by Hodden, TE
“Corrupted,” the grey woman said. She looked around. “I’m Flintlock. I… look for treasures on dead worlds, and smuggle stuff back to our reality, to sell. I don’t really belong at this table, but… I’ve seen what becomes of worlds that die like that. He has too.” She nodded at Harris. “And him.” She pointed at Barney. “Ghouls. We saw ghouls escaping here.”
“And,” Melisa said, “we know somebody took part of an Extinction Stone from another world. Charlie said it was inert, and couldn’t go off, but maybe that wasn’t the point.” She reached out and touched Charlie’s mind. His shields were up, but fear was radiating through. It was cold enough to burn. “Maybe it was… I don’t know… part of this plan? They intend to recharge it and use it as a bomb, or…”
Charlie put his head in his hands. “They could use it as part of a Psionic-Lens.”
Harris raised a finger. “Okay. And… what does that do?”
“Oh…” Flintlock raised a finger. “That…. That would be pretty damned clever, if it weren’t so terribly, terribly, stupid.”
“What,” Harris demanded, “does it do?”
Charlie swallowed. “It… funnels the energy. To say it focusses it, would make it sound too much like a laser beam. This is more like…”
Flintlock laughed. “It gives you enough control to tell a tidal wave which direction to roll in, but everything in that direction gets flattened.”
Barney held up a finger. “And… the radiation you talked about? The corruption?”
Charlie nodded. “Oh, that is still a problem. Controlling the flow from the elemental plane is a problem. Focussing the tidal wave of elemental fire, is a problem. The psychic power needed to contain it would be… beyond any capability we have.”
Harris smiled. “What if we had a network of psychics, all working together?”
“No!” The blue guy shook his head. “It is only as good as the weakest leak. If one of you buns out, the fire rolls across the world, and burns us all.”
Catherine looked at Melisa. “You said… the warning from the future was that while we were busy with some other crisis we didn’t know about Misrule until it was too late. What if this is it? While we are defeating Legion, Misrule loses control of this fire, and…the consequences are so dire, we have no choice, but to risk altering history?”
“That,” Matthew said, brightly, “does suggest we beat the Legion.”
“How?” Harris asked. “What else do we have?”
“Drones,” Lionheart said. “We have drones, and satellite defence platforms.”
“Which,” Barney said, “we can’t trust, if the President is behind this.”
Summers glanced at Catherine. “Warner, or the Orphan, planned to aim my World Engines at Earth, and fry the atmosphere. Maybe we could use them to fry the invasion fleet instead. As soon as they are in range of Mars, I aim the engines at the fleet, and roast them?”
Matthew nodded. “That… that might do some damage.”
Angel considered a moment. “Aiming for the Mother Ship might have an effect. The Legion projects a part of his will there, then out to his many avatars. Break that connection and the avatars die.”
Barney looked at them. “The moment the Mother Ship makes it to Earth, we can’t use that plan.”
Catherine nodded. “But we weaken it, then we aim to intercept it, and take it down. With our combined forces, we stand a chance.”
“At the very least,” Lionheart said, “we can draw it into a contained battle. If we attack the mother ship, it will draw in more forces to defend it. It has to.”
Matthew looked at Padmaja. “What about some kind of dampening field?”
“No…” She scratched at the old scars on her face. “It isn’t psionics as we know it. It is closer to the kind of signal the Quantum Cascade sent. I don’t think we can damp it. Maybe we could supress it?”
Something chimed in Melisa’s thoughts.
In amongst the whirlwind of conversation, the fragments of ideas, and notions, snippets of what had been said, aligned, and there had almost been an answer. She closed her eyes, and tried to pick out the stray thoughts. There was…The room in the prison. The glass shattered by from the window, curving the wrong way. There was… the idea of psychics being connected in a network, and burning out…
“Oh!” She shouted. “No! We don’t try and suppress Legion’s control network. We make it spike! We overload it, for just a moment, so it either cuts off at the fuse board, or something blows up!” She looked around. “We make the Avatars burn out!”
Matthew nodded. “How?”
Catherine stared at her spear. “I can disrupt it at the source, on the Mothership. If I get it right, I can hammer everything downstream. It would buy us time to target the engines.”
Matthew looked around. “Will it work?”
Angel nodded. “Yes.”
“Agreed,” Padmaja said. “But it will be a fight to get to it.”
“Then,” Catherine said, “we fight. We throw everything we can at it.”
Charlie held up his hand. “Everything? Should I not… I have to stop Misrule.”
Flintlock nodded. “Also agreed.”
Barney laughed. “Hey. I can get that. I wouldn’t want a rematch, either.”
“Or,” Harris said, “he doesn’t want a tidal wave of elemental fire burning us alive, while we are fighting the Legion.”
Barney choked on his laugh. “Yeah. Fair point.”
Harris looked at Charlie. “My best shots barely slowed the Avatar. I’ll be more help on your team.”
Melisa felt a lump in her throat. “Sorry Charlie. I have to be on the Mothership”
He stared at her, and opened his shields. She felt the understanding.
This is it, they realised as one. This is where Cathy is meant to pass on the spear.
Melisa nodded. I won’t let it happen.
No, Charlie agreed. You won’t.
01010
Harris stepped over to Matthew and Padmaja after the meeting.
Matthew looked him in the eye. “I know that wasn’t an easy choice for you to make.”
Harris shrugged. “It had to be made. My instinct is that Legion is the bigger threat, but doesn’t mean we can, or should, ignore Misrule.” He took the glass phial from his pocket and passed it to Padmaja. “This the stuff they gave Elois as a kid. It’s the stuff they gave those other assassins. Flintlock and Harper say it rewires the brain. Maybe you can find a way to kill it. To break those people from whatever madness is holding them.”
Padmaja wheeled herself back from the table, and stared at the glass phial. “I will do what I can from here.”
Lionheart was on the far side of the room, talking into his watch,
Harris looked over his shoulder. “Harper! Over here a moment.”
Harper stepped away from Barney, and stopped toying with his hair. “Yes? Is there a way I can help?”
“Sure.” Harris looked at Padmaja. “I’m sorry to have to ask this, but with everything that’s been going on, I need to know for sure. Harper, ask if the President attacked her.”
“As in…” He looked away. “The president of America?”
Harris nodded.
“Okay.” Harper crouched by Padmaja. “Did President Allistaire attack you?”
“Yes,” Padmaja said. “He killed my staff. He left me for dead. It was him.”
“Sorry,” Harris mumbled.
Padmaja dismissed his apology with a wave. “It’s okay. These are strange days. We need to be careful.”
*
The monorail carriage whistled through the tunnel.
Harris sat at the back watching as Flintlock kept opening her mouth to say something to Charlie, then closed it and chewed her lip in thought. Harper was watching too, trying not to laugh, each time the cycle repeated.
Charlie was sat at the front, with Melisa. She had insisted on seeing them to the jet, and on their way. She was gripping Charlie’s hand, and staring
into each other’s eyes, the way that made them look like they were having silent conversations.
The way he understood it, they probably were.
These last few months the pair had been all but inseparable. The way they acted around each other, it was like they had always been together, like they should have been High School sweethearts.
Harper sighed. “My sister wishes to know if you are truly a Yeoman, or just assumed the title? She is young. She’s only heard stories. I last saw one of your kind… before the Great Depression.”
Harris leant forwards. The Great Depression? How old were they?
“The Depression?” Melisa asked. “How…?”
Flintlock held up a finger. “Answer our questions first.”
Charlie held out his wrist, so they could see the stud embedded there. “Some of the Yeoman’s survived the Hunts. My grandmother was the only other I knew in life, through anything but the lore.”
Harper nodded. “And how old am I?”
Charlie seemed to study the pair, or at least their tattoos. “You were born in Russia, sometime around six hundred years ago. Your half sister was born on the road, sometime around nineteen forty.”
Melisa grinned. “Really?”
Flintlock nodded. “Yes.” She stared Charlie in the eye. “Are we going to be enemies?”
Charlie smiled. “I don’t look for enemies. I trust you not to make yourself my enemy.”
Harper laughed. “Oh, he’s a Yeoman.”
Flintlock seemed satisfied. Her smile became playful. “He only asked how old he was. You didn’t have to be rude, just to show off.”
The train slowed to a halt in the hangar.
Harris hopped to his feet. “Are we going to work together?”
“Yes,” Harper agreed, with a laugh. “I think we can stay out of trouble long enough to do this.”
“Good.” Harris said, marching up the ramp of the Manta. He looked back at Charlie. “Are you coming?”
“I need a moment,” Charlie said.
Harris hurried into the jet, and up to the flight deck. He settled in the pilot’s seat and ran through the pre-flight checks. He glanced out the window.
Charlie and Melisa were talking, actual talking, with words.
He watched their lips moving, reading their words.
Melisa said: Are you sure? I thought it was secret for a reason.
I’m sure, Charlie replied. And… you need to know. You… Your future…knew.
Is this like… giving me a key to an apartment? Melisa said, her smile growing.
Charlie grinned too, and took his keys from his pocket, and plucked one from the ring. I guess there was a reason I was given spares. Here. He placed it on her palm, and held it there. He looked into her eyes. Alexander Montgomery Fleet.
Montgomery? Melisa asked. No… It’s…cute.
You have to say it, Charlie reminded her.
Charlie nodded, and rose on her toes to meet him in a slow, lingering, kiss. Come home to me, Alexander Montgomery Fleet.
Charlie nodded, and backed away. He said something else that Harris didn’t catch.
Harris reached down into his pocket, and closed his fingers around the small syringe.
He closed his eyes, and steadied his breathing.
Charlie hopped into the co-pilot’s seat. “Are you okay?”
Harris nodded. “If they opened onto the Elemental realm… The corruption it would cause?”
“Yes?” Charlie asked.
“It would damage the boundary, right?” Harris asked. “Between the living and the dead?”
Charlie nodded. “Yes. But… we will stop them. If we can find them, I can reach Elois, and put her back in her own body.”
“Right,” Harris said, powering up the engines. “We can do this.”
01011
The Thralls pulled the car up to the entrance of the walled community, and waited as the tall iron gates slowly swung open.
Echo glanced at the security guard, in his little hut, a few yards away. She put a little pressure behind her aura, to make sure his attention remained on his cup of coffee, and the gameshow on TV.
Beside her Wormwood was looking at the opulent, modern, houses that populated the community. Each was set back behind walled gardens, with their own security gates and cameras.
He smiled. “Secure houses, within a secure community… Who lives here?”
“The rich,” Echo whispered, “the famous, and the important.”
“And who,” Wormwood asked, “am I visiting?”
“Drive on.” Echo ordered.
The Thralls drove on, through the community, to one of the houses, in the farthest corner.
Echo considered the house. It was comfortably large, and painfully modern with just a little hint of post-war futurism about it. “This is the home of Jean-Marc Claremont. He’s the UN’s expert on Alien Contact. He is also one of the few people who might work out what the satellites in stationary orbit over every city, really are.” She smiled. “I think… that the Honour Guard consider him a threat. He might want to contact the Legion, to appease it, and they will not allow that. They will make sure he never gets the chance. He has a young family. Make it… shocking.”
Wormwood stepped out of the car, and took his falchion from the trunk.
He effortlessly vaulted the high gate, and dropped out of sight, onto the driveway beyond.
01100
Melisa materialised on the Transportation Platform with a seasick lurch of nausea.
Summers caught her arm, and kept her upright. “Are you okay?”
Melisa waited for her stomach and kidneys to settle back where they belonged. She tried her best to smile. “I’m never going to get used to that.”
Summers nodded, and almost laughed. “I said that too, but I did. This way.”
Melisa followed Summers through the palace, awed by the sheer scale. Much of it had the same dusty, cold, feel of ancient ruins, but in others a legion of small lobster shaped robots were crawling over the stone, cleaning, and repairing them, polishing them to a glassy sheen, and breathing the warmth of life and splendour back into the building.
“This…” Melisa said, quietly. “This is…”
“Yes,” Summers agreed. She paused and took Melisa’s hand. “I was hoping to make it feel a little more homely. Maybe add some flowers, and some artwork. I have to spend more time here, and make good on my duties. I sort of hoped…”
“Cathy would spend time here too?” A rosy glow filled Melisa’s chest, and flushed to her cheeks. “She will. If this is where you are, she would spend as much time her as she can.”
Summers cupped Melisa’s cheek. “I have come to care for her very much.”
“I know.” Melisa chewed her lip. “It has been a long time since I saw her care for anybody as much.”
“Enough…” Summers hesitated. “Enough to consider asking questions about her…our…future?”
Melisa’s heart leapt to her throat. “Like… the big one? Like…”
“There is a sort of a chapel here,” Summers said. “It is pretty, but it’s small, and I don’t know if your aunt would… Oh!”
Melisa thew her arms around Summers and held her in a hug. “Are you asking permission?”
“No…” Summers giggled. “Well… maybe… I think I was asking for moral support.”
“Do it!” Melisa held her close. “You should definitely do it.” A realisation hit her like an anvil. “Not right this second, obviously, but…”
Summers nodded. “I will.” She hugged Melisa back. “But I think we should get our work done first. We don’t know how much time we have.”
They descended the stairs into the throne room. Summers held out her staff, and activated the holographic field, that filled the room. Together they set to work, studying the schematics of the World Engines.
Summers made some adjustments, touching the holograms with her finger. “This is how the Orphan planned to turn them on the Earth.
Over a wide field it’s fine, but we need to concentrate it in a finer beam that would be… tricky. The harmonics are unstable.”
Melisa tilted her head. “Unstable might not be a bad thing. There’s a lot of stuff on a spaceship that doesn’t like unstable.”
“But,” Summers pointed out, “it causes too much heat, that they can’t dissipate. We would have to limit it to short bursts, and I don’t know how many we would get.”
Melisa walked around the holograms. “Or, we fire two at a time, so one is always cooling off. We lose some power, but we keep the pressure on them for longer…”
“A musket line!” Summers laughed. “Did you learn that in school? While a front row of soldiers were firing, the men behind them reloaded, then they ducked, and loaded, while the second rank were firing!”
“Right.” Melisa rubbed her hands. “But could the musket line vary their frequency to get some resonance going?”
Summers frowned. “My choir say that is a really bad idea. They want us to do it.”
Melisa checked her watch. “Right.”
“Don’t worry,” Summers said. “When we are done here, I will transport right to San Francisco. We will be there for Cathy.”
Melisa’s smile faltered. “Thank you.” She tapped her earpiece. “Cathy? We should be ready in a few hours.”
“Understood,” Cathy responded over the link. “Do you want the good news or the bad?”
Melisa looked at Summers.
“Good?” Summers suggested.
01101
Catherine was in the hangar, with Barney, busily preparing the Mantas to act like drones. When Barney piloted his Manta, the rest would stick in formation, and target anything he opened fire on. They were elbow deep in the onboard computer of a Manta, reconfiguring the controls.
“The good news,” Catherine said, over her earpiece, as she plugged the cables into new terminals, “is that if the President isn’t trying to block Lionheart. The Marines have the Special Duty Battalion ready to launch airborne assaults on invading ships over the continental US, and the USS Nomad is heading to San Francisco, with a support fleet.”
