by Dana Kelly
“It is,” said Krané. His oral tentacles undulated rapidly, and his beak clicked loudly as his vocoder worked to keep up. “I’ve been poring over it, playing it back again and again, comparing his expressions against the Binary Classification Handbook.”
“What did you find?”
He advanced the video to the SUV’s moment of collision and froze the frame. “Here,” he began, and he indicated the debris. “You say he’s a waveformer, and that would certainly account for his ability to reverse gravity, but it doesn’t explain how the truck and every single piece of concrete and glass is suspended in the air. Gravity is a very weak force of attraction. At its most dangerous, it’s a crushing force.” Frame by frame, Krané scrubbed the video back and forth.
April studied each frame. “What am I looking for?”
“There!” At the instant of impact, a spherical distortion radiated from Orin. “Do you see that?”
“I do,” she whispered. “The force he created caught the debris.”
“And the truck! It just negated their momentum, like they had no mass at all.”
“Was I wrong, then?” She leaned forward. “Is he a kinetic?”
“He’s also a kinetic,” said Krané.
“Impossible. The Higgs-Sawyer helix can’t support more than one type of expression.”
“Maybe his is evolved,” said Krané. “Or maybe he doesn’t have one at all!”
“There must be another explanation,” said April.
“You’re convinced he’s unprecedented. Perhaps he is in more ways than one.” Krané advanced the playback to the moment Orin wrapped the streetlight around Bello. “Review his final expression,” he said, and he looped the event.
April watched it several times. “I’d say it’s further proof of his kinetic aptitude, but you have that look in your eye. What am I not seeing?”
“Pay close attention to the light pole,” said Krané. “He breaks the glass when he first uproots it, but the concrete doesn’t shatter, fracture or even crack at any point along its length. It stretches and contracts fluidly.”
“Molecular manipulation,” said April.
Krané took a step back. His eyes faded to bright chartreuse. “Only an atomic can do that!”
April stared at the screen. “That’s impossible.”
“Data doesn’t lie,” he said. “That’s three categorically distinct forms of expression. If you feel like including that psychic bunker of his, it might be four.”
April leaned against her hands and exhaled. “Please don’t tell Casey.”
“That’s why I called you,” said Krané. “Knowing her, she’d probably space the poor guy.”
With a dry chuckle, April glanced his way. “It’s entirely possible.” She got back to her feet and took a deep breath.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“You don’t look fine.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted, and she faced the door. “I need you to make an encrypted copy of this video for me and for yourself. Do not upload anything to the servers. Destroy the original datastick and replace it with a blank.”
Krané nodded. “Right away.”
“If Casey asks, tell her the footage got corrupted when it was exposed to Orin’s powers.” April exited his quarters, and the door closed behind her.
Chapter 10
Beacon
Rhyon slowly receded as the starship Fox Mendes raced through the void. Bearing a decidedly maritime profile, she looked sturdy, painted matte gray, and decorated with red, gold, and white trim. A wide S-Ring snugly encircled her rear thrusters, and thick plates protected her forward thrusters.
Upper and lower cannon turrets swiveled upon armored outriggers positioned at the starship’s centerline, and two pairs of smaller turrets pointed away from the vessel’s V-shaped gravity keel. Positioned behind the cannons, a battery of launch tubes housed her complement of missiles. Just below the quarterdeck and directly above the rear thrusters, heavy doors enclosed the hunter-destroyer’s hangar bay.
Mike crept along a dimly lit passageway. Far behind him, a dozen boots tromped in unison as someone called out attack forms, and he seized the moment to hurry the remaining distance to a heavy steel door. He waited for another callout and timed opening the door with the tromping of boots.
Torsha glanced his way and waved as he peered inside. Nimbus blinked a series of diodes as Mike entered the darkened cargo hold. Briefly taking the form of a miniature turbofan, Nimbus attached himself to the door and quietly pushed it closed. He dispersed and reformed on top of a sturdy plastic bin in the form of a tiny water cooler. “Miguel, Torsha, I have condensed five hundred milliliters of water.”
“Thanks,” said Mike. “I found these.” He retrieved a stack of plastic cups and a dozen meal bars from his pants pockets, scattering them next to Nimbus. “There’re drums full of crude protein in the galley, if we feel like getting creative.”
“Don’t you mean ‘ammoniated vat paste?’” asked Torsha, and she made a face. “How can you even think about eating that stuff?”
“I won’t tell you what goes into our cat food, then,” said Mike.
With mock offense, Torsha responded, “You’re always so thoughtful. I guess I won’t tell you what goes into our dolphini food, either.”
“What do you think humans evolved from?” asked Mike.
Torsha gave it some thought. “It’s not dolphins?”
“No, it’s not dolphins,” said Mike.
“Well, it definitely wasn’t tigers,” she said.
He laughed to himself. “That’s very true.”
“Miguel Santos, were you able to acquire any information regarding the status of our journey?” asked Nimbus. His water tank bubbled as he spoke.
“Some,” said Mike. “From what I overheard, we’re accelerating at 2Gs. The captain’s got the flight data on the bounty hunters, and they’re on an overtake course. Unfortunately, the bridge is still under constant guard. I’d have to hack into a remote station to confirm anything.”
“I can interface directly with this chamber’s security lock and gain access to the starship’s navigation modules,” said Nimbus.
“Thanks for the offer, but the answer is no.” Mike unwrapped a meal bar and bit down. “The Falcon military network is crawling with red ICE. If you tried to hack through that, it could kill you.” He moved a plastic cup close to Nimbus.
“I am grateful for the warning. Direct interaction with a reduction-cycle intrusion countermeasure executable certainly has the potential to be fatal,” said Nimbus. Water flowed into the cup from the cooler’s nozzle.
Mike took a long pull. “I’ll figure something out.”
“If I do the recon, you wouldn’t have to hack into anything,” said Torsha.
“Not if they catch you,” said Mike.
“I can hold my own,” said Torsha.
“For a while, sure, but there are more than three-hundred people aboard this ship. Some of them are Falcon’s best, and they have guns.” Mike set down his food and drink, hoisting himself up onto the bin. “No, there’s a lot less at stake if I do the recon.”
“Yeah, I guess,” said Torsha. “Hey, how come you never joined up? I thought Falcon made everyone serve two years straight out of high school, royalty or not.”
Mike tapped the back of his head. “Because of my injury. With all this hardware, the military won’t touch me. My recruitment officer said I could join the star navy reserve if I had it removed, but my doctor won’t sign off on it.”
“After the miracles she worked putting you back together, I don’t blame her,” said Torsha. “If I was her, there’s no way I’d let you dive headfirst into that meat grinder.”
Mike looked at her sideways. “Meat grinder? Falcon’s not involved in any active conflicts.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Torsha crossed her arms and leaned against the bin. “They take good, loving people and grind ‘em up, till t
here’s nothing left.”
Mike scooted over and rested his hand on Torsha’s shoulder. “I’m sorry about your dad.”
“Why? I’m not.” She wiped at her eyes. “He’s a stupid space marine, so you know he’s not sorry.” A tear dropped from her cheek. “For anything.” Torsha passed Nimbus her cup, and he poured. “How much longer are we stuck in here, anyway?”
“Torsha Madagan, it is impossible to accurately estimate without additional data,” said Nimbus.
“Maybe another week,” said Mike. “Maybe two.”
Torsha groaned, opened a meal bar, and plopped down on the deck. “I should’ve stayed home.”
◆◆◆
Aboard Watchtower, a chime sounded from Orin’s door. The lock indicator turned green, and the door swung slowly inside. Overhead passageway lights shone garishly upon Orin’s back, diagonal blades that cut through the gentle darkness of his quarters. He breathed evenly.
April set a square, tin plate on the nearby desk. She placed a water pouch beside it. Steam rolled from a mound of scrambled eggs and breakfast sausage. She watched Orin for a moment before closing her eyes and extending her consciousness toward him.
Like an electric shock, she touched the surface of his dreaming mind. Suddenly, April found herself standing upon a black stage of inestimable scale. Glowing wisps winked at her from the wings. They’re studying me, she thought. A dozen motes of light floated in the air, then hundreds more, and then thousands. “Hello!” she called out, and the luminous particles rushed toward her like a surging stream. They’re stars, she thought. No, they’re galaxies!
They encircled her, dancing, and they joyously buoyed her higher and higher still, until the stage vanished completely. The music of the cosmos filled her senses. Spinning her playfully, they sent her hurtling through the void, cradling her as they gently pulled her back down. She couldn’t help but laugh.
A voice thundered, “April!”
In the first instant that followed, she didn’t know who or what an April was. In the next, she knew every word for it in every language, and what it meant to every intelligence everywhere, for whom it held meaning. She lost herself in rivers of light and significance.
“April!” shouted Orin, and she crashed back into the physical world. She was lying on her back now, flat on the deck. He hunched over her, propping her head under a pillow.
“What… what happened?” she asked.
“You’re more than a telepath!” His eyes were bright with wonder.
“I’m really not.”
He stepped back, grinning. “Well, when I woke up, you were just hovering there in the doorway!”
“That’s amazing,” she breathed, and she sat up slowly. “I didn’t do it, though, I assure you.” She shifted slightly and returned Orin’s pillow to his bed.
He held up his hands. “No fire. None, so it couldn’t have been me. April, it had to be you!”
“I’m a telepath, not a kinetic, or a waveformer. It’s literally impossible for me to have hovered in place by my own doing.” She got to her feet. “Your dreaming mind must have caused me to hover while I was in there. It persisted into your waking state, but without your focus, it could only last a moment.”
“My focus?”
“Your blue flame,” she said. “It’s a reflexive manifestation that helps you visualize and channel your powers in the primary world, but it’s not necessary to use your powers. In fact, most binaries outgrow the need for a focus, given enough time and practice.”
“Wait.” Orin shoved his hands in his pockets. “You were inside my head?”
“I was!” April smiled excitedly.
“Without asking?”
“I didn’t even do anything differently,” said April. “It was as if your mind decided to open the door and invite me in. Oh, Orin, you should’ve seen it! It was beautiful. Your mind is beautiful!”
“Okay.” He rubbed his eyes and plopped down at the edge of the bed. “But you didn’t ask.”
“Orin, I thought we had an understanding.” April’s voice caught in her throat. “It was essentially an accident, anyhow. I really didn’t expect to get in.”
“Am I just a curiosity to you? Your ticket to fame for bagging the first O-class binary?”
“No, of course not,” said April. “I care about you!”
“Yeah, right.” He folded his hands in his lap. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about what Casey did to me. I give you my word. No harm no foul, right?”
“W… What?”
“That’s why you’re being nice to me, isn’t it?” He glanced up at her, daring her to refute him. “I’m no psychic, but even a child could’ve seen through the show you and Casey put on in the shuttle hangar.”
“Orin, wait,” said April. She sat down next to him, but he stood up.
“You know what? You’re right. I’m not the monster. It’s Casey. And it’s you.” He nodded toward the door. “You can leave.”
“Orin, wait!”
“Why’d you come here, anyway?”
She pointed to the plate. Eyes downcast, she whispered, “I brought you breakfast.”
“Ah. Well, you can send someone else next time,” said Orin.
“If that’s really what you want,” said April.
“It is.”
“All right.” April got back up and approached the door. She glanced his way. “Orin, I’m sorry. It really was an accident.”
He reached over and took up his food and water. “Okay.”
“How can I make this right?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Anyway, what does it matter? In three weeks, I’ll be gone.”
“I’d rather not avoid you for three weeks.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled hopefully.
“Don’t do that,” said Orin. “You don’t have to pretend anymore, remember? I gave you my word, and that actually means something to me.”
“I know it does,” said April. Unsure of what else to say, she stepped out into the passageway, and she pulled the door closed behind her. A lengthy moment passed before she locked it.
Orin finished his meal and flopped backward on the bed. In time, he adjourned to the bathroom. He shed his orange jumpsuit and undergarments along the way.
He luxuriated under the warm steam shower. Eventually, he emerged with damp hair and a towel. To his surprise, the tin plate and water pouch had vanished, along with the clothing he had arrived in. Upon the bed, he found a gray sweatshirt, sweatpants, socks, and underwear—all folded neatly. A pair of gray Velcro sneakers awaited him near the door.
He dried off and donned his new attire. As he jammed his feet in his shoes, his entry chime rang. A moment passed, and the door drifted open.
April stood before him with her arms clasped at her back. “Hi.”
“What do you want?”
She grimaced. “I’d like to start over.”
“For my sake or yours?”
“Mine, probably,” said April.
Orin rolled his eyes and chuckled ironically. “At least you’re being honest. If we’re starting over, I need you to promise me that’ll never happen again.”
“I promise.” April offered her hand, and they shook on it.
“Thank you.” He took a step back. “So, now what?”
She smiled kindly. “Will you walk with me?”
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise,” said April.
“You’re not going to give me a tour of the airlock, are you?”
She waved dismissively. “Certainly not! I said surprise, not shock. Surprises are good.”
He took a deep breath and offered wrists. “Okay. Lead on.”
April fastened the restraints. “This way,” she said, and she gestured toward the lift.
They journeyed down to the bottom deck. “Our first stop is the engine room,” she said. “It gets very cold in here, so it’ll be brief.” Three enormous mixture tanks stood evenly spaced relative to
one another, each surrounded by thrumming magnetic coils and crowned by polished liquid hydrogen globes. Starkly lit, they chilled the air, and the deck constantly shook ever so slightly underfoot.
The machine shop and parts storage awaited them up a set of grated steel stairs. “We have to be able to manufacture what we break out here,” she explained. “We keep boxes of regular wear items on the shelves, but you’d be surprised by how much of our ranch-hand has been replaced by parts Cajun’s engineered right here at the printer.”
“I thought Cajun was the ship’s cook,” said Orin.
“Actually, Cajun is the ship’s chief engineer and ops specialist. He also happens to be a certified grandmaster chef and has joyfully taken on the duties of running the galley, entirely to our benefit.” Stopping in mid-stride, she whirled around, and Orin nearly collided with her. “If you value your health, never call him ‘Cookie.’ Ever.”
Orin laughed and nodded. “I won’t.”
“Good.” She led him up another set of stairs. “You’re already familiar with the hangar deck and the crew decks, so we’ll take the lift straight to the S-Ring.”
A moment later, the lift doors opened, and they stepped forward into a cramped, circular chamber. Columns of pitted, egg white panels formed a ring, leaving just enough room to allow for maintenance and little else. Orin ran his hands across one of the plates. “It’s really smooth,” he said. “What’s it made of?”
“An exotic alloy, I’m sure. It shields us from the S-Ring’s phase radiation,” said April.
Beyond the panels, something thumped, followed by a series of rapid pops. On the opposite side of the deck, something moaned, a low-pitched and musical reverberation. “Oh, that’s cool,” said Orin. “It sounds almost like whale song, or something deep underwater.” He glanced at April, but she looked grave.
“It’s never done that before,” she said.
“Make those sounds?”
She opened a nearby diagnostics console. “Make any sound.” Bounding from one point to the next, high pitched trills and chirps filled the air, followed by another series of low pops. At last, the console surrendered its findings, and April chewed on her knuckle as she studied the data. “So odd,” she whispered.
