Dreadnought: War Mage: Book Two (War Mage Chronicles 2)

by Charles R Case

  “Hang on, I need to get Grimms in here. He should hear this,” Sara said, tapping her comms and connecting with Grimms.

  “Hmm? Hello?” Grimms’ normally deep baritone was well past gravelly.

  “Grimms? Are you okay?” Sara asked, concerned at his unusual tone.

  His voice perked up, now sounding only slightly woozy. “I’m fine, Captain, I was just asleep when you called.”

  “Asleep? What time is it?”

  “Three twenty eight,” Boon said, reading the time on her tablet and raising her eyebrows at the late hour.

  “Oh, sorry to wake you, Grimms,” Sara apologized, embarrassed.

  Grimms cleared the last of the sleep from his voice. “It’s no problem, ma’am. What can I do for you?”

  “Can you come to my quarters? Cora and I need to chat with you about what she’s learned from the core.”

  She heard him grunt his way out of bed as he said, “I’ll be there in a minute, ma’am.”

  “There’s no need to get into uniform for this. Just put some pants on,” Sara said, smiling at the red-faced Boon.

  There was a pause on the line, then a “Yes, ma’am,” and he disconnected.

  Sara rubbed the lateness off her face with both hands. “I’ll bet you five bucks he comes in uniform.”

  “You’re on. I’m getting to know our commander pretty well; I bet he comes in sweats and a robe,” Cora challenged.

  “There is no way he comes in a robe. You’re on,” Sara countered gleefully, getting up and starting a pot of coffee.

  By the time Sara put three cups of steaming coffee on the table, Grimms had arrived. To Sara's amazement, he was wearing sweatpants, a tee shirt, and a fuzzy, black robe.

  “Well, shit,” she grumbled, taking in the slightly disheveled Grimms.

  He looked older than when he was on duty. He had the beginnings of a white five o’clock shadow, and the robe put a few years on him, if for no other reason than Sara had never seen anyone but her father in a robe.

  “Did you lose a bet?” Grimms teased, a half-smile melting a few years from his face.

  Sara squinted at him, then, handing him a coffee, said, “Cora told you to wear that robe, didn't she?”

  He didn't answer, instead hiding his smile behind the mug before taking a sip. Sara rolled her eyes and waved for Boon to join them at the table.

  “Shouldn’t I leave, ma’am? I don't want to intrude,” the girl said, inching closer to the door.

  Before Sara could say anything, Cora spoke. “You should stay. This is going to be common knowledge soon enough, and if your training goes like Sara and I think it might, you’ll need it. You should probably just get used to being near Sara from now on, Alicia.”

  “Oh, um, okay,” she mumbled, and slipped into an empty chair at the table, taking a sip of the hot, black brew.

  Grimms took another empty chair and, adjusting his robe, asked, “What’s this all about?”

  Cora took the lead. “My time sleeping in the tank was not wasted. The core downloaded quite a bit of information directly into my brain, which was a bit like an update patch for an old operating system.”

  Grimms’ eyebrows rose slightly. “That’s helpful.”

  “Quite. As you know, Sara is teaching Boon how to cast the Familiar spell, testing her ability to become a War Mage. Sara had mentioned that War Mages were pretty rare, and that the chances were low that Boon would be able to cast the spell at all. I told her it was more likely than she thought.”

  Grimms took another sip. “Why is that?”

  “Because being a War Mage—or any mage, for that matter—is about genetics,” Cora explained.

  “Like eye color?” Sara asked, making sure they were talking about the same thing.

  “Exactly. We knew the Elif genetically manipulated humans to be receptive to the Aether. What we didn't know was that the gene was already a part of our DNA, but had been turned off thousands of years ago to keep humanity from being found by the Teifen and Elif,” Cora said excitedly. When no one reacted, she said, “I should start at the beginning.”

  Sara gave a laugh. “Please do. I’m already a little lost.”

  “The Ancient humans suspected they would eventually be betrayed. So, in secret, they prepared four planets to hide away a number of humans, ensuring their survival . But the betrayal came much faster than anticipated, catching humanity off-guard. The plan had been to send four dreadnoughts, flown by War Mage twin sets, full of refugees and supplies, to set up a society on each of the planets. But in the end, only two of the dreadnoughts were able to escape, and with only their naval crews on board. The Navy had an unusually high number of Mages in it, so the crews started with an unusually high concentration of the Aether gene,” Cora said, her voice taking on the motherly, slightly condescending tone Sara knew all too well.

  “Okay, but what does that have to do with there being more War Mages? It sounds like there were only two War Mages per planet,” Sara asked, draining her coffee and getting up to refill it.

  “Well, for a quick and dirty explanation, I’ll keep it simple, but understand that the actual mechanisms are a little more complex,” Cora warned.

  “Simple is good. I’m too tired for a thorough genetics lesson,” Grimms grunted, holding his empty cup up for Sara to refill.

  “The Aether gene has two expressions: dominant and recessive. Everyone has the gene, so everyone can channel Aether. If a person has two dominant genes, then they can only channel. If they have one recessive and one dominant, then they are able to split their mind in two and become a mage. And if they have two recessive genes, they can combine two spellforms while maintaining the integrity of them both, and become a War Mage. There is a whole lot more to it, but in the simplest terms, this is how it works. I’m telling you all this because there is evidence that all identical twins have at least one recessive gene, which means they can all at least become mages.”

  Sara nodded along with Cora’s explanation, “So, if you start with a higher number of recessive genes in the pool, you end up with more people having them. Like if you have an unusually high number of blue-eyed people, the number will increase over time.”

  “Exactly,” Cora said.

  Boon spoke up, to everyone’s surprise. “So, couldn't I just take a genetic test and see if the Familiar spell would work for me?”

  “Theoretically, yes. But I don't know how to do that. The core doesn’t have a human genome map on it. I assume we could eventually find the specific gene, but that would be a job for geneticists back on Earth, and I would guess it would take them a few years to get it down. For now, trial and error are our best options,” Cora answered.

  “You heard the woman, Boon. Practice is the best medicine,” Sara said with a smile as she slid Grimms’ refilled mug across the table to him, and sat down.

  Boon hung her head a little. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “It’s not all bad, Boon; you’re at least learning how to create complicated spellforms, which will help you in your studies if the Familiar spell doesn’t work for you,” Sara assured her.

  “So, are you saying that only twins can become War Mages?” Grimms asked, getting the conversation back on track.

  “No, but twins are much more likely to have the ability. According to the core, it was very rare in the past for the recessive trait to be passed down, even if both parents were War Mages. This is where the gene expression gets fuzzy; it’s a lot more complicated than a simple binary gene expression, and there are other genes that determine the final pairing. Long story short, anyone has the potential to have the pairing to become a War Mage… it’s just more likely if they are a twin.” Cora paused for a beat before continuing. “Though I wouldn't be surprised if we find out that a lot more individuals can become War Mages, with the concentration of Mages that came to Earth in that final escape.”

  “Are you saying that all humans on Earth are descended from those who landed there on the dreadnought? Didn't that happe
n, like, thirty thousand years ago? Fossils of human remains exist that are older than that. Where did they come from?” Sara asked, cocking her head, trying to make the numbers work.

  “Funny story, that. Before the core on Earth—the one from the dreadnought—went offline, it reported to the rest of the cores that there were humans already on Earth when they arrived, but then it was switched off before it could explain where they had come from,” Cora said thoughtfully.

  “The cores can communicate with each other?” Grimms asked, latching onto the strategic information like the good commander he was.

  Cora gave a good-hearted laugh. “Right, I knew you would pick up on that, Grimms; ever the thinker, you are,” she noted, genuine admiration in her voice. “It amazes me you’re not higher ranked than a colonel.”

  Somewhere along the way, these two became a team. I haven’t heard Cora talk that way to anyone in a long time. I would be jealous if it weren’t so good for the ship. Okay, maybe I’m a little jealous, Sara thought, sizing up the half-smile Grimms was sporting.

  Grimms, his face flushed at the compliment, waved it away. “I wouldn’t want anything higher. Too much desk work.”

  Cora laughed and then answered his original question. “The cores can communicate with each other, which is the reason we need to have this conversation. They do so instantaneously, and over any distance. They are all connected through the Aether, almost as if they are the same core, just in different locations,” Cora said, unable to hide her excitement.

  Everyone was quiet while the implications sank in—except for Boon, who was a little lost. “Why is that such a big deal? Mages can already send messages through the Aether.”

  Grimms gave a grunt. “But it still takes time. Even at a hundred times the speed of the best warp, the amount of time it takes for a message to reach the recipient is a disadvantage, and slows down response times. Reactions are the key to winning any battle,” he explained to her, then turned his attention back to Cora. “We need to get this system installed on all the ships in the fleet. How do we make more cores?”

  “That’s the rub. The plans are not on the core itself. It mentions that the War Mages kept the process secret, even from their own people. The advantage a core gave was far too great to fall into enemy hands.”

  Sara smacked the table in frustration. “Great. So the only ones who know how to make a core are all dead. What are we going to do now?”

  “I think you should go find the Dreadnought hidden on Earth. Maybe we can find some answers there,” Cora proposed.

  “Do we know where it is?” Sara asked, liking the idea.

  “Not a clue.”

  5

  “You ready?” Baxter asked, leaning into Sara's quarters with a big smile on his face.

  Sara was in the middle of a yoga routine, not quite having worked up a sweat, but getting close. Her shift on the bridge had put a crick in her neck, as she’d sat for six hours with nothing to do while the Regis towed them home. She figured a quick set would work out her muscles without much trouble. She was currently in Downward Dog, and peeked under her arm to see the large man leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed.

  “Ready for what?” she asked, frowning slightly as she lifted her right leg and swung it forward, her torso coming up into Warrior One.

  “For that beer I owe you,” he said, his white teeth brightening his face with childlike glee.

  Sara had to laugh at his enthusiasm. A beer did sound good right then; even if what they had on the ship was all non-alcoholic. She was determined to finish out the routine, however.

  “Can you give me ten minutes to finish up and change, or is this a limited time offer?” she asked, flowing into Warrior Two.

  He came in and sat at the small table. “Take your time. I’m not on duty for a few shifts.” He leaned back with his hands behind his head, as if the hard plastic chair was a recliner.

  Sara shook her head in exasperation, but didn't tell him to leave. She felt comfortable around Baxter; He was like a rock in the tumultuous waves of her first command, something she could grab onto if she felt overwhelmed.

  That was a weird way of putting that, she thought as she floated down to Plank, and proceeded through the Chaturanga. I mean, Baxter is a solid guy, and I trust him, but I don't want to grab onto him. Her face reddened, and not from exertion.

  She suddenly decided having an audience was a little too much for her, and cut the yoga short. She stood and smoothed her red hair back, redoing her ponytail, making sure she didn't have any wild hairs. She grabbed the towel beside her mat and wiped at her face, but, not having really broken out in a sweat, managed only to smudge her mascara.

  “Shit,” she said, looking at the black smudge.

  Why do I even bother with this stuff? She looked over her shoulder at Baxter, who was messing with an app on his arm tablet, oblivious to her makeup tragedy. She noted that he was not wearing his uniform, but instead had put on a pair of old jeans and a black tee shirt. If it weren’t for the cuff on his forearm holding his military issued tablet, he would have looked like he was just heading out to the bar with friends. She smiled. Looking nice isn’t a crime. Besides, the mascara brings out my eyes.

  She rolled up the yoga mat and stuffed it in her closet. She picked out a thin knit sweater, deciding her black yoga pants were fine for a beer with a friend. Plus, he seems to rather like them. Not that that matters, she amended quickly. She slipped the sweater over her head, and after a small internal battle, reapplied her mascara in the small mirror on the closet door.

  She could see in the reflection that Alister had jumped up onto Baxter’s lap, and was being vigorously petted.

  Slipping on some ankle socks and black running shoes, Sara declared herself ready for beers.

  They walked down to the dining area, a slightly awkward silence accompanying them. It wasn’t unusual for the crew to dress in their civilian clothes if they were off-duty, but most people just wore their battlesuits. The suits were extremely comfortable, but sometimes not wearing a skin-tight suit was nice. Seeing Baxter in jeans and a tee shirt made Sara think of him as someone more than just the Sergeant Major.

  Finding an empty table in the corner, Sara sat down while Baxter went to the drink dispenser and grabbed them two beers. He returned and twisted the tops off the plastic bottles, handing her one.

  He took a long pull before saying, “I don't know that I’ve ever seen you in anything but your uniform or battlesuit.”

  So we’re going straight for the elephant in the room. Sara flushed, taking a gulp of ‘beer’ to cover it up. “Same to you. I didn't even know you owned anything that wasn’t government-issued.”

  He laughed. “To be honest, this is about it.” He leaned in conspiratorially, his voice low and without a trace of humor. “Don’t tell anyone, but this tee shirt came from boot camp.”

  He said it so seriously that it took Sara a second to realize it was a joke. She barked out a laugh that surprised them both, and quickly took another drink to mask the burning flush that was creeping up her neck. She noticed a few heads turn their way and then quickly look away when they saw who it was.

  God, I wish this beer was real. What is wrong with you, Sara? It’s Baxter; no need to be nervous. You’re just two friends, having a beer.

  Baxter gave an easy smile, chuckling at his own joke. “So, where are you from? Originally?” he asked, leaning back and giving her some room to breathe.

  Having something to pour her unexpected nervous energy into, she was happy to tell him all about her life in the American Midwest. “Columbus, Ohio. My parents own a farm just outside the city that they inherited from my dad’s parents. They still work it, though it’s not all that big… mostly fruits and vegetables that taste better than the printed versions. They have kids come from the local schools to learn about farming techniques and practices, and they still sell the produce locally. My dad said that, before the Elif came and the molecular printers started to provide eve
rything, they were struggling to stay afloat. Now the farm is there for educational purposes and because he didn't really know what else to do. He was a farmer all his life, then overnight, it became a boutique business. They make a little money for luxuries, but it’s not like money is all that important anymore.” She was rambling, but Baxter was following every word.

  He nodded when she finally took a breath. “That must have been fun; growing up on a working farm. Not many people can say they’ve done that.”

  “Cora and I were off to school at seventeen, so we didn't really ever get into it.”

  Baxter took another swig of beer. “Yeah, I was in the Marines at eighteen, and never left, obviously,” he said, indicating the ship in general with a wave of his hand. “But my dad was a cop in L.A., so I kind of followed in the family business. Though I’m sure he never thought his son would be seeing action on another planet.”

  After the ice was broken, the conversation took an easier turn. They ended up talking about everything from school to what the holidays were like back with family, and how long it had been since they had gone home.

  Sara found it easy to talk to the dark-skinned man, with his generous smile and white hair that somehow didn't add years to his face. Halfway through the conversation, dinner was being served, so they grabbed trays and fell in line with the rest of the crew, continuing to talk the whole way through the queue.

  Once they had eaten, Alister crawled into Baxter’s lap, purring and rubbing his face on Baxter’s fingers. Sara felt a stab of jealousy; he only acted that way with her.

  Alister stopped purring and turned to look at Sara, a perplexed look on his face. His yellow eyes narrowed slightly, and she could feel his confusion through their empathic link.

  Then she got it. He liked Baxter so much because her own feelings were bleeding into him. Alister was just acting on what she was feeling.

  Oh, my god. I like him. Shit… shit. I can't. He’s my subordinate. This isn’t good. What would people think? What would Cora think?

  “I’m sorry, but I have to go,” she said, standing up and interrupting Baxter right in the middle of a story about his time in boot.