by J. N. Chaney
Unless we can think of a way of swaying the Danzur. The trouble is, we have no leverage over them. The Nyctus have a hell of a lot more influence here than we do, mainly because the Danzur are awed, even frightened, of their magic.
Thorn started to agree but stopped.
Something tickled the back of his thoughts. There was something there. He couldn’t quite see it, couldn’t quite get a mental grip on it, but it was there, dancing at the edge of his cognizance, a bright solution to their mortal dilemma.
Kira, do you think if we could prove to the Danzur that our magic is stronger than that of the Nyctus, it might change their minds?
Um. She paused. Maybe? I don’t know. How would we do that, though? I’m the only Starcaster here, and there’s no time to get another one here before Fleet’s deadline. I’m good at what I do, sure, but it’s not exactly the stuff of shock and awe. That’s more your department.
I know. Look, Kira, I’m going to sign off here. I have an idea, but I need some time to process how to proceed. It’s—I need clarity and a small window of time, and I swear to you, we can do this. Are you with me?.
Yes, came her instant answer. But I have to ask. What about our daughter? She’s out there somewhere, alone and in danger. That will not stand, Thorn. We both know it. I can feel your connection to her. It’s more powerful than anything the Danzur or Nyctus can grasp.
Thorn shook his head, sick with simmering rage.
We don’t know where she is and have no way of finding her. Meanwhile, the Danzur situation’s on a very short, very fast clock. So we’re going to concentrate on that, because that threatens the whole ON. Hell, it threatens the whole of the Allied Stars. As for Morgan, we’re just going to stay the course we’ve been on since she was born, and trust that her ability is well beyond any current threat. I know this in my bones, Kira, and our only concern is something far bigger than even her.
Bigger than Morgan? Kira asked, tone ripe with derision.
Yes. We have to trust in her control, for now, because if we’re wrong, she can end the universe as we know it.
Thorn?
Yes?
Find an answer. Then, let’s go get our daughter.
“Why green?” Thorn asked as he settled himself into his seat beside Bertilak.
“What do you mean?”
“Why did Morgan make you green? And big?”
A hint of the big alien’s familiar, infectious grin returned. “I guess she thought aliens are supposed to be green. As for the big part, well, I guess she wanted me to be impressive.” Bertilak gave Thorn a sidelong look. “Did it work? Am I impressive, Thorn?”
“Oh, yeah, sure. I’m impressed all to hell, believe me, and I’ve moved a fleet with my mind. You are . . . more than impressive, friend.”
Bertilak laughed. It actually made Thorn smile. Since learning about the alien’s true nature, Thorn found himself sympathetic toward him. Bertilak’s story resonated with him. He was someone with no past, only a present and, one hoped, a future. It made him see Bertilak in an entirely different way, through a lens of possibility made whole by the power of a young girl.
“Well, then. You said you had an idea. Might I ask what it is?” Bertilak asked. “Because I assume it’s doing more than just floating here in the middle of nothing.”
“It is. At least, I hope so.”
“Hope so?”
Thorn sighed. “I know what I want to do, but I don’t know if I can do it. I need access to my full magical potential, but I’m still not there. The reservoir is still way too shallow. I need to figure out how to refill it.” He leaned back in the seat. “And I’ve got to do it pretty damned fast.”
Bertilak stared at the viewscreen for a moment, then turned to face Thorn.
“I don’t think this is about how much you exerted yourself, my friend. I don’t think your magic is depleted, and you’re just stuck waiting for it to recover, or recharge, or whatever you would call it.”
Thorn’s gut reaction was to brush off Bertilak’s words and get on with figuring out what he had to do, but he bit back his retort. The alien was effectively made of magic. He may very well have insights that might elude even another Starcaster, even if he didn’t know why. So he just nodded. “Okay. Go on.”
“I think this is about you, Thorn. I think you’re holding yourself back from reaching your full magical potential.”
“Really.”
“Yes. Really.”
“What makes you say that?”
Bertilak raised an eyebrow. “Well, how long has your magic been depleted?”
“Since I tried to bring Morgan back.”
“Tried and failed.”
“Well, apparently not, as it turns out.”
“Sure, but you didn’t know that. As far as you knew, she was gone. You’d lost her. From your perspective, you’d failed her. Failed her again, in fact, because I’ll bet you blamed yourself for not saving her the first time, when the Nyctus attacked Nebo,” Bertilak said.
Thorn sat up. Bertilak was heading into uncomfortable territory, but Thorn resolved to accompany him, at least as far as he could. “I didn’t know she was on Nebo when the Nyctus destroyed the planet. Or I did, thanks to the Vision, but I had no idea she was my daughter.”
“It doesn’t matter, Thorn. You’re an excellent officer, and an excellent Starcaster. But you’re also excellent at blaming yourself for things you couldn’t possibly have known about.” Bertilak shook his head. “Morgan died on Nebo. You blamed yourself when you found out you were her father, even though you didn’t know it. You tried to bring her back, and failed, and blamed yourself for that, even though you couldn’t have known she was the one who stopped you, and that she’d actually survived. And now you blame yourself for not being able to help her, even though you again didn’t know she was alive, and now don’t have any idea where she is.”
Thorn stared into Bertilak’s eyes. He couldn’t deny any of it.
“Am I close?” the alien asked, a faint smile playing on his face.
“Yeah, you are.”
“Believe it or not, Thorn Stellers, you are not responsible for everything that happens in the universe. There are things that have happened that you had no way of influencing. There will be many more things happening that you can’t possibly affect.” Bertilak leaned in, pushing his words at Thorn. “You aren’t the center of the universe, Thorn. Not all events revolve around you. I think that the sooner you accept your limitations, the sooner you’ll be able to start trying to overcome them.”
For a while, Thorn watched the starfield on the viewscreen. It was the universe, sprawled out before him, blackness going on, if not to infinity, then damned close.
“You need to stop blaming yourself, Thorn. Until you do, I think you’ll be stuck here, in the middle of nothing, unable to change or influence anything at all. You’re a ghost. A husk. You look like Thorn Stellers, but you aren’t. Not really.”
Thorn kept staring at the viewscreen. He couldn’t see the Witch Nebula, because it was outside the screen’s field of view. But he knew exactly where it was. Currently, it was off to his right, and down.
It always loomed in his thoughts, hovering on the edge of his consciousness. It didn’t matter where Thorn was, or what he was doing. He always knew exactly where the Witch Nebula was.
And that, he knew, was the problem. The Nebula had become like an anchor, weighing him down and dragging him back. As long as it lurked in the fringes of his awareness, he’d never be able to do what Bertilak was telling him to do. The alien was right. Thorn had to get himself unstuck from that awful moment immediately after the Nebula’s creation, when he knew he’d lost Morgan. Until he did, he’d forever be mired in that instant of horrified realization, of self-doubt and guilt and regret.
Thorn pulled out his talisman and held it against his chest. He focused on the contact between flesh and tattered cardboard, between then and now. Once, he was a lost, lonely, and frightened kid, who only ever found
one, true friend in Kira Wixcombe. He scraped and scrimped and dragged himself through life, doing the best he could with who and what he was. You were dealt a hand, and you played your hardest with it, maybe not winning the game, but not losing it, either. You didn’t get to pick the cards, and no one got to pick them for you.
But that was exactly what he’d done to Morgan. He’d tried to stack her deck. Sure, he had the best of intentions, but what did they say about the road to hell?
Magic began to thrum and surge through Thorn’s fingertips, a tingle of potential, waiting to be unleashed. Ironically, it was far more than he needed for what he was about to do.
“Bertilak, I’d like you to start spinning the ship. Get it tumbling at random. As fast as you can,” he said.
He kept his attention on the starfield but felt Bertilak looking at him, puzzled. “Why?”
“Please. Just do it.”
Bertilak hesitated a moment, then fiddled with the controls. Thorn wondered if that was even necessary, or if the ship just did what Bertilak wanted it to. But he escorted the thought out of his mind. It didn’t matter.
The starfield slid to one side, then twisted and slid again. Thorn could feel the Witch Nebula gyrating around him, then above his head, to the left and forward, and now beneath his feet, to the right. He made himself concentrate, instead, on his talisman, his focus, that union of flesh and paper, of thought and substance.
“Faster, Bertilak. Spin it faster.”
The spiraling starfield became a blur. Thorn doubted any other ship could spin and tumble so quickly. Now the Witch Nebula was itself a blur, spinning around him so quickly that he couldn’t track it. He knew about where it was, but that was all.
Time. Thorn reached down through his focus and drew a glimmer of magic up, into it, and back through it. He would use it to change a very small and specific part of the universe. He’d use it to change himself.
Thorn swung his attention onto his smeared awareness of the Witch Nebula, let it rush wildly through his thoughts for a moment, then neatly snipped it away.
He let out a breath, opened his eyes, and looked at Bertilak. “Okay, that should be good.”
Bertilak slowed the ship’s gyrations, then finally stopped them.
Thorn thought about the Witch Nebula. It was still out there, that much he could feel. But he had no idea where it was.
Bertilak gave Thorn a puzzled grin. “Well, that was fun. Mind if I ask what it was all about?”
In answer, Thorn pulled magic from that deep reservoir and launched it into space ahead of the Jolly Green Giant. It erupted in a dazzling display of raw, unfocused power, spangled brightness raging wild among the cavernous dark.
Thorn let it go on, allowing the magic to pass through him and vent into space.
He smiled. He’d plumbed that reservoir deeply but still hadn’t hit bottom.
Not even close, Thorn mused.
“Okay, very pretty, but it doesn’t really answer my question,” Bertilak said.
Thorn ended the effect with a thought and turned to the alien.
“That, my friend, was about listening to the wise advice of a very smart man. A very smart, large, green man.”
Bertilak’s full grin switched on, its infectious cheer illuminating Thorn like radar. “Well, I’m flattered. Absolutely confused, but flattered.”
Thorn put away his talisman, then put a hand on the big alien’s shoulder. “I’m not perfect, Bertilak. I’m just a guy trying to do the best I can. Sometimes, I’m going to screw up. And that’s okay.” He smiled. “That’s what that was all about.”
“You’re a complicated man, Thorn Stellers.”
“The operative word there being man,” Thorn replied. Not a hero, not a god. A limited, imperfect man.
“So what now?”
“Now, Bertilak, we try to save the ON from a war on two fronts.”
“Okay. And how, exactly, are we going to do that?”
Thorn’s smile turned sly. “By scaring the ever-living shit out of someone.”
27
Kira nodded as the last member of the Venture’s crew stepped aboard. Once she was inside the ship, Kira hit the comm.
“Okay, that’s everyone. Let’s get the hell out of here,” she said.
“Aye, ma’am,” the pilot replied. A few seconds later, the Venture shuddered as she released her docking clamps. Thrusters rumbled in a brief burst as she backed away from the Danzur station, gaining distance before starting to maneuver.
Kira watched through the airlock’s tiny viewport as the docking adapter receded. She saw only swirling motes of frozen air, but no other movement. Most notably, the point-defense batteries mounted on the Danzur platform remained pointed away from the ON sloop.
She watched a moment longer. The view was appropriate. The Danzur fell steadily away, becoming ever more remote. It was a perfect metaphor for their chances of peace with the aliens.
Kira sealed the inner airlock and returned to the cabin. Damien had already strapped in.
“Don’t suppose the Danzur had a last-second change of heart, did they?” she asked.
He gave her a wry look. “If they had, I’d be telling you to take us back and dock.”
Kira nodded, then she sat down and strapped in. She made herself as comfortable as possible, ready to ’cast. The ON deadline was still a few hours off, but Tadrup had made it clear that he considered their departure from the platform to mark the formal end of negotiations. Their diplomatic status should still guarantee them safe passage out of the system and back to ON space, but Kira didn’t trust the Danzur not to try something underhanded. After all, they were supposed to keep her here as long as possible. The Venture, on her own, would last maybe five minutes in a fight with any sort of warship. Maybe. So if the Danzur decided that keeping her here could include destroying the Venture, there wasn’t much they could do about it.
Their only hope would be her ’casting. She’d already decided her best bet would be to Shade the Venture and hope she could maintain it long enough to be able to fire up the Alcubierre drive.
A little deeper in her thoughts was another, far more terrifying scenario. The Danzur were in league with the Nyctus. Suppose they decided that she’d be a powerful bargaining chip, taking her alive, then offering her to the squids in exchange for something, anything, it didn’t matter what.
Yeah, that wouldn’t be happening. Kira had resolved to destroy the Venture herself before letting the squids take her alive again.
“I’m sorry, Kira,” Damien said.
She glanced at him. “For what?”
“For not making this work.” He smiled again, but it was thin and bleak. “In case you’ve ever wondered what failure looks like in the world of diplomacy, well, this is it.”
“Oh, for—Damien, if we’ve failed here, then we’ve failed. Both of us.”
“Eh, you weren’t looking for a career in the diplomatic corps anyway, were you?”
“Not at all. And after this, definitely not at all. I’ll be happy to get back shipboard, where all I have to worry about is being blown to bits.”
Damien laughed, but the pilot’s voice cut him off. “Ma’am, three Danzur ships have just burned hard out of orbit. They’re going to intercept our course in about thirty minutes.”
“Please tell me they’re freighters or something.”
“A light cruiser and two destroyers.”
“Hear that? That’s the sound of diplomatic credentials being revoked,” Damien said.
Kira nodded. “Yeah. Shit. Okay, this is where it gets complicated.” She called up the pilot. “Can you evade them?”
“Been running the numbers, ma’am. Best I can do is delay their intercept by about ten or fifteen minutes. The Venture’s fast, but not fast enough, I’m afraid.”
“Do your best,” Kira replied.
“Always, ma’am.”
She couldn’t help smiling. Even in the face of impending disaster, the pilot’s voice was calm, me
thodical, and professional. It was just too bad they didn’t have a bunch more of him, aboard a whole bunch more ships.
“So what do we do?” Damien asked. His sedate tone impressed Kira even more than that of the pilot.
“Well, I’m going to try to Shade us. That should make us effectively invisible,” she replied.
“Oh. Well, that sounds encouraging.”
“You’d think so. The trouble is that it doesn’t make us immune to hits. If the Danzur are really determined to take us out, they can just figure out the biggest volume of space we could possibly maneuver through and fill it with ordnance. I can make it so the Danzur themselves can’t see us, even on the sensors. But I can’t trick a missile’s guidance system, because it doesn’t have a mind to Join with.”
“Well, that was a brief, exciting moment of optimism,” Damien replied.
“We might get lucky,” Kira offered.
“Let’s hope.”
The pilot lit the Venture’s fusion drive and started powering her away from the Danzur station, fast. Kira told herself that the pilot was good, the ship was quick and nimble, and she could Shade the ship. All those things together might be enough to get them out of this—
She eased out a breath. Except no, they probably wouldn’t.
“I’ve enjoyed working with you,” Damien said.
She smiled. “Same.”
Damien looked away, then back. “You’re more than a soldier, Kira. Don’t forget that, if your path continues beyond this moment.” He sighed, then gave her a small grin. “I hope it does. This ends my moment of melancholy.” His face brightened, and he laughed, long and loud, his face suffused with unalloyed joy.
“What?” Kira asked, bewildered by his outburst.
“I once had a lady friend who was into restoring and watching these ancient vids stored in archives. Some of them go back a few hundred years. There was one—a really awful one, I might add—that had this line in it.” Damien screwed up his face and made his into a nasal whine. “You’ll never take me alive, copper!”
