Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
C oleridge’s first breath came in a ragged hiss, not from pain—but from fury. The moment he realized he was still alive, he reached for his weapon.
Nothing. Gone.
Rage coiled through him like a living thing. His fingers brushed over the scorched fabric of his uniform, feeling the faint pulse of the protective shield beneath it.
That bitch.
Pain radiated through his chest and head, sharp and persistent. A fresh wave of dizziness hit him as he touched the gash at his temple, his fingers coming away slick with blood.
He gritted his teeth, pushing to his feet . The sting of humiliation burned hotter than the wound. Overpowered. By his son. By that woman .
Julia Marksdale’s face flashed in his mind—those defiant eyes, filled with a stubbornness that reminded him too much of Nia. His jaw clenched. He would kill her.
Coleridge stumbled toward the door, reaching instinctively for his commlink and weapon—gone. His security key was missing too. He pounded on the door with his fist, each strike feeding the rage boiling under his skin. It took nearly a dozen hits before the door finally slid open.
A guard stared back at him, wide-eyed. “Gen… General Landais?”
Coleridge didn’t bother with explanations. He seized the guard by the front of his uniform, yanking him close while his other hand snatched the man’s weapon.
“Where did they go?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.
The guard stammered, “W-who, sir?”
The rage erupted. The guard had barely finished sputtering out his answer before Coleridge pressed the weapon to the guard’s side and pulled the trigger . The man crumpled without a sound.
Useless. All of them .
Stepping over the guard’s body, he grabbed the commlink and security card, swiping it against the panel outside Roan’s cell. The door slid open to reveal nothing but discarded wrist restraints and an empty cot.
His fist clenched around the commlink. “Level Five alert. Two prisoners have escaped—one is General Roan Landais. All personnel are to remove their helmets immediately. There are infiltrators aboard. Lock down all exits and check the lower detention cells for the freighter captain.”
His boots echoed sharply against the metal deck as he stormed toward the bridge. The halls felt too quiet , the tension too thick . The moment he stepped onto the bridge, alarms blared—a shrill, mocking sound.
“Status report!” Coleridge barked.
Commander Manta turned, his expression tight. “The systems are shutting down, General. A full system override has bypassed security protocols. Every system is failing—life support, communications, weapons.”
Coleridge’s breath hissed out through clenched teeth. “What about the freighter?”
“Gone, sir. No departure logs, but the landing bay was opened. We believe it’s using a cloaking shield. We’re tracking residual heat signatures—it’s heading back to the planet.”
His son’s handiwork—and the freighter captain. He relished making an example of all of them.
Coleridge’s pulse roared in his ears, the humiliation unbearable. Roan had outsmarted him. Just as Nia had tried to do. And now Julia Marksdale—the scientist—had played him for a fool as well.
“Deploy the fighters,” he ordered coldly. “Destroy the freighter. And burn Plateau to ash.”
Commander Manta hesitated only for a moment before nodding and retreating to carry out the order.
Coleridge turned, his attention drawn to the flickering lights as systems continued to fail around him. This wasn’t just failure.
This was betrayal.
Andri.
The thought of facing his half-brother made his stomach twist with a rare, unwelcome sensation—dread. Andri would revel in this. He’d been right all along about Roan.
A notification flashed across the screen, breaking through his thoughts. Andri’s face appeared, his expression smug even without speaking.
Coleridge’s fingers curled into fists. Not now.
He spun on his heel, leaving the bridge, his rage boiling just beneath the surface. The failure burned in his chest, heavier than any wound, sharper than any blade.
And if Roan survived, he would learn exactly what it felt like to face the full force of the Legion’s wrath.
* * *
The familiar weight of his father’s staff settled into Roan’s grip, the cool metal humming faintly against his palm as if it remembered who it truly belonged to. A symbol of power, once perverted by Coleridge, now reclaimed.
He ignored the ache radiating from his ribs, the deep bruises a reminder of his father’s fury—pain that he refused to let define him. There wasn’t time for weakness. Not now.
The freighter jolted violently as Legion fighters swarmed around them like predators scenting blood . Roan slid into the co-pilot’s seat, his hands instinctively finding the controls. La’Rue’s glare was sharp enough to cut steel .
“My ship. My command,” she snapped.
Roan didn’t flinch. “Then we’ll both command it,” he shot back, fingers already working through the navigational data. He’d flown through these frozen islands before—knew the fractures in the ice where others would crash.
La’Rue finally relented, muttering curses under her breath as she sprinted toward the gun turret. Sergi followed, leaving Roan with Julia in the cramped cockpit.
She didn’t say anything, but he felt her eyes on him. Worried.
His jaw clenched. She should be.
But not because of his injuries—because of what was coming.
The Legion fighters descended, their formation tight and ruthless. He knew their tactics. How they would attack. He had trained many of them.
Roan’s hands gripped the controls, weaving the freighter through jagged ice towers, the ship’s engines screaming in protest. The cold of the frozen islands was both their shield and their trap.
Lasers streaked past the viewport, searing too close for comfort. Behind him, Julia’s voice cut through the chaos.
“Roan—your side!”
He jerked the controls, narrowly avoiding a blast that would’ve gutted them. The maneuver sent a fresh wave of pain through his ribs, but he bit it down, refusing to show weakness. Not in front of her.
He trusted La’Rue and Sergi to handle the gunners, knowing the odds were stacked against them. Too many fighters. Not enough firepower. It didn’t help that he was facing off against starfighters with a freighter.
Roan spared a glance at Julia—her face was pale but steady, her hands clenched around the edge of the console. She wasn’t a soldier. But the courage in her eyes said otherwise.
Their gazes met, and for a brief second, the chaos faded.
She was scared. Not of the battle—of losing him.
That realization hit him harder than any blow his father could have given him. The only ones who had ever looked at him with love and compassion were his grandparents… and his mother. The last was a faded memory that he had clung to during the early years of his father and uncle’s brutal training sessions.
The freighter shuddered violently as a blast struck one of the rear engines. Roan cursed, fighting the controls as the ship spun out, spiraling toward the icy cliffs below.
“H, divert power to auxiliary thrusters!” La’Rue’s voice barked through the com.
Smoke briefly filled the cockpit as a circuit overheated before the automated air filter cleared it. Roan blinked to clear his vision and wiped at his burning eyes. His hands slipped on the controls, slick with sweat and blood from a cut on his knuckle that had opened back up. The ship clipped the edge of a frozen cliff, sending shards of ice cascading like shattered glass.
“Brace for impact!” Roan shouted.
Julia’s hand shot out, gripping his forearm. Tight. Grounding.
The freighter slammed into the ice, skidding violently before tilting at an impossible angle—its nose hanging over the edge of a fractured shelf. Roan’s heart pounded, not from fear, but from the sheer determination to keep from going over the edge.
They weren’t done. Not yet.
Roan released his restraints, his breath ragged. His hands flew to the controls, assessing the damage. They needed to get the engines back online. The shields were at less than thirty percent. They wouldn’t hold long.
His mind shied away from the lower gun turret where Sergi had been. He hoped the man had escaped before their impact. His attention moved to the front viewport.
Legion fighters circled overhead like predatory birds of Torrian. Relief swept through him when he heard Sergi’s voice responding to La’Rue. They were working on repairs already.
Roan reached down and gripped the handle of the staff. The grip fit perfectly in his hand. He rose from his seat, pausing when Julia laid her hand on his arm with a questioning expression. He lifted his hand and gently caressed her cheek, before turning away and exiting the cockpit.
He paused when he noticed Sergi’s strong fingers wrap around La’Rue’s wrist. She was holding her staff and staring back at Sergi with a mixture of determination and resignation. Sergi was staring at La’Rue with an intense expression.
“What are you doing?” Sergi demanded.
La’Rue gave him a shaky smile. “What I was meant to do…. You need time to repair the damage. Get the shields and cannons back online,” she instructed.
“La’Rue,” Sergi started to protest before he looked toward the door where Roan and Julia now stood.
“She is correct. Repair the shields and bring the cannons back online. La’Rue and I can help protect the freighter,” Roan said, gripping his father’s staff in his hand.
“With those?” Sergi demanded in a skeptical tone.
“Yes,” La’Rue and Roan both replied in unison.
“Roan.”
Julia’s low voice, filled with emotion, pulled at him.
“You and Sergi must survive. You bring hope. That is more powerful than any weapon,” he said.
Julia breathed in deep and nodded. He caressed her chin once more before he pulled away and followed La’Rue. They climbed to the top of the freighter, exiting onto the outer hull and emerging on the roof. An icy wind cut through his clothes. He braced his feet to keep from slipping and looked up as a fighter came in towards them.
“Do you know how to use the staff?” La’Rue asked.
Roan held the staff out in front of himself and extended the rod. Twirling it, he aimed it at an approaching Legion fighter that was firing on their allies and released a powerful burst from the tip. The orb-shaped ball of energy cut through the center of the fighter from stem to stern, sending it spiraling out of the sky where it disappeared beneath them.
“Yes,” he replied, aiming at another Legion fighter.
* * *
The freighter shuddered beneath Julia’s feet, the deck vibrating with every blast that rocked the ice below. Smoke coiled through the narrow corridors, the faint scent of burning metal mixing with cold recycled air. She gripped the edge of the console tighter, her heart racing—not from fear of the battle, but from what was happening outside.
Roan was out there.
Through the viewport, she watched him and La’Rue move—two lone figures against the chaos . Julia’s breath hitched. The way he moved—focused, relentless—was terrifying and breathtaking all at once.
He stood steady as he wielded the Knight’s staff with a precision that left her breathless. The staff glowed with bursts of light, cutting through Legion fighters like paper, but it was more than the weapon. It was him.
She had spent her life studying the stars, but she had never met anyone who burned like Roan did. He wasn’t just fighting. He was choosing who he wanted to be.
He was relentless, a force forged in fire and loss, fighting with everything he had left—and that terrified her more than the Legion.
Her fingers hovered over the controls, helpless to do more than track the damage reports flashing across the screen. The engines groaned beneath her, struggling to maintain power. Sergi’s voice crackled in her ear, calm despite the chaos.
“Sergi, I think you should hurry,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
“Perfection takes time,” he shot back.
Julia’s lips twitched, but the humor faded quickly. There was no time. Roan and La’Rue were still outside, exposed, and the Battle Cruiser looming above them wasn’t going to wait.
“The math says it’s possible,” she muttered, running the trajectory in her mind. If they engaged the engines at the right moment, the freighter could survive the fall—but only just. Julia strapped back in when Sergi suddenly appeared and half-slid/half-fell into the pilot’s seat. He grabbed the restraint strap with one hand while he powered on the engines with the other.
“Hang on. This is going to be a bumpy ride.”
“You missed the Gliese 581 going through the gateway and breaking apart. This is going to be a piece of pie in comparison,” she reminded him with an inelegant snort.
The freighter lurched as the ground gave way beneath them. Julia’s body slammed against the seat harness, the force squeezing the breath from her lungs. She could feel the ship’s desperate fight against gravity, the engines roaring as Sergi pulled back hard on the controls.
Her eyes widened as the ocean appeared to rise up to swallow them. The scientific part of her brain understood it was an optical illusion, but that didn’t seem to matter to her stomach. She felt as if they were on the downward side of a roller coaster—something that she had always detested. If Sergi didn’t pull up soon, it wouldn’t be much of a ride.
“Sergi… Sergi… now would be a good time to pull up,” she hissed, pressing back against her seat.
Sergi cursed, the words coming out in a mixture of Russian and English as his arms strained to level the freighter out before it hit the water. Julia’s cry mixed with Sergi’s shout of triumph when the freighter hit the ocean like a stone: skimming the water’s surface—bouncing, shuddering, groaning—but holding together before rising.
A breath she hadn’t realized she was holding escaped in a sharp gasp.
“Woo hoo!” she shouted, surprising even herself. The tension cracked just enough to let in a sliver of relief.
“Ash has nothing on me,” Sergi replied, grinning as he banked the freighter hard, looping back toward the ice shelf where Roan and La’Rue had been stranded.
Julia’s heart clenched when they crested the remains of the floating ice shelf and she saw the debris. Jagged edges of ice and smoke rose from the battlefield. She frantically scanned the area, searching for a sign of Roan or La’Rue.
“Sergi… I don’t see them,” she whispered, fear creeping in.
Sergi’s jaw tightened. “Neither do I.”
Around them, Legion fighters were retreating from the onslaught of Plateauan and rebel fighters. Sergi circled around, landing on a narrow, but stable section of ice. His hands flew to the controls, shutting down the freighter’s system as fast as he could, before he released his harness and rose. Seconds later, he was running through the freighter, yelling for H to lower the platform.
Julia fumbled with the release on her harness before following him. Her boots slipped slightly on the frosted deck as she descended the cargo ramp. Across from the freighter, she saw Roan frantically digging through the rubble with bare hands, his face a mask of desperation. Blood streaked his temple, but he didn’t stop.
Julia rushed to his side just as Sergi shouted, “I found her!”
Climbing over the chunks of ice, Julia helped clear the debris around La’Rue. Her heart squeezed with worry when she saw La’Rue pale skin and lips tinged blue. Calm descended over her as her training kicked in.
She wouldn’t lose another person.
She looked up and nodded to Sergi who tenderly lifted La’Rue’s limp body, cradling her against his chest as if his will alone could keep her tethered to life. Her eyes flashed to Roan when she felt his hand on her arm, steadying her as she climbed over some of the blocks of ice. She gave him a brief, weak smile, her eyes flashing over his wounds as her mind raced through every bit of medical knowledge she had.
Roan turned his head, locking eyes with hers.
Concern darkened his eyes. “What is it?”
She hesitated, then exhaled sharply, as if gathering courage.
“I’ve lost too many people already in my life.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to lose you too.”
Emotion flared in his eyes, as if something disintegrated inside him. Julia was afraid he would push her away when he lowered his eyelashes and bowed his head. Instead, he reached out and his fingers, still raw from the ice, curled around hers.
“You won’t.”
* * *
Minutes later, La’Rue lay in the small med-bay. The room felt cramped with the four of them in there. Julia looked at Sergi when an alarm went off. She knew he didn’t want to leave La’Rue, but he was the best one to handle the situation. La’Rue needed her medical skills and Roan’s knowledge of how to use the advanced medical equipment. She couldn’t operate the freighter. The room filled with the hum of machinery and the faint scent of antiseptic. Julia worked quickly, cleaning La’Rue’s wounds, applying pressure where needed, while Roan scanned for internal injuries.
Roan.
She glanced at him, his face drawn, exhaustion etched into every line. His movements were slower, but he didn’t stop. She knew he had to be in tremendous pain. Her eyes flashed to his hands. They were raw from the cold and ice.
Her heart sped up when it suddenly dawned on her that she wanted to know him better. Not just the soldier or the general, but the man beneath all that.
Because somewhere between the chaos and the silence, he mattered more than she’d expected. Before she could dwell on that, alarms blared again. Sergi’s voice responded from the cockpit.
“ Star Runner , this is the Tracer .”
“Hutu, this is Sergi. We need emergency medical assistance,” he said.
“Affirmative, Sergi. A medical team is being deployed,” Hutu informed him.
Julia exhaled, relief washing over her like a tide. They weren’t alone. The calvary had arrived.