Dying World

by Chris Fox

  I unwrapped the bar and was about to bite into it when both wrapper and bar dissolved. Not the “it’s an illusion” kind of dissolve either. I watched them disintegrate quite literally in my hands.

  “Uh.” I wasn’t sure what the depths to do now. I couldn’t eat? Maybe it was one of the rules. “Back to solving this I guess. Not much of a lunch break.”

  I rose to my feet and turned to the board again. And I got angry. “Guardian, if you’re listening, your tests suck.”

  So I decided to cheat.

  I raised my palm and grinned like a child who was getting away with something. I conjured the very same blue flame I’d used outside that armory what felt like a lifetime ago. I peered into its depths, and drew upon dream to peer into the past.

  I scrolled backward, minute by minute, watching the game board change in the flames. That didn’t get me very far so I moved to ten-minute increments. Then hour increments. Piece by piece, the game rolled back until the first white piece was placed.

  Then I let it roll forward, and I studied the game play. I watched it unfold, and gawked at the mastery I was witnessing. These people were legendary, and would destroy any grandmaster back on Kemet. It was amazing.

  Remember that cheating part? Flame reading doesn’t just work on the past. It can project the future, which is why it is banned in all casinos, and casinos without magical protection aren’t very profitable.

  I let the game proceed, and the white player bent to add another piece. Then the black player. I watched the entire game play out. There were eleven more black moves and ten more white. I replayed the sequence three more times to be sure I had it perfectly, then I banished the flame.

  I plucked a black stone from a golden bin and placed it where I’d seen the first stone placed. A chime sounded in the distance, and the white player bent to make his move.

  It took a while to repeat the process, but after a few more minutes I reached the end of the sequence. The final move. I bent slowly, then paused long enough to summon my helmet again. Just in case.

  I placed the last stone, and waited.

  “I am impressed.” Kemet appeared with a broad grin already in place, and this time I was treated to the coveted double staff sparkle. “Few candidates have ever made it this far. You will find the final test, the test of judgement, in the next room.” The holo-hatchling pointed at the far side of the room, where I saw an open arch in the wall.

  Had that been there before?

  I supposed it didn’t matter. I hurried through the door and into the final trial.

  31

  “Captain! Captain!” a woman shouted into my face. “What are your orders?”

  Somewhere in the background a klaxon blared, and I realized I was standing on the bridge of the Word of Xal during the height of combat. The matrix was still there, but now the entire forward-facing wall had been altered to show the background of space.

  I recognized Kemet in the distance. A whole, undamaged Kemet. I did not recognize the fleet of enemy ships closing on our position.

  “Captain,” the woman demanded again. “The black fleet has moved to engage, and the Shivan’s Echo has already been disabled. What do we do?”

  A slow smile spread across my face. This was basically a video game. I’m really, really good at video games, and I’ve sunk countless hours into all different sorts.

  “Mark all enemy ships,” I ordered, and gave a satisfied nod as a red triangle appeared next to each of the ships. “Display combat threat assessment on a scale of one to a hundred and tag each vessel.”

  The woman, an assistant I assumed, closed her eyes. Numbers rippled through the enemy fleet, and I could now see their capital ships, right down to their fighters, each with some idea of how powerful the ship was.

  “Apply the same assessment to our fleet, and tag them accordingly.” I moved to the spell matrix, and caressed the stabilizing ring lovingly. I’d always wanted to step into a real spell matrix, but truth be told, I’d only ever used the simulator at the academy.

  I ducked through the slowly spinning rings, which made a faint whum whum as they rotated around me.

  My fleet had now been tagged, and it became blindingly obvious that I was outnumbered and outclassed. They had more ships, and the computer had assigned them much higher numbers. Our fleet possessed eight great ships, each given a ten.

  The lead moon-sized enemy vessel, the one I was concerned with, had a twenty-five next to it. Several smaller ships accompanied it, each with a crimson five.

  “Concentrate all fire on the lead vessel. Ignore the smaller ones.” I extended a cautious finger, and tapped the fire sigil on the bronze ring, then the silver, and finally the gold.

  Wave after wave of potent flame rolled from my chest, falling to the floor and disappearing into the ship. Deep within the vessel something primal hummed, and the power I fed was amplified a million-fold.

  “Main cannon ready, Captain,” the woman who’d been yelling in my face supplied.

  I tapped the fire sigils again, and the entire ship shook. A spear of divine fury, starstuff charged with the will of a god, hurled from our spellcannon. It streaked through the intervening space and slammed into the much larger enemy vessel.

  The spell washed over the hull, and for a moment the enemy vessel disappeared from view. When it reappeared, the outer carapace had been singed, but nothing more.

  “That’s not encouraging.”

  I decided to wait for the rest of our opening salvo. Spells streaked from the other great ships, each slamming into the enemy in rapid succession. The acid bolt from the Earthmother’s Bulwark did the worst damage, but it was the light bolt from the Inura’s Grace that split the enemy vessel down its center. It detonated spectacularly, and took the smaller ships with it.

  I pumped a fist in the air. Nice. “Order all vessels to fall back at half speed.”

  The blips moved on the screen, and the enemy fleet followed us closely. Several other rating twenty-five ships accelerated from the main body. We had better range, but they were much, much faster.

  They were going to catch us eventually, and presumably their close range weaponry would be devastating.

  “Uh, you.” I pointed at the woman who’d been speaking to me. “What’s your rank?”

  “Adjunct, sir.” She eyed me quizzically. “Are you all right?”

  “Which one of our ships is the fastest?” I scanned the little tags, but they didn’t seem to list speed.

  “The Virkonna’s Saber, sir,” she supplied. “Shall I issue an order?”

  “Have the Saber accelerate to maximum speed. Head for that planet’s umbral shadow.” I pointed at Kemet, though I suspected she wouldn’t know that name.

  The Saber almost immediately peeled off from the main fleet, and accelerated toward the Umbral Depths.

  “All other ships,” I ordered, “concentrate on the lead enemy vessel. Once it’s down, hit the next.”

  As I’d expected, all four enemy ships were trying to cut off the Saber’s escape. They had to pass our position, which put them in range of multiple cannons.

  The first of the four enemy vessels exploded under a withering volley of spells, as did the second. The third was severely damaged, but the fourth made it out of our range before we could finish it.

  That last ship caught the Saber before it reached the umbral shadow. Hundreds of tendrils exploded from the black ship, and each latched onto the Saber’s silvered hull. They burrowed into the ship, and began eagerly devouring metal, crew, and magic alike.

  The Saber was drawn inexorably toward the black ship’s main body, where a massive tendril shot forth and impaled itself deep in the Great Ship’s core. The Saber’s momentum died, and the power died shortly after. The enemy ship continued to feed, while its wounded brethren turned back in our direction.

  We finished the wounded black ship easily as it approached, but there were many, many more waiting in the distance. They were closing on our position, and I didn’t k
now how much longer we’d be able to keep out of range.

  “I take it back,” I muttered. “Not loving this test as much as I thought I would.”

  A dozen more enemy twenty-fives glided toward my fleet. They were going to be in firing range before we reached the umbral shadow and escaped into the depths.

  “Adjunct.” I cleared my throat as a sudden lump appeared. My body was already judging me for what I was about to do. “Which Great Ship is the slowest?”

  “The Earthmother’s Bulwark.” She cocked her head. “Why, sir?”

  “Order them to move along a perpendicular course immediately.”

  “But, sir, the enemy will catch—”

  “DO IT!” I thundered. Something broke inside of me. Something about this spell, whatever it was, had given me an emotional attachment to this fleet. They were my family, and I was killing them.

  The Earthmother’s Bulwark slowed, then turned at a sharp angle. Eight of the black ships made for it, and opened a large enough gap for the rest of the fleet to reach the umbral shadow.

  “Have one of the ships open a Fissure.” I rested against the stabilizing ring, wrung out and demoralized. “Order the rest of the ships to form up on our position, and follow the course we broadcast.”

  The sky beneath Kemet cracked open to expose the shadowy universe underlying our reality. We passed through that hellish portal, to the temporary safety of the Umbral Depths.

  Guardian’s form instantly appeared in my field of view, and if anything, his grin was even wider. “I can scarcely believe it.”

  “What?” I blinked up at him, the weight of the battle still crushing me.

  “The intensity of the experience will fade,” the hatchling promised. “You have passed the test of judgement.”

  “This time I get it. I wasn’t the one being judged. You were testing my judgement.”

  “Precisely.” There was the staff sparkle I knew and loved. “You made difficult choices to maximize the survival of your crew. That is the exact quality I seek in a captain. You have done well, and earned your reward.”

  32

  The combat, the bridge, and my emotional connection to them vanished. There was a moment of darkness, and then I was elsewhere once more.

  I stood in a vast chamber, the ceiling and walls disappearing into the darkness. The only illumination was a faint purple glow, which came from everything. The power of the void, I realized.

  “Where am I?” I asked, unsure if my body could even make words any more.

  A figure coalesced next to me. It began as a raw pool of purple magic, then molded itself into a tall, imposing body that loomed over me. Wings sprang from the back, and a tail, even as scales burst out to cover skin.

  Once the process had completed I was starting at the Guardian. Not a holo. Not a representation. This was the real thing. The being itself.

  “We meet at long last.” Kemet extended a clawed hand toward me.

  I took it, and shook. His palm was cool to the touch, and crackled with power. He released my grip, and extended a hand. Something glittering rose from the muck. A long, slender staff…with a dragon in flight at the tip. This was the real thing, not an image.

  “Meet your charge, Captain.” Kemet did not offer me the staff, but did hold it up for my inspection. “This is Ardaki, one of twin keys created to interface with the most powerful vessel in creation. I have safely hidden it here for countless millennia. We stand in the heart of the Word of Xal, in the pool of void magic gifted by Xal, and shaped by Inura the Maker.”

  I examined the staff closely, but didn’t touch it. Immense magic pulsed from it. Many-layered multi-aspected magic of the type no mortal could shape on their own. This required teams of magitech engineers, backed by the raw power of a demigod, or possibly a god.

  “I take it we should leave it here then? Removing it will make it possible to find?” I finally raised a hand and caressed the metal. It thrummed in my hand, begging me to take it up.

  “Indeed. This is the only safe place. I do not know what became of the Spellship, but if it exists, and if Ikadra does not, then Ardaki will be the only means of controlling the vessel.” He folded his arms and the staff descended back into the liquid magic. “There are many things to discuss, but I know you have a situation of some urgency. Full control of the vessel is yours. How do you wish to proceed?”

  That was the real question. I rubbed at the back of my neck and stared up into the darkness at the faint purple glow in the distance.

  “Let’s start with diagnostics,” I decided aloud, then faced Kemet. “Does life support work, and if so, can we support, say, twenty thousand crew, comprised primarily of humans and drifters, with some hatchlings?”

  “Indeed.” Kemet raised a hand, and the magic coalesced into a cutaway of the ship. “Only these three areas are too damaged for life support to function. However, many secondary systems are in need of repairs, and we have no means of producing food.”

  “We can deal with that later, I suppose.” I studied the model of the ship. “I guess my next question is what will it take to…” I trailed off as I realized the Inuran vessel was still attached to the hull. “Do we have a weapon system that can deal with that ship?”

  “Negative. Internal defenses are inoperable.” Kemet shook his head regretfully. “We lack sufficient power to fire the main spellcannon, though it wouldn’t help in this instance.”

  “What do you mean?” I glanced at the hatchling. “How does power work in this vessel?”

  “This is the main core.” He gestured around him with both outstretched hands. “It is a vast reservoir of void, and over time it produces a…residue that the vessel funnels into all power systems. The core has been depleted for many centuries now. Jump starting it will require a significant infusion of magic.”

  “Hmm.” I drummed my fingers along my pistol, and returned my attention to the cutaway of the ship that the Guardian had conjured for me. “We do have some limited power, right?”

  “A small amount, yes.” Kemet nodded, concern etched on his draconic features. “But the quantity will be fast burned away. If you do not use it to secure additional magic, this vessel will be unable to journey to your world. Your people will die.”

  “Well, crap.” Another seemingly unsolvable dilemma.

  The thing about unsolvable dilemmas is that they usually are solvable, but you lack the perspective or resources or time or knowledge to see the solution. “Can we scan the enemy ship any more successfully now that I have full control? I need to know how many people we’re facing. Maybe we can overwhelm them, or dupe them. They might have something we can use. In fact, they must have if they were planning to restore the ship.”

  “Negative.” Kemet shook his scaly head. “I can erect a forcefield around their means of entrance, but it will further deplete our reserves.”

  “Don’t bother. There’s no point in wasting the power. How long was I unconscious?”

  “You were not.” Kemet gave a low chuckle. “This is playing out in the space between breaths. To your companions you have just entered the mysterious darkness.”

  “Wait, so you’re telling me that I actually have time to think through a solution? I can take a nap?” I gave a delighted laugh. It had felt for a while like things were never going to go my way again. That appeared to be changing. “Okay, so we need a source of magic or we’re boned, right?”

  “Affirmative, if by boned you are alluding to our slow and ignoble end.”

  “Yeah, you get it,” I confirmed. I focused on the cutaway of the ship again, specifically on the Inuran cruiser. “Can you zoom in on their ship?”

  Kemet raised a hand and the void energy rearranged itself into a closer view. The Inuran ship was all artful curves. Sleek and elegant. The white hull was a clear challenge. It said we aren’t bothering to hide. Know that we’re here, and tremble.

  The Inuran Consortium was, as I’m sure you’ve gathered, the premier magitech artificing organization in
the sector. Maybe in the galaxy. All their ships wove magic into everything from the hulls to the spelldrive to, morbidly, the mages who crew the ship.

  See where I’m going with this?

  “Kemet, this ship is void-aspected, right?” I was staring at the void all around me, so it was sort of an obvious question.

  “Indeed.” The hatchling cocked his head and watched me.

  “We can use that to teleport the ship, right? Just like the blink spell, but for the entire vessel?”

  “That capability exists,” Kemet allowed. “However, it has never been employed. Generally we use void both to maneuver, through gravity magic, and to open a Fissure to enter the Umbral Depths. Direct teleportation is hideously inefficient from a magical sense, and we lack the power to move the entire vessel.”

  “Can we teleport other things? Smaller things. Like, say…that Inuran ship.”

  Kemet’s slitted eyes widened, and then an unsettling smile bloomed. “Indeed we could. Where would you like to teleport it? Into the sun perhaps? That will ensure they are no longer a threat, and leave you free to solve the magic dilemma.”

  “The Inurans are the solution.” My stomach roiled, and several thoughts flashed through my head. I saw the merc I’d melted. I saw myself walking away after ordering Vee to murder our prisoner in cold blood. Now, I was crossing the next line. I was going to kill a ship full of people, and I didn’t even feel bad about it. What did that make me? “Teleport the Inuran vessel directly into the reactor.”

  “Are you certain?” Kemet’s tail slashed behind him in agitation. “I have no idea what that will do.”

  “Let’s hope my academy education was worth my mom’s credits.” I raised a hand and sketched a line in the cutaway of the ship Kemet had provided. “If we’re here, and if this is pure void magic, then it will disintegrate anything it comes into contact with, right?”

  “Presumably.”

  “And magic can neither be destroyed or lost. Merely transmuted or moved.”