by Chris Fox
The screen dissolved and reformed into a floating buoy, buffeted by the magnetic distortions that tore and ripped at it. At first I couldn’t tell what the effigy was supposed to be, and my eyes widened when I realized who it represented.
My body betrayed me, and I sniggered loudly, enough that Sa turned back to me and the entire room went deathly silent.
“Is there something you wished to contribute?” Sa stalked forward and loomed over my chair, the heat rolling off in waves. If not for my fire resistance I’d have lost both eyebrows.
“I just thought the, ah, choice of target was amusing.” I slunk down into my chair, and felt a little badly about disturbing class. “It’s a cunning likeness of Lady Voria. Just missing the golden staff is all.”
Nervous laughter came from behind me, and Sa’s fury suddenly snapped in their direction. Now free of the weight of that gaze I straightened and then searched around my chair to see if I could locate my dignity.
“Now then,” Sa roared, and silence fell again. “You can treat this as a game, if you wish. But a reminder that I only hold this position because the better people died in the last engagement. I could die today. You almost certainly will. Now report to your fighters. If you don’t have a fighter, stand there uselessly until I have a moment to deal with you.”
Pilots began streaming from the conference room into the hangar, but I remained seated with Briff until the room had cleared down to us and Sa.
“I hate you.” She leaned closer again, all her attention on me. “But I will use you. I didn’t tell the class, but you killed Jorie when you led that little raid from Ghora Kamiza down on the surface. One of our best war mages. Her girlfriend will be out there today…hunting. But she won’t know which fighter is yours. So she’s going to kill as many of my people trying to reach you as she can.”
There were no instructions nor help. Sa just turned and left the briefing hall, and I was forced to trail after, with no idea if I’d even be given a fighter. More and more the madness of the Krox training resembled true insanity.
How many elite forces had they denied themselves through simple training casualties? I shook my head and rose to my feet. I had a feeling today would be a very long day, with a short, violent ending.
Interlude VI - Pacing
Voria paced the length of the Spellship’s glorious bridge, and missed the solitude that had once represented. When she and the others had discovered this venerable vessel it had been empty, and corrupted. Today it stood as a monument of Confederate efficiency, and that meant eighteen terminals now surrounded her spell matrix.
The beings who manned those terminals hailed from a half-dozen worlds, humans, drifters, Shayans, and hatchlings all working alongside one another. They embodied the ideals she’d been bred to believe the Confederacy stood for. The ideals it had failed to live up to.
Not long ago she’d faced a choice. Either they needed to tear down the Confederacy and be done with it, or build it back up into what it had always pretended to be. Ripping it out was the more attractive plan, because destroying things was easy. Building had proven far more difficult, as her imminent meeting testified to.
“He’s holding.” Pickus rose from the terminal on the far right, no different from the others, save that everyone held it in reverence because the bespectacled man whom they so admired had chosen to use it. “He seems…unreasonable. It’s shocking I know.”
Laughter boomed all over the bridge, and Voria joined in. Mocking Tender Ducius, Shaya’s planetary ruler, never lost its appeal.
“Put him up on the scry-screen.” Voria rested a hand on Ikadra’s haft, and the warm metal reassured her, even as it reminded her that the staff had been silent all day once again.
That terrified her because it suggested Ikadra knew something she did not. Something he could not tell her, for fear the knowledge would alter some prophecy he knew might come to pass. Should she force the issue when they had a moment alone? Yes, yes, she should. Ikadra should not bear the burden alone, even if he couldn’t relate specifics.
“Lady Voria.” Ducius’s smugly smug face appeared on the screen, his long platinum hair, a change from the last time, ran down each shoulder just so in perfect waterfalls that splayed down his official white robes. “It’s so good to see you. You look…well. Can you explain to me, before we begin this ‘council’, why a Krox warship is orbiting my world? Do you have any idea how many houses are furious over this affront?”
His indignation comforted her, and had they been speaking in person Voria would have embraced him just because she knew decorum would force him to return the gesture, even though he loathed her.
“I’m terribly sorry for the necessity, but if Necrotis comes for us we will want the Krox’s aid.” She released Ikadra into a hover and folded her arms as she resisted the urge to smooth her uniform. “Now, we should begin this war council. The longer we wait the more tensions rise. I’d strongly encourage you to keep your, ah, reservations about anyone involved to yourself until after the meeting concludes.”
“Of course.” Ducius’s mouth tightened, and those perfect eyebrows knit together.
Pickus had been monitoring their conversation, of course, and tapped away at his console. The scry-screen dissolved into a view of multiple people. Ducius on the right, Davison next to him, Frit in the center, then Crewes, and finally Aran’s demonic visage on the right.
As expected, Ducius’s upper lip came up in a snarl when he spotted the company he’d landed in. But, true to his word, he said nothing. All of them had reason to hate each other.
“Welcome.” Voria turned to address the motley council. “You all know why we’ve called this meeting. All week I’ve received missives, from every colony and station who claims to be a part of the Confederacy. I’ve even had vessels stolen during the war claim they were ‘lost’ to explain being AWOL. They want to come home, because they can no longer find basic supplies.”
“Where do the Inurans land in all this?” Aran rested one clawed hand on Narlifex’s hilt, and she wondered if he knew just how terrifying the others found that gesture.
“They are not returning my missives,” Ducius snapped. His expression tightened still further, a spring wound too tightly. “We need many basic supplies, but we are told that they cannot bring a trade moon to any Confederate world, nor increase shipments of any vital goods during this ‘crisis’. The Inurans are hiding from Necrotis, and leaving us to rot.”
“Did you expect any better?” Frit rolled ember eyes and gave a bitter laugh. “They’re unreliable allies at best, enemies at worst. The Krox have taken pains to remove our dependence upon them, and I’d recommend you do the same.”
“Easy for you to say.” Davidson’s expression might be placid, but the deadly soft tone couldn’t be laced with more anger and still be Davidson. “You don’t have any supply problems. Ternus lost eighty-four percent of our food production in a single day. It will be eight more weeks before that gap in the supply chain is really felt on most worlds, but everyone knows it’s coming, and profiteers are snatching up everything that isn’t nailed down, then they’re taking the nails and hoarding those too.”
Frit didn’t look directly at him, nor did she reply. Davidson didn’t press the issue, so Voria stepped into the gap before more trouble could arise. “Our supply troubles will worsen. Frit, I understand this is a terrible imposition given how young our alliance is, but as Davidson has pointed out you are the only world not directly affected by this. Do you have enough resources to export basic food stuffs to Marid, and the border stations and colonies along the rift?”
Crewes hadn’t said anything yet. Voria knew he liked to avoid speaking at all, if possible, but every once in a while he interjected something and now was one of those times.
“So let me see if I get this straight.” Crewes eyed Frit sidelong with something approaching sympathy. “You want her to go back to her people and ask them to supply the very stations we used to repel them during the last wa
r? Like here…have some more bullets and doughnuts? That’s gonna be a tough sell.”
“That’s an understatement.” Frit nodded gratefully at Crewes, which warmed Voria. Any cooperation with the Krox was a step in the right direction given their current predicament.
“That’s precisely what I’m saying.” Voria began to pace again, and ignored the obvious victory contained within Ducius’s sudden preening. “Necrotis has launched a social media campaign. She has challenged the faith of our people, and I, for one, feel the reduction in worship. I am losing hearts and minds, because terrified people are praying to the deity they expect to win the war. If we cannot show them that we can hit back, and hit back hard, then by the time we meet Necrotis on the field of battle she will be stronger, because she will be backed by our former worshippers.”
That did it. That got all their attention. They stowed fears and costs and grudges, and began to think like a group whose survival depended on it.
“I will go to my people,” Frit promised. Then her mouth firmed into a tight line, and the same sympathy Crewes had displayed shone back at him. “Crewes, I know we never liked each other, but I always respected you. You’re a good man. A good god. I wasn’t sure how to broach this, but I guess now is the time. I’ve used the Web of Divinity. I’ve studied the timeline, and I believe I know where Necrotis is going next. She’s going to hit Yanthara. Soon. I’d recommend we move our forces there, and prepare for her assault. She’s done nothing to disguise the possibility of her attack, which tells me she wants this battle. That scares me. I fear for your people.”
“Me too, ma’am.” Crewes inclined his head in an almost salute. “We’ll take all the help we can get. My people are not equipped to deal with spirits, and I’ve seen what that main gun can do. We have to find a way to stop her from firing at our world. Do you have any idea when she’s coming?”
Frit eyed them all and her expression darkened. “Soon. Very soon.”
Crewes’s eyes smoldered, and both hands balled into fists. “I’m going to make one more appeal. Try to get my people to let Aran come and help. We’re going to need him.”
“That’s an uphill battle.” Voria raised an eyebrow.
“I know, but I have to fight it.” Crewes half turned from the holo. “I’ll see you all at Yanthara.”
19
Tested
I watched the rest of the squad board their fighters, and as they were all parked in a row I moved to the first unoccupied fighter I could find. The cockpit had a raised canopy, all dense metal with no windows or way to see into the vessel.
Inside, a command couch sat nestled within a spell matrix, and the seated pilot had more than enough room to reach all the sigils, with space leftover for a drink and whatever you happened to be reading. So much more comfortable than the interior of a Shayan fighter, which I’d seen on a documentary, but pretended I’d actually experienced.
I climbed inside, and tapped all three void sigils. Nothing happened. Hmm. Spelldrives were manufactured to accept certain aspects. Void and life were the most common in the Confederacy, closely followed by fire and air. The Krox relied on earth, which I now had, so I tapped all three earth sigils and was rewarded with a satisfying hum as magic flowed from my chest to link with the vessel.
The drive rumbled in a far more visceral way—how I imagine primitive combustion aircraft must have felt when they were still in use back on Kemet. They’d gone out of style when the last of the petrol reserves had been exhausted, but plenty of media existed from that time period to give us a feel.
“All right,” Sa’s voice echoed through my cockpit speakers. “Form up on me outside the ship, and we’ll begin our run as a group. Remember, our only chance at survival is working together. Trust your unit, and protect your people.”
I noted she said people and not unit. That could be interpreted as not including Briff or me, and I’d already learned to fear a knife in the back. Odds were good they’d turn on us sooner or later.
I opened a channel to Briff from my helmet, separate from the communications in the cockpit. “Hey, did they include you in comms?”
“No, I haven’t heard anything yet.” Briff fluffed his wings, and eyed my fighter nervously as the canopy slowly lowered.
I opened the mic so Briff could hear everything in my cockpit, including any instructions from Sa. Guess we really were on our own. At least they were honest about it.
I guided the fighter up the runway, and waited my turn to launch. Last, of course. As my fighter accelerated with the aid of the station’s magnetic boost I caught sight of Briff from the rear camera, galloping behind me as he picked up speed.
We rocketed out of the Krox station, under her watchful guns, and deeper into the system. The green cloud was most vibrant toward the outer edge of the system, which is where we seemed to be making for.
Sa and her wingman took the lead, with three more pairs behind them, and then Briff and me last of course. Nor were we the only squadron beginning our run. Other groups rose like swarms of wasps, a dozen or more, as we all raced toward the rift.
“Just a final reminder,” Sa’s voice crackled over the unfamiliar comm, “the winning squadron will have their choice of postings. The rest of the squadrons are slated for the new colonies, and won’t see action for years.”
That was the first I’d heard about new colonies, and the first bit of intel I thought the Confederacy might really be interested in. The Krox had, quite intelligently, begun their expansion away from their enemies. Who knew how many worlds they’d already seeded, or what Catalysts they’d uncovered?
My ship accelerated suddenly, with no effort from me, and I realized I’d entered the first magnetic eddy. After my time in the Sanctuary storm I understood how they worked and how they would feel to fly through, but back then I’d been in a larger ship with a much better pilot.
Now the only thing between me and dying badly was not being stupid, and my track record there was definitely hit or miss.
Briff winged along behind me seemingly without effort. The eddies didn’t bother him in the slightest, and he remained unerringly off my starboard side, and a little behind.
“Inbound bogies,” crackled an unfamiliar Ifrit voice. “Looks like a full dozen.”
Six pairs of fighters were set to reach the first major eddy at the same time we were, but they’d slowed so as to arrive just behind us…which could be courtesy. It seemed a lot more like the start of an attack run we were unlikely to survive.
As Briff and I were the rear fighters, that made us the most likely targets. I glanced at the slowly spinning rings around me, and tried to decide how to prepare. “Briff, I’m going to put up a ward and a camo. That means their first pass will probably be aimed at you. Be ready with some evasive maneuvers.”
Chatter sounded all over the comm as each wing began their own response, but I ignored them and focused on my spellcasting. I didn’t have spirit, but I used life to make a basic ward, which would soften the first spell or two. Then I layered a camouflage spell over the top, which made me appear as a part of the eddy.
Our opponents were far enough off that some had probably missed my sudden disappearance, and those who’d caught it were likely to seek other targets as they still had nine to choose from.
To my mild surprise, the first three sets of enemy fights all zoomed straight for Briff, as if a Wyrm was their top priority to remove from the field of battle. It could be a standard tactic, or they could know who he was, and be aiming for revenge.
I dropped back almost a full click, and tailed Briff as I waited for our opponents to begin their attack run. Had we been part of a real unit the other wings would have fanned out to aid us, but instead they accelerated and tried to make it past the first eddy. They had no problem sacrificing us, and with six fighters making a pass I genuinely feared for my friend’s life.
The first wing began their attack run, and loosed a stream of acid bolts, but Briff nimbly twisted around them in a way no fi
ghter could ever manage. The second group launched a similar volley, and he twisted around the first shot, but the second caught his rear leg. Acid splattered over his scales, and Briff’s garbled scream came over the comm.
I winced, but waited for the last wing to begin their attack run before finally dropping the camo and joining the fray. The moment they’d committed I tapped all three void sigils, and launched a gravity sphere at the first fighter. Its momentum violently arrested, and the wingman slammed into it from behind, and both exploded.
The other fighters hadn’t seen me yet, so I reapplied the camo spell and disappeared back into the eddy. Every bit of me screamed to run to Briff’s aid, but right now there wasn’t much I could do to help him, and I had to remind myself that he had life magic. He could heal himself as well as I could. I needed to trust him.
The last four fighters streaked past Briff, and caught up to my “companions” at the first eddy. A dogfight broke out, but I didn’t really care which side won, so I stayed focused on Briff.
The remaining four fighters had begun another pass, while my friend’s frantic pants came over the comm as he flapped and glided his way toward the eddy, a pulsing magnetic font that would tear a fighter apart if it hit wrong. It was the sort of hazard Seket would casually ignore, but I wasn’t that good of a pilot, and needed to watch my own flying.
Briff twisted and a gob of brilliant white-gold magic burst from his mouth. The breath weapon shot through the eddy, and slammed into the closest fighter, which showered its wingman with debris as it exploded. That wingman somehow stabilized their flight, but was forced away from the eddy and would have to circle around and try again. That would cost minutes.
