The sky was beginning to lighten when Jancel saw his house in the distance. It looked peaceful, sleepy.

He snuck in through the back door and headed straight to his room, hoping to catch some sleep. Except he was too awake, excited in a way he hadn’t felt since Hawina. He felt like he was twenty again.

Two hours later, Jancel gave up on trying to find sleep. He washed, got dressed again, and went downstairs to brew some kawa and read the Iltaqa Gazette.

Memeen and the housekeeper would be up in about an hour when they could talk and make more plans.

The front doorbell rang.

He went to the door. Looking through the peephole, he saw four armed cops in special unit uniforms. Strangely, he felt relieved.

The army’s and Eia’s future still looked grim—even grimmer than before, now that Ultek would take Jancel’s place. But Jancel was going to push those concerns to the back of his mind and fight for himself.

Despite what he’d said to Iyatt, his instincts and experience had been in agreement with his friend’s hunch. The special unit was coming for Jancel—not someone else. He’d prepared himself. Aware of their methods, he’d planned for this.

He’d been waiting.

“State your business,” he said without opening the door.

“We are here to accompany Commander Heidd to Orogate for an emergency meeting at Government House.” One of the men stepped forward. “Open please.”

Jancel did so, not that he’d believed a word of it.

The men shuffled back, visibly surprised to see him open the door in person.

“Commander Heidd.” The cop who’d spoken earlier stepped forward. “You are under arrest.”

“On whose orders?”

“Chief Ultek’s.”

“Deciding to arrest the commander of the army is above your boss’s pay grade.” He stared the policeman down. “You must have a letter from a judge countersigned by the caretaker governor. It’s protocol.”

The man pushed his shoulders back. “The special unit doesn’t follow protocols.”

Must be Qur.

“Fine.” Jancel fished his commlet out of his pocket. “I’m pinging Lord Boggond. He can confirm orally that he’s green-lighted my arrest.”

Qur pointed his blaster at Jancel’s chest. “You’re pinging no one, Commander. Chief Ultek was clear on that.”

The other three policemen raised their weapons and took aim.

Jancel and Qur glared at each other for a moment.

“We can shoot you right here on your doorstep,” Qur said. “Or we can take you someplace quiet and grant you the dignity of burning to death away from your mother’s eyes. It’s your choice.”

“What are my charges?”

Qur lowered his blaster and held out his other arm, palm open. “Give me your commlet, and I’ll tell you.”

Jancel handed him the device.

Qur dropped it to the ground and stomped on it. “I hate doing this but orders are orders.” He glanced up at Jancel. “By ‘doing it’ I meant destroying a commlet, not killing you. Just so we’re clear.”

After that, the men searched Jancel. They took his pistol and dagger and tied his hands behind his back.

Qur motioned to the vehicle. “After you.”

Twisting his bound arms, Jancel pulled the house door behind him shut and descended the steps.

They got into the police vehicle with Jancel sandwiched between two cops. They didn’t drive toward Iltaqa Prison. Not even in the direction of Ultek’s residence. They drove to the woods.

“Here’s something to cheer you up,” Qur said as the lights of Orogate disappeared from view, “your old mother will be spared.”

Jancel kept his gaze fixed on the landscape outside.

Qur tittered. “Not your captive, though. Once we’re done with you, we’re going back to take her to Chief Ultek.”

Twenty minutes later, the cops stopped the vehicle and marched Jancel to a small clearing surrounded by pine trees, not unlike the one where he and Iyatt trained.

“On your knees,” Qur said to Jancel, “with your back to that tree.”

Jancel knelt.

The four cops lined up a short distance away, facing him. They raised their blasters.

“You promised to tell me what I’m accused of,” Jancel said.

Wringing his hands behind his back, he slid the ultra slim throwing knives down the seams of his sleeves that served as sheaths.

“I did.” Qur sneered. “But I’m going to break that promise. Just like you broke yours ten years ago.”

“What are you talking about?”

Freeing one sharp tip, he deftly sliced the ties around his wrists.

“You don’t even recognize me, do you?” Qur’s nostrils flared. “Back when you were a mere captain, I was a private under your command. My sergeant wanted me dishonorably discharged. I appealed to you. You promised to look into it. I bet you never did.”

“What was your offense?” Jancel asked as he assessed the distance to each cop, the force of the wind, and its direction.

Qur shrugged. “A bit of rookie hazing. I just chased a new guy around the base.”

“With a longbow,” another cop added, and the four of them guffawed.

“I remember.” Jancel stared into Qur’s eyes. “You actually shot at him. You put an arrow in his side. He had to be taken to the nearby Healers’ hospital.”

Qur bristled. “I didn’t intend to wound him. It was an accident.”

“I did look into your case, and I determined that your sergeant was correct,” Jancel said, visualizing every detail of what was about to happen, including his mark on each man, the sequence, and the number of spins.

“The day I was discharged, I swore I’d make you and Sergeant Woxim pay,” Qur said.

Every nerve ending, every muscle, every sense of Jancel’s was ready. His fingers tingled, preparing to give the blades the kinetic energy they needed to kill on impact.

“It’s Major Woxim now,” he said.

“Don’t I know that?” Qur snarled. “His turn will come. But you—you’re going down today.”

Four knives flew from Jancel’s hands. They sliced through the air and hurtled with pinpoint accuracy toward vital areas of the cops’ bodies.

“I believe it’s you who’s going down today,” Jancel said quietly.

Each of the knives found its target.

One of them sliced Qur’s jugular. Blood gushed from his throat as he made strangled noises and fell to the ground at the same time as his three cronies.

Jancel pictured Hommendis, his “shady” teacher on Norbal, patting his back.

Nice choreography, he’d say. Didn’t I tell you practice makes perfect?

His shoulders relaxing with relief, Jancel stood up and went to the bodies. He retrieved his throwing knives, pistol, and dagger. Then he picked up the cops’ blasters.

They were heavy and Jancel had a long hike ahead of him, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave even one behind. He was going rogue. Or rather, “doing the right thing, finally,” as Nyssa would no doubt say.

A very different life awaited him.

In that life, he wouldn’t turn up his nose at four plasma blasters—the latest model—if he wanted to survive and protect the ones he cared for.