by J. N. Chaney
So far, so good.
When it was suitably covered with food, he picked a seat, Slaughterbach in tow, but the young Petty Officer made another apology and bolted away.
Thorn began to eat, looking around in curious appraisal. Then Captain Samuels walked in, speaking easily to the crew as he filled his own tray and sat down, coffee cup balanced in one meaty hand.
Thorn stood. It was time to meet his future.
“Captain?” Thorn approached and saluted uncertainly. “Stellers. I just arrived, sir.”
The captain’s eyes scanned him, but not in an unfriendly way. “You’re the Starcaster, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
Samuels waved at the food, then motioned for Thorn to grab his tray and join him. When Thorn settled in, Samuels pointed to their trays. “An army, it was said, moved on its stomach. I believe that is only partially true.”
“Sir?”
“We travel in starships. We fight with our minds and bodies. If we don’t eat, we don’t fight. It’s that simple. The myth that tough soldiers come from hard conditions is just that—a myth. So, we eat. We train. And we do all of these things without fail, because we get exactly one opportunity to engage and defeat the Nyctus, on average.”
“Sir, you mean…most ships don’t survive engagement?” Thorn asked, lowering his fork.
Samuels shook his wide head, the scalp covered with short black stubble. His eyes were impenetrable black, but he had a presence that was more positive than punishing. “Some ships don’t even make it through first contact. The Nyctus aren’t just sledgehammers. They’re clever. We can discuss that more later. For now, eat, then come to the bridge and see me. Your witchport is open and ready to use, though I pray to the stars that we don’t need you just yet. We’re still getting used to the idea that something other than a missile can kill the enemy.” He beetled his brows, leaning forward. “You can kill the enemy, can’t you?”
Thorn considered his words carefully. “In the right situation, I can kill them all.”
Samuels sat quietly for a moment, chewing. “Houdini.”
“Excuse me, sir?”
Samuels put his own fork down and folded his hands. “The Houdini. It was a near-Earth frigate that got off the luckiest shot in naval history. One missile, three kills. That’s the last time an ON ship has punched above her weight, and it was only because a missile tech sent a fast-burner through the weakest point on a Nyctus dreadnought—and out the other side, clipping two more in the command modules and creating the biggest implosion you’ll ever see. That’s how rare it is for us to clear a battlespace, so when you say all of them, you have my attention.” He resumed eating, then finished quickly while Thorn chewed, waiting for something else to answer.
Nothing came up, because Samuels cleared his plate, stood, and told Thorn, “Come to the bridge. Let’s talk about luck.”
Then he was gone, and the clatter of a mess rang in Thorn’s ears as he wondered how long he would live on a ship that needed luck more than it needed magic. He was woolgathering when he became aware of more company.
A petite woman with dark skin and hair so black it may have been blue sat herself across from him at the otherwise empty table, settling easily as if she already knew him.
She leaned forward on her elbows, grinning. “You’re new.”
Thorn wiped his face and extended a hand. “Stellers, Specialist, Starcaster division.”
The woman tilted her head. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
“I suppose not. Thorn Stellers, pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Mol Wyant, same.” Her grin faded, but the tilt remained to her head. It gave her an avian aura.
“Well, Mol, what’s your MOS?” Thorn turned his coffee cup around, idly.
“Thirteen Ten ON. I’m a pilot.”
“How long have you been flying under Captain Samuel?” He sipped the coffee, wincing. It was body temp—an affront to all who love caffeine.
“I’ve had the privilege of calling Samuel my Captain for three years.” Mol gave a sharp nod, as if driving it home that the privilege was real.
“Sounds like he’s a good Captain with a good crew.” Thorn stood then went to return his tray to the waste conveyor, where it clanked away into a hidden disposal.
“Great.” She touched his shoulder for emphasis. “The word you’re looking for is great. Welcome to the team, Stellers.” Her eyes searched him, perhaps looking for rank, then she turned away with a polite nod.
“Thanks,” he told her, earning a wave as she vanished into the passage.
Thorn smoothed the wrinkles from his uniform and reported to the command deck. Captain Samuel stood at the helm, his broad shoulders hunching forward over the controls as if the weight of the world sat upon them.
“Captain Samuel?”
“Ah, Specialist.” The captain addressed him without turning. Around them, the bridge was a quiet buzz of orderly work, screens and consoles casting light of many colors across the dark walls. At various stations, staff looked down, or up, or into nothingness, their virtual gear held in place by small headbands.
“Yes, sir.” Thorn cleared his throat. “Reporting for duty, or just reporting. I’m unsure at this point.”
The captain looked up at him with a raised brow. “It’s duty, make no mistake. You’re a lot more gifted than our first ’caster, so I have some questions.”
“First, sir? You had another Starcaster?”
“We did. Briefly. Didn’t take. You’re different, though—all of you are, compared to the first few years. Then, we didn’t know what we needed out here, against the Nyctus. Thought we could turn rocks and throw them back.” He sighed, and it was a long sound of frustration. “The Nyctus are a heluva lot more devious than that, even if brute force is their preferred technique. Let me show you something.”
“Yes, sir.” Thorn stood quietly, watching the captain’s fingers dance over a virtual keyset. Samuels waved him forward to look at the images that were now hovering on a screen too small for anyone to see except them.
Thorn moved to the control panel and saw that the captain had been reviewing enemy fleet locations. Samuels swiped the flat panel forward to project a 3D hologram of the three separate maps, their borders twined together across distance and the galactic plane.
Samuel pointed to the map farthest to the left. “This was documented two months ago.” His finger moved to the right, indicating the static image in the middle. “Three weeks ago.” He zoomed in on the live radar furthest to the right. “And this is what we’re seeing now.”
Thorn’s heart sank. The alien battle fleet in the third live feed had increased from a couple of scout vehicles two months ago—to three immense carriers, battleships, more than twenty smaller craft, and at least five bulky shield ships, their distinct outline needed due to the cargo they carried. Each of the shield craft would be packed with defensive armor of varying types. As he watched, the vehicles remained chillingly inert. He could have taken the image to be a still had he not seen the jump planes zipping between the two planets.
The fleet still sat a good distance from the twin planets, so Thorn didn’t think that an attack was imminent. However, the sudden change in convoy structure told him that an attack wasn’t just forming up, it was close to launching. He’d seen enough sat recordings of battlefields where the ON had been scoured to dust, and this was no different. Someone was about to get hit. Hard.
“Where is this, sir?” Thorn asked. It was apparent these planets were well populated, given the amount of system traffic.
“Too far for response by the Apollo.” The captain shook his head. “But within our jurisdiction. We’ll have to deploy the closest units capable of withstanding a battle of this magnitude.”
Thorn resisted the urge to reach out and enlarge the screen. “And what units are those, sir?”
“That’s not the largest of my concerns, Stellers.” The captain nodded toward the enemy fleet as he s
poke. “They’re not in battle formation. They’re just hanging there. Waiting.”
“What do you mean it’s not a concern? Can we—rather, can I have an effect on this fight, sir?”
The captain turned to face him, leaning back against his chair. “I didn’t say it’s not a concern, Stellers.” He gave Thorn a neutral look. “I said it’s not the largest of my concerns.”
“What is the largest of your concerns, sir?” Thorn was bewildered that the captain was so calm. The people on these planets were going to die if they didn’t play defense with the fleet—and soon.
The captain pressed a button on the panel behind him without turning to look at the changes it caused. He crossed his arms as the two stagnant images blipped into nonexistence, and twelve new live feeds populated in a semi-circle across the front of the helm. Each feed showed the same presence, alarmingly still, in twelve new locations. Each solar system was populated with active civilizations.
Thorn could say nothing. The enemy wasn’t attacking a system. They were attacking across a front.
“This, Stellers.” The captain’s jaw rippled in frustration. “This is the largest of my concerns.”
Thorn reacted at the cellular level, every old hurt in his life flaring into the here and now. “Are these all within our jurisdiction, sir?”
“Yes, they are.” Captain Samuel’s eyes narrowed, but he let the newcomer run with his thoughts, for the moment.
“Have there been reports of similar activity in other jurisdictions, sir?”
“Short answer—no.” The captain turned to survey the holographic monitors once more, saying nothing, cupping his chin in one hand.
“That’s what they’re waiting for, then,” Thorn said. “We can’t—I mean, I can’t pry open a Nyctus mind at this distance, and I’m not sure I’d want to, but I think we’re looking at something different.”
“Clarify, Stellers.”
“They’re expecting us to react to the immense presence in this jurisdiction by calling for aid from others. It’s the logical reaction.” Thorn tapped on each of the feeds, zooming in and inspecting the fleets before moving on to the next. “Are there any outliers, sir?”
“Outliers how?”
“Nyctus ships within the jurisdiction that are not positioned for imminent attack?” Thorn posed the statement as a question, though he had more than a suspicion. The captain sensed it as well. “The enemy doesn’t just park. At least, not that we saw in training materials. I yield to your experience here, it’s just that—
Samuels leaned over the control panel, holding up a hand. “Here.” He cleared the live feeds and enlarged an image of fifteen small attack ships with one carrier sitting in deep space, their formation preparing for lightspeed.
Thorn asked, “That trajectory. Can you plot it?” He looked around for the nav officer.
Slaughterbach sat at the nav chair, his fingers nearly a blur. He imported the static image of the outlying fleet and demarcated the sharp angles of the Nyctus ships, then added an overlay based on any anomalies between the two points.
The air in the command deck felt sticky with angst. The crew fought the urge to gather around Slaughterbach as the system calculated the outcome. If there was a clock in the room, Thorn would have heard it ticking, even though the data compiled in the span of two breaths.
The navigation screen flashed green around the edges, and a simulation displayed the calculated course in exponential speed. The end of the route was a small, mottled brown and green planet directly in the path of the fleet’s trajectory.
Thorn studied the planet and those surrounding it. “Enlarge that image, sir?”
“Sleuth,” Samuels said. The seated nav officer turned his bi-colored eyes up toward him with an expectant glance. “Throw it on the big wall.”
“Sleuth, sir?” Thorn asked softly.
“A lot shorter than Slaughterbach, and the kid has a nose for the Nyctus,” Samuels said, lips curled slightly.
For the second time that morning, Thorn’s gut clenched.
“Corporal, can you tell me what I’m looking at?”
Sleuth displayed the planetary details with a flick of his wrist.
No. Thorn read the words. It can’t be.
Code Nebula.
His blood roared, feet moving of their own accord to the comms, where he tapped an open channel to find Kira—somehow, some way, he had to tell her—
They’re going to attack Code Nebula.
“Stellers!” He heard Captain Samuel’s command on the third attempt. “What are you doing?”
“That’s my base camp, Captain.” Thorn let his hand drift away, then stared at it. “My—all of my people. The officers and crew I know, or knew. It’s where the Starcasters are made.”
“I know that, Stellers.” Samuel grabbed him by the shoulders and sat him down forcefully. “You’re not going to warn them. Do you know why?” The question was generous. Samuel didn’t owe Thorn a thing. Not yet.
Thorn felt his shoulders fall. “Because the Nyctus would know. Sir.”
Samuel gave a slow, deliberate nod. “In about a minute. They’ll punch through our codes, or just brush the edges, and they’re not stupid. They’ll know. And more importantly, they can go early, before we could even get in orbit to defend your base.”
“So what do we do, sir? I know what it takes to make a ’caster. I was there. The classes are small, and—well, I was told that you needed me to have a shot at winning. So if I’m a glorified weapon, that makes Code Nebula an armory that has to be protected.”
“I don’t know what the best answer is…yet.” He took a chair, spun toward Thorn, and leaned forward as the entire bridge watched their exchange in tense silence. “But they’re not going to make the move until they know we’ve mobilized against their façade of infantry units. You sold me on that. It’s a feint, and it’s designed to siphon off our fleet, to get us out of position.”
“Sir, I can reach them. At Code Nebula,” Thorn said into the silence. There were audible snorts of derision, but Samuel quelled them with a look.
“Tell me,” the captain ordered.
Thorn spread his hands out, fingers splayed on his legs. “My telepathic range is—well, we don’t know what it is. But it’s deep, and I don’t get tired. I have a, I guess you’d call it a reserve. I might be able to reach someone on Code Nebula, but only if I’m utterly focused.”
Samuel cut his eyes to the bow. “The witchport is waiting, then. You came here to use your power, and we know the Nyctus are fighting outside our usual methods. Go, and ready yourself. You’ll need a suit for the hard vac in case you lose control of the bubble. There’s one waiting in your quarters. Gear up, get in the ’port, and clear your mind. If you want to save the base, and maybe us—go. Direct order, Stellers. I can’t claim to understand what you do, but I sure as hell know how I’m going to use it.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be ready,” Thorn said, saluting and retreating even as his mind began to fill with the oncoming task. Telepathy was one thing. Telepathy beyond the stars was another.
The captain was true to his word. A battlesuit of dark fabric hung, waiting in his locker. He took his talisman, dressed, and began to leave, turning for the lead part of the ship where only a Starcaster could go. One of his skills wasn’t just magic, but the creation of a wall—invisible, unbreakable, and filling the open witchport so he could be present at the leading edge of his ship as it attacked.
Or defended.
As he opened the door to leave, an icon blinked on his wallscreen. A message.
“Play message,” he said. Instantly, an image fizzed into existence and he saw Val’s square head, a smile ear to ear, and Rodie pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. They sat shoulder to shoulder, leaning into the center of the screen.
“Hey, Stellers!” Val waved. “Would you believe I got stuck with this guy for the rest of…oh, I don’t know, eternity?”
Rodie shoved his shoulder into hers and sno
rted. “I got the goods. She ain’t leaving. She’s hooked on coffee, chocolate, and clean socks. I got her right where I want her.”
Val laughed and shoved Rodie out of the screen. “We just wanted to check in on you and see how you’re doin’?” She looked worried, which was new, but she was also more—real. There was less bluster, and more actual human. It was a good look.
Rodie appeared again, leaning in so his oversized head took up a majority of the screen. “Yeah, man, miss you! Let us know you’re okay.” Rodie leaned in even closer, covering the side of his face with his hand to block Val’s view of his moving lips and whispered, “And tell me about all the babes on Tuscolum. I gotta know if the hype is real!”
Val smacked the skinny man on the shoulder. “We got booted to Vega 7, hardly a hop away from Code Nebula. Rodie’s disappointed he still won’t be using his rank insignia to bring the girls to the bunk any time soon.”
Rodie nodded, his eyebrows arching upward with no disagreement. They both laughed before the recording cut out and Thorn was left to silence once again.
The pieces fell into place, and Thorn left his quarters in a near run. If Val and Rodie were in the Vega system, then they were close enough that Thorn could reach them before the Nyctus could pound Code Nebula into memory. That left the problem of telepathy over enormous distances—it was unlikely to work, and the stakes were too high. Before he could continue his thoughts, Thorn burst onto the deck, black witcharmor rippling under the soft lights.
The commotion in the room stopped. Everybody turned to him expectantly.
“Quite an entrance, Stellers,” Captain Samuel said. “I take it you have news?”
“Two Starcasters are stationed at Vega 7. I trained with them. I can get a warning to them.” He drew a diagram on the holopad in front of him. “But we need to sell the Nyctus on us mobilizing to defend their attacks, without giving away what we know. It’s a fine line, I know, but I can do it, and I don’t need telepathy. At least, not at this range. I’ve got something a little more traditional.”
