by J. N. Chaney
At least, that’s what Thorn hoped.
Bertilak’s voice hummed in his ear. “Almost there, Thorn. I’d say another five minutes or so of pushing, and we’ll be ready for phase two.”
“Got it.”
Thorn kept prodding the three asteroids. This sort of thing usually required precise calculations, to ensure accelerations and trajectories were precisely what they needed to be. Orbital mechanics were elegantly predictable, but they also demanded a nitpicky amount of precision to be done right. Fortunately, they could afford to be a little more casual about it, because Thorn could, if he absolutely needed to, simply cause it to work. That would involve changing reality, though, and he desperately wanted to avoid that. They’d therefore at least try for the absolute precision required.
“Thirty seconds, Thorn,” Bertilak said.
“Gotcha.”
The Jolly Green Giant accelerated, closing in on the three rocks. Bertilak slid the ship into their midst, so that each was within about a kilometer of the hull.
“Ten seconds,” Bertilak said.
“Ten, got it.”
“Nine, eight, seven—”
Bertilak kept counting down. At zero, Thorn puffed out a breath, opened his eyes, and let the magic just fade away. Then he waited.
“And we’re good. Trajectories are really close to what we calculated,” Bertilak finally said.
“So we’re ready for phase two,” Thorn replied.
“That we are. Firing up the drive in ten, nine, eight—”
At zero, the universe vanished. All that remained was the Giant itself, plus the three rocks. From his and Bertilak’s perspective, that was the universe.
Thorn just waited, keeping his attention infused into the talisman, then focused beyond it, as far as it would go. It wasn’t far. After all, the whole universe was only a few klicks across. That was big for an Alcubierre bubble, but they didn’t have far to go. Bertilak was able to configure the drive to enclose a greater volume of space, at the cost of a weaker Alcubierre wave pushing them along. They certainly wouldn’t set any transluminal speed records, but they didn’t need to. It was better they didn’t, too, because using an Alcubierre drive close to a large mass, like a star, was hazardous. Keep it running too deeply into a gravity well, and the combined space-warping effects could get unpredictable. So they should be reaching Alcubierre cut-off very soon.
“Cut off in ten seconds,” Bertilak said.
Thorn braced himself.
“Nine, eight, seven—”
At zero, the universe reappeared. Light flooded the airlock, momentarily dazzling Thorn. The star, which had been a bright point of light where the asteroids had orbited, was suddenly a searing disk, much closer and much, much brighter. It ripped Thorn’s attention away from his task and broke his concentration, something they hadn’t counted on.
“Shit!”
“That doesn’t sound good,” Bertilak said.
“It’s not. Just give me a second.”
Thorn shielded his eyes and desperately sought to regain his focus. He only had a moment to get the rocks properly snugged into their new orbits. If he screwed it up, they’d end up going somewhere unintended. Most likely, they’d just fall into the star. But there was a chance they’d just become a navigational hazard for the Astarti, and that wouldn’t help their case here at all.
Thorn doggedly pushed his attention past the glare of the star, reached out with his magic, and began to push at the rocks again. He actually had to speed them up slightly, to get them established into a stable orbit close to the smelter, another point of light in the distance.
“Thorn?” Bertilak cut in.
“What?”
“One of those rocks has started tumbling. Just thought you should know.”
Thorn cursed. Sure enough, the rock he’d had to repair had just sloughed off a massive boulder, another fracture he must have missed. The sudden change in its center of gravity had caused his steady application of Hammer magic to abruptly offset, starting the thing spinning. He had to stop it, or else he’d never be able to get it to stabilize.
And he only had a minute or so to do it. That meant repeated, careful applications of force to stop the spin, and that meant taking his focus off the other two asteroids. In other words, this wasn’t going to work.
Thorn gave a mental sigh. Okay, fine. Time to cheat.
Thorn ended all of his ’castings, drew his magic back into himself, and recrafted it into something new. He used it to impose his will on reality, shaping it into one where these rocks were happily settled into a secure orbit within a few klicks of the Astarti smelter. A deep, painful throb erupted behind his eyes, echoing against his skull in slow, agonizing waves. He maintained his intent, though, reshaping creation into a new truth, his truth, the only truth.
None of the rocks were tumbling. All were, of course, perfectly matched to the orbiting smelter’s speed and trajectory and, as far as the universe was concerned, had always been so.
Thorn slumped as the magic drained away. His head still pounded, and something wetly warm slid over his lower lip. Blood. His nose was bleeding.
Not a good sign, breaking a blood vessel like that. Much more worrisome, though, was his rewriting of existence. It was bad enough that Morgan had been doing the same thing, but with the carelessness of a child who didn’t, and couldn’t appreciate the impact of her actions. Thorn hadn’t wanted to contribute to the potential chaos. It just underscored the fact that they needed to find Morgan, but the war kept getting in the way.
“That’s perfect, Thorn,” Bertilak said.
He nodded. “I know.”
“You don’t sound as happy as I’d expect of a guy who just moved freakin’ asteroids with the power of his mind.”
“I had to cheat to do it, though.”
“What you call cheating, most other people would call a bloody miracle.”
“Bertilak—”
“Yeah, I know. You didn’t want to do the changing reality thing. We’re all still here, though. The universe didn’t blow up or collapse or anything.”
Thorn just watched the airlock door as it slid closed. Bertilak was right, but that wasn’t the point. Every time he fiddled with reality like that, the more nerve-wracking he found it.
Yinzut obviously had no issues with it, though. “Thorn-friend, that is amaze. You have saved us much effort and time. Profit increase so much!”
The airlock repressurized. When it reached standard, he let the last of his magic flicker away. “Glad to be of help, Yinzut.”
“We honestly didn’t believe, Thorn-friend,” Yinzut said. “But you did what you said. We have your ore, and you our friendship.”
“That’s great. And?”
“And a vouchsafe from us to the Imbrogul. This is our word, and our actions.”
Thorn stood. His pulse still throbbed behind his eyes, and he felt wrung out, like a used dishcloth. Blood still trickled out of his nose.
Still, they’d accomplished what they set out to do. The Astarti would introduce them to the Imbrogul who, if what they’d been told was correct, held the tech that would change the ON and, with it, the war itself.
And that alone was worth it, he thought, heading for his quarters to clean himself up. No matter the risk, it had been worth it.
At least, he hoped so.
18
Kira slumped back in her chair and glared at the stack of documents still filling her inbox. She could swear they came in as fast as she dealt with them and sent them along, either back to the Danzur, or into a queue for transmission back to the Allied Stars Council and the ON. If the Danzur were playing her for time, they were doing a good job of it. And yet, all of the documents did seem genuinely important, and nothing else seemed to hint at any specific plot to deceive or delay her.
She sighed and leaned forward again. In fact, if anything, the Danzur should be eager to get the final details of their first diplomatic agreement with the Allied Stars finalized. It w
as mainly a trade agreement, and a generous one, from the Danzur perspective. The Council had agreed to less favorable terms as a sort of loss leader, if it meant bringing and keeping the Danzur onside. Kira had her doubts, though. The Danzur were the sort to take advantage of it, accepting the human concessions now, then avoiding making future concessions of their own to make up for it.
But, whatever. Even if it just kept the Danzur out of the war, then it was probably worth it. And, once the ON had defeated the squids, they could turn their attention back to the Danzur and treat them to some more vigorous convincing. Maybe another goodwill visit from the Fleet would even be in order.
Kira indulged herself in a moment of remembering how it had felt when the Reserve Fleet had suddenly appeared, Thorn in the lead and charging to her rescue. Of course, that’s just how the timing worked out. Still, it gave her a bit of a chill, recalling that sudden transition from grim and hopeless despair to almost smug relief.
A soft chime interrupted her thoughts. She’d just received a message, which wasn’t unusual. Except this one was from Damien.
And was almost a day-and-a-half old.
Without the Venture here, she had to rely on Danzur to receive and relay comm traffic for her. It was all encrypted to diplomatic standards, of course, but it still left her at the mercy of Danzur comms. Apparently, something had gone very wrong, this time.
Cursing, she opened it. It wasn’t especially remarkable, just a request for an update. A check-in. But why had it been delayed—?
KIRA, HELP ME.
Kira shot to her feet, cursing, magic swirling into her mind, ready to lash out. It took her a moment to calm herself, get her breathing under control, get the magic to sluice back into the ether where it belonged.
That had been Damien. She’d thought of him sending the message, and then there he was, in her mind, imploring her for help.
She leaned on the desk and just spent a moment looking out the expansive windows of her plush quarters. She’d heard Damien in her mind. Heard him, the same way she could hear Thorn or Densmore. But Damien wasn’t a Joiner. He wasn’t a Starcaster at all, and displayed not even a flicker of magical potential. Still, somehow his raw emotions, pain and terror at whatever was happening to him, had managed to arc across the ether and slam into her mind like a desperate shout.
She looked back at the message, at the date-time stamp. A day-and-a-half ago. Where the hell had this message been in the meantime?
She cursed again and hit the comm. “I want to speak to Bundar,” she snapped.
The voice that answered wasn’t Bundar’s. “I’m sorry, but he’s in a meeting with—”
“Get him out of it.”
“I’m sorry, Lieutenant Wixcombe, he left strict instructions—”
“I am coming to meet with him, now. And if he isn’t there to greet me with his smiling face, I will render everyone on this station instantly unconscious, then hunt him down, tie him up and make him meet with me. Is that clear enough for you?”
A pause, then the voice came fearfully back. “Clear, yes. I will tell him.”
“Good. I’m on my way.”
Kira locked the terminal and strode out of her quarters. The Danzur she passed in the corridors shrank away from her as she passed.
Good.
Bundar gave Kira a hard stare. “I gather your need is urgent, Kira. Or I hope so, at least, because I had to reschedule—”
“I don’t care,” Kira snapped, leaning on the table in the conference room. As usual, Bundar had been joined by several other Danzur, all his various toadies and sycophants. No doubt Bundar spent his own time sitting in a sycophant’s chair when he attended meetings with his superiors. It was the Danzur way, an obsessive fixation on hierarchy and titles and protocols, and Kira had just reached the end of her patience with it.
Bundar blinked. “This is obviously very important to you. What seems to be the problem, Kira?”
“I just received a message from Damien. Just received it, even though you received it over a day ago. I want to know why there was such a delay.”
“Ah. Well, I would suggest an unfortunate error occurred. On behalf of the Danzur, I wish to apologize.”
While he spoke, Kira leapt into his mind. She was ready to drive herself as deeply into his subconscious as she needed to, to either confirm what Bundar was saying was true, or find out what the truth really was. She didn’t have to, though. Her abruptness and generally furious tone had flustered him, so his tumbled around behind his words, fragmentary, but still clear.
The Nyctus. The Nyctus were involved.
She leaned closer. “You’re lying. The Nyctus have something to do with this,” she hissed.
Bundar gaped. His own Assistant Undersecretary placed his paw-like hands on the table and spoke with deliberate care.
“I would suggest you consider your words carefully, Lieutenant Wixcombe. We have made it abundantly clear that we have suspended our relations with the Nyctus, in order to pursue negotiations with you.”
“You wouldn’t wish to jeopardize that with unfounded accusations,” another of the Danzur said.
But Kira just sneered at them. “That’s bullshit, and he knows it.” She jabbed a finger at Bundar.
The Danzur collectively began to mutter, disapproval emanating from them in waves. Kira still didn’t care. Instead, she drove her awareness into Bundar’s mind, looking for the Nyctus connection. She expected to have to dig, but once again, it took her almost no time to find it.
“Three,” she said, her gaze locked on Bundar’s.
He gaped back. “What?”
“Six.”
“I don’t—”
“Four.”
Bundar stopped, his beady eyes widening.
“Five. Seven. Three.”
The more numbers Kira spoke, the more of them that appeared in Bundar’s thoughts.
“Eight. Four. Seven. Three. Two. And nine.”
The Danzur beside Bundar raised his paws. “Lieutenant Wixcombe, what are you saying?”
She stabbed her finger at Bundar again. “Ask him.”
“I have no idea!” Bundar said, but it was a little too loud and quick, and left the other Danzur suddenly staring at him.
“You don’t, huh? Doesn’t sound familiar? Maybe an account number? An account with the Danzur Currency Exchange?”
Bundar opened his mouth. Closed it again. Tried to speak, but all that came out was a stammered, “I—I—I don’t—”
The rest of the picture came inexorably flooding into Bundar’s mind. If he’d been a Joiner, or even had some reasonable mental discipline, he might have been able to prevent it. But she’d caught him flat-footed, surprised him by so readily uncovering some of his opportunistic double-dealing that he’d let all of it slip.
She straightened and leveled a disgusted look on him. “A secret account on the Currency Exchange, huh? One attached to a shell corporation. The Spinward Manufacturing Guild, it’s called. You’ve got a tidy sum of money sitting in it now, don’t you, Bundar? All of it deposited there by a Nyctus agent.”
“Spinward Guild? You told me they were being taken over by some investment collective,” one of the other Danzur hissed at Bundar, dropping any pretense of title or office.
The other Danzur turned hard looks on Bundar. “I did put money into Spinward. But you were using it as your own slush fund!” another snapped.
Bundar’s gaze flicked from face to face. His mouth opened and closed, and his eyes had gone wide, making him look like a beached fish. Finally, he found his voice again, and tried sputtering with outrage.
“Lies! This human is lying!” Bundar stood. “This is just a ploy to gain leverage in negotiations—”
Kira cut him off. “Not this time, you grubby little son of—” Kira took a breath. “Son of a mother who’s no doubt deeply disappointed in her son. I can see this in your mind. Magic, remember?”
“Why should we even begin to believe you?” Bundar shot back.
Kira narrowed her eyes and pushed herself deeper into Bundar’s mind, now a swirling storm of panicked desperation. It took her only a moment to find what she wanted.
That prompted her to turn to another of the Danzur. “Your name is Celard, right? You’ve known Bundar since you did your vocational training. You had a relationship with his sister, which you blame him for interfering with and ruining. That’s why, when the last round of promotions and appointments came up in your department, you made sure your Chief Assistant Deputy Whatever, your boss, anyway, found out that Bundar had been skimming from the department's expense allowance.”
Bundar spun on Celard. “You were doing it, too, and I never reported you!”
Celard slammed to his feet. “You deliberately sabotaged things between me and your sister!”
“That promotion was supposed to be mine!”
Celard straightened, radiating smug satisfaction. “I know. That’s why I made sure you didn’t get it.”
Kira cut them off. “You know, guys, as entertaining as this is—and believe me, it’s entertaining as hell—I’m not really interested in your petty squabbles. You can deal with those on your own time.” She leveled her gaze on Bundar again. “What does interest me is why the Nyctus were paying you under the table. But I can see that in your mind, too. They were paying you to make sure I stayed here. That’s what all of this is about. Keeping me here. The Nyctus are desperate to prevent me from returning to Allied Stars space and the ON.”
Kira drove her gaze, as hard as flint, into Bundar’s. “What I want to know is why. And don’t make me go rooting around in that greedy and corrupt little brain of yours, Bundar, because I will if I have to, and you definitely won’t like it.”
Bundar reeled back. Under his fur, Kira thought, he’d probably gone pale.
