    “Kyneth and Zurana were the first two Sorans. They arose out of the Blessed Forest a few million