by J. N. Chaney
No, what bothered him was the fact any of it was necessary at all. He’d told Kira that they were a family, and they were. That said, families generally didn’t have to be guarded by squadrons of warships and elite companies of Marines, and parents didn’t normally have to show ID tags before being able to see their kids.
Thorn gritted his teeth. He was sick of this damned war. He really, really was.
“Mom! Dad!”
Morgan came pounding down the back steps of the farm. Fenton and the other Marine hung back while she raced up and hugged Kira, then Thorn.
“Looking good, kid,” Thorn said, taking in his lanky, almost-teenaged daughter. Her changes would have been alarming if he wasn’t so overwhelmed with relief at seeing her.
That was something no one yet understood. When Morgan had died in the Nyctus KEW attack, only a few meters from this very spot, she was four. When he pulled her back from death, which had precipitated her fleeing from him and creating the Witch Nebula in the process, she was about nine—because that’s how Thorn saw her, in his mind’s eye. That made sense, he supposed, because he had almost no experience with younger children, so about nine was the youngest version of her he could imagine.
Since they’d rescued her, she continued to rapidly age, nine becoming ten, then eleven, then twelve, all in a few short months. And then she apparently stopped her rapid aging and settled into being a preteen, complete with the occasional eye roll and everything else that particular age bracket entailed.
And here she was. It sucked that most of her childhood had been taken from her, but then, if she’d been anyone else, she would have died at four and stayed that way.
Two more figures came out of the house, smiling. They were Morgan’s foster parents, the family who’d taken her in when Kira first brought her here. Now, they were taking care of her on their behalf. Good people, Thorn thought. Kind, loving and fair. They waved but hung back, obviously not wanting to intrude on this family moment.
Morgan grinned and shaded her eyes against the sun. “Let’s go over to the orchard. I do my best thinking over there.”
Without waiting, she turned, waved them on, then strode off in the direction of the nearest grove of sourfruit trees. Thorn and Kira exchanged a bemused glance, then followed.
As soon as they’d stepped into the shade under the trees, Morgan turned and plunked herself down cross-legged in the grass. Thorn and Kira sat beside her.
“How are you?” Kira asked, touching her daughter’s arm.
“I’m okay. I don’t have as many of the bad dreams anymore.”
“That’s good to hear,” Kira replied, smiling and squeezing her arm.
“I guess, yeah. Doctor Dan says that they should get further and further apart. They’ll never go away, though.”
“We are just the sum of our memories,” Thorn said. “Everything that happens to us becomes part of who and what we are.”
Thorn had been staring into the grass as he said it. In the silence that followed, he looked up to find both Kira and Morgan staring at him.
“What? I can’t be philosophical?” he said.
They both grinned, then Morgan launched into a long, rambling description of life on the farm, the myriad events that had happened since she’d returned here, friends she’d made with the Marines—a stream of consciousness chatter that went on and on. Neither Thorn nor Kira objected, though. It did his heart good to see Morgan being all bubbly and effusive, exactly the way a twelve-year-old should. Kids really were resilient, weren’t they?
Eventually, Morgan’s talk edged in the direction of the war, as Thorn knew it would. She stopped and looked at Thorn.
“Did I ever tell you about Mister Starman, dad?”
“You’ve mentioned it. Or him, I guess. He was your doll.”
“He was, yeah. I had him for as long as I can remember. He was the only friend I had after—”
She stopped and swallowed hard.
“It’s okay, honey. Take your time,” Kira said.
She nodded. “After I ran away from you, dad. And I’m so sorry for that.”
“Don’t be, Morgan. You were, how do I put this? You were facing things I don’t think any other human being has faced, ever. And I made matters worse for you by trying to take away your ability to use magic. I was trying to change you, make you into something you aren’t. That wasn’t right, and I’m sorry for that.”
Morgan smirked. “So I guess your sorry and mine cancel out, then?”
“I think that’s how it works, yeah. Something like that, anyway,” Thorn replied, smiling back at her.
Morgan’s face suddenly turned serious again. “Anyway, there was something I wanted to talk to you guys about.”
“Okay. We’re both listening,” Kira said.
Morgan pulled up her knees to her chest and hugged them, then stared at a sourfruit tree. “I think I made the Nyctus.”
Thorn started to laugh, but he stopped when he saw that his daughter was being serious. Kira just stared at her.
“Why would you ever think that?” Kira finally asked.
Morgan went on to explain what she had tried to do on Tāmtu, how she’d tried to magically fiddle with time itself, to pull the ship called the Pool of Stars out of the past and into the present. She’d wanted to change the artwork emblazoned on it from Una’s Ass to Morgan’s Ride. Instead, she lost control when the Nyctus she called the Monsters launched a magical assault on her. In the process, she changed the humans aboard the Pool of Stars into the only other type of creature she knew about—the Nyctus. Her words were a liquid tumble, gaining speed as she darted from concept to event to feeling, all in a voice so leaden with certainty that Thorn and Kira both reached out to touch her, so tangible was her pain. Her burden.
Her imagined guilt.
“So it was me.” Tears suddenly sprang from Morgan’s eyes and rolled down her cheeks. “I made them. This whole war is my fault.”
Kira turned her gaping stare onto Thorn. He, in turn, reached out and took his daughter’s hand, firmly.
“I hate to break this to you, Morgan, but no, you didn’t create the Nyctus.”
She sniffed and looked at him. “I did. I didn’t mean to, but I did. I changed those people into the Nyctus. I did the same thing to them you almost did to me—the thing that made me so mad at you.
But Thorn gave his head an emphatic shake. “Morgan, listen to me, okay? The Nyctus are an ancient race. We know that. They evolved over millions of years, the same way humans did. Now, I’m not sure what it was you did end up doing, but you didn’t create the Nyctus. You couldn’t have, because the Pool of Stars didn’t even exist until a couple of hundred years ago or so.”
She lifted her head and wiped her eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I am. Absolutely certain. That is, unless you sent the Pool of Stars a few million years back into the past.” Thorn paused. “You didn’t do that, did you?”
Morgan wiped her eyes again. “No. It only went back to its original time. I’m sure of that.”
“Well, there you go, then.” Thorn glanced at Kira. “This explains a lot, though. Like how the Pool of Stars ended up on our radar the way it did. Morgan must have pulled it out of the past, and that’s why it suddenly went missing—well, in the past.
But Kira’s face became a puzzled frown. “Wait. Where is the Pool of Stars, then? Morgan says it went back to its original time, but we know it didn’t.”
“Actually, we don’t know that. We know we lost contact with it, but that’s all.” Thorn stared at the rough bark of a sourfruit tree for a moment, then turned back to his daughter. “Morgan, just a few days ago we encountered a Nyctus from that planet you mentioned, Tam—er—”
“Tāmtu. It’s where I ended up going to hide after I ran away from you.”
“Right. Tāmtu. Anyway, this Nyctus was different, somehow, from the others we’ve encountered. It was—”
“Nice?”
“Uh. Sure. I guess nice is
as good a description as any. It also used your name.” Thorn refrained from telling her that it cried out her name in its death throes. She didn’t really need to know that.
Morgan just nodded. “Yeah. It must have been one of the Radiant Nyctus.”
Thorn leaned toward her. “Radiant Nyctus? What do you mean?”
“The Nyctus on Tāmtu. They were my friends. I made them that way.”
“Morgan, are you saying there’s a whole planet full of Nyctus that are nice?” Kira asked.
She nodded. “They’re not like the Monsters. The Monsters just wanted to hurt me. They killed this poor creature that was trapped in a sunken ship just to try to make me do what they wanted.”
Now Kira leaned in. “What did they want you to do?”
“They wanted me to kill Mister Starman.” She glanced at Thorn. “They wanted me to kill you, Dad.” She sobbed and more tears flowed down her cheeks. “I almost did, too. They almost made me do that. I’m so sorry—”
Thorn grabbed her and hugged her close. “Doesn’t matter what they wanted you to do, Morgan. The important thing is that you’re here now, and you’re safe, and we are never, ever going to let them come near you again.” He pulled back from her, looked into her face, then wiped at her tears with his thumb. “That’s a promise. You’ve got Orbital Navy ships protecting you up there, the Marines protecting you down here, and then there’s your mom and me.”
“Between us, I think we can handle anything that might try to hurt you,” Kira said, rubbing Morgan’s shoulder.
Thorn almost added, and you can probably take care of yourself, if you want to. But he didn’t. Not because it wasn’t true. Quite the opposite, in fact. This was the girl who created Bertilak, and the Jolly Green Giant, and a freakin’ nebula, for that matter. She was also apparently the girl who created a whole sub-sect of the Nyctus, one not immediately predisposed to attack humans.
“Morgan, your mom and I have to leave again soon. We’re going to ask the ON to send some people here to talk to you, though. You’ll need to tell them every little detail about everything you just told us. Everything you can remember. Even the tiniest thing might be really important, okay?”
Morgan wiped her nose and nodded. “Okay.”
“As for making the Nyctus, you did. The Radiant ones, I think you called them. You made a split in the Nyctus so that there are some, now, that maybe we can talk to and reason with.” Thorn ruffled her hair. “You didn’t make this war happen, Morgan. In fact, you might have just given us a way to end it.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
Morgan hugged them both, then they levered themselves to their feet. Before leaving the orchard, though, Thorn stopped.
“Morgan, I have a question for you,” he said.
She and Kira both stopped and looked at him. Without even thinking, Kira laced her fingers with Morgan’s and held her hand.
A sudden flash of certainty flared through his mind at the sight.
I’m going to make a universe where they can do this again—hold hands, but without a company of troops watching over us.
“Morgan, when we do get to the point of winning this war, what do you think should happen to the Nyctus? The ones you call Monsters? Should we let them live?”
Thorn saw the sudden question on Kira’s face, but he kept his attention on his daughter.
She barely hesitated. “Yes. I would. I really don’t want anyone to die. That’s why I just want this war over, so we can all just become friends, like the Radiant Nyctus are.”
Kira’s questioning look changed to one of fierce pride that Thorn knew matched his own.
“Well, when the time comes to make that decision, I’m going to make sure you’re part of it. I think everyone needs to hear what you just said to us.”
“I just want one thing, Dad,” Morgan said.
“What’s that?”
“If you can’t win the war, if you can’t end it so that everyone gets along after, then I’d like to try.”
Once more, Thorn and Kira exchanged glances. “How do you think you’d do that, Morgan?” Kira asked.
“I don’t know. I just would. Then you guys could come here and we’d all live together,” Morgan replied, a smile creeping onto her face.
Thorn exhaled, slowly. “Okay. It’s a deal. If we can’t win the war, then yes, we’ll let you try.”
A look of shocked surprise flashed across Kira’s face, but Thorn just gave her a smile.
They said their goodbyes, hugging tightly. Then Morgan, under the watchful gaze of the Marines, headed back for the farmhouse, while Thorn and Kira started back toward the Gyrfalcon.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Kira gave Thorn a hard look. “What the hell was that? If we can’t win the war, she can try? What does that even mean?”
“Does it matter?”
“What? Yes, of course it matters!”
But Thorn just shook his head. “Kira, if we can’t win the war, it means we’re losing it. It means humanity’s on the ropes. If it comes to that, Morgan might just be our last throw of the dice.”
Kira’s mouth opened to disagree, but then her face fell into a darkened scowl. When she spoke, each syllable was fierce. “Then we better win.”
4
Thorn leaned back in his seat and watched the Hecate receding behind the Jolly. Tanner’s last words to him still rang in his mind.
“You have fun with that, now, Stellers.”
The that Tanner was referencing was none other than Alys Densmore, who sat comfortably ensconced in a seat at the back of the Jolly’s bridge. Damien sat beside her, looking self-conscious, like he’d been caught at something. Which he kind of had, considering Densmore had come along on this mission to find the truth about the Bilau.
“My fault,” he’d said to Thorn during a furtive conversation shortly after he arrived aboard the Hecate with her. “I said something like, hey, Captain Densmore, you should come along, this sounds right up your alley. I was joking. Never imagined she’d say it was a good idea.”
Thorn gave him a measured look. “How long have you been working for Densmore?”
“Almost two months.”
“Long enough that you should know that whatever you expect she’s going to do, she’ll end up doing something else. It’s in her nature, Damien. It’s what she does.”
And here she was. Thorn had tried to persuade her to travel aboard the Gyrfalcon, but Kira had already claimed that privilege. She’d even offered Thorn a triumphant grin.
“I worked for the woman for three years. Tag, you’re it,” she’d said.
Now Densmore loomed behind Thorn, her presence beating on the back of his neck like a noon sun. At least she’d decided to bring along some muscle, in the form of Tiger Team Three. Thorn had been thrilled to see Alix and Toff again. Knowing they were nearby made him feel a whole lot more secure.
“So, Stellers, I understand your daughter is doing well,” Densmore said.
Thorn swiveled the seat around. “Yes, ma’am. She’s on Nebo, living with the family that originally fostered her.”
He hoped that was the extent of the conversation. The idea of days of small talk, as they traveled and checked out leads regarding the Bilau, appealed to Thorn about as much as jumping back into the frozen lake beside the Imbrogul outpost. That might even be preferable, actually.
Bertilak glanced back. “So, exactly who should I call boss here? Thorn was tasked with this mission by Admiral What’s-His-Name, but you’re a captain, Captain.”
Thorn had to admit, the idea of Scoville’s reaction to being called Admiral What’s-His-Name amused him. But the blunt question left him staring first at Bertilak, and then at Densmore.
Who smiled and waved a hand. “Lieutenant Stellers is the commander of this mission. I’m along only as a SME, a Subject Matter Expert.”
“And what subject matter are you the expert in?” Bertilak asked.
“Whatever subject needs me
to be.”
Thorn started to turn back to face the viewscreen but stopped himself. “Ma’am, I think that kind of glosses over Bertilak’s question. You do outrank me, by a lot. Are you really prepared to take orders from me?”
Densmore’s smile remained enigmatic but hardened slightly. “Didn’t we already have this conversation with Captain Tanner?”
Thorn decided to press the issue, to get it resolved now, before it became a problem later. “All due respect, ma’am, but as I recall it, Captain Tanner spoke, and you listened, and no, you didn’t object. But you didn’t commit to it, either.”
Densmore glanced at Damien. “I don’t think Lieutenant Stellers trusts me, even after all this time.”
Bertilak cut in. “Whether he trusts you or not doesn’t matter to me. I don’t trust you, Alys. You are, by definition, an untrustworthy person. You have to be, being a spy and all.”
“I am not a spy!”
“Sorry, my error. You’re the one who runs the spies, gives them their orders,” Bertilak replied evenly, somehow managing to look bland and smug at once.
Thorn gave the big alien a grateful look and got a wink in return. Thorn might have to tiptoe around Densmore’s rank, but Bertilak didn’t, especially aboard his own ship.
“And, on top of that, Alys, you still haven’t answered the question I asked. Who’s the boss here?” Bertilak persisted.
Densmore crossed her arms and settled back in her seat. “Lieutenant Stellers commands this op. You take your orders from him.”
“Thank you. That clears things up nicely. Doesn’t it, Thorn?”
Thorn nodded. “It does indeed. And that brings us to my first command decision, for which I’d really appreciate your input, Captain Densmore. Bertilak has suggested that we start looking for answers about the Bilau among the traders that do business with them.”
Bertilak sniffed. “They try to do business with them, anyway. But the Bilau aren’t the easiest to work with, it seems.”
“So you’ve traded with the Bilau before, Bertilak?” Densmore asked.
