Starcaster Complete Series Boxed Set

by J. N. Chaney

  “What is it?” Mol asked. “Thorn—your nose—it’s bleeding.”

  “Probe. The Nyctus aren’t waiting around for me to—” Thorn vomited explosively, head banging against the bulkhead as a spike of pain ripped his mind apart.

  Thorn? Are you—Kira sent.

  Thorn gripped the arms of his seat, knuckles white, hands twisted like claws. His back arched in a rictus of pain, and he kicked the floor in a spasmodic beat with one foot.

  The bastard has me, he thought.

  Thorn’s stomach clenched again, but there was nothing in his body to eject. He rolled forward, trying to relieve the pressure on his skull—

  —and found a point. A location. A small patch of calm in the storm. You can’t reach me everywhere. I’m not like you, he told the Nyctus officer, but there was no answer-- only a new wave of hideous contortion in his mind, so Thorn leaned, shook, and found the place where the wind and waves couldn’t batter him—and he pushed back.

  It was known in the ’casters that you were never more vulnerable than in the depths of a hard spell. Since telepathy and psychokinesis are the purest forms of magic, they were a crack in the armor that could not be avoided.

  Sometimes clever is too clever. Let’s try cheating.

  Thorn went on the offensive, seizing control of four Nyctus limbs, and forced the officer to methodically strangle himself. When the Nyctus realized what was happening, he stood, spitting water and saliva in a furious torrent—but Thorn merely pulled two tentacles away—one held a comms pad—and jammed them into the soft crown of its bulbous head, feeling the screen shatter into sharp debris. The pieces slashed deep, laying the alien open, but the tentacle did not stop, grinding down into the brain without mercy until the Nyctus spasmed once, then twice, and died.

  Kira, railgun. Thirty rounds in staggered timing, Thorn said.

  The Andraste’s main gun spoke, sending a furious volley up range at the Nyctus pursuit vessel. The first four rounds missed.

  The fifth did not.

  A bloom of light was all that remained of the Nyctus seconds later, and Thorn sensed Kira’s cathartic relief.

  Turn and burn, Kira. You have twenty seconds to—

  Already firing engines at max rate. It’s going to be tight. Lot of planet under us, Kira said.

  A ping sounded in Trixie’s speakers. “We have the data package,” the AI intoned.

  “Not good enough. I want the sender, too,” Thorn said.

  He stood from his chair and reached toward the screen, where Kira’s ship struggled against the inexorable reality of physics. Sometimes, the universe wouldn’t lose, and nature was meant to be.

  “Thorn, they’re going into a dive. I’m showing a reactor about to cook off,” Mol said, somber as a judge.

  Can’t fight nature. But I’m not natural. I’m beyond that, Thorn raged, hands pressed against the black screen where a small, silver bar began slipping toward the globe of swirling orange, white, and blue. Kira.

  We’re losing her, Thorn.

  Kira, close your mind down.

  What?

  Do it. Now. Please.

  I—okay. Kira’s tone was braided with panic and trust.

  Thorn touched his talisman, reaching deep inside the well of power that flowed through his body, crashing and tumbling like a wild river. He didn’t need to move a ship. Not really. He needed to give it a nudge. A small one.

  He pushed. Not up, but sideways. He envisioned the massive ship sliding along high clouds, the howling winds hungry, but denied their prize as the Andraste rolled, came about— engines thrumming as they neared their limits—

  We’re gaining altitude. Reactor holding at 103%, falling now. 101.9. 101. Escape velocity now, at angled orbit. Thorn felt Kira’s nerves shatter with sickened relief. How?

  I’ll explain in front of command. We’ve been doing it all wrong, Kira. You don’t have to push a ship. You convince it to move, just a little.

  And if you do?

  Well, in space, a nudge on a nudge on a nudge is—

  Holy shit. Delta V without an engine, Kira said.

  That’s what they did to us, Kira. Why we couldn’t find them. The Nyctus coasted to our worlds and dropped those damned rocks. All shamans, no engineers. No wonder we—I mean, no wonder we lost so many people. We never knew.

  A pause, then Mol touched Thorn’s arm. “Sit down. I’ll help you clean up. We’re going home, and the Andraste is coming with us.”

  Thorn fell back in his chair, spent. “Sounds—”

  He was asleep, hands hanging limp, his body soaked with sweat.

  “Follow us, if you please,” Trixie told Kira’s ship.

  Below them, the gas giant whirled, then small sparks of light flared as the Nyctus ship debris hit atmosphere, and in a moment they were gone.

  18

  “Unpack data,” Captain Samuel told the ship’s AI. He stood in his cabin with Thorn, Kira, and a thin, dark man named Levitt, who wore the rank of commander with a natural ease. Levitt leaned against the desk, eyes focused in febrile intensity on the scrolling images from Kira’s flyby in Nyctus territory.

  “A Spindle?” Levitt asked, his voice mellow, calm.

  “That’s what it’s called, sir. Holds a high value for the Nyctus, judging by how hot things got when we broke for the clear,” Kira said.

  Levitt merely grunted at that, watching as ship traffic poured in and around the Nyctus base. “Stop right there. Back up five seconds, freeze, isolate,” he told the AI. “Captain? Are you seeing what I am?”

  Captain Samuel peered at the screen and nodded, slowly. “I’m no expert in Nyctus command structure—”

  Levitt snorted at that. Nobody understood the Nyctus forces beyond a bare minimum. Their secrecy was a strength.

  “—but a ship accompanied by six fighters and what looks to be a troop carrier? I’d say that’s a jump command post, up close and personal. There’s an admiral on board that Spindle, or whatever passes for one in the Nyctus Navy.”

  “Concur,” Levitt said, and his voice took on an oddly formal tone. “Do you agree?” He fixed Kira with his dark eyes, waiting.

  “I—well, I do, sir. At a bare minimum, it’s something high-value, and it confirms my suspicions about this Spindle. It’s not a simple relay, or a hot cot. I’d say we have a regional command,” Kira concluded.

  “Agreed. Kick it upstairs, then. Take Stellers with you to Fleet Command,” Samuel said.

  “Sir, um—” Kira began. Her hesitance was born of training. You didn’t walk into Fleet every day, and certainly not with intel that could change local history.

  “You’ll be fine. They’re smart people who want to win. Tell them the truth, and answer everything they ask. And let Stellers run free with his thoughts—I know, it’s against every instinct you have, but do it. They need to know ’casters are useful, and that any victory is going to come by using magic as a hammer against the Nyctus.” He looked at the display again, where a Nyctus ship was imploding, courtesy of Thorn’s stunning power. “Leave within the hour. Dismissed.”

  “Sir,” Kira said, saluting.

  “One more item, Wixcombe.” Commander Levitt held up a hand, stopping her. “Did you feel like the Nyctus knew you were coming?”

  She considered it, then shook her head. “No, sir. Not at all.”

  Levitt smiled at Captain Samuel, who dipped his head in agreement. “Told you. That’s our second break, and believe me, we’re going to drive a fleet through that crack if they’ll let us.”

  “Should I report on this, ah, break, sir? Or breaks, though I don’t know what the first one is,” Kira admitted.

  “No need. I’ll send this along immediately via fleetnet. And as to the first break, that happened the moment Thorn Stellers was able to…to do what he does,” Commander Levitt said cryptically.

  Kira knew not to go fishing for information, so she followed her instincts, saluted again, and spun on her heel. She needed her go-bag, Thorn, and time to think.
The war wasn’t just around them. It was waiting in the future, and she knew her role would be right in the thick of it all.

  Their transfer pilot was a dour ginger rockhopper named Argyle; his spacer’s tan ended just above his pale, red eyebrows, making him appear to be in a constant state of squinting. Raised on the big asteroids around Tau Ceti, he had long fingers and hands, and when he spoke, it was in the clipped accent of his home system.

  Thorn said little, watching Argyle work the panel with near robotic efficiency, but then they launched, and the silence stretched, grew fat, and then grew odd.

  Argyle began to hum, and it was so tuneless, it was an affront to their ears.

  “You okay?” Thorn asked.

  Argyle gave them a sly grin, then flicked his eyes at the screen. “Two minutes, nine seconds. A near record.”

  “A record? For being out of tune?” Kira asked.

  Argyle snorted. “Close. For tolerating me being incapable of being, um...melodious. At all. It’s a bet I make with myself, sort of as a way to make passengers feel comfortable.”

  “You mean your singing is worse than the chair?” Thorn asked, looking pointedly at the hard seat he was in. “I slept in an oil reclamation field. This is worse.”

  Argyle laughed, and Kira joined. “Older model shuttle, but don’t let her interior fool you. The seats might be utter shit, but the engines are flawless.”

  Thorn’s face twitched as they finished their jump, and the stars shifted. “Good, because we’ve got company.”

  “How did you—shit, two contacts—no, I make one, just a weird signal,” Argyle said, fingers flying over keys as he sent FleetNet a sitrep. The shuttle was ninety thousand klicks out from a hab wheel that dwarfed anything Thorn had ever seen; around it, silver points of light indicated a fighter defense that looked serious.

  But they were too far away to help.

  “One is better than two,” Thorn said, feeling a calm sweep through him, welcome and—it gave him courage. No, confidence. That was the term. “Confidence,” he said.

  “What?” Kira asked. “Bad time for affirmations, Thorn. Gotta fight.”

  “I am,” Thorn said.

  Argyle looked askance at them both, wrestling the stick to no avail. “I need time to launch missiles on a longer arc. Can’t get at that ship from directly behind us; it’ll sidestep and we’re screwed.”

  The shuttle was fast, but it maneuvered like a brick. The Nyctus ship was closing at a stunning velocity. Whoever the pilot was, they’d picked the right vector. They would have a firing solution on the shuttle in less than ten seconds, far too distant to use the ON ships as active partners in the small shootout.

  “Thorn?” Kira asked him, but her voice was miles away. He was falling inward, letting the howl of stars fill his mind as he looked, touched, and sensed everything about the Nyctus pilot—

  —and there she was.

  Scared. Angry. Seasoned.

  She was a veteran, and her quiet rage at being sent on the hunt alone percolated through her thoughts, poisonous and ripe to use. Thorn felt—then saw—a long series of shells—no, combat medals. She was decorated.

  He reached in and bent her will to him. So many kills. So long an ink trail, dark with your success. How bright your lights flash in the waves, striking fear in the hearts of the landwalkers. This is beneath you.

  Yes! It i—the Nyctus pilot began to agree, then clipped her thoughts with a blast of willpower so hard it felt like Thorn had struck steel, face first.

  All that space. Open. Like the waves, where you belong, Thorn said.

  Psychic laughter, then a wave of hate. Clever. Not clever enough. My—a word, not translated, but an image of a flaming rock—seeks you even now. The beauty of my math is beyond your understanding.

  Try me, waverider. You may be surprised at what I know.

  There is no place for your kind among the stars, human. You are as children, without purpose of path. Beaching yourselves on the reality of galactic power. I will—what is this?

  Thorn turned an eye to Argyle, who grinned. “Birds away. Glad you kept it talking.”

  Those are called missiles. Harlequins, to be exact. Heluva pop. Goodbye. You will never taste the waves again, Thorn said, as the missiles stuck home, and the Nyctus ship was reduced to cooling gases in a cloud.

  And then the cloud was gone, too.

  “Shuttle, nice shooting. Didn’t see the squiddies in this close. They follow you?” came a voice on the comm.

  “One did. Not for long. I’ve got the ’casters aboard. Permission to approach?” Argyle asked.

  “Granted, and we’ll fly you in. Welcome to Fleet, Starcasters.”

  “Glad to be here,” Kira said. “Even more glad Stellers is here.”

  “I’ll bet. Follow along, kids. We land in two minutes,” the pilot said. “I’m Torval, by the way. That’s Kuprinov over there, flying like she’s on vacation.”

  Kuprinov told Torval where he could stick her foot, but nicely.

  “Thanks for the company. Shuttle out,” Argyle said, smiling. “Fun group.”

  “Let’s see how fun they are after we dump our reports,” Kira muttered, but then Fleet got closer, Argyle got busy, and Thorn looked like he wanted to sleep, the lucky bastard.

  Sometimes, Kira hated being senior to him. Like now.

  “Stellers, I can’t help but notice that you’re a bit confused as to what’s happening,” Admiral Maynard said in a slow, matronly drawl. She fit her voice. Whatever Thorn had been expecting, she wasn’t it. Short, slightly plump, and with the air of a grandmother, her bright green eyes and silver hair were offset with freckles, a warm smile, and a calm demeanor. She wore little insignia on her uniform, and carried nothing but a battered green notebook with an actual ink pen clipped to the cover.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Thorn answered.

  They were walking along the second ring, alone, and Thorn got the feeling that was by design. Every other area at Fleet had been a hive of activity. Here, there was nothing except the stunning view—the entire wall was clear and looked out over the streams of naval traffic. Every few meters, a small fruit tree or flowering bush grew, mounted to the wall in a bulbous pot. The air smelled more alive than anything Thorn had experienced onboard a ship, and after a moment of walking, Thorn felt himself relax.

  “Yes, it’s designed to make you comfortable. I’m an admiral, not an interrogator, though some of my colleagues are both. I prefer more archaic methods of planning,” Maynard said. If she was faking the whole grandma persona, it was damned good. An air of calm surrounded her, even when she lifted the green notebook and showed it to Thorn. “I’m told you have one of these.”

  Thorn was confused, but only for an instant. “Ah, yes, ma’am.” He pulled his talisman and handed it to her. “I didn’t realize you were—”

  “An officer cursed with some magical ability? Yes, I am—have been since well before such things were accepted as real. I’m more than twice your age, and I remember a time when magicians were regarded as hustlers. Or worse.”

  She took the talisman, feeling its heft. “A lot of power here. And in you,” she said. “Where did it come from?” She held the book out to him.

  Thorn took it and tucked it away, then he followed as the admiral began walking again. Outside, a small warship flashed three coded lights and burned away at maximum acceleration, only to be replaced by two more identical craft. Fleet was busy.

  “Cotswolds. My home. Or, it was, ma’am.”

  “And the book came from?”

  “The crater of my home, ma’am. It was the…the only thing I could save. Ma’am,” Thorn said.

  A long pause ensued, then the admiral stopped and waved at a larger ship out in the black, its running lights blinking blue. “Fueling. But what they don’t know is, there’s not enough fuel in the universe to do what we need.”

  “I respectfully disagree, ma’am,” Thorn offered.

  She lifted a brow, but her face remained—am
used. “Please, explain.”

  Thorn said nothing but turned and faced the ship, now a klick away, stationary. It was a missile frigate of newer design, some two hundred meters in length. Thorn stared hard at the trio of fueling lights, their constant blue glare pointed slightly away, toward the star.

  The lights turned green, then red. Then one turned blue, and two remained green. Then they all went dark for a short interval, before returning to their calm, steady blue.

  Admiral Maynard stood utterly still, watching Thorn.

  “Ma’am, if you’ll watch the ship?” he said, sounding distracted.

  “I will.”

  Thorn leaned toward the clear wall until his forehead touched, hands limp at his sides. His face was devoid of any expression, save a small furrowing of his brow, but that faded as something began to tickle at Admiral Maynard’s awareness.

  The ship moved. One meter toward them.

  Then it moved back.

  Thorn broke his concentration with an apologetic grin. “We don’t need fuel, ma’am. We need people like me. And we need a lot of things to throw at the Nyctus.”

  Maynard let a breath hiss from her nose, eyes bright with a pastiche of fugitive emotions. “Sweet merciful—I wish he could be here to see this.”

  “Who, ma’am?”

  “Einstein. Albert. An old scientist. He would have loved this, I think,” she said, grinning broadly. “He knew the universe was wild and unknown, and this would—well, it confirms that no one knows everything. Or even anything, really. When did you learn that you could manipulate large objects?”

  “When I was getting Kira—excuse me, Lieutenant Commander Kira Wixcombe—her ship was being chased and brainjacked, and I sort of, ah, ended that operation by the Nyctus,” Thorn said.

  Admiral Maynard regarded her right hand, where a thick white scar crossed the entire back and thumb. “My own present from the Nyctus. Shrapnel from a magtrain engine. We were hit bringing in ore from the Lookout Mountains on Antioch. I was one of three survivors.”