Angela Strange: Legend of the Arc-Walker

by Mick Fraser

  “We don’t have twelve turns,” Drenno said, tapping the screen in front of him. Angela craned her neck to see two more red blips sliding onto Drenno’s monitor.

  Illith glanced around to where Angela sat, and her bright feline eyes narrowed. “Where is Rathe? Was he hurt?”

  “He’s trapped,” Angela blurted out before Drenno had the chance to answer. “In the wreckage of the Jackdaw.”

  “It’s not wreckage; she’s fine!” Dizzy hissed.

  Illith turned on Drenno. “And you left him there?”

  The commlink buzzed. “I told him to,” came Rathe’s reply. “It will take all of us to free me, and right now you’ve more pressing matters.”

  Illith held her tongue, but Angela saw a strange hybrid of anger and relief cross the Silsir’s face.

  Dizzy angled the Shadowstar directly towards a pair of Stalkers, scattering them. Their green energy blasts sparked against the starfighter’s shields, rocking the bridge like a fairground ride.

  “Shields are down to forty percent,” the To’ecc spat. “Core’s scratching sixty, guns are running at sub-twenty. One way or the other, we’re not going to be a moving target for much longer. I need ideas—”

  The starfighter recoiled from a sudden impact, the vibrations rocking forwards from the rear all the way through the great ship to the bridge. Drenno’s eyes met Illith’s and he slapped his earpiece. “Rathe!” he shouted. “Rathe, are you there!?”

  The silence that came back punched Angela in the gut with the force of a cannonball, and when she looked up into Drenno’s eyes she saw something close to terror. It was fleeting, like a flickering shadow immediately engulfed by the fires of a sudden rage. He clenched his fists, pulling on the control sticks savagely and dragging his hands to the left, clipping the wings of the nearest two fighters. They exploded with satisfying blooms of red and green fire, but it wasn’t enough. The others moved in, and Angela felt the vibrations of their incoming fire as they rattled through the seat beneath her.

  “If we can’t break phase, we’re dead,” Dizzy informed the bridge at large. “And I do mean dead.”

  A second impact pummelled them, and a third.

  “I’m not losing my ship today, Dizzy!” Drenno told him with finality. “Suck it up.”

  “Suck what up? We’ve got nothing left—”

  “More incoming!” Gaelan shouted.

  “You’ve got to be shitting me!”

  “Wait!” Dizzy barked. “There’s something else on the grid.”

  Even as he spoke, a white beam of light scythed from somewhere beneath the Shadowstar, biting into the hull of a Stalker and splitting the fighter almost in two. A ship appeared from below, spiralling gracefully up in front of the Shadow’s viewscreen. It took a moment for Angela to connect the dots, and she almost whooped as she recognised the little black mining ship from the hangar.

  “I figured I’d better make myself useful,” Rathe said across the commlink.

  “You son of a bitch!” Drenno shouted. “How the hell?”

  Rathe didn’t answer, instead banking right and coming at the Stalkers from the opposite side. Now facing attack from two angles, the Exethan scattered, breaking formation to combat the double threat.

  “How is he free?” Angela asked.

  “That impact on the back side must have dislodged him,” Illith answered. “Rathe, the Sparrow isn’t built for combat. One hit is all it will take.”

  “I couldn’t just sit and do nothing.”

  The doors opened behind Angela, and Shimmer drifted swiftly onto the bridge, taking the seat to the left of Drenno. “Is he really engaging Stalkers in a mining tug?”

  “How is Gage?” Rathe asked, ignoring her question.

  “Stable,” the Ri'in replied. “Her body will heal quicker than her pride.”

  “She's not the only one.”

  Dizzy swing the Shadowstar, and Angela guessed he was trying to shield Rathe’s ship from the enemy. They had moved a considerable distance from Haze now, out into open space. The Stalkers’ comparatively weak weapons were chipping away at the Shadow’s shields, their smaller, more manoeuvrable forms making them difficult to track and hit.

  Angela watched her monitors where Rathe's small ship appeared as a faint green outline. As she watched, Dizzy and Rathe worked in unison to converge on the nearest Stalkers. Rathe moved the Sparrow close to the Shadowstar's belly for cover, and together they tore an Exethan fighter to pieces. The others swung around, regaining formation, and came at the Shadowstar head-on, veering off at the last moment to rain plasma across the starfighter’s back.

  “They're trying to disable us,” Dizzy told them through the commlink. “They're not going for the engine block; they're going for the core.”

  “We have more pressing concerns," Shimmer said from her console. “There is another wave of fighters closing in. If we are not gone in two turns, we will be surrounded, crippled, and boarded.”

  Drenno growled. “Dizzy, put everything we've got left into the guns. Get the belly and hood cannons up and running.”

  “I do that and the shields are out. Not low, not dropping: out.”

  “Just do it. Angela, you're on the belly guns already so stay there; Illith, get up top.”

  The Silsir scrambled up and raced for a second elevator at the rear of the bridge.

  “You hear that, Rathe?” Drenno asked into the commlink. "There’s more company incoming.”

  “I heard.”

  “So let's put these fuckers to bed and get out of here.”

  “Solid plan, Ellys.”

  Angela's monitor came to life and she gripped the sticks. They felt heavier than the Jackdaw's, but the control scheme was exactly the same. She twirled the sticks, causing the monitor feed to swivel right. She located a Stalker and fired, but her shots missed. She cursed, trying again. This time the fighter was forced to steer away, almost colliding with another. Instantly, red plasma rained from above and obliterated it.

  “Calm and controlled, mystraal," Illith told her through the commlink. "We can't afford to waste the power.”

  The remaining Exethan, apparently emboldened by their approaching reinforcements, swung about in the blackness and drove headlong at the Shadowstar. Dizzy banked hard to evade them, and Rathe came up underneath, the Sparrow's right flank slicing into a Stalker's underbelly. The mining tug spun away, but it was all Drenno needed to get a bead on the other ship. He opened up the forward cannons and the Stalker was dashed to smithereens. Angela swung the belly guns, alighting on the final ship, its underbelly spitting tiny forks of lightning where the Sparrow had gouged it. She locked on easily and fired, almost leaping from her chair as it burst in a blossom of light.

  Her exultation was short-lived as she turned in her seat to see Drenno on his feet, one hand pressed to his databand's commlink. "Rathe! Rathe, do you read?"

  “Less than three turns,” Shimmer warned.

  “Core is almost up,” Dizzy countered. “Ninety-four percent and climbing. Slowly.”

  “Rathe!” Drenno repeated, louder.

  “I'm here...”

  Drenno sighed with disarming relief. “Thank the Founders! We gotta go. Get back in the hangar.”

  Only silence came back, and Drenno tapped his earpiece. “Rathe? Come on.”

  After a moment, there came an audible sigh from the Sparrow. “I’m afraid I can't do that, Captain.”

  “Ninety beats,” Shimmer updated them, her voice grave. “We really need to go, Drenno.”

  “Rathe?”

  “That last hit got me good. Core's gone, Ellys. I'm at three percent power.”

  “Did you hear us?” Drenno snapped. “There’s another squadron inbound. We don't have time for a manual lift, you need to dock.”

  Shimmer's fingers lightly brushed her monitor screen. “He is in their approach vector,” she said softly.

  “I don't need to hear that shit. Rathe, come on. Diz?”

  “Ninety-nine. Rebooting th
e core... now.”

  The bridge lights flickered on and off and the Shadowstar went silent for the longest moment. The commlink buzzed, and Angela guessed it was on a separate system to the main power.

  “Shimmer?”

  “I am here, Rathe.”

  “How long do we have?”

  She hesitated, but only for a moment. “Not long enough.”

  “Right... I've got just enough power for a purge, but I'm blind here. You're going to have to say when.”

  “No!” Drenno shouted. “No. We’re coming to get you and we’re all getting out of here together. Dizzy, fire it up.”

  “She's in reboot, boss, I'm sorry. Rathe, wait. Don’t do this. Even if they take you, we’ll come get you.”

  Rathe chuffed across the commlink. “I know you would. But you can’t risk Angela, you understand? Shimmer, say when. Please.”

  The Ri'in turned her expressionless mask towards Drenno, and Angela felt, rather than saw, her sorrow. It was raw.

  “What does he mean?” she demanded. “What’s a purge?” She turned to Gaelan, whose cheeks were slick with tears, then to Drenno, who was wearing an expression she’d never seen on him before. He looked... frightened.

  Rathe’s voice crackled over the commlink again. “Shimmer, how’s it looking?”

  Shimmer tapped her screen. “We need five turns more than we have to reach him and bring him in.”

  “We’ve had worse odds,” Drenno protested.

  Rathe’s tone was even, calm, when he replied. “Inside five turns you’ll be disabled, boarded and arrested. Or killed. Think, Ellys. This is the only way to save the crew.”

  “What’s happening?” asked Angela. “What’s he doing?”

  The bridge lights came on, and the dashboard readout and viewscreen HUD flickered back up. Drenno leapt into his seat. "Come on, Diz! Let's go. We need to get him.”

  Dizzy, not meeting the Captain's eyes, began hitting switches and dials, then rested one scaled hand on the squat grey lever beside him, which Angela now knew activated the Phase-drive. “Almost there,” he said. “She’s almost there...”

  “Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” Angela growled, her anger rising.

  “Angela," Rathe said through the static, "are you there, dearheart?"

  She realised her throat was dry but her eyes were not. She almost gasped when he said her name. “I’m here. Rathe, what’s going on?”

  “I wish I could have known you better. I think... we would have been good friends.”

  “Rathe, we need you,” Gaelan pleaded, her voice breaking with panic and grief. “Please don’t do this. Please.”

  Drenno slammed his fist down on the console. “Rathe, damn you, don’t you dare—”

  “Quiet, Ellys. For once, listen to me. Follow Paryx's instructions, and when in doubt, go to Oraclus. Visit Guin. She'll guide you better than I ever could. We’ve had too many near misses over the years, and Angela is too important – we have to make this count.”

  “Get in the fucking hangar, Colonel!" Drenno growled, using a title Angela hadn't heard directed at Rathe before. “I am ordering you to return to the ship.”

  “The Sparrow is dead, Ellys. You can’t get to me, and I can’t get to you. I’m alright with this, really I am. What’s done is done,” Rathe told him finally. “With feeling.”

  Drenno slumped back, impotent, incredulous. His eyes found Angela’s, and she saw in them a bottomless well of pain.

  “Ten beats,” Shimmer said. “Hope in the Light, Rathe Massai.”

  “Angela!" Rathe suddenly shouted.

  “Yes?”

  Shimmer continued her countdown. “Six...”

  “Always remember one thing...”

  “Four...”

  “You're already home.”

  “Two...”

  “Tell Gage I'm sorry.”

  “Now!”

  The blackness behind the stricken Sparrow fluctuated, rippled, tore, and six Exethan fighters emerged from Purespace at top speed. As they flanked the mining tug and prepared to open fire on the Shadowstar, the tiniest flicker of light pulsed once around the outer hull of Rathe's ship, suddenly flaring into a corona of golden energy that flowed outwards from the tug and swallowed all six Stalkers like the ripples in a lake dragging the flotsam down to oblivion. The Exethan fighters exploded in unison, an oddly beautiful display of light and colour that seemed to Angela even more fitting than a 21-gun salute for Rathe Massai. The tug, gripped in the force-field generated by the pulse, contracted violently like a car in a crusher, closing like a black metal fist on anything, anyone, inside it.

  Gaelan sank to her knees beside her father, pressing her head against his unmoving arm. Shimmer froze halfway from her seat even as Six-Tails exited the elevator, supporting a weakened Gage with one arm. The Auton was shouting, but Angela could hear nothing. From the opposite elevator, Illith emerged, as unreadable as always. Angela met the Silsir's eyes and wished she hadn’t, for the look in them was as black as pitch. She seemed to move in slow motion, like everything else at that moment, as she crossed the bridge to stand above Dizzy; Illith reached down and placed her hand on the To'ecc's, which rested unmoving on the grey Phase-drive lever.

  A high-pitched ding went up from the command console, breaking the spell of silence with an abruptness that seemed somehow callous. Together, Illith and Dizzy slammed the grey lever forward in its cradle, and all sense of weight and time vanished from the bridge. The Shadowstar, wounded but vital, battered but resilient, grieving but alive, sang with an unheard resonance, and blasted, spitting and sparking, into Purespace.

  PART THREE

  ~A HAND-MADE SKY~

  Quite how the Iniir were able to harness the energies of light and vibration to power their devices and cross such unimaginable spans will, I fear, always remain beyond our understanding.

  They wrote little down, and what they did leave us to ponder they left encrypted with ciphers that seem to make a mockery of our meagre minds. With Iniir technology, we are, I suspect, rather like simians locked in a room with an explosive device. We can prod it and poke it, shake it and kick it all we want, but if we ever learn how it works, it will be because it has exploded in our faces.

  Excerpt taken from ‘The Corporeal Dilemma’, by Synamus Treacher

  1232/2Cy

  CHAPTER 18

  ~DAWN’S WISHES~

  ANGELA AWOKE TO a sudden sense of motion, and realised immediately that the Shadowstar was in Phase-shift. It no longer felt strange to consider that she was aboard a starship travelling through deep space via a sub-dimensional conduit, and her acceptance of this frightened her in ways she couldn’t explain.

  She groaned as the memories of yesterday came flooding back. Rathe Massai was dead. Another poor soul who couldn’t survive the black hole of mortality that she generated. In three short days he had become a rock, her anchor, something real to moor herself to so she didn’t drift away, didn’t find herself lost in space like a piece of mouldering, ancient debris. Now he was gone and Angela, as always, was adrift. She had once joked that the Grim Reaper had been a part of her life for so long, had been so integral to her upbringing, that he was almost like an uncle, a reliable presence you didn’t see every day but who always showed up at parties. She had started to wonder if she’d simply pissed him off either in this life or a past one, and he was claiming on some debt she couldn’t remember running up.

  Swinging her legs, she sat up on the edge of her bed. It was late afternoon, she guessed, and she hadn’t done much since yesterday but feel sorry for herself. Her room was dimly lit with a cool blue light, but an urgent brightness hammered at the closed shutters, flaring in the corners now and then as though it was trying to force its way in. Purespace, Shimmer had called it, the space beneath space. How the fuck do you go from a coffee waitress to sleeping in a spaceship on the other side of the galaxy in three days? She realised she was stroking her St. Anthony and sighed, falling back on her
sheets. From grief to grief she moved through life, always mourning something or someone. Her innocence, her childhood, her foster parents, her sense of normalcy. My sanity? she thought suddenly. Will I be mourning that next?

  Her fingers stroked the smooth, cold disc on the back of her neck. The flesh around it was no longer tender; it felt as though it had always been there. God, she needed answers. Why her? for one. What was special about her? Without Rathe, she had to wonder how many answers she would get. The others either seemed somehow put out by her presence or outright hostile – and more than that, they simply didn’t know. She’d had the sense that maybe Rathe knew more and would have told her when the time was right. Now she’d never know, either way.

  With a heartfelt groan she rolled over, got up, and showered. She stepped out, dry, and took a moment to stare at herself in the mirror. There was so much darkness in her eyes; not just the pigment, but memories, the ghost of things she’d seen and done that were indelibly etched into the deep black of her pupils, the gold-flecked ebony of her corneas. She had always known that sooner or later it would all catch up to her, but in the meantime it seemed to make do with punishing those close to her instead. Her forehead thunked against the glass. “Get a grip, bitch,” she told herself. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

  There were several items of clothing in her room’s storage compartment, short-sleeved cat-suits similar to the one she wore yesterday. She pulled one on, followed by her laced boots. Then she grabbed her databand from the chrome table by her bed and snapped it on. The HUD dropped down and came alive instantly with the words “Dawn’s Wishes, Angela”. She figured that was a variant of “good morning”. Either way, it pissed her off a little. She pressed a small pad on the device’s headband and the HUD went away.

  The door opened behind her and she turned to see Gaelan in the doorway, her skin a pale, almost grey shade of blue. “Is there a way to lock that?” Angela asked sourly.