So to suddenly find himself without any of those things felt like drowning. Like he filled his lungs with water every time he tried to breathe. He had dedicated his life to following, and now he had no one to follow. He knew that for certain now, after witnessing Parallax’s insanity firsthand. There was no other word to describe his plan.
To see Bayne buy into it, to hear Bayne order the crew to follow along with it, was a stab in the heart. A sliver of hope still lived in the corner of Mao’s heart, trapped between the doubt and growing cynicism, that the man he pledged to serve years ago was still in there somewhere.
That hope was dashed.
“That can’t be right,” Delphyne said, shaking her head. “That’s madness.”
Mao stared straight ahead, past her and Hep. “Yes, it is. Both right and madness, I’m afraid.” As his eyes drifted from an unknown place on the fictional horizon, he realized something—Hep and Delphyne were looking to him. Their faces were full of the expectant hope of young sailors, waiting for their captain to issue an order.
The moment required a finesse that he did not possess. Mao could quote regulation, but he could not ease someone’s fears or guide them through a problem. So, he evaded their unasked question.
“I will think on this new development. There is no need to alter course yet.” It was an unsatisfying response for both him and the others. It felt dismissive and misleading, but it was all he could muster. “Continue on as if nothing were amiss. As if…” Mao’s voice fell away. He couldn’t yet bear to say the words.
As if Bayne were still our captain.
10
The preparations were complete with almost a day to spare. Long-range scans showed the Navy fleet approaching, and Hix had returned to his rendezvous spot to await its arrival. He checked in regularly, if only to assure Parallax that things were progressing.
Planet-side, things were moving quickly. In the first day, the entirety of Ore Town had been mobilized, from captains down to miners and deckhands, to prepare for the attack. Bayne was astonished by how efficiently the settlement moved and operated. Disparate parts of one organism altered course and worked toward one goal with little resistance.
Maybe Parallax really had created the paradise Bayne had been hoping for.
But there was still a nagging sensation in the back of his head that warned him against hope. Alexander Kyte was an idealistic man. Parallax was a pragmatist, egotistic and vengeful. He believed he was meant to usher in this age of piracy, that he had the power to disrupt the massive machines that were the Navy and Byers Clan. He was smart and driven enough to do it. But he was also blinded by his hatred of both.
Parallax’s plan was bold and risky. It may have been genius, but that would be determined in its wake. Mao was right to question it. That was Mao’s strength—to be a buffer, a wall to hold back the flood. Parallax didn’t have one of those.
Bayne would try to be that wall.
The dock was a stormy sea. Bodies mashed against each other as they tried to navigate the same narrow footpaths. Screams like sirens, piercing ears and tightening chests. Chaos. Bayne shoved his way through with a total lack of civility.
Wyrmwood stood at the foot of the Black Hole’s landing platform directing traffic with nods and hand gestures. He greeted Bayne with a cocked eyebrow.
“I need to see him,” Bayne said.
Wyrmwood shook his head. “Not now.” He gestured to the swarm of people.
“Yeah, that’s what I need to see him about. I have some questions about the battle plan.”
Wyrmwood raised his eyebrow again in a skeptical expression.
“About my place in it,” Bayne assured. “I need to make sure I know exactly what my part is.”
After a moment’s silent contemplation, Wyrmwood stepped aside and let Bayne aboard.
The Black Hole was a marvel. As intimidating as it was to look on, it was more impressive the deeper you looked. The craftsmanship was unparalleled, like each bolt was hand polished before insertion. It was sleek and a behemoth. Armored to the point where you’d think it would move at a crawl, like a destroyer, but it zipped at speeds unmatched by the fastest Navy ships.
Its offensive capabilities were equally unparalleled. Enough torpedoes to destroy an armada. Forward batteries powerful enough to cut through a moon. A docking bay that housed three dozen twin-engine, single-pilot fighters. It was a fleet unto itself.
As Bayne walked through the corridors of the ship, the feeling of awe transformed into something else: recognition. Déjà vu.
But the real threat, the true reason the Black Hole was so dangerous and feared, was the man sitting in the captain’s chair.
Parallax rose to greet Bayne as he stepped onto the bridge. He noticed the awe on Bayne’s face. “I react the same way every time. This ship is truly magnificent.”
Bayne scanned the bridge from the deck to the ceiling, the computers and consoles. “I recognize some of this tech.”
Parallax nodded but said nothing, allowing Bayne to fill in the gaps for himself.
“It’s from the Supernova.”
Parallax descended from the captain’s chair, which was placed on an elevated platform in the center of the bridge, a design aesthetic that ran contrary to the Navy’s, where the captain’s place of authority was recognized but not raised to the point of lordship. He walked the bridge, letting his hands brush over the consoles and controls. “That’s correct. This ship once looked quite different. It was a fine thing when it came off the production line, I’m sure. A standard Byers Clan starship, equipped with just enough firepower to survive the edges of the universe, just enough thrust to get from the seat of Byers power to the rocks from which they extract it.”
He stopped at the navigator’s station. He stood like he was going to address the person sitting there, but the seat was empty. “Byers ships always had just enough, the bare minimum required to complete the task. Efficiency.” He spat the word like it had rotted on his tongue. “The Navy builds ships to destroy, and destroying is not an efficient process. Their ships have more power than they need. More than they know what to do with. So it goes to waste.”
Parallax turned away from whatever ghost he was talking to. He threw his arms wide, gesturing to the ship around him. “As a Ranger, I would have shrugged this off. Too much power. What do I need it for? Because my mission then was to simply exist. To live. But I learned that mission, that ideal, was dangerous. And, now, I know what to do with power.”
He looked at the empty chairs on the bridge again like he was looking at ghosts. “I returned to the Supernova. To all of the Ranger ships destroyed when the Navy betrayed us. I salvaged what I could. I harnessed their power. Even in death, they held more strength than the combined might of the Navy and Byers Clan. I used that strength to build this, the tool with which I would dismantle both of those twisted machines. The black hole that will swallow them all.”
He paused, like an actor at rehearsal suddenly realizing he had an audience. “Apologies, Drum. You came to speak with me?”
Awed equally by Parallax’s performance as he was the subject matter, Bayne took a moment to respond. “Yes, I did.”
With a wave, Parallax gestured for Bayne to follow. They stepped onto the elevator that would bring them to the bottom level. “I need to inspect engineering one last time,” Parallax said. “We can talk on the way.”
Time skipped backward, and Bayne was a boy again, following Captain Kyte like a stray dog. He squeezed his eyes, wished for the illusion to fade, and opened them again to see the twisted men they had become.
“I want to talk about your battle strategy,” Bayne said as they exited the elevator on the bottom level. “I have some concerns.”
“I’m sure you do. I’d worry if you didn’t. It’s as risky a plan as I’ve ever devised, but the payoff is all that matters.”
Bayne swallowed hard. The illusion was gone, but he still felt like that lost boy, looking to Kyte like a savior, dwarfed in
his presence. He struggled to speak. “What is the payoff?”
Parallax abruptly spun on his heel, causing Bayne to nearly crash into him. “Do you think I would antagonize the two most powerful entities in the galaxy without a goal?”
“No. You don’t do anything without reason.”
“Exactly right. So why insinuate that I’m marching into the dark now?”
Sweat beaded on Bayne’s brow. “The losses we’ll incur.”
“May be great,” Parallax said, placing a hand on Bayne’s shoulder. “But my people know the risk. They volunteered to endure it when they chose this life. And they each chose it. That’s why we’re fighting—so they and anyone who wishes can choose what they want to do, to be, how to live. The Navy and Byers Clans have stripped people of those choices.”
The speech felt hollow and drifted weightlessly past Bayne’s ears. Platitudes. Rehearsed. The insult of it aged Bayne from the wide-eyed child to the skeptical captain. “What happens after? Suppose this works. Suppose we beat back the Navy and the Byers Clan and enough of us survive—what do we do? Settle down here in Ore Town? How long until the Navy returns? They won’t just sail away with their tails between their legs never to return. They see this place as an existential threat just as they did the Rangers. They used the Rangers then wiped them out.”
Parallax ripped off his mask and screamed, the scar tissue making his face look like an alien landscape. “Do you think I need reminding of that?!”
Bayne sank back, morphing back into the child.
“I am reminded of that every morning upon waking, when the pain shoots through my body. When my heart breaks as I reach for the person that should be sleeping next to me. When I walk onto the bridge expecting to see the crew that was my family.” He grabbed Bayne by the collar and shoved him against the wall. “I know what’s at stake.”
His eyes pooled with tears. One spilled over the brim and ran down the canals carved in his face, eventually reaching his chin and falling to the floor. He released Bayne, replaced his mask, and straightened his shirt. “Don’t begin to lecture me on what may come. You’ve not looked past your own nose for years.”
Bayne’s eyes drew toward the center of his vision as if Parallax’s words had some sway over them. When he refocused, he realized Parallax had begun walking off without him. He hurried to catch up. “You think I’m shortsighted?”
“Since I’ve known you, you’ve been focused on your own survival.” Parallax turned a corner, following a sign that pointed toward engineering. “The war orphan I plucked off the street was only concerned with food and shelter. As you grew, you became obsessed with learning the ways of the ship, but that was only as a means to ensure you had a place on mine. The war came, and survival is all anyone thinks of during war. But after, that is when you disappointed me.”
The comment stopped Bayne in his tracks, which then infuriated him, seeing the power Parallax still had over him. “I don’t recall giving a damn about your approval.”
“Yes, you do.”
A growl rumbled in Bayne’s chest.
A bulky, metal door loomed before them. Huge bolts kept it upright. It looked like a vault door, or a bunker. Engineering was painted on it in large, red letters. Fresh paint. This sort of door wasn’t common on this area of the ship. There was no reason to segregate engineering like this.
Parallax spun on his heels. “You were and are an incredible captain. Inventive, creative, daring. You inspire loyalty among your crew. But you have not reached the levels of greatness you could achieve. Because you have no vision. You are rudderless.”
The tension rose in Bayne’s shoulders, climbing up his neck to the point he felt he was turning to stone. He wanted to snatch Parallax’s words out of the air and shove them back down his throat.
“You’ve been drifting,” Parallax said. “Allowing life to pull or push you along, getting sucked into the nearest gravity well. You have yet to choose your path. I thought I was helping in setting you on one, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe I put you on one that isn’t yours. Maybe I put you on a path that led back to me because I wanted to see you again. Because I wanted you to fight by my side.”
The stone that had been encasing Bayne cracked and crumbled to the floor.
Parallax watched it fall. He looked down. Maybe at the pieces laying in a pile. Maybe at the ghost of the boy he rescued years ago. Then he looked up at the man he’d forged.
Bayne wished he could see Parallax’s face, try to read his expression, try to see pride there. Then the anger flooded back and washed it away. He wasn’t sure it was even directed at Parallax. It, like Bayne, was directionless. It was all-encompassing. An anger so big it swallowed everything around it. A black hole.
Parallax pushed his sleeve up, revealing a small wrist-mounted computer. He typed in an access code, and the lock on the door behind him opened. When he looked up at Bayne again, the air of sentimentality was gone. “But the time for choice is gone. The decisions have been made. Perhaps you can make your own in the next life.”
With great effort, Parallax shoved the door open then slammed it shut behind him before Bayne could glimpse what was inside. A cloud of positively-charged air hit Bayne in the face. It was so powerful, it made Bayne’s head swim. When that feeling faded, he wished to chase it.
Bayne uncorked the bottle of black rum he kept in the top drawer of his desk. He poured the remainder of it into his glass, dangling the bottle a few extra seconds to ensure he got every last drop. He held the empty bottle to his face. The light hit it from the opposite side. He stared into the bottle and the distorted world inside. A warped version of himself. Twisted beyond recognition. A world where he could have been great, as Parallax claimed he was capable.
But was that what he even wanted? Did he care to be great? He told himself all he wanted was to live unmolested, doing what he wished, fending for himself. Had he ever wanted more?
Did he know what he wanted?
Did he care anymore?
The world shattered as the bottle smashed against the wall. Pieces of it fell to the floor.
“Captain,” Graeme’s voice came over comms. “The fleet has arrived, sir. Parallax is calling all ships to their positions. The battle is here.”
11
The engine room of the Royal Blue was eerily quiet. Hep had occasion to visit when they had a full crew, and it was the loudest place on the ship. The noise had nothing to do with the engines. They ran quiet unless something was wrong with them. It was the people.
With a full crew, engineering was the largest department. Nothing was more critical to a successful mission than ensuring the ship was operating at full capacity. And engineers were a surprisingly loud bunch. The first time Hep visited, trailing Delphyne to learn as much as he could about the ship, he could have closed his eyes and imagined he walked into an Ore Town pub on payday. The air was clogged with hollered curses and a thick sense of urgency.
Now, the air was clear. The only human sounds came from the ever-congested sinuses of newly-minted chief engineer Riley Pickens. She was a fidgety person, fingers always picking at the hem of her shirt, nerves frayed from the constant feeling that she was in over her head. Which she was. She was a first-level engineer, a rookie, during the Triseca Station mission. Months later, she was chief.
Luckily, she was also a quick study and slightly obsessive-compulsive.
Hep wasn’t needed in the engine room, but he couldn’t stand to be anywhere else on the ship. He couldn’t watch the bridge crew prepare for launch. He couldn’t watch Ore Town shrink as they climbed and broke atmosphere.
He couldn’t stand any of it. The blood on the horizon.
Bayne’s voice sounded over the general ship-wide comm, announcing the Royal Blue’s arrival at its point in the forward defense line. They would play a key role in the first line of defense against the massive might of the United Navy and Byers Clan. Some seemed to take that assignment as an honor, a sign that Parallax trusted them to serve s
uch an important role.
Hep took it for what it was—an assignment. They were one brick in a crumbling wall.
The engines powered down and entered a sleep state, conserving their energy for the battle. Riley Pickens didn’t know what to do with herself. She paced the length of the engine room, manically reciting sections of the manual to herself as if she would forget them entirely should she stop.
Hep stepped in her path, moving his arms to get her attention and not startle her. She was startled anyway.
“Yes, what? What can I do? Did I do something?” Her breath was erratic and eyes wild.
Hep took one deep breath and then another. She instinctually followed suit, and her heart slowed to a normal rhythm.
“I’ve been in battles like this,” Hep said. Her eyes narrowed as she studied his face. He was the youngest person on the ship, younger than her by at least five years, but he had seen more action than most, having lived the majority of his life as a pirate. “And this is the worst part—the waiting.”
Riley spun in a circle, looking for something and nothing, anything she could latch her attention to.
Hep grabbed her shoulders, stopping her from drilling a hole in the floor. “Take a break. We’ve got time. Get out of this room while you can because you’re going to be spending a lot of time in here over the next day. Walk to the galley. Get some coffee. Anything to get your mind off what’s coming.”
She blinked and her eyes slowly focused on Hep’s face. Then a smile teased at the corners of her mouth. “Okay.” She patted Hep on the shoulder in a silent thank you and left.
The other two engineers, having heard his advice, decided to follow it, leaving Hep alone in the engine room.
Exactly where he needed to be.
He wanted to take his own advice. He wanted to get out of that room, go for a walk, talk with a friend. Get his mind off what was coming. But he had less time than Riley to cope with what he needed to do.
The Deep Black Space Opera Boxed Set Page 32
