by J. N. Chaney
Alys Densmore watched a battleship die.
The Shinto, an older ship and sister to the Arcturus, had taken several early, unlucky hits that had left her with only partial attitude control. She’d staggered out of the battleline and started a long fall toward the fiercely blue-white star called Caleb’s Folly. It left her alone and unsupported, and a Bilau carrier had pounced.
“Helm, this is taking too long. The Shinto needs our help now,” Densmore snapped.
“Sorry, ma’am, but we’ve got two Bilau frigates closing from port. We can maneuver or go faster, but not both,” the Helm Officer replied.
The Tactical Officer stepped into the conversation. “Ma’am, either because they’re angry or desperate, the Bilau are using their light ships, especially corvettes and frigates, on suicide runs. If we aren’t careful, we’ll—”
The Stiletto rattled as a pair of missiles struck somewhere aft.
“—we’ll end up taking one of those bastards right in the face.”
Densmore drummed her fingers on the arm of her command couch. Helm and Tactical were correct, of course, but the Shinto seemed to be in truly desperate straits. The Stiletto’s main purpose had never been combat, though. She lacked the long-range weaponry of other ships her size and had to close a lot more before she could help the stricken battleship.
She reached inside herself and cast her thoughts into the ether. Stellers, we’ve got a situation here, and I don’t think I can handle it by myself.
Love to help, ma’am, but—”
There was a pause.
Sorry, ma’am, Thorn went on. We’re kind of buried in a tough fight here, too, trying to help out the Memphis. What about Kira? She’s with Mol Wyant in the Gyrfalcon, so she could probably get to you a lot faster.
Densmore started to formulate a reply, but stopped and winced as the Shinto suddenly disappeared in a blinding flash that left purple spots seared into her vision. The blast faded, the fireball cooling, revealing the battleship in two chunks, bow and stern, with her amidships now an expanding cloud of debris.
Never mind, Stellers, she said. The situation just took care of itself.
Damien was no warrior, but he’d gotten too close to some of the people who were to sit out this great battle, effectively the Ragnarök that would determine the war and the fate of entire species. So he’d schmoozed and sweet-talked his way into acting as Densmore’s liaison to Urbanek, which put him on the bridge of the Tobruk.
“Quite the sight, isn’t it, Damien?” Urbanek asked.
The Admiral had left his CIC deeper in the bowels of the carrier and come to the bridge to watch the immediate fight. He still had one of the bridge workstations repeating critical data from the CIC, so he maintained situational awareness over his entire force. But he seemed to prefer the immediacy of the bridge to the sterile, almost wargame-like environment of the Combat Information Center.
Damien could only nod, his guts on the verge of flipping over entirely. The tactical displays and view screens depicted carnage and destruction on a scale that he couldn’t have even imagined. The word breathtaking fell well short. But the massive carrier sailed through it, along with her two consorts, the heavy cruisers Newport News and Scapa Flow. A Bilau battleship had swung out of line and made a direct run at the Tobruk, and the Newport News had immediately interposed herself, provoking yet another vicious firefight.
“It’s terrifying, sir, in a weirdly epic, beautiful way,” Damien finally replied, watching the Newport News maneuvering to flank the battleship. Shots from each slammed into the other, and Damien’s stomach tightened. It looked like the ON cruiser, well outclassed by the bigger, more massive Bilau ship, wasn’t going to survive the exchange.
“Well, put, Damien. I’ve always found—”
“Uh, sir?” Damien pointed at the screen showing the Newport News trading fire with the battleship. “That’s starting to look not beautiful at all, just terrifying.”
Urbanek frowned at the image. “Conrad Tyle’s the skipper of the Newport News. He’s a wily old dog, so I expect he’s got a trick up his sleeve.”
More shots slammed into the Newport News. “At least, I hope he does,” Urbanek said.
Damien shifted uncomfortably. There were no doubt already casualties aboard the cruiser. And he might be about to see its entire crew die.
But something leapt out of one of the cruiser’s holds, a dark, sleek, torpedo-like object. At the same time, the Newport News vomited a barrage of missiles, many of which exploded short of the Bilau ship. It took Damien a moment to realize that the missiles were a ruse to let the torpedo-like thing reach its target.
It did, where it detonated with a colossal flash. The Bilau ship’s entire flank flashed to vapor, and she began to break apart.
Urbanek grinned. “There we go. Told you Tyle had a trick up his sleeve. Avalanche missiles are meant to take out cities, not ships.” He glanced at Damien. “But whatever works, right?”
“Whatever works, sir,” Damien agreed, realizing he had just seen an entire crew die. They might all have been Bilau, but still.
Thorn held on as the Hecate flashed past the crippled missile frigate that had been pouring fire at the Memphis. Reynaud had cleverly taken the destroyer between the missile frigate and its accompanying cruiser, braving the crossfire to let them fire at both targets at once. The Jolly raced along after her. As expected, the Bilau ships had to be more careful about their shots to avoid hitting one another. It did lead to an uncomfortable few moments as the Hecate sailed through a storm of fire. Thorn had finally Shaded the destroyer, letting it break contact and gain some breathing room.
He glanced at the tactical display. Both of the Bilau ships were now derelicts, pouring gases and debris into space. The Memphis seemed to have recovered her full maneuver capability, and now trailed the Hecate deeper into the Bilau line.
Thorn expanded the tactical display, taking in the situation fused from sensors across the fleet. He winced at the result. The picture was grim.
The Combined Fleet was far from losing, but it was far from winning, as well. If anything, the battle seemed to have stalemated into a brutal attrition. They might prevail over the Bilau, but the cost would be horrendous. The words Pyrrhic Victory flashed through his mind in letters of fire and blood.
Scoville, Urbanek, and Tanner had given him leave to do whatever he needed to do to help them win. Magic really was their only advantage here, but most of the fleet’s Starcasters were capable of only local effects. They were basically glorified artillery, adding their power to the battle, but not quickly or decisively enough.
Thorn gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. If he really wanted to influence the battle on a large scale, he needed to do something reality-shifting. The knock-on effects might be catastrophic, but even as powerful as he was, he was only one Starcaster. Only one man.
But.
He remembered something Morgan had said to him, when she described how she’d created Bertilak. She’d done it by sheer force of magically infused will, then she went on to say that Thorn could do the same thing, if he wanted to.
He was only one man, at least right now. But could he change that?
Thorn took a deep breath, plunged his awareness into his talisman, into the familiar reek of smoke and despair. He channeled his mind through it, and into the ether beyond, trying to imagine how Morgan had brought Bertilak into existence. He was surprised to find it wouldn’t be difficult. It was really just another way of altering the universe. This time, though, he was sure he could do it without screwing up creation.
Thorn summoned magic, as much as he ever had, and began to ’cast.
Thorn stood on the bridge of the Tobruk, facing the main viewscreen. Behind him, he heard shouts, heard Urbanek asking what the hell was going on, and saw Damien step up beside him, already spewing stunned questions.
Thorn just held up a hand and concentrated on the situation ahead of the carrier.
Thorn stood on the bridge of
the Stiletto, alongside Alys Densmore. She spun to face him, but he held up a hand, begging her indulgence. A smile that somehow managed to be sly and uncertain at the same time flashed across her face, and she nodded, making a carry on gesture.
Thorn stood in the cabin of the Gyrfalcon, leaning on the crash couches. Mol, Kira, and Trixie all yelped at once.
“Thorn, what the hell are you doing here?” Kira snapped, but Thorn held up a hand. He needed just a moment.
Thorn stood on the bridge of the Jolly Green Giant. He glanced at Bertilak, but the big alien didn’t seem at all surprised to see him there and offered him a knowing grin.
Thorn stepped up beside Winuk, standing on the bridge of the Relentless Tide, the flagship of his little squadron, provoking a startled gurgle from the Nyctus. He didn’t hold up a hand this time, though. He turned to the old Nyctus instead.
“Remember that idea you had? Now’s the time. I want everything you can give me, Winuk. Every last push of the tide.”
The Nyctus gaped for a moment, then began snapping out orders. From the holds of the surviving Nyctus ships, bulky chunks of rock began tumbling into space.
Thorn knelt in the Hecate’s witchport.
And stood on the bridge of the Tobruk, and the Stiletto.
And with Bertilak aboard the Jolly.
And in the cabin of the Gyrfalcon.
And with Winuk, on the Relentless Tide.
In each place, Thorn began to ’cast.
Six Starcasters. Six minds, drawing power from the ether. Six wills, resolutely determined to end this battle now and bring the killing and dying to an end.
One intent, crystal clear.
The chunks of rock dumped from the Nyctus ships began to accelerate. And not just a few, but dozens of massive chunks, and hundreds of smaller ones. Each started speeding along a trajectory that would intersect a Bilau ship, driven by the multiplied power of Thorn Stellers.
They were just chunks of rock. KEWs, but ultimately, just inert rock. They couldn’t be jammed, or decoyed, or confused by countermeasures. Point defense batteries, designed to shred missiles, chipped away at the onrushing KEWs, flaking off smaller pieces but making little difference otherwise. Suddenly desperate, the Bilau swung their main batteries into action, but the targets were small, fast, and gave off virtually no emissions. A few were destroyed, but most just sailed on through the firestorm unimpeded.
Across the Combined Fleet, incoming fire died away. The humans and their allies seized the moment, charging in behind the KEWs, driven by their powerful new engines. Railguns fired until their overheat cut-offs activated. Missile magazines were emptied. Kestrel and Goshawk fighters flung themselves at the suddenly confused and distracted enemy.
In each place where he stood, Thorn flung out his hands and closed his eyes, guiding the multitude of KEWs by ether-driven instinct. The Bilau fleet began maneuvering to scatter, but it was too late.
The first impact smashed a frigate in half. The next ripped off the drive section of a battlecruiser. Then the KEW strikes became too numerous to count, Bilau ships being torn apart by the rocky projectiles in a flashing orgy of violence that flared screens across the fleet into sheets of white light.
For a moment, the Combined Fleet’s fire slackened, as though every ship had to take a collective breath and just watch the unbridled carnage happen.
In a few moments, it was over. Over half of the Bilau fleet had suddenly been put out of action, ships smashed and battered into hulks by the impacts.
And moment after that, the Combined Fleet renewed its attack, pouring what remained of its ordnance into their stricken enemy.
In each place where Thorn stood, he opened his eyes, lowered his hands, and took in his devastating handiwork. In that moment, he did feel like a superior being, a construct of magic and willpower. He understood, now, why Bertilak had scoffed at Thorn’s insistence that he was just a normal man. Infused with magic, there was nothing Thorn couldn’t do.
Nothing.
He stood astride the universe, a veritable god.
No.
No!
Thorn fought to retain his identity as an individual, as a man, not as the magical construct he’d become. Desperately, he fought for some way of grounding himself again, of returning back to the mortal existence in which he belonged.
Kira. Morgan. Tanner. They all flashed through his mind, but it was a strange, extraneous memory that finally snagged his magically accelerated thoughts. Something Morgan had said to him. She’d so badly wanted to change the nose art on the Pool of Stars because she thought Una’s Ass was silly.
Una’s Ass. The cartoonish picture he remembered from the archives. A buxom, flouncy woman riding a donkey.
It was silly. But it was also clear in his mind, sharpened by Morgan’s fascination with the damned thing. Thorn grabbed the memory like a lifeline and used it to pull his fractured self back into a coherent whole. For a moment, the world was a fusion, a smeared blur of the Hecate’s witchport, the bridges of the Tobruk, Stiletto, and Relentless Tide, the cockpit of the Gyrfalcon. Thorn pulled Una’s Ass through the confusing swirl and dragged himself back from the brink of a godhood he didn’t want.
Reality coalesced, turning back into a single reality. Thorn stood aboard a ship he didn’t recognize, suddenly weightless and immersed in the silence of hard vacuum. He threw a bubble of air around himself, then took stock of where he’d ended up.
Something was stenciled on a boxy container mounted on a nearby bulkhead. Thorn pushed himself toward it.
BACKUP PORTABLE AIR UNIT
FOR EMERGENCY USE ONLY
X-011A1 POOL OF STARS
A nearby viewport, small and round, showed the panoramic sweep of a planet sprawling below. It took Thorn only a moment to recognize the distinctive outline of Nebo’s southernmost continent. In fact, Morgan and the farm should be right about . . . there. It seemed that he might actually be in geosynchronous orbit directly over it.
Well then.
Kira?
Thorn? What the hell happened? Where the hell are you?
He smiled at the stenciled words, then the invisible farm below.
Yeah, this is going to take some explaining.
Epilogue
“Does that mean the war’s over?” Mol asked. “Like, really over?”
Thorn, lounging in the Gyrfalcon’s crash couch, shrugged. “Yes and no. Yes, in the sense that the Bilau are virtually wiped out. No, in the sense that virtually doesn’t mean entirely. Honestly, I suspect that they’re going to try something in the near future.”
They watched as the massive Nyctus colony ships slowly accelerated away from Code Gauntlet. There were eight of them altogether, taking most of the remaining Nyctus to worlds specifically chosen in consultation with the Allied Stars and their various alien allies.
“So we say goodbye to them, and hello to the Meksun, huh? We sure these bird people aren’t just as bad as the squids?”
“No. But there are only three of them, plus genetic samples, so it’s going to be a while before they need anything bigger than this Gyrfalcon to transport their entire race.” Thorn smiled and laced his fingers behind his head. “I think that gives us ample opportunity to make sure they’re our friends—”
“Uh, guys? A ship just came out of Alcubierre nothingness and is accelerating, hard, toward the lead colony ship,” Trixie said.
Mol snapped a curse. “It’s a Bilau frigate. Only a few seconds until impact. Shit, there’s nothing we can do—!”
Without warning, the speeding frigate suddenly seemed to crash into a solid barrier and split in two up the middle. The two halves were flung aside, clearing the Nyctus colony ship by kilometers.
Thorn lowered his hand and opened his eyes.
Mol raised an eyebrow. “That was you and your mojo?”
“Whatever it was, that was so cool,” Trixie put in.
Thorn gave a tired smile. “See, told you they’d try something.”
Mol
gave him a narrow-eyed, sidelong look. “You seemed awfully ready for that, sir. Did you know that was going to happen ahead of time?”
Thorn leaned back and closed his eyes. “A good magician doesn’t give away his secrets, sorry.”
“Dad, it’s fantastic!” Morgan said. “I love it!”
Kira leaned in. “You could have asked for virtually anything, and this was your choice? A two-hundred-year-old ship?”
Thorn gave an offhanded smile. “Hey, she’s got new drives, new computers, life support, anti-grav, all the bells and whistles.” He looked at Morgan and his smile warmed. “Besides, she likes it.”
Kira had to smile, too. “It does seem to mean a lot to her.”
“She tried to bring the Pool of Stars out of the past. And what are fathers for, if not to spoil their daughters?”
Beneath them, Code Gauntlet scrolled by. The Pool of Stars had finished her refit and was ready to depart. The Hecate, the Jolly Green Giant, and the Gyrfalcon had all taken station with her, waiting for her to spool up her drives and break orbit and start her way to Nebo.
“Dad?” Morgan asked.
“Yes?”
Morgan took Kira’s hand, then leaned over to Thorn and took his, too. Thorn smiled at her. She was a Starcaster, but she was also still a girl. She was still a child. She only wanted one thing, and he knew what it was.
“Mom, Dad, let’s go home.”
The Pool of Stars powered out of orbit, her escorts falling in around her. Una’s Ass was gone, replaced by a more prominent piece of artwork, rendered in brilliant, living colors.
A young girl riding a beautiful horse, over two words.
Morgan’s Ride.
“Home.” Thorn smiled. Never had a word tasted so sweet.
