by J. N. Chaney
Thorn took a breath. Now, to figure out whatever the hell that big ship was. Or maybe barge was more appropriate, since it didn’t carry heavy weaponry and seemed to have engines barely adequate for its mass—
“Thorn, I’m sensing a lot of minds on that big ship. A lot of them,” Kira said.
“A whole bunch of Bilau, I guess. I wonder what they're doing here.”
But Kira shook her head. “Not Bilau. In fact, that’s the one sort of mind I’m not sensing. But there’s a multitude of others. Imbrogul, a few I don’t recognize—” She suddenly tensed and looked at Thorn. “There are Nyctus, too. And humans, Thorn. There are humans aboard that thing.”
“So it’s, what, a prison ship?” Thorn asked.
“If it is, then the guards have just made a run for it,” Bertilak put in, pointing at the viewscreen. Sure enough, the Bilau ship they’d been chasing had undocked from the barge and was now burning away hard.
Thorn glared at it, then summoned magic into a ’casting, a Joining, and flung his perception across space, into the barge. Kira was right. Myriad beings representing at least six or seven different races were on board. Thorn swept his awareness across them, counting at least a dozen humans, and nearly twice that many Nyctus. All were stressed and frightened, some to the point that their thoughts verged into sickened hysteria.
Not surprising, Thorn grimly thought. If it was a prison, then of course the inmates would be scared.
“Thorn, the Bilau have abandoned their prison ship,” Bertilak said.
Thorn pulled his awareness back into the Jolly, into his own mind. He found Bertilak staring at him, wide-eyed. What the hell was the big alien getting at?
Oh.
“Shit. Captain Popescu, the Bilau are going to scuttle that prison barge!” he snapped, then hurled his awareness back across the void. If he could figure out where the charges were, maybe he could—
A searing flash of light pulsed across the viewscreen, washing it out in dazzling white. At the same time, absolute terror erupted from every one of the prisoners.
Thorn reeled back in his seat. He heard Kira cry out in pain.
The blinding flash died. All that remained of the prison barge was whirling debris and shattered bodies.
This star system suddenly had a swarm of new and grisly satellites. Most would probably eventually fall into the star, but it would take years—decades, even. And some would settle into stable orbits that might last thousands or even millions of years, a horrific sort of immortality.
“All ships, let’s stay clear of that debris cloud,” Popescu said, her voice tight and subdued. Thorn didn’t need Joining to know what she was thinking. If they’d been a little faster, tried a little harder, maybe several hundred unfortunate people wouldn’t have just been blasted into oblivion.
But something else had jammed itself into Thorn’s mind. The dying thoughts of one of the Nyctus had rattled into his consciousness, and he had no idea what they meant.
“Are we going to try and catch that Bilau ship?” Mol asked.
“No. A long stern chase is just going to pull us further into Bilau territory, and next time, they’ll likely have the edge in combat. Not prepared to tempt fate that way. All ships, let’s one-eighty and return to friendly space.”
Thorn stared at the viewscreen.
“Thorn, are you okay?” Kira asked.
He turned to her. “I’m fine, yeah. It was one of those squids aboard that prison barge. I happened to catch his very last thoughts.”
“Okay, and?”
“And they weren’t—right, Kira. They didn’t have the usual shape or feel of a squid’s thoughts. Not as I’ve come to know them, anyway.”
Bertilak leaned into the conversation. “What do you mean, Thorn? What are you saying here?”
“I’m not even really sure. All I know is that this squid wasn’t hostile. It didn’t have the usual sort of hard, dark determination we’ve come to expect from them. This one felt, I don’t know. Reasonable. Compassionate, even.” He glanced from Bertilak to Kira. “But even that wasn’t the strangest part.”
Kira grimaced. “Damn it, Thorn, these dramatic reveals get really old really fast—”
He held up a hand. “I’m not just trying to be dramatic. I genuinely don’t understand what just happened. It took only a few seconds for that squid to die, and its last thoughts weren’t of its parents, or some deity, that sort of thing. They were of its homeworld, a place called Tāmtu.”
Kira looked at him in mild confusion. “And?”
“And they were of Morgan.” Thorn looked straight at Kira. “That squid was thinking of our daughter when it died, Kira. It was practically praying to her, beseeching her to save it.”
A moment of stunned silence was finally broken by Bertilak. “Why? Why would a Nyctus’s dying thoughts be about your daughter?”
Thorn looked back at the viewscreen, at the expanding cloud of debris that had been the prison barge.
“I don’t know. I really don’t. But I intend to find out.”
3
Thorn crossed his arms and watched the Hecate’s viewscreen with mounting alarm, as Admiral Scoville laid out the ON’s position on the Bilau.
“We realize that the enemy of my enemy argument holds about as much water as a bucket with no bottom. But we can’t ignore the fact that the Bilau have attacked the Nyctus in the past and devastated at least two of their planets. And they apparently continue to attack the Nyctus, as shown by the squid prisoners aboard their prison barge. The opportunity to join forces with the Bilau, even temporarily, is just too good to pass up.”
Tanner leaned back in his command seat. “Sir, is this a done deal?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because I don’t want to bother voicing my objections if it is.”
Thorn stepped forward. “Well, I don’t mind doing just that. Sir, the Bilau are attacking everyone. There were Imbrogul aboard that barge. There were humans aboard it. The Bilau can’t be trusted, not at all. As soon as we show our flank to them, they’ll attack it.”
Scoville scowled. “Stellers, I long ago learned to respect the things you’re capable of. And you’re capable of some pretty amazing things. But ON and Allied Stars politics aren’t really in your field of expertise, are they?”
“No, sir, but they’re in mine,” Kira said, stepping up beside Thorn. “Since I was tagged to act as a diplomatic liaison to the Danzur, I’ve had at least one foot in the world of interstellar relations. So I agree with Lieutenant Stellers. The Bilau aren’t to be trusted. Not one bit.”
“All due respect, Lieutenant Commander Wixcombe, but your good work with the Danzur doesn’t really make you an expert on the Bilau, now does it? We’ve been feeling out the Bilau, and they haven’t bitten our fingers off yet.”
“Operative word being yet,” Thorn said. Then he added, “Sir.”
Tanner raised a finger. “Admiral, please indulge me. Again, it sounds to me like you, or someone above you on the food chain, has already decided to open negotiations with the Bilau. So, that being the case, why are we having this conversation?”
Scoville’s lips pressed into a thin line. He looked around, then muttered at someone, or several someones, off-screen. Thorn caught sounds of movement, then a door closing and sealing.
“We’re having this conversation because I personally don’t disagree with you. I have deep misgivings about getting into bed with these Bilau, frankly. Aside from the fact their tech seems at least a little superior to ours, we know virtually nothing about them. We don't know how their society is structured, how they govern themselves—hell, we don’t even know how they reproduce.”
Scoville sighed. “The fact is that the good people of the Allied Stars are sick of this war. They’re sick of feeling that little spark of fear whenever they look up at the stars, or that clench in their gut when they see a shooting star. They’re sick of the casualty lists and the imagery of wounded personnel being offloaded from medical
shuttles. They just want it to be over.”
“Can’t blame them for that,” Tanner said.
“No, neither can I. And that’s why there’s huge pressure on the Allied Stars Council to make some sort of decisive move to wind this thing down. If allying with the Bilau offers even a chance for a quick end to the war, then the Council is going to look at it very, very seriously.”
Thorn paced toward the viewscreen. “That’s right, sir. Allying with the Bilau probably will make for a quick end to the war. But it will be because they’ve turned on us and left us vulnerable to the squids, not the other way around. Hell, we’d be better off asking the Nyctus to ally with us against the Bilau.”
Thorn shook his head at his own words even as he said them. Asking the Nyctus to ally with us was a phrase he could never have imagined using. And yet, here they were.
Kira put her hands on her hips. “For all the fact that they’re miserably aggressive assholes, at least the squids do maintain amicable relations with other races. They’ve got trade and commercial stuff going on with the Danzur, and apparently also the Imbrogul and other races out in that part of space. Like Thorn said, the Bilau just seem to attack who or whatever happens to be in front of them. They’re opportunists, above all else.”
“And the Council is proposing to do just that—put us out in front of them,” Tanner said.
“So I don’t think I’m too far off base here saying that the consensus aboard the Hecate is that we should tell the Bilau to go to hell,” Scoville snapped.
Tanner’s reply was unfazed. “To the extent that the opinions of the Captain and officers aboard a single destroyer matter, yes, sir, I think that sums it up quite nicely.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I don’t make a habit of running command decisions, much less Allied Stars Council deliberations, past the commanders or bridge crews of any of my ships,” Scoville shot back.
“So, I’ll ask it again, sir. Why are we having this conversation? What, exactly, are you asking from us here?”
“You folks are at the pointy end. Stellers, you and Bertilak met the Astarti and the Imbrogul, and you obviously charmed them. You’ve all faced the Nyctus, and now the Bilau. You know how to cut through the bullshit and get to the truth underneath.”
Thorn crossed his arms again and waited.
Scoville leaned forward. “That’s what I want you to do now. Cut through the bullshit and bring me back the truth. If I’m going to advocate for staying away from the Bilau, I need hard evidence as to why. Effective immediately, that’s your primary task, Captain Tanner.”
“Just to be clear, sir, you’re directing me to find reasons to not ally with the Bilau. This is despite the fact that the Admiralty and the Allied Stars Council both want to find reasons to ally with the Bilau. Do I have that correct?”
“You have a problem with that, Captain Tanner?”
Tanner smiled and shook his head. “No, sir. Not at all. Just wondered how much I’m going to be trying to undermine Allied Stars policy. Gives me an idea about how big the shitstorm’s going to be when we get back, that’s all.”
“You get the shitstorm, I get the hurricane, Galen.” Scoville leaned forward, his face earnest. “I’m not going to draft up a detailed set of orders for this little operation and hope that nobody at Fleet starts wondering where the Hecate is.”
“I have a suggestion, sir,” Thorn put in.
“Let’s hear it.”
“Sir, we could really use some, let’s call it specific expertise. I understand that Damien Forester is now working for Captain Densmore. If we can get him attached aboard the Hecate, then the whole op would fall under Densmore’s special ops area, wouldn’t it?”
Thorn felt Kira look at him in surprise. He ignored it—for the moment, at least.
Scoville smirked. “You’ve got one hell of a devious mind, Stellers. But it’s an excellent idea. I’ll contact Alys Densmore and work it out. Meantime, Captain Tanner, I’ll send along a discreet briefing document on a private comm channel. That’ll have to do in lieu of actual orders.”
“Be watching for it, sir.”
Scoville signed off, Tanner named a time for their first coordination meeting, then the bridge emptied of anyone not actually on duty. Kira caught Thorn and gestured to a side corridor.
They waited for a Rating to pass by, then Kira leaned in spoke, her voice low.
“Thorn, you’re really okay with Damien coming along on this op?”
“Why shouldn’t I be?”
“Because—um, what? The guy radiates interest in me—he’s not subtle, that way, and I think he holds you in a kind of inhuman regard. He fears magic but he sees how it works. How it can win this war, maybe,” Kira said.
“Both fair. You’re stunning. I have excellent taste. So does Damien. So do you, by the way—”
“Easy, now.”
Thorn laughed softly. “And Damien knows I’ve, um, changed the fabric of the universe now and then, and that our daughter can likely do the same.” He gave a small shrug. “Then there’s the unspoken reality. Of us.”
“Unspoken? What? Or, how?” Kira said with a searching look.
“Do you remember how, right after we rescued Morgan from the Bilau, and she was here, aboard the Hecate, you sat with her? Like, constantly, until she finally woke up?”
“Well, of course I was going to sit with her, Thorn. She’s my little girl.”
“I know. And she’s my little girl, too. That’s why, as soon as I stepped into that infirmary, I felt it.”
“Felt what?”
“That we’re a family. Probably one of the strangest families to ever exist. I mean, how many families can say they’ve created a new, six light-year wide nebula?” He smiled, but it was laced with affection. “Damien is an asset and a good officer. That comes first, just like we do, as a family. We’re good.”
Kira smiled back, then took Thorn’s hands in hers.
“Careful, Captain Tanner’s not a big fan of shows of overt affection aboard his ship,” Thorn said, making his voice dramatically stern.
Kira rolled her eyes. “There is not a ship in this Fleet that hasn’t seen its share of overt affection. In fact, when I was aboard the Stiletto, we had this one couple who just couldn’t keep their—”
Tanner’s voice over their personal comms cut her off. “Stellers, Wixcombe, heads up. Just got word from Admiral Scoville that we’re taking a detour before we launch our little op-that-isn’t. We’re taking you to Nebo to see your daughter.”
They released one another’s hands, the moment of fond humor turning to vapor. “Is there something wrong, sir?” Thorn asked.
“Scoville didn’t say so, no. Seems more that she’s made it clear she wants to see you, to talk about something she’s apparently remembered, or is at least willing to share. But she’ll only talk to you two.”
Thorn looked at Kira and sniffed. “Kids.”
“Uh-huh. Remember us as kids, Thorn? By comparison, Morgan’s a saint.”
“I know, right? You were terrible.”
Thorn winced as Kira punched his arm, then he followed her back toward the bridge, grinning at her reaction.
Totally worth it.
Mol grounded the Gyrfalcon a short distance from the farm, far enough away that the engine blast wouldn’t stir up too much dust or damage anything. She powered the fighter down, smiling from behind mirrored sunglasses at Thorn and Kira.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have arrived. Please ensure you take all your belongings.”
Thorn gave her a sidelong eye roll as he clambered out of the co-pilot’s couch. “That’s, what, the thousandth time you’ve said that? Can’t believe how funny it still is.”
“Actually, Mol has said that line, or some variation of it, four hundred and sixteen times during her tenure as pilot of this Gyrfalcon,” Trixie put in.
Mol stared at the console. “Really?”
Kira clapped her on the shoulder. “You need some new material, Mol.”
“Sir, ma’am, I’m Major Alec Fenton, commander, Bravo Company of the First Marine Expeditionary Battalion. I’ll need to see your ID tags.”
While the Marine accompanying Fenton checked their tags, Thorn scanned the landscape around the farm. Rolling green hills were splotched with darker green stands of trees and the colorful dots of other farms. From somewhere nearby, the steady, placid hum of a farm machine at work vibrated the warm summer air.
It was hard to reconcile this idyllic, pastoral setting spread around them now with the raw terror of the Nyctus KEW attack. That attack had spawned the Vision, Morgan’s experience of her own death, that was then vicariously experienced by every Starcaster everywhere. And that brought Thorn’s own memories of the KEW attack on Cotswold back into sharp focus, the memories seared into his mind provoking a sudden burst of warmth and burning smell from his talisman.
“Thorn?”
Thorn blinked. Apparently, he’d been standing, staring blankly at the ground, while Kira talked to Fenton, the Marine company commander tasked with guarding Morgan.
“Sir, are you okay?” Fenton asked.
“Yeah. I’m fine. I was just remembering—” He cut himself off. “Never mind.”
“No problem, sir. I understand that you brought this planet back from the dead after a Nyctus attack. That’s got to make anyone stop and take a moment, if you know what I mean.”
“Let’s go see our daughter,” Thorn said, starting to walk toward the farmhouse.
He understood the need to have Fenton’s company here. Battle-hardened and heavily armed, they were meant to keep anyone from getting near Morgan who didn’t need to be. Of course, they were also implicitly keeping tabs on Morgan. Still, Thorn was a little surprised at how much this bothered him. He didn’t blame Fenton, and he didn’t blame Fleet for sending them here. Nor did he blame Fleet for keeping a heavy cruiser and two frigates on permanent station at Nebo to guard approaches to the planet from space.
