Final Break: A Space Opera Adventure (Shades of Starlight Book 4), page 1
FINAL BREAK
©2023 B.L. DEAN
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ALSO IN SERIES
Rogue Pursuit
Pirate’s Code
Shadow Games
Final Break
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
Thank you for reading Final Break!
1
Jules Carver found a particular thrill in breaking things, in figuring out exactly how they worked so she knew how best to destroy them. When the items in question were valuable to one of the empires, so much the better.
But as she crept through the dark streets of another colony planet, toolkit slung over her shoulder beneath her rain cloak, she couldn’t suppress the lingering doubt that had plagued her lately.
The dampness in the air reminded her of her home planet, Abernath, though the temperature was warmer here, and the mist emanated from a giant waterfall rather than simply a dismal climate. Somehow, the muggy night made the stars overhead seem thicker and heavier, like they might fall from the sky and crush her.
She was being ridiculous. What mattered was helping colonies oppressed by unjust leaders. She silenced the voice in her head questioning these methods. There was no backing out, whether she wanted to or not.
Her destination was a twenty-minute walk from the landing area where her ship waited. Most trips to and from the vessel were made on a hovercar, but she’d draw less attention and be able to hide faster without a vehicle. And she was taking an indirect route to avoid Ruby Confederation patrols.
She reached a path parallel to the river, which was a huge, roaring expanse flowing from the base of the enormous waterfall. Spray thickened the air, leaving residue on her face. Lights from town illuminated the churning white water.
The water reminded her of her life, like she was being carried on a current and couldn’t escape. Shades, that sounded dramatic. Just focus on the job.
Her target was a factory on an island in the middle of that wild river. The water powered the systems. If she were like the rest of the Obsidian Force members, she would have agreed to their original suggestion—blow up the cliff where the waterfall descended, wiping out the whole island in a sudden torrent. She was incredibly fond of explosions. But the consequences would be unpredictable for the rest of town, possibly flooding inhabited areas. Even if the Obsidian Force’s leaders didn’t care about innocent lives, Jules did.
So instead of going along blindly, like she used to, she’d developed another plan that would disable the factory without hurting anyone.
As she came to the single bridge, she retrieved two small drones from her pocket and released them to fly, one in front of her and one behind. They would intercept scans from security bots and send a signal that concealed her presence.
They were a clever piece of engineering, but sadly, after she’d built them, she’d had no one to show them off to. One of the drawbacks of hiding her work for a group that had been labeled terrorists.
Which she tried not to think about.
She stepped onto the automated bridge and let the belt carry her across the river. The sound of the water was deafening.
When the bridge deposited her on the island, she paused. The factory loomed ahead, big blocky shapes with a few lights glowing in the misty gloom. Her drones would protect her from bots but wouldn’t hide her from human guards. She circled to the east side, where her contact was supposed to meet her, and stopped in the shadow of a silent outbuilding.
Her scanner showed three life signs between her and the side door. Two were moving away from each other—and from her. Guards trusting the hovering cameras to continue surveillance as they made superfluous rounds.
Jules let out a single whistle, loud enough to pierce the roar of the falls. The air was even wetter here, and drops dripped from the hood of her cloak. A two-note reply came. Confirming only one life sign now appeared, she darted toward the factory. Her shoes were silent on the wet stone ground, and she selected her steps carefully so she didn’t slip.
She hoped her contact had disabled the building’s external cameras, which her drones couldn’t fool. If someone spotted her on those, she’d have to think quickly to explain her presence. Being able to do these jobs herself, without having to rely on strangers, would’ve been so much better.
A figure waited inside a cracked door, and when she approached, the door opened to let her in.
“In the blackest night,” they said.
“The stars shine brightest,” she replied.
The person didn’t speak further, didn’t offer a name, didn’t lower their hood. Jules didn’t either, though it would have been nice to ditch the wet cloak. Her contact could have been man or woman, young or old. Like on most of her jobs, they maintained anonymity. It was safer for both of them. All she knew was, the other person was a fellow Obsidian Force sympathizer, they worked in administration at this factory not engineering, and they hadn’t been able to find anyone among their coworkers with the knowledge and the willingness to act.
So here Jules was.
They’d come in through a side entrance likely used for hovercart deliveries, based on the corridor’s width. Concrete walls blocked the noise of the water, and her breathing sounded extra loud in the silence. She shook water off her cloak and followed the person down a hall, then another, her clothes leaving a trail of drops behind her that would be easy to follow. The hum of machines soon filled the air, a comforting sound.
A thrill electrified her at the challenge of the waiting job.
These particular machines had, until recently, produced transistors used in ship navigation systems. Thanks to the empires’ desire to squash anyone who might question them, the facility, like many others, had been repurposed. Now, it cranked out guidance systems for missiles that would be used to bomb unruly colony cities.
But not for much longer.
After another turn, they reached the main room, a large, gaping space mostly cloaked in darkness. Her contact faded into the shadows. Like they’d done with the cameras outside, they were supposedly keeping patrolling security bots away from this area.
One wall, thirty feet high, was nothing but racks of missiles, waiting for the guidance systems to be added. Row after row of silver tubes gleamed in faint light. She shuddered. Blowing the place up suddenly seemed like a preferable plan.
Jules ignored the conveyor belts and robotic arms and the brief image in her head of those arms grabbing her and pressing her onto said conveyor belts while they stamped her face with the Confed’s symbol. Instead, she circled the machinery and aimed for the rear door.
This was better than many jobs. On the last planet—a barren, icy world—all she’d been able to do was mess with enviro controls in the dome housing Amber Alliance soldiers. It wouldn’t stop attacks, wouldn’t hurt the empire. It only made life chilly and uncomfortable for everyday soldiers. But it had made a statement t hat the colonists wouldn’t stand for being occupied.
Sometimes she took orders from her cousin Ezra, or more likely from his boss, whoever that was. But now, she always vetted the orders, no longer obeying without question. Ezra knew he could count on her to act somehow, and she’d do enough to hurt the empires and keep the Obsidian Force happy, but after the Incident with a capital I on Greeva 3, she had limits.
When she opened the rear door, she faced the waterfall. The sound immediately resumed, booming and rattling her teeth. Huge amounts of water flowed into a mechanical system that converted the kinetic energy to power—and mechanical systems could be easily broken.
If the building no longer took in water, that meant no more missiles. She’d checked, and there was no backup power system. The river was so large, no one expected it to stop flowing. And since the transistors they usually produced weren’t as valuable as missiles, the empire apparently hadn’t considered it worth the effort.
She had to make the machine’s failure look natural, caused by aging infrastructure or a random accident. And it needed not to happen immediately, as badly as she wanted to flood away all those soon-to-be-ready weapons. If every planet her ship visited had an “accident” at the same time she was there, someone would get suspicious.
Based on the reading she’d done, she had a good idea how to make this big boy stop working, before the next batch of missiles was set to be completed.
The enormity of the waterfall and her own smallness overwhelmed her. How quickly the river could sweep her away, leaving no trace. Only a handful of people in the galaxy would notice her absence. But she was here to do a job, not contemplate her existence.
She slung her kit out from under her cloak and removed a canister slightly larger than her fist. It contained a special solution that would rust through the metal gears. She would be getting someone in trouble—whoever’s job it was to perform regular maintenance checks—but that was a sacrifice she could live with.
She was going to have to get closer, and she very much did not want to go for a swim. She connected a line from her waist to the wall so if she slipped, the river wouldn’t sweep her away. Just batter her against the rock wall a bit.
There was supposed to be a narrow walkway leading to the mechanism. The water flowed into a broad opening and came out through a row of rotating wheels. But the town must’ve had a recent rainfall, or her contact had based their description on the dry season, because the water level was too high. She could barely see the walkway under rapidly flowing water that would reach her thighs. Attempting to cross was a sure way to take an unwanted swim.
The machinery was open above it. She just needed a new way to reach it.
She rummaged through her kit. Could one of her drones carry the weight of her canister? She took out a clamp and secured the canister then attached it to a wire and the wire to the drone.
“Can you fly, little guy?” she murmured, confident the falls would cover any noises she made.
The drone immediately sank, and she caught it. Nope. Next plan.
If she couldn’t carry it, she could launch the canister into the opening. What did she have to build a launcher?
The rubber strap on her zero g welder was stretchy. And the handle of her wire stripper formed a V. She wrapped the rubber around the handles to create a makeshift slingshot and tested the stretch, then practiced by shooting spare parts into the river.
Hopefully her aim was good enough. She inched to the edge, as close as she could with the precarious footing, then shook the canister to activate the chemicals. The moisture made her grip slick as she raised the launcher.
“Ready, aim, fire.”
She tucked the canister into the slingshot, inhaled, exhaled, and released. The small bottle lodged in the gap in the center gear. The wheel caught it, crushed it. A small spurt of green liquid was the only sign that the entire row of gears would rust through within a couple days.
No explosion this time. Just a slow, quiet death. Explosions were more fun, but this worked, too.
“Bullseye. Sorry, buddy,” she said to the machine.
Three other places were in obvious need of repair, which meant it would be completely believable for this to break down. If she weren’t here to wreck the place, and if the factory wasn’t making missiles, she’d love to show them how to improve their output.
She ignored the nagging voice that had been growing louder lately. Was this truly the best way to bring change for the colonies? Was she making a difference that would help people, not hurt them?
Another voice intruded to drown out the doubt—Ezra, reminding her it was too late to back out. Not from this job, but from all of it. And reminding her why she’d chosen this path in the first place. Her reasons remained valid and had only grown in urgency as the galaxy edged toward war.
Her hesitations had started with the Incident but had grown a few months earlier when she’d read the SilverSpark hacker files detailing the Obsidian Force’s secret plans. When she’d learned that everything she’d thought she was doing had been a lie.
She’d believed she was working with people who wanted to help and had asked Ezra if he’d known about the other crimes revealed in the files—kidnapping, riots, blowing up the Galactic Cup. He’d told her not to worry about it, which meant he probably had known.
Today would be fine. This job wouldn’t hurt anyone. She had learned her lesson, been careful, done her research. And stopping missile production had a direct benefit to the colonies, namely that the Confed would have fewer weapons to fire at them. She would just make sure she wasn’t caught and tried for treason.
She packed her stuff, disconnected herself from the wall, and went inside, pausing by the door. Nothing moved on the factory floor. The gaping room felt ominous, shadows from the machinery creating black voids throughout. Anyone could be hiding. She had to trust her unknown friend. Her contacts had mostly come through for her. There had been that disaster on Lutara where a young guard panicked and let her escape door close, and she’d almost been trapped in a burning building, but thankfully she’d found a window to climb out.
Her race across the room didn’t cause shouts or shots from a security bot. She paused and whistled, the noise echoing through the space, too loud. She waited. And waited. Her heart pulsed within her. Finally, the response came, and she exhaled, retracing her steps through silent halls to the outer door.
Her contact reappeared, holding a scanner. They lifted a hand. Then nodded and opened the door, and Jules saluted before darting out into the muggy night.
Another job done. Her pulse hummed and her heart tripped.
She couldn’t deny it was fun. Especially the times she got to see the faces of the empire leaders at the results of her jobs, which sadly wouldn’t happen this time. The waterfall had provided an extra thrill, the challenge of having to think on her feet. To understand the machine and its inner workings so she could dismantle it piece by piece or remove precisely the correct part to derail an entire system.
With each job, she recalled in vivid detail the black fever plague that had swept her hometown. The sound of coughing, the blue warning lights in windows, the scent of fear. The month she’d lost her best friend, Ezra’s sister, along with hundreds from the town. Satisfaction welled in her at some measure of justice for those people, every small defiance a blow to the empires that had allowed it to happen.
Jules released the drones again to guard her path across the bridge, and once she was on the mainland, she wound through the dark streets, making her way toward the ship.
Voices came from ahead.
She froze. This city had no curfew. It hadn’t seen active fighting, was central enough that most colonists remained loyal—or at least silent. She wouldn’t be in trouble for simply walking after dark.
