by David Estes
Speaking of McGee…Vee searched the control room for him, but he was missing. There was no other way he could’ve come, which meant he was well-hidden. Still, the man was a wildcard—for all she knew he would remain in hiding, biding his time to see which side emerged victorious before making his next move.
Poor Frank Stallone took another kick to his furry ribcage as he refused to answer any of Malkin’s questions.
“Are. You. Alone?” the tusked creature asked, punctuating each word with the toe of one of his heavy boots.
“Yowza,” Frank said, licking the spot where he’d been kicked. “Do I look like the kind to have a lot of friends? Godstars, you’re dumber than you look, and that’s saying something. Of course I’m alone. I stole this rig and all its precious payload. Pure aura, in case you were wondering, enough to retire and buy my own planet after I sold it to the Grems. Unbeknownst to me, an Alliance peacekeeper managed to tag my ship before I got away, and they tracked me through hyperspace all the way to Urkusk.” The cat grinned. “I gave them all they could handle, however, destroying their ship. Unfortunately, they got in a lucky shot and damaged my rig, and now here we are. One big happy family of crooks.”
“You’re lying. There’s no way you could have fought off an Alliance cruiser. They had a mage. We saw the battle from afar. Spells were cast. BIG ones. From both sides. Which either means you’ve got a mage on board, or you weren’t part of the battle, just a bystander that got in the way.”
“You caught me,” the cat said, standing on his hind legs with his forepaws in the air. “I had an accomplice. A mage, as you guessed. But she was killed in the battle. I mourned her loss just before shooting her out an airlock. Pity. I’ll have to keep the entire bounty for myself.”
While their attention was on the cat, Vee managed to sneak around the edge of the control room, directing Minnow to go the opposite way. Now she was hiding behind the row of jump seats, while Minnow managed to tuck his large frame behind a bank of control panels. His hands were clamped over his ears, ready for the next phase.
It was time to give the signal.
“Al?” she whispered.
The A.I., as it had been commanded, spoke directly into her earpiece. Aye, aye, Cap—
She cut him off, not in the mood. “Now,” she said softly, pressing her fingers over her ears.
The A.I.’s voice immediately boomed over the ship’s loudspeakers. “PREPARE TO WALK THE PLANK, YE LAZY LUBBERS! THE SHARKS BE HUNGRY!”
Even with her ears covered, the sound was deafening, and the effect was instantaneous. The Jackals, with their keen hearing, were hit the hardest, releasing a series of guttural clicks as they fell to their scaly knees, their wings tucking behind their backs. The human woman shrieked and slammed her palms over her ears. The Bronzian male flinched and groaned, nearly tripping over one of the seats Vee was hiding behind as he stumbled backwards. He collapsed into a seated position, squeezing his ears and shouting.
“Al, stop,” she said, uncovering her ears the moment the A.I. stopped its raucous ranting.
She traced a glyph on her mag-pistol’s spellscreen—firewire—shooting point-blank into the back of the chair. Cords of red-hot wire shot from the pistol’s barrel, coiling around the chair and roping across the Bronzian’s arms and chest, tightening.
“ARRRRRR!” he screamed as the hot wire burned lines through his clothing and into his skin.
Vee ignored the sound, leaping from cover and kicking out the human woman’s knees from behind, toppling her. Minnow had burst from hiding, too, and the Jackals were already down, their bodies limp and rubbery, their necks snapped by a pair of powerful twists of the Minot’s arms.
Vee’s mag-pistol was still thrumming with magical intent and she fired off another shot, this time at the woman on the floor. More fiery wire spun out, uncoiling and recoiling until the woman was secured and howling in pain.
All that remained was the Grobnik named Malkin. He’d handled the sneak attack far better than the others, backpedaling in a direction that was opposite to where the main thrusts from Vee and Minnow had come. He’d also managed to snatch up Frank Stallone, who he now held by the throat, the cat’s eyes wide, his mouth open as he struggled to breathe.
“Is this nasty creature your pet?” Malkin snarled.
“We only just met,” Vee said, her mind ticking over the situation. From the corner of her eye, she saw the subtlest ripple of displaced air. Good timing, Terry, she thought. “You picked the wrong hostage. Do what you want with him.” It was a bluff, of course, but he didn’t know that.
And neither did Frank, the cat’s eyes widening further.
Minnow moved forward, flanking the strong-looking Grob.
“Another step and the cat dies,” Malkin threatened once more.
“Like I said…” Vee started, trying not to look at Terry’s nearly invisible form as he raced in behind. “We win.” Just as she spoke the last word, Terry emerged from his camouflaged position, raising an ion taser and shoving it into the Grobs back. The man’s eyes rolled back in his head, his hand opened to release Frank—who leapt deftly away, landing on his feet—and he collapsed with a thud.
“Nice one,” Vee said to Terry.
“Nice one?” Frank said, incredulous, his tongue lolling out as he panted. His fur was sticking straight up in all directions. “I felt the jolt too, did you ever consider he was touching me when you tased him? And what was all of this stuff about, ‘We only just met…do what you want with him’?”
“I was joking, cat. Grow a sense of humor. Be happy you’re not cat sashimi.”
“For your information, I have a sense of humor, though I can’t say the same about you lot. I put my neck on the line for you, literally, and this is the way you repay me? My fur will never be the same again. It’s as coarse as a Dragnokian’s bristles.” The cat began licking itself, though it had little effect.
Vee tried not to laugh. “The plan worked, didn’t it? At least we’re alive and in control of the ship.”
The cat muttered something under his breath.
Minnow punched the woman on the floor, and then the Bronzian, knocking each of them unconscious. Then he grinned, clearly pleased with himself.
“Where’s McGee?” Minnow asked.
Vee shrugged. “Hiding somewhere, probably. Or he snuck off during the fight.” She tried to sound nonchalant, but she could hear the strain in her own voice. She wanted to talk to the man again, to find out more about his connection—if any—with her mother.
Terry stepped over the downed Grob and dodged around the cat. “Who took out the Grem?” he asked.
Vee frowned. “I thought you did.”
Terry froze. “McGee and I got a Bronzian and two humans. No Gremolin.”
A wave of foreboding crashed over Vee. “Minnow and I took care of the others. We didn’t see any Grem.”
Just then, she felt the familiar prickle of magical energy raise the hairs on the back of her neck. It was a mage thing. Not when she was in the presence of liquid aura itself, but when the substance was being processed, or a spell was being formed. It was something one got used to feeling all the time in the Academy. But outside of mage training, she rarely felt it.
Oh no, she thought as she spun, contemplating a spell far too late, her finger not even touching her spellscreen before a maelstrom of rocks filled the control room, drilling her face, her body, forcing her to dive behind the row of seats and use the Bronzian’s unconscious body as a shield. Rock shrapnel continued to tumble around her and she felt the prick of numerous cuts in her skin and then the heat of spots of blood welling up to fill them.
Shielding her head with her arms, she took stock of the others. Minnow was down, a nasty gash leaking blood from his brow. The culprit lay nearby—a huge chunk of rock. As Vee watched, the stone rose from the floor, hovering for a moment before spinning toward her.
Mother of godstars, Vee thought, tracing the quickest spell she knew and squeezing her pistol’s tr
igger. A pathetic-looking gout of purple flame shot from the barrel, the energy barely enough to divert the path of the stone, which thumped into the back of the seat directly beside her. She clamped her free hand down on it and traced a spell with her pinky finger. Fireball.
She stood, rocks cascading around her as she scanned the control room. She spotted the hunched figure whose arms were extended—how does he process so much aura without a conduit? she wondered—and launched the stone, which instantly caught fire, the ball growing until it reached the Grem.
Bullseye, she thought, but at the last moment the floor erupted, dirt spewing on all sides. The fireball plowed harmlessly through the mound of dirt, and the Grem rolled away to safety. Dirt? What the Hole? Vee thought. Where did one come across so much dirt in space? The answer was obvious of course: The Gremolin’s magic had created it all, just as she could form flames out of nothingness.
He’s more powerful than me, she realized, which shouldn’t have been a surprise. She was a failed mage who hadn’t even reached Class 4. Yes, her MAG/EXP counter had seen a sudden and remarkable increase over the last week, but it didn’t change the facts. She was green while this creature was obviously a master of his art.
I’m going to die. We’re all going to die.
The ceiling began to crumble, massive chunks of stone rather than metal. Boulders the size of hovercars crashed around her. She saw one about to land on the Grem mage, but he merely feigned a punch and sent it flying away, targeting where Terry was clambering up the wall, trying to get somewhere safe. He was fully camouflaged, but the Grem wasn’t fooled.
A helpless cry of warning slipped from Vee’s lips, but Terry didn’t stand half a chance. The boulder slammed into him, crumbling around the edges and rolling to the floor to reveal the Chameleot’s motionless body.
My friends are dying, Vee thought, the room spinning now. Only pure instinct moved her fingers across the spellscreen as she sent fiery counterspells punching through the air to deflect boulder after boulder away from her, until—
She was drained, her reservesof aura depleted. I can create my own aura, she thought. Just like before. She focused, straining, letting her anger boil up and her blood heat and then—
Nothing. She collapsed, her knees cracking against the floor. Sharp pain slashed up her legs.
The Grem raised both its hands, an expression akin to a vicious grin curling its weathered lips.
Suddenly, Magic McGee was there, brandishing a long, dual-bladed weapon with both hands.
A sword, Vee thought. Where in the galaxies did he get that? It wasn’t just any sword, she realized, watching as white light blazed from its edges, the mage infusing the spellscreen on its hilt with magical energy. It was a knight’s mag-blade, a weapon that was nearly impossible to obtain unless you were an Academy-blessed knight.
McGee sprang forward with an agility and litheness that belied his bedraggled appearance. A series of glyphs appeared on the blade’s broadside, symbols Vee had never seen before.
The Gremolin grunted and backpedaled as McGee struck, the air itself shimmering as the sword cut through it. A wall of stone burst from the floor, but the blade shredded it like wet paper, stone shrapnel tumbling to McGee’s feet. He leapt over the destroyed wall and brought the blade down like a hammer.
At the last moment, however, the Grem raised a forearm and a stone shield formed along his pocked gray-green skin, taking the worst of the blow. His fist, which had grown substantially and was now the size of a rock itself, curled around the edge of the shield and connected with McGee’s chin, rocking him back. He flipped feet over head like a bungled lunar landing and crashed down with a vicious crunch amidst the rubble.
His sword slipped free of his hand, sliding across the floor and cutting through any shattered stones in its path until it came to rest near Vee. She reached out to touch it and it vanished.
The Grem mage stalked forward, its mouth contorted in a mixture of determination and victory. The stones in its path rose from the floor, whirling around him but never touching. This time, it was truly over. Her allies were all down, and she had nothing left. The need for magic swarmed through her but offered no strength.
The Gremolin stopped just before her, lifting its arm and hand slowly, raising a single finger dramatically. It’s enjoying this, Vee realized, hating the mage even more for lording its power over her. The act was so counter to everything she believed in that a fresh wave of anger crashed through her. She tried to channel the anger like she she had before when she’d taken down Miranda back on the transport vessel, but she was an empty husk. However she’d accomplished such a feat before was a mystery to her now.
She closed her eyes and thought only of her father and her daughter. How she’d failed them in a million ways. How she’d never been worthy of either of them.
Why hadn’t she stayed on the Arch and raised her daughter? Why had she rushed off, never lingering, all to earn a few Vectors working crappy security jobs at pointless events where she despised most of the attendees? Why why why…
“Eat smoke, eartheater!” a familiar voice shouted.
Vee’s eyes flashed open and she saw the Grem spin away, its mouth opening in a silent scream just as the stones in its near vicinity combusted, transforming into thick clouds of smoke that swarmed together and then, as if caught in a vacuum, were sucked into the Grem’s mouth. The creature gagged, stumbled, and fell, clawing at its own throat, its face turning from gray-green to sickly green.
The Grem mage face-planted onto the floor, which was now just a floor. The ceiling and walls and floor were free of stone rubble too. The control room was much the same as it was before the battle, save for all the bodies, both friend and foe, that littered the space.
Vee drew in a deep, shuddering breath, watching through blurry vision as their cat pilot, Frank Stallone, bounded nimbly over to her. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“You’re a mage,” she said, dumbfounded by the revelation.
The cat laughed. “Close, but wrong. Unlike you, I wasn’t born with the ability to process magic.”
“Then how…”
“Practice,” he said, grinning. His fur was matted and pressed in against his skin. Sticky blood was clumped amongst it, from his throat to his ribcage.
Vee had heard of aura users without the genetic disposition to process such spells. “You’re a wizard,” she said.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Frank said. “I dabble. That smoke spell is one of several I’ve managed to perfect without killing myself. Other spells…not so much.”
Everything became clear to Vee now. “You turned yourself into a cat.”
The cat yowled. “Not intentionally!”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“You didn’t ask.”
Despite the shock of the entire situation, Vee knew any further questions could wait. Minnow and Terry weren’t moving. Neither was McGee. She tried to crawl toward them, but her arms had no strength. “Aura,” she said. “Can you…”
“Gimme two licks.” Frank bounded away, and Vee eased to the floor, her cheek pressing against the cool metal surface.
Please be okay, she thought as her faltering gaze caught the forms of her friends.
Minnow’s fingers twitched. She stared at him, her lips parting slightly. They moved again. He groaned, rolling over, his head flopping to face her as his eyes fluttered open. “I need some aura,” he said. “Bad. None of that diluted stuff. The good stuff. Liquid poison.”
Vee breathed out a laugh. “I know the feeling. The cat will bring us what we need. You all right otherwise?”
“My head feels like it’s been hit by a rock. Oh wait.” He grinned weakly. “Where’s—” He cut off when he spotted McGee lying nearby. “He showed up?”
“In all his mage knight glory,” Vee said. When Minnow’s eyebrows lifted, she added, “I’ll tell you the whole story later. Trust me, it’s nothing compared to the feline wizard who’s been piloting our sta
rship.”
“What?” Minnow tried to sit up, grunted, and then decided against it.
“Yeah. The furball’s got spells. Believe it or not.”
“Not,” Minnow said. “Although I’ve been wrong a lot lately.”
“Me too.”
Minnow frowned, seeming to realize something. “Where’s Terry?”
Vee breathed out through her nose, her lips pursed.
“Is he…”
“I don’t know. He took a worse hit than either of us.” She managed to gesture to where the Chameleot lay crumpled near the wall. He was fully visible, having lost his camouflage as soon as he lost consciousness.
“Oh man,” Minnow said, turning his head far enough to look. “Wait. He’s breathing. See his chest?”
Vee squinted, finally seeing what she hadn’t noticed before. The chameleon’s slender chest was moving. Thank the godstars, she thought, though she knew breathing wasn’t the same as waking up. Then again, it was better than dead.
Soft, padded footfalls approached, and Frank appeared, two small vials clamped between his lips. He lowered his head and placed one near Vee, and then shifted over to Minnow to do the same. Minnow said, “I ordered a double. Wizard.”
The cat’s eyes flicked from the Minot to Vee. “I see the mage has been telling stories again. Drink up. I could use a pair of hands that are bigger than these paws of mine.”
Vee still felt listless but got a jolt of energy at the sight of the dark liquid inside the glass vial. Pure aura. The thought of it rolling along her tongue, sliding down her throat, warming her stomach as it made its way into her bloodstream…it was enough to encourage her weak hand forward. She pushed it toward her mouth and she plucked the cap off with her teeth and then tilted her head back as she drank.
Ahhh, she thought, closing her eyes. The effect was almost instantaneous, her blood practically singing with relief. I’m a slave to my own desire, she thought with frustration.
Minnow was already standing, having thrown back his own vial of aura. “More,” he said.
