by J. N. Chaney
“On the train, ma’am?”
She gave a small, sad shake of her head. “Antioch. My children died there, frozen in an icy crater. We never went back to mine there again. Too many ghosts. And bones.” She sighed, then squared on Thorn, her jaw set. “Until now, we’ve been thinking in big terms. Huge fleets. Massive set battles over systems with dozens of worlds. An entire press, front to front, and we’ve been losing. We’ve given up nearly two hundred light years’ worth of breathing room, and all it’s gotten us is more empty hulls and a lot of death notices to sailors who aren’t coming back.”
“How do I fit in, ma’am? I’ll do anything you ask. I’m not scared of dying. I was more or less dead for a long time.”
“We’ve all felt like that. I’ll tell you a secret, Thorn, although admirals aren’t supposed to have feelings. I ache for my children. For my husband. My home. I have since the day it happened, and I know you understand. That’s why we’re here, discussing this. Because you’re going to fight a kind of war—for now—that goes against everything we’ve tried to this point. Where we went big, and failed, we will now go small in hopes of two things,” she said.
“I’ll do my best, ma’am.”
“I know you will, because I asked you, and because you want the same thing we do. The two things that I want to see are a victory and fear.” The Admiral angled her head to look up at Thorn. “Do you understand?”
“I do, ma’am, because I felt it. Victory makes sense because, well, we want to win. But fear—that, I get. You want the Nyctus to lay awake, looking at the skies and wondering if this is the night the fire comes down.”
“Exactly. Let them die inside every time something streaks across the sky. Let them stew in their fear until it gnaws them to a husk and their officers start making mistakes. Weaken the root, and the tree falls. That’s what we’re going to do, and you’re the axe. You leave with Wyant and Wixcombe in four hours, and you’re not going to attack the Nyctus command post.”
“I’m not? Uh, ma’am?” Thorn said. He was in new territory, but a thrill began seeping through his bones at the prospect of a real fight. And real victory.
“No.” Maynard pointed lazily toward a red star that was pulsing with fiery light. “There. No planets, no main bases, but something a lot more…personal.”
Thorn stared, trying to recall the star’s name, but failing. He grunted, a wicked grin creeping onto his face. In that moment, he was far gone from the uncertain officer who’d stepped into the long corridor with a friendly admiral. “Family.”
“Yes. In a manner of speaking. The Nyctus are highly structured in their family groups, and fiercely dependent on their own history. There’s a…repository, of memories, tended by young Nyctus officers who are being trained to remember.”
“Indoctrinated, ma’am. That’s the word I would use,” Thorn said, with respect.
“A far better word. We think some three dozen elite Nyctus families have their best and brightest there, sort of a finishing school for a race who are convinced that killing thirty billion humans is their birthright. I want you to crack the station open, spill them into hard vacuum, and film it. Can you do that for me, Lieutenant Stellers? Can you do it as a first step?”
Thorn turned and saluted. “I can, and I will, ma’am.”
Admiral Maynard stared up at him and smiled. “What are your thoughts right now, in one word, Lieutenant?”
Thorn didn’t hesitate. “Finally.”
19
“Three jumps, three attacks, and hopefully, making the squiddies ink in their pants,” Mol said.
“If they wear pants,” Kira added.
“Just get me in front of them,” Thorn said.
He was a different man than he’d been days earlier. After seeing the hope—real, open hope—in Admiral Maynard’s eyes, Thorn understood that he wasn’t just an expensive tool to be thrown into the Nyctus war plans.
In reality, Thorn was the best, last chance humanity had to push back, and the weight of it sat easily on his shoulders. If they could succeed, then the war moved on. If he failed, Thorn likely wouldn’t be around to see it all come apart.
“We’re an hour out from the…I think it translates as End Lesson, but that might be a bit shaky,” Mol said, reading a datastream Trixie was scrolling up for them as final prep.
“The translation is solid to nine of ten, Mol,” Trixie said.
“Why not just say ninety percent? Or ninetieth percentile?” Thorn asked.
“She’s going through this dialect thing. Caught her playing old earth videos from something called the Victorian Era, and she’s been insufferable ever since,” Mol said, rolling her eyes.
“M’lady,” Trixie intoned, “my reactor is optimal. Ready for turndown in three—two—one—we’re silent and cold. Per your instructions, I’m cutting all radiation.”
Kira snorted, then tipped an imaginary cap. She’d seen the vids as well.
“Thanks, luv,” Mol said. “You’re up, Thorn. We’re coasting in at thirty percent of light, but I’ll use the snowflake drive to slow us and cut toward the target.”
The snowflake drive was a gas jet used as an attitude rocket; it left sparkling debris behind in the form of frozen gases that dissipated almost immediately. It was the quietest method for sneaking up on something in space, unless you could be both stealthed and free of acceleration.
“Mind if I add something to our arrival?” Thorn asked Mol. Kira gave him a sharp look, then it turned curious. As a Joiner, she understood something of his power, but Thorn was growing beyond the man who’d arrived at boot camp covered in muck and anger. He pushed a blond lock away, focusing his eyes in the middle distance. Without asking for further permission, Thorn closed his eyes and waved his left hand in a dreamlike pass through the air before him.
Outside, the stars vanished.
“Holy shit,” Mol whispered.
“Yeah, that,” Kira added.
Thorn opened his gray eyes, face nearly devoid of emotion. “Knock, knock.”
The stars fuzzed back into existence, and a bright point began to grow between the local star and their viewscreen.
“Thorn, what did you do?” Kira asked.
“I wove a shadow around us, and then made it—I made it one-way. Now they’ll see nothing, at least nothing until it’s too late. Just like it was for us, back home,” Thorn said, his tone savage.
“For all of us,” Mol added.
The Nyctus base drew closer, and as it did, the design began to grow more complex with each passing second. It was no mere space station. It was a globe, with something in the middle—something reflective.
“An ocean. Or a pond. They brought something from home with them,” Thorn said.
The silvery globule moved about in a perfect sphere of clear material; it was divided by long, opaque corridors that ended in habitats. At the northern pole of the station, a wide-mouthed launch bay was filled by ships, none of them in motion.
“Caught them sleeping,” Kira said.
Thorn shook his head gently. “Not sleeping. Singing.”
“You can…you can hear them? At this range?” Mol asked. Her eyes widened with a hint of fear at Thorn’s ability, revealed in his casual statement. The Nyctus base was nearly sixty thousand klicks away, but somehow he was listening to them. It was voyeuristic and powerful all at once, and Mol wasn’t sure how that made her feel.
But then, the squid hadn’t cared about how humans felt as the fire came down. They just kept dropping rocks.
“What will you do?” Kira asked.
Thorn made a gesture asking for quiet, then pointed closer to the station. “Can we bend in, fifteen degrees? I need us to pass by up close and personal.”
“Why?” Mol asked.
“Is it safe?” Kira asked, peering at the display.
“It is,” Trixie said.
“Okay, change course, Trixie,” Mol said. “Follow Thorn’s call.”
“Done,” Trixie reported. “
We’ll pass by close enough to see their faces. Or whatever they’re called.”
“Good,” Thorn said, then closed his eyes again, but this time he stood, leaning forward on his toes. His eyes flickered under the lids, busy at something only he could know. Sweat began to bead on his forehead, lips twitching as if he held back a song too terrible to speak aloud.
Trixie’s hull began to sing.
It was a deep, bass note, slowly building until Mol and Kira felt it rattling in their teeth, but they said nothing, nor did Trixie. Thorn leaned further into his pose, lifting a hand, then both, and then drawing his fingers together into fists so savage his knuckles cracked like gunshots.
To their right, the Nyctus globe began to wobble. Warning lights flared to life along the exterior supports, and the ships—once dark and still—began to pulse with navigation beacons, red and white, then a constant flashing red.
The Nyctus sprang to life at the unseen and unmeasurable attack.
Too late.
Kira dropped to one knee, hands flying to her head from a pain so brutal she thought the Nyctus were ’jacking her. But she was wrong. It was a side effect of Thorn’s blunt force assault on every Nyctus mind, along with something else. He was attacking the globe itself, twisting two small ports apart to reveal a gap. It was a small hole, as holes went—a half meter across, but in space that was more than enough to let hard vacuum pull the water out and beyond its glassine corral.
Einstein isn’t here to see it, but then he might not want to, Thorn mused.
The globe shattered, and Nyctus began to howl into the void, their psychic screams filling Thorn’s mind with savage delights.
“Thorn—what the hell…they’re—” Kira said, voice trailing away in shocked horror.
“Exploding. They’re, um, freezing and exploding?” Mol said, asking no one and everyone.
“Explosive decompression is unusual in certain situations, but it would appear that the Starcaster has chosen a decisive means to finish this objective,” Trixie said. It was the most officious tone she’s ever used, and Mol turned to regard the console with suspicion. “Trixie, what’s going on?” She cut her eyes at Thorn, who began to relax as the concentration drained away from his body.
“This is the first true victory I have seen. I find that unusual,” Trixie said.
“So do I,” Mol said, watching as the Nyctus shattered, one after another, their bodies mixed into the maelstrom of outgassing and hard debris. The globe was no more. The entire station was—pieces. A swirling cloud of components, glittering in the light of a star that had been—until moments earlier—a safe place for the next generation of Nyctus conquerors.
Thorn’s eyes opened, slowly. He surveyed his work, face neutral. “It worked.”
“What kind of magic?” Kira asked.
“All of them, I think. I’m not sure I know the term, but I could feel the water, and their presence. I could have ’jacked one of them, or maybe more. They were too…complacent. They felt safe,” Thorn said.
“Trixie, any outgoing comms? We need to know if they got off a message,” Mol said.
“None detected. Should I jump to the next objective?” Trixie asked.
“Yes. The squids will find out about this soon enough, and it’ll go through their fleet like wildfire. That’s what we wanted, but I’d rather not be here when the cavalry arrives,” Mol said. “Ready, Thorn? Kira?”
Kira merely nodded. Thorn sat down, fingers drumming on the arm of his seat, then gave a slow nod of his own.
“Trixie, let’s go. Next stop, The Keels,” Mol said.
The stars turned to a smear of light, then went out, and the dead Nyctus were only a memory, left far behind.
Trixie held them in a stable point some seven hundred million klicks out from a blue-white star that bathed the system in hot light. The ship was pointed inward toward a small, barren world with no atmosphere, deep dust, and scores of canyons filled with hard black shadows.
As Mol fired the engine, their scanners were able to detect what waited at the location known simply as The Keels. On the opposite side of the planet, a dozen or more ships floated in various states of completion, some little more than hard shells. The largest ship under construction was a carrier, its massive keel nearly a thousand meters long. Three tugs nudged the engine system into place, and when it was positioned, Trixie’s long-range scope showed dozens of robotic fabrication units working furiously to attach everything before microgravity could push them apart. Bright lights flared, white hot, and then the scope moved on to a smaller ship nearing completion.
“Is that a frigate? Looks too big, but I don’t know,” Kira said.
“Gotta be three hundred meters or more. Cruiser?” Mol asked.
Two lines of ejection ports ran along the ship’s entire length—the Nyctus could launch dozens of KEW’s at once with the design, both in space or high orbit. That kind of massed fire could take out any ship in the ON, as well as flatten a city of medium size.
“They’re not changing tactics. Just more of the same,” Thorn said with disgust. “Consistent that way.”
“How do they carry so many…I guess, rocks? Is that it? Just rocks?” Mol asked.
“I see a laser array, and maybe missile ports at the bow, but there’s no reason for the Nyctus to change. Think about it. As far as they’re concerned, the war is almost over. It’s a matter of time for them,” Kira said.
“Not anymore,” Thorn said. “Same plan as before, but I’m going to use the ships themselves as weapons. They’ve got a delicate balance going on with so much mass attached to that pier.”
“Think you can do this and make it look like an accident?” Kira asked.
“That would be a hell of an advantage,” Mol added.
Thorn rubbed his jaw, head tilted as he considered the ships. Tiny dots flitted about—workers, robots, maybe both—and there was a general busy feel in the image. “Maybe we will try that. I mean, I will. What if—never mind, I think I know what I want to do. Or at least try.”
“Tell me,” Kira said, putting a hand on Thorn’s arm. His eyes were unfocused again as he worked through scenarios that used magic to create chaos among the Nyctus.
“Hard propellant in the thrusters, I think. This calls for Scorch as a discipline,” Thorn said.
“Ah,” Kira said.
“Ah?” Mol asked. “Ah what?”
“Fire is bad. Fire inside a rocket is even worse. Those transfer units look like they’ve got a lot of mass—maybe a ton or more. Instead of being subtle, I’m going to be, ah…” Thorn said, then waved vaguely.
“Make something go boom at high speeds?” Trixie offered helpfully.
“Yes. Just like that. Thanks, Trixie. I knew you would understand,” Thorn said.
“What do you need?” Kira asked Thorn. She continued to survey the screen, making estimates of the Nyctus firepower. The number of ships meant that if Thorn could, taking this system out would leave a hole in the enemy offensive capability.
And less offense meant less defense.
“Yes, it is,” Thorn said.
“Did you read my mind? Without permission?” Kira asked him, but she was only mildly irritated.
“Didn’t have to. If this works, then, yeah—whatever is behind this place becomes a target. We have a way into Nyctus space, once I—well, let me work. And if anything goes wrong, Mol needs to save Trixie,” Thorn said.
“Told you he was sweet on me,” Trixie chirped.
“Easy, tramp. He’s thinking about all of the data and intel you’re collecting,” Mol said.
“Whatever.” Trixie sniffed. “But, yes. I’ll send it ahead in a databurst just in case.”
“Good,” Kira added. “Thorn, do you need quiet?”
He nodded, then held up a finger. “Actually, can I try something different?”
“Sure. I’m just your ride for this, but we’d better do it fast. We won’t be unseen for long,” Mol said.
“I’m going o
utside,” Thorn said.
“What? Why?” Kira asked, alarmed.
“Just a hunch. Let me suit up and hover about…say, no more than fifty meters away. Then have Trixie go quiet. Okay?” Thorn said.
Mol shrugged. “It’s all new to me, but sure. Suits are behind you. Yours is number three.”
“Thanks,” Thorn said, standing and stepping away to the locker where suits were held. He stripped to the waist, revealing his hard, angular frame, dotted with small scars from years of living as a refugee in his own world. In a moment, he was clad in the black suit and helmet, his faceplate a perfect silver mirror. Thorn was gone, replaced with a shape, a suggestion—the only unique part of him was the bulge where his talisman rested in a chest pocket.
He stepped through the lock, only his breathing making a sound on the comms, and when Trixie cycled the opening closed, Mol and Kira held their collective breath until he appeared, hovering in front of the ship like a wraith.
“Quiet now, please,” Thorn said.
Trixie followed Mol’s keyed command, and the ship went dark. Beyond, the Keels were fizzing with activity as the Nyctus went on about the business of war, unaware of Thorn’s presence as he swept his gaze over them—
—and found his target.
The Nyctus engineer flew slowly along the carrier’s length, about ten meters away from the outer hull, using a simple harness and suit. There was a canister of solid fuel, long with an unexpected bonus—two large batteries for a welding unit. The torch hung at the Nyctus’ belt, unused, as the alien went slowly along, examining the long connection of two massive hull plates.
There.
Two columns. Two tanks. Sixty kilos of compressed propellant in search of a spark.
I can be a spark.
Thorn reached out, his consciousness wandering, righting itself, and becoming something more than a formless presence. He drew focus on the tanks and connected to them through a line so clear and bright it was more real than the local star, pulsing hot white in the distance. He let the magic break free—out of control, away from his guiding hand, and the small, diamond-bright point of Scorch magic ignited the fuel in one tank, and then the second.
