by J. N. Chaney
The shield worked. It was the absolute bleeding edge of human tech, not suitable on large scales for a ship, but good enough to close Thorn off from the empty oblivion beyond.
He drew in a long breath—cold, dry, but fresh enough. It was time to work.
Thorn’s hand wrapped around his talisman, and the energy inside him drew down to a point so fine it could pierce the sky. As the book warmed in his hand, he reached out, picturing the shape of Captain Leblanc’s mind—its whorls, and power, and delicacy. She was a ’caster of rare ability, with a signature distinct as her own fingerprint.
Neural connections sparked and fizzed out in the distance, a spiderweb of chain reactions that led him inexorably toward a point in space. It was…bright. Familiar. He had begun to move toward it when a wall slammed shut, violent and cold.
Stellers. What gives you the right to invade my mind uninvited?
Captain! Thorn sent, a flush of apology coloring his thoughts. It’s working. I—apologies. I am—
If this is about your ego, you’ve just ended your career. Now, choose your words carefully. Why are you here? Her words were chilled, and not by the distance between them.
Not ego, ma’am. Danger.
Go on.
The Nyctus are moving in force, and I need to warn Code Nebula. They’re about to be crushed, Thorn sent.
After a pause that seemed far longer than it was, her voice returned, curiously flat. Since you wouldn’t defy your commander on the first day, I can only conclude that you need to warn Code Nebula outside our comms. Who do you have in mind?
Val and Rodie, they’re nearby, Vega system. But that’s only part of it. Your ship is critical. He sketched the plan, repeating certain parts as their connection pulsed in and out of clarity.
After another pause, she sent an answer. My ship will engage the enemy as you suggest. Tell your captain to use you as he sees fit. This message must be sent to all available ships, and immediately. Is this understood? Tell Captain Samuel to implement Bulwark. Just one word. Bulwark. He’ll understand.
Yes ma’am.
One last thing. You’re in the witchport?
I am, ma’am.
Drop the shield, she said without hesitation.
Ma’am?
Your shield. Drop it.
But won’t—wait. You planned this. I’m supposed to. . .to control my atmosphere? My body?
Yes. You can and you will. The shield draws far too much power, whereas you have power to spare. This was always the plan. Drop it, and let your power take full command. I’ll listen, but our connection will fade soon enough. Do it now.
I—yes ma’am. I will. I mean, I am.
Thorn pushed away fingers of dread that clawed at his spine, breathing deep as if he was readying to dive into deep water. The fear was present, but it was only that. Fear.
Shield down, he commanded.
There was no change, and he fought a gasp—then let his own energy fizz through him, its presence as old as the stars, coming to rest in his veins, his chest. His bones.
Thorn?
Ma’am. I’m in space, I guess.
You are. And now, your training is complete. You are a Starcaster. We are meant for something other than the land, Thorn. We are meant to fight among the void. Are you ready?
I am.
Signing off, then. Tell your captain, Bulwark. Send a coded comm to your friends. See you at the fight.
Her presence didn’t fade. It simply ended, and he was left in the witchport, alone, open to the black and ready to fight.
Moments later, he stood in his quarters, adjusting to the shift in reality. The witchport was—he felt more connected to himself, whereas in the spartan room he would call home, he saw only things. Each object, like his bunk, his desk, and even the smooth, dull gray walls, was real.
With three long breaths, he was able to enter himself, coming back across the miles to focus on the task at hand.
Subterfuge.
A lie worked best when it was protected by the truth, so, turning on his comms, that’s exactly what he did.
Let the Nyctus twist, he thought, forcing a grin on his face. The screen flared to life, and he commanded the ship’s AI to begin recording.
“Hey, guys. Sorry I didn’t comm sooner, but it’s taking some getting used to, this whole thing about being an actual officer. Tried to sleep earlier but kept having those damn dreams again—like in Dimensional training, where everything gets wiped out and you can’t do anything about it. You know how prophecy can be when you’re an amateur magician.” He laughed, but kept his eyes utterly flat; the two halves of his face may as well have been different people. “I’d invite the captain and everyone else along for a little hellraising—be nice to see the camp empty while we live it up, even the recruits. Who cares if Code Nebula is there when we get back? We’ll be too hungover to care. Might even win a few hands at the tables. I tried my luck. Funny, didn’t think it would be so easy to clear out a table. Thinking about going back in two days, before the crush really hits. Busy time in our jurisdiction.”
He flashed two fingers, then gave the ship’s signal for enemy imminent, but it was so subtle he surprised even himself.
“Gotta wrap this up. I’ve got unwanted guests here. You know how it is—someone always knocking on the door. Behave yourselves, and take a trip if you can. Sooner the better. I’ll see you offworld.”
He cut the comm and sat, staring into nothing. It had to be enough.
Captain Samuel sat at the helm, his pensive figure reminding Thorn of Commander Schrader. The captain sat with his head to the side, chin in palm and one finger pressed up against his lips. A cloud of consideration hung around the man.
Captain Samuel looked up, a wintry smile creasing his face. “And now, we do that thing we’re best suited to. We wait.”
They waited. While the ship hummed around them, Thorn and the captain sat, barely speaking, both aware of the enormous gamble they were taking. The situation was out of their hands, a condition that didn’t rest well with either man.
Three hours had passed when Thorn received the message indicator on his holopad and opened it, holding a momentary breath before touching the read icon. He’d returned to the bridge, waiting in tense silence for just this moment.
Val and Rodie appeared, close to the camera, both wearing expressions of forced joy.
They responded in flat tones. “We received your message, Cap.” Rodie removed his glasses and wiped the fog from the lenses. “Think we’ll take a quick trip to see our old home. Kinda missing it right now. Wish everyone was here with us, instead. Who knows? We’ll ask Schrader if he can give everyone a pass. Be nice to clear out and live a little.”
Val put her hand on Rodie’s shoulder. “I’m sure the Commander will be happy to know those dreams are coming true for you. You always did look ahead.”
They signed off, smiles fading as the screen went dark.
Instantly, Captain Samuel jumped into action. He called a meeting of battleship captains across the territory with an emergency code, the time set for five minutes from that moment. Thorn watched the man, more than a little in awe of his swift decisions. When Samuel moved, things happened, and even though Thorn’s hands were damp with sweat, he took some solace in watching the captain work.
This was sure to be the largest scaled attack in Thorn’s lifetime, and he would be on the absolute sharp end of it, exposed to space with only his power to hand. The thought chilled him, but then he brushed a thumb over his talisman, knowing that there was more to this fight than mere missiles and armor. This battle would be where humanity punched back—and with a weapon that, until now, the Nyctus had held all to themselves. There had been Starcasters aboard ships, but never enough to wield as an offensive force, and if Thorn was to believe Captain Leblanc, there had never been anyone like him.
There had been dozens of battles before this moment, nearly all of them ending with the Orbital Navy turned to glowing slag, the lost souls fro
zen and dead among stars that neither cared nor interfered in the petty warfare of living beings.
Thorn meant to change that.
The joint captains responded to Samuel’s announcement with mild doubt, then anger, then acceptance, all in the span of minutes. They were seasoned professionals, and even though many of them knew the attack was tantamount to suicide, they agreed because that’s what soldiers did.
They obeyed. They fought. They died.
The ship’s air was charged with nervous energy as the crew tried to sleep. The Nyctus would know—at some point—which ships were on the move, but the Apollo remained on station per the plan. Waiting was the most unnatural thing for a warship, but the crew managed their collective energy with the help of officers who kept them tethered to their task.
It was 03:40 ship’s time when Samuel called Thorn to the bridge, somehow knowing his ’caster would be awake.
Thorn arrived, saluted, and stood, looking at the bustle around him. “It doesn’t look like midwatch, sir.”
Samuel smiled, waving a battered coffee mug at his crew. “Little sleep tonight, I think. Nerves are tight, and you’re here. Some of us don’t understand what that means, and we won’t until we see you in action. This is all new to them—and even me, if I’m being honest.” Captain Samuel turned a bright eye to Thorn. “Do you think you can turn any of the Nyctus away?”
Thorn paused, forming an honest answer. “I know I can move things, sir, but that’s not my concern.”
“What is your concern, then?”
“I want them to implode. I want to kill the Nyctus in their cradles, or whatever it is they sleep in. I don’t even want them piercing our jurisdiction, and when my friends get onsite, I want us all to roll the Nyctus back and leave no survivors. If we can’t do that, then everything I went through in training doesn’t matter much.”
Samuel whistled softly, then chuckled. “Mild goals, Stellers. I like a soldier who keeps their dreams realistic.”
“I try, sir.”
“Then try this, if you would, Specialist. Hypothetically, how do we—using your ability, if need be—how can we keep the Nyctus from going early? Hold them in place for a few hours, or, optimally, an entire day?”
Thorn paused, letting the problem unfold. He knew his part, and ability, but he didn’t know what the fleet was capable of in possible solutions to their problem. “Sleuth, can you run a scenario for me?”
“Yes, sir. Parameters?” Sleuth asked, turning from his station. Pale light made him seem nearly translucent in front of the flickering screens.
Thorn sketched his concerns, and Sleuth began to load datapoints, shaping a simulation that unspooled at ten times normal speed.
“Fail, fail, and—success, sir. Third time’s a charm,” Sleuth said, watching the icons blink blue and green. “I make it seventy-one percent that your suggestion will hold the Nytcus in place. You were right, captain.”
“He was?” Thorn asked.
“You’ve just confirmed my own suspicions. Thought I’d get a second opinion, just to see where we stand. Alright, captain to crew—marking order three as our new plan. Shared in-ship, but hold for general fleet release.”
“Aye,” came the reply from across the bridge as heads lowered to send commands.
“I’m covering six systems with battleships and their escorts. If they buy us time, they’ll also thin the herd as we sit tight and give Code Nebula a head start on clearing out. If they don’t, then we all die today, unless you have something to say about it,” Captain Samuel said, matter-of-factly.
“They will, sir. And I know I will,” Thorn said. He turned a palm up, pulling a small globe of vivid dark energy into life. It crackled with malignant fury, then vanished at a silent command. “I belong on this ship, sir. This is your doing—I feel useful. I have a purpose beyond just surviving, I think.”
“Good. Because I intend for all of us to survive.” After a long pull of coffee, the captain looked at his wristwatch—an archaic affectation. The orange face was surrounded by buffed metal, scarred and worn. “You’ve been here for a little over nine minutes, and yet—”
“Sir?”
“I don’t detect any evidence that you’ve eaten breakfast.”
“I—yes, sir,” Thorn said, fighting a smile. “To chow, then?”
“I recommend it with the utmost urgency.” Samuel tapped his watch. “You can set my body by my desire to have eggs and coffee, as any good captain should. I’d recommend you get a watch, too. A nice nod to our ancient traditions, when gears and steel ruled our lives, instead of chips and drives.”
“I’ll take it under advisement, sir. Where, ah…would I acquire a watch like that?”
“Like this one? Unlikely. This was manufactured on Earth in 1966, and was intended for divers who, for some reason, went underwater with metallic bottles of air strapped to their backs. The definition of insanity, if you ask me. Give me a massive, nuclear powered warship filed with deadly weapons. Much homier.”
“I couldn’t agree more, sir. I’m thinking of putting an armchair in my witchport.”
“That’s the spirit.” Samuel gestured to the galley with his mug. “Off you go. Fuel up and then come back here. I think we’re in for a long day.”
Mol appeared, looking as if she had just struggled to break away from her bed. “Morning, Captain. Need anything? I’m all in for the French toast today.”
“See, Stellers? She understands how we fight. I’m good, but thank you. Take Stellers with you and make sure he eats,” Samuel said.
“Aye, sir. To the gills with food,” Mol said, turning and waving Thorn to follow.
“Does my heart good to see this kind of preparation,” the captain said.
“French toast?” Thorn asked.
Mol smiled, leading the way. “We’re not animals, Specialist. We just fight that way.”
Kira sat at her desk, tapping the comms, checking compulsively for a message indicator that she knew wouldn’t be there.
Where are you, Thorn? Something was wrong, and it went beyond simple intuition. It was a visceral sense—maybe her first true hint at becoming more than just a Joiner.
The door swung inward, and she jumped to her feet in a defensive reaction. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing barging in here like this?”
She saw the specialist ranks on their uniforms—Starcasters, but it took her a moment to identify the faces as two of Thorn’s classmates. “What is it? Is Thorn alright?”
Val stood at attention and addressed her. “Lieutenant Wixcombe. Thorn is alright. But we need to speak with you and the other officers, highest priority. Can you meet us in the Commander’s quarters?” Rodie’s face was a mask of tension, but he said nothing.
Kira stood without hesitation as the sense of foreboding within her spiked. “I can and will.” She lifted her voice to the room AI. “Officer’s channel alert. To Commander’s office, double time.”
Seconds later, Kira, Val, and Rodie were silently waved forward as Schrader placed a small, silver disc on the floor of his office. He motioned for silence, tapped the disc with one foot, and waited. A small light pulsed green on the device.
“We’re clear. Speak freely and with urgency, Specialists. What is it?” Schrader said without preamble.
“Sir, can the Nyctus—” Val began, but Kira pointed to the disc.
“Scrambler. Makes a hash of anything, and even if the Nyctus could penetrate this deep into our collective presence, they’d be damned fools to do it. Taking on this many senior ’casters is a short trip toward cooking off your nervous system, even for those ruthless bastards.”
Kira felt a flood of relief, even as she stood, listening to Rodie and Val speak. Her flare of anger faded as it became clear that sending two newbie officers was, in fact, the right move.
“Sir, the Apollo is on standby, and Captain Samuel has already begun moving assets into position. To be blunt, the Nyctus are massed for an attack like we’ve not seen in some
time,” Val said.
“He’s sending them to buy time,” Schrader said, and Ashworth gave a grim nod of agreement. The base commander stood up quickly, pointing to the door. “Time we don’t have. We go through the base, with the scrambler. Word of mouth only. Go-bag and weapons, nothing more. Doubletime, starting now.”
Rodie carried the scrambler with them as they moved through the camp, informing soldiers and enacting evacuation protocols. The hum of shock turned to furious activity as Val, Schrader, and Rodie made their way through the troops—Ashworth and the other officers were dispatched to begin similar preparations, as well as round up any additional arms that could be had. Despite arriving early, the general chaos of an evacuation took up the extra time, and when the hangar was filled with shuffling, nervous troops, the time for Captain Leblanc’s shading distraction was getting close to hand.
“There are stores onboard the carrier, but not much,” Kira said. “Let’s hope she breaks orbit clean. The nearest resupply is three days out.”
“We won’t need three days. We’re not going far, and we’re not waiting around. Move out,” Schrader said, lifting his voice. He turned to address Val and Rodie once everyone began loading onto their designated ships. The hangar was a seething mass of people and gear, despite being executed on short notice. “You’ll take the third fighter—Wixcombe and Narvez are in unit two, and Hiroshi is paired with Burnitz in the other. I want comm silence until we’re clear of the system. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Val answered.
“Good. These fighters punch way above their weight, and we can’t lose them if we have to form a convoy to jump systems. If you get in trouble, let us handle it. For a carrier, the Hippogryph has damned fine railguns and enough mounts to cause some trouble, but her fighter wing is undergoing refit. We’ve got ’casters of some strength on hand, and we’ll use our power to clear a path, so when I tell you to keep the fighters close, I mean it. Saddle up. Let’s go,” Schrader said, turning away to bark orders at a pair of recruits carrying a sled loaded with fuel canisters.
