by J. N. Chaney
Have to be honest, Kira. The idea of you being stationed here on your own makes me more than a little nervous. These are the guys who wanted you to hand me over, so they could ship me off to the Nyctus, after all.
Hey, no argument here. I’m not especially keen on the idea, either.
Too bad Damien can’t Join. I’d like to get his take on this, too, Thorn said.
Yeah, the three of us sitting here in silence might come across as a little weird. My suggestion is we end this and head back to the Venture, so we can talk there.
Thorn raised a hand, interrupting Damien while he was in the midst of expounding on the benefits of increased trade and commerce between the Danzur and the Allied Stars, but only with proper documentation in triplicate, of course.
“Excuse me, but I think we need to take some time to consider the request you’ve made,” he said to Bundar.
“That is most reasonable. However, I must emphasize that our definite preference is for Kira Wixcombe. Again, we don’t offer our trust lightly.”
“And we’re most appreciative,” Thorn replied.
“And I’m incredibly flattered,” Kira put in.
They stood, said the appropriate goodbyes, then headed back to the relative security of the Venture.
The Venture’s airlock cycled closed, sealing the ship off from the Danzur station. As they settled into the common area behind the bridge, Damien started to speak, but Thorn again raised a hand.
“Just give me a minute here, Damien. There’s something I want to check,” he said.
Damien and Kira both returned a puzzled look, but Thorn ignored them. He extracted his talisman, focused his thoughts into it, and shaped them into a magically infused intent. He’d never tried anything like this before, so he was making it up as he went along. It was Scrying, but with a specific purpose.
He let his senses detach and radiate outward, encompassing the Venture. He specifically wanted to find anything that didn’t belong.
There.
During the flight here, Thorn had taken the opportunity to get to know the Venture, to let the ship’s substance imprint itself into his mind. The ship itself wasn’t much different from any of a few dozen more of her class, but each did have its own idiosyncrasies. More to point, the stuff that made up the ship, alloys and composites and polymers, were characteristic of her. It was another facet of contagion, the magical concept that said that things retained a connection to other things. That connection only became stronger over time, so the components and systems that made up the Venture were all closely associated with one another, as well as the ship itself.
But there was something that didn’t belong. Something that had no association with the Venture at all. That could only mean it hadn’t been aboard her for very long.
Thorn focused his attention on the mysterious something. Whatever it was, it was tiny—not much larger than a grain of rice. It was located on a structural component, a horizontal brace reinforcing the bulkhead between the common area and the bridge.
“Thorn—” Kira started, but he lifted a finger.
Thorn focused his magical attention even more, zooming in on whatever this thing was. He altered his perceptions slightly, introducing a component of force magic, keying on electrical radiation. Sure enough, glimmers of current passed through the tiny object. That confirmed it was some sort of electronic device. Thorn applied a minute surge of power—and felt it die.
“Okay, we’re good,” he said, crossing to the bulkhead and plucking the little device from it. He turned and showed it to the others.
“A bug,” Kira said.
“Yup, a bug,” Thorn replied.
Damien scowled. “How the hell did they get it aboard? We’ve got a Marine standing guard at the airlock full-time.”
Thorn examined the little object. It was a tiny metal capsule, with four small, delicate protrusions, like the wings of an insect.
“My guess is it came aboard all by itself. It wouldn’t have been hard to slip it past even the most hoo-rah Marine. Fly it slowly along, right near the deck—if you didn’t happen to look down at just the right time, you’d miss it,” Thorn said.
“But you’ve disabled it now, right?” Damien asked.
“Yup. Tiny surge of power to fry some tiny electronics,” Thorn replied.
Damien grimaced. “So the Danzur will know we’ve found it. This could complicate things right when we need them kept simple.”
“Why?” Kira asked.
“Well, because in diplomatic terms, the Venture constitutes sovereign Allied Stars territory. That’s why she’s registered with the ON and crewed by military personnel, so it’s unambiguous.” Damien nodded toward the little bugging device. “This is a clear violation of protocol.”
“Sure, but again, why? Why say anything at all?” Kira persisted.
Damien gave her a duh look. “I just told you. It’s a violation—”
“Yeah, I get that. But if we say nothing, then they’ll be stuck wondering if we found their bug, or if it just stopped working. Make ’em sweat, I say. Or, well, do whatever the Danzur version of sweating is,” Kira said.
Thorn smirked. “I’m with Kira here. As soon as they realize their bug is dead, they’re going to wonder if a protest is on its way.”
Damien pursed his lips at the bug. “Won’t they just deploy another one of these things?”
“We’ll just keep the airlock sealed, cycle it as we need to. It’ll be a pain, but we can just claim it’s some sort of new directive from Fleet, blah, blah,” Kira replied, then gave a wicked grin. “You can say we require more paperwork to open the airlock, too. They’ll be so conflicted.”
“Well, the Danzur will grasp the excuse that it’s a command directive, and when we act like we don’t understand, it becomes even more plausible.” He held his thoughtful look for a moment. “Yeah. Okay. We negotiators tend to resort to brute force diplomacy whenever we get the chance. But the idea of being sneakier and more subtle about it appeals to me, I have to admit.” He smiled. “You guys are a little on the diabolical side, you know that?”
“Hey, deception is one of the principles of war,” Thorn said, earning a raised eyebrow from Kira.
“What? I paid some attention at Code Nebula,” he shot back.
They did a sweep of the Venture, both magical and mundane, for any other bugs, but found none. When they returned to the common area, Damien voiced their next concern.
“So, about them wanting you to become their permanent liaison. We need to talk about that.”
“Yeah. Like I told Thorn, I’m not thrilled with the idea, I must admit,” Kira said.
“When you told Thorn? You mean using your Joining magic, right?”
Kira nodded, and Damien gave his head a rueful shake. “Being able to talk to someone silently would be so useful in my line of work.”
“Once the ON doesn’t have to suck up every Starcaster we can find for military service, you might get your wish. Anyway, why do you think the Danzur are so especially keen on having Kira here?” Thorn asked.
“Well, it might genuinely be for the reasons they gave, that they know her and respect her,” Damien offered.
“Maybe. But didn’t you say, when you were debriefed, that the last time you were here you found out the Danzur were trying to hold you here deliberately? Because that’s what the Nyctus wanted?”
“Tadrup certainly did, and yeah, it was because that’s what the Nyctus wanted. But I’m not sure if that was something the Danzur as a whole agreed to, or if he was just doing some freelance work,” Kira said.
“Tadrup was into some pretty extensive commercial stuff with the Nyctus. Maybe they leverage him separately,” Damien suggested.
“Which might explain why he got reassigned,” Thorn said.
Everyone nodded, then Damien spoke up.
“So, what do we recommend to the Allied Stars brass about Kira? And the ON? Should she stay or should she go?”
Kira stared at the
deck for a moment. “I should stay.”
Thorn and Damien exchanged a glance. “Are you sure about that, Kira? If we recommend against it, that’ll probably be the end of it,” Damien finally said.
“No. But if it stands to help the war effort, how can I refuse? Duty is duty, right?”
Thorn leaned back, sighing. He couldn’t argue with that, no matter how much he wanted to.
But her staying didn’t mean she had to be vulnerable. As his thinking went on, he sat up again. Having her rely on a handful of ON support personnel, no matter how skilled and dedicated they were, seemed wholly inadequate. He just didn’t trust the Danzur.
But he did know what they were afraid of.
“If you’re going to stay, then I have an idea about how we can make sure the Danzur mind their manners,” he said. Damien and Kira both gave him quizzical looks, which changed to a smug enthusiasm by the time he was done explaining his idea.
“Joining,” Bundar said. “It’s a form of your magic, correct?”
Thorn smiled across the meeting table. “It is. Basically, it lets a Joiner see into your mind. The stronger they are, the deeper and more completely they can read your thoughts.”
Bundar glanced at his retinue of assistants and aides and advisors, but they were already exchanging uncomfortable looks.
“And Kira Wixcombe is such a Joiner?” he asked, turning back to her and Thorn.
“She is. Probably one of our most powerful, in fact,” Thorn replied, leaning back in his chair and letting his smile linger.
“That is quite a claim.”
Kira took her cue to lean forward. “The possibility that what Thorn’s saying is true—and pardon my decidedly undiplomatic language—scares the shit out of you. But you’re also thinking how damned useful something like that would be. In fact, it might give you a major advantage over your nearest rival for promotion, Kindir, because he’s been making noise about trying for the big upgrade to full Assistant Undersecretary to the Head Director of the External Relations Secretariat. And now you’re worrying that I might learn about your, uh, deep interest in—” Kira’s eyes widened. “Oh, wow, Bundar, that’s crazy stuff. Is that even legal?”
“We don’t need to dwell on the specifics,” Bundar hastily cut in. “Suffice to say that I get your point.”
Thorn sat up. They weren’t done yet. He wanted to absolutely seal the deal.
“One nifty spin-off of her Joining is that Kira can speak to me, anytime, no matter where we both are. She could be in another freakin’ galaxy, and we can still talk in real-time.”
“That is difficult to believe,” Bundar said. Thorn’s smile only widened.
“You can believe it or not. That’s up to you. But if you mean to do any harm to Kira, you’d better hope it’s not true. Because, when I find out”—his smile switched off like a switch— “I will rewrite reality into a new one that doesn’t include the Danzur. You and your people will just cease to exist.”
Bundar stared at Thorn, his eyes wide and glassy. Then he turned to Damien, but the diplomat preempted him with a helpless shrug.
“I’d love to help, I really would. But I can’t. You see, Lieutenant Stellers here actually can erase you, to the last person. The last memory.” Damien looked at Kira. “If I were you, I’d make sure she leaves this assignment the same way she arrived. For your own good.”
Bundar tried to project anger. “Is that a threat?”
Ever the diplomat, Damien maintained a bland smile. “From me? No. But my boss might have something to say about it.”
Bundar shot back a laugh that couldn’t conceal his obvious alarm at the idea of being written out of reality. “Who is this boss you speak of?”
Damien stood and turned to leave, Thorn and Kira following suit. But he stopped and turned back, still smiling.
“It’s better you don’t find out.”
7
Morgan scowled at the vast expanse of nothing. She remembered the elder shaman on Tāmtu calling it—
It took her a moment to remember the word. It was a funny one. Abyssal. This was an abyssal plain.
What it wasn’t, though, was on Tāmtu. She wasn’t sure which planet this was. The Nyctus had brought her here, landing their ship on a rocky island covered with lush forest. They hadn’t lingered long, though, before descending into the watery depths of an ocean that covered most of the world. The Nyctus could breathe air, she knew, but only with some difficulty, unless they were using some sort of special equipment. For her part, she didn’t care. Air, water, it was all the same to her.
They’d brought her into a city not too far offshore from the rocky island, another series of delicate spires, domes, and other geometric shapes. They glowed through the murky water, although not with the eye-pleasing blue-green luminance of the Radiance. This city flickered and shone with many colors, from blue to red. And they changed, shifting from one hue to another, sometimes slowly, sometimes all at once. It was pretty in its own way, but they didn’t linger there. Instead, they wound their way among the glowing spires in a shuttle-car, heading for the outskirts of the city.
Eventually, the Nyctus controlling the shuttle-car landed it on the flat roof of a building that seemed to be just a series of black cubes edged in shimmering orange-red. It had a sinister, even dangerous look to it. She moved to exit the shuttle-car, but the Nyctus with her told her to wait.
Eventually, another Nyctus appeared, drifting up and out of the vertical shaft that opened onto the roof. Morgan immediately sensed that she was old, older, even, than the elder shaman on Tāmtu. But her age didn’t seem to diminish her. If anything, she thrummed with a restrained power. As she entered the shuttle-car, Morgan could feel the magic that imbued her, like rolling waves of palpable force. Whoever she was, she was the most obviously powerful shaman Morgan had yet met. In fact, she might be as powerful alone, as almost all of the shamans who tried to break through her walls of stubborn psychic denial.
Morgan grinned, buoyant and knowing. She wouldn’t be any more successful than they’d been.
“You are expressing happiness, child,” she said. “Why?”
Morgan shrugged. “I dunno.”
The shaman settled herself into place beside Morgan. “You do not know why you feel the way you do? I am surprised that such an undisciplined mind is capable of such amazing feats of magic.”
Morgan shrugged again. “I just think it’s funny.”
“What is?”
“That you think you can make me do stuff I don’t want to do. You can’t.”
Morgan’s flat certainty caused the shaman to pause and flicker with hints of crimson. She sensed the alien was about to say something to her, probably something angry. But she didn’t, her bioluminescence slowly changing back to calmer shades of blue, edged with hints of purple.
“Perhaps an introduction is in order. I am Falunis,” the shaman said.
“I’m Morgan.”
“Yes, we’re well aware of who you are,” Falunis said, gesturing for the Nyctus operating the shuttle-car to proceed. It lifted from the roof of the building composed of those ominous, red-fringed black cubes.
“What is that place?” Morgan asked, looking down and back at the sinister building as it faded into the gloom behind them.
“The purpose is secret,” Falunis replied.
“Why?”
Falunis flashed her amusement. “I was warned that you’re both very direct and inquisitive.”
“What does that mean?”
“It does not matter.”
Falunis fell silent. They traveled on that way, a brooding silence hanging in the shuttle-car. Morgan nestled Mister Starman more comfortably in the crook of her arm and watched the last, most far-flung parts of the city slide past below, finally giving way to crumpled ridges of silt-draped rock.
“Are you aware of the significance of that doll you possess?” Falunis suddenly asked.
“Yeah. It’s Mister Starman. He helps me when I want to do m
y magic.”
“That isn’t all, though, is it?”
“No.”
“It represents someone in particular, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t want to talk about him,” Morgan snapped.
Falunis gleamed with a sudden, bemused satisfaction, as though Morgan had just let her in one something secret. She said nothing else, though, and they passed the remainder of the trip in that same, ponderous silence.
The rocky ridges now began flattening out. Eventually, they failed altogether, leaving nothing but an endless expanse of sandy silt. This was the abyssal plain. It went on and on and was utterly boring.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“You’ll soon see.”
Falunis said something to the shuttle-car’s pilot that Morgan didn’t catch. The vehicle nosed down and dropped closer to the seafloor. Now it flew across the abyssal plain, the endless, gently rolling expanse of sediment a blur beneath them.
Morgan hadn’t really appreciated how fast they were traveling. The sense of sheer speed was exhilarating, even a little scary. But it was a good scary, and Morgan started to giggle—
Something suddenly loomed ahead. The pilot banked hard, dodging past it. Morgan caught a brief glimpse of what looked like a spaceship of all things, except it was buckled, broken, and half-buried in mud. Another wreck suddenly loomed ahead, and the shuttle-car abruptly banked in the opposite direction. Now the pilot slalomed them among the shattered wreckage of ships. Loose debris lay scattered across the seafloor, sweeping past beneath them. Morgan giggled again. This was actually exciting.
Then, with a lurch—and too soon, as far as Morgan was concerned—the shuttle-car slowed and circled another of the wrecks, before grounding alongside it.
“This is our destination, child,” Falunis said, gesturing for Morgan to exit the shuttle-car.
She did, then she followed Falunis toward the wreckage. There were already two more shuttle-cars here, and another ten Nyctus, including six shamans. All of them were armed with wicked guns, loaded with gleaming, razor-edged blades.
