by Chris Fox
The screen stopped as Jolene caught sight of an interesting file. It was a Ternus holoseries by an Erica Tharn, which attempted to catalogue gods, from a quick glance at the episode guide. She scanned the list and found the usual suspects, the ones everyone in the sector knew about. Virkonna. Krox. Xal. It was the last one that gave her pause, though. Nefarius.
She tapped the screen and a holographic video emerged from the desk. It showed a stately human woman of advanced age standing outside a temple on an unfamiliar world. The wind whipped at her clothing, and whorls of sand obscured a massive, stone structure behind her.
“I’m Erica Tharn, and you’re looking at one of the oldest enigmas in the sector.” The woman clutched at a wide, tan hat as a particularly strong gust of wind threatened to tug it loose. “The Temple of Xandun is one of three identical structures located over the past twenty years. Each temple lies hundreds of light years from the others, and it remains unclear how their societies were linked.” She paused as the howling wind drowned out everything else. “As you can see, this world is quite inhospitable, but that wasn’t always the case. As recently as four thousand years ago, this planet wasn’t so different from Colony 3, and served as the home of a culture that has—”
Jolene waved impatiently and the video sped up. She slowed it again once the woman was inside the temple. “—Runes on the walls are a dialect of the language that, we believe, forms the foundation of magic itself. Apparently, they tell the story of the godswar, and it’s this particular tidbit that justified flying all the way out to the edge of the sector.”
The camera floated over to a section of the wall, which was covered in a sea of runes not unlike the sigils they cast for spells. Dotted in between were detailed pictograms, and the one the camera approached showed a shadowed, draconic face, complete with glowing eyes.
“Most gods,” the old woman explained eagerly, “are mentioned in many places. Their exploits are well documented, and cultures across many worlds often venerated the same gods. Yet this one is a mystery.” She indicated a row of runes. “It identifies the god as Nefarius, who is usually referred to in the feminine, but occasionally in the masculine. Beyond that, we know little—”
“Clearly,” Talifax rumbled from a previously empty chair, “I have miscalculated.”
Jolene’s heart thundered, but she used every iota of her business acumen to give her new master no visible reaction. It was a minor victory, but a victory nonetheless. “And how have you miscalculated, mighty Guardian of Nefarius?”
“In two, very minor ways.” Talifax crossed his legs, and leaned his bulk back in the chair. “First, I missed the temple on Eleph. I should have scoured away all mention of our mistress. And second, I have allowed my own legend to be confused with hers. I have been mistaken for Nefarius.”
Jolene knew patience was the smartest route, but something about this being’s casual manner rubbed her wrong. If she was going to deal with him, then she should set the tenor now. “Enough of these games. Fine, you’ve caught me trying to learn more about Nefarius. And yes, I am looking for a way to avoid the kind of mental influence you seem to exert over Skare.”
Talifax shook his helmeted head. “I do not have any influence over Skare. Any more than I do over you.” He extended a large hand, and deposited a tiny vial on the corner of her desk. “The blood you ingest merely prepares you to properly serve our mistress. The amount in that vial is roughly equal to what I have given Skare. It will place you on more or less equal footing, though he will be unaware of it.”
Interesting. That would allow her to continue to play a subservient role, while seeking to turn the tables both on Skare, and later Talifax. “You have to know I’m planning on betraying you. I don’t understand why you’d offer me still more power. Doesn’t that make me a bigger threat?”
“Not to me.” Talifax’s tone suggested he was amused. “This vial represents more than simple power. It binds your fate to me, and to our mistress.”
“How so?” Jolene slowly lifted the vial. It took everything she had not to instantly upend the contents into her mouth.
“Nefarius is not a tolerant goddess,” Talifax explained. “Other gods know this, and know that they are fodder. They will destroy anyone and anything that bears her touch, for they realize that if they do not, sooner or later they will be devoured.”
Jolene realized the extent of her folly in accepting the original gift. Nefarius had enemies across the sector. Krox. The Shayans. Ternus. And who knew who else. She could have aligned herself with any one of them, but now that choice was denied her. A simple, magical scan would reveal she was linked to their enemies, and they’d never believe anything she said about wanting to help them.
“It seems I have little choice then.” Jolene upended the vial, and relaxed back into her chair as the tide of dark power surged through her, changing her.
“Yes,” Talifax admitted, his voice distant. “There was only ever one inevitable outcome. You belong to her now, as we all do.”
26
Desperate Measures
Aran dropped the tablet into his cup, and gave an eager sigh when it began to hiss and bubble. The smell of coffee wafted up, and the cup warmed in his hands. He took it over to the conference room table, and sat down near Crewes.
It wasn’t any colder in the depths, but somehow it always felt as if it were. People bundled up more, and hot beverages were huddled over.
“Where are Bord and Kezia?” he asked as he took his first wonderful sip. Hopefully the caffeine kept him moving through the entire meeting. After that, he’d finally get a little sleep.
“Do you really want to know?” Crewes elbowed him and gave a chuckle. “They ain’t had time to be a couple, and this is the last break we’re gonna get before we’re in the thick of it.”
“Yeah, you’re right, they should get what downtime they can.” He took another sip, and found himself smiling. Bord and Kez finding each other amidst the chaos was proof that good things could survive, even when everything looked dire.
Davidson and several officers Aran didn’t recognize threaded into the room and took up seats on the opposite side of the conference room table. Several carried thin map screens—sort of like translucent scry-screens—so people could see them from all directions. He rather liked the invention.
They set them up on the table, and pressed some of the buttons at the base. The maps sprang to life, showing a grey-green world. A series of tagged assets floated in orbit on one screen, while another showed the situation on the southern continent, where the Krox had broken through.
Angry red patches covered many of the cities on that continent, but the heaviest concentration all surrounded a relatively isolated area in a patch of mountains. That seemed odd, unless whatever that target was had immense strategic value. A command bunker for the world’s leadership, maybe?
“Thank you for coming,” Davidson began once the last map screen had been set up. “I was hoping that we might get your opinion on the tactical situation, and see if we can’t come up with a plan on our arrival.”
A woman in her early sixties stepped up next to Davidson. Her hair was pulled into a severe bun, and her uniform was immaculate. Her drawl was thicker than most he’d heard, “We’ll stand alone, just like we always have. Truth told, we expected those arrogant slits to back out.”
“Those arrogant slits,” Ree growled from the doorway, “risked everything to be here. You called a tactical meeting and didn’t include me?”
Davidson looked like a binder who’d just cast his last spell. “I apologize, Master Reekala.” He gave her a low, graceful bow. Not the sort of thing Aran was used to seeing Davidson do. “It was a gross oversight on my part. We’re grateful to have you here, and I’d love to get your opinion on the Krox’s defensive posture.”
Ree seemed mollified. She held her tongue at least, as she stalked over to stand next to Aran. He nodded a greeting, which she didn’t return. She’d been even more surly than usual,
and this time he couldn’t blame her. He didn’t really understand what she’d given up. He understood intellectually that he’d lost his home, but the mind-wipe meant he didn’t really remember it. She remembered everything she’d sacrificed.
“It looks like the Krox haven’t secured orbital superiority. Why?” Ree leaned in close to one of the maps. She studied the cluster of green tags Aran assumed must correspond to the orbital stations. “As long as you have these, they can never conquer the planet.”
“They’re not here to conquer,” Aran observed. “They ignored the orbital defenses so they could raze the planet. If they keep the stations pinned in place, it won’t matter if they never take them. They kill every person on your world, and then they leave.”
“The stations would end up guarding a tomb.” Davidson exhaled a long breath and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “I don’t see how we can stop them. We need to beat them on the ground, but our forces aren’t equipped to deal with the Krox, not in those numbers.”
“What kind of defenses do you have on the ground, around this place?” Aran tapped the map to indicate the concentration of Krox in the mountains. “And what are they after?”
“That’s Fort Crockett. It’s where our military leadership would retreat in the event of an invasion. It’s equipped with our best tech, and the best magical defenses the Inurans were willing to sell. It’s virtually impregnable, even to the Krox.”
“Nothing is impregnable,” Ree said. She moved over to inspect the map. “The Krox can teleport. They can disintegrate walls. Somehow, they will get inside.”
Aran agreed, but saw no reason to drive the point home. “The fact that they’ve some sort of magical defenses is reassuring. It might not be sufficient to save them, but it could give us enough time to reach them, at least.” Aran studied the map. “Assuming they do make it in, what will the Krox face inside?”
“Well trained Marines with our most updated hardware, but very little in the way of magic or magical defenses.” Davidson shook his head. “We’ve got measures in place to detect binders or other casters, and those work great to keep a single binder from invading. But against these kind of numbers? All we can do is throw men at it. And, as you can see, that’s not working here. The Krox have isolated Fort Crockett.”
“And they’re keeping your orbital forces busy, so you can’t relieve them.” Aran frowned. “Give it to me straight, Davidson. How important is that place? If the Krox take it, will your people keep fighting?”
“It’s not a matter of losing our leadership.” Davidson met Aran’s gaze through the map, the glow painting his face scarlet. “That bunker controls all of our automated hardware. We’re talking drones, tank busters, and most importantly, nukes. If they get that place, they could carpet bomb the planet, and use our own ordnance to do it.”
“Gods,” Aran breathed, “and they’d lose nothing. The Wyrms don’t care about radiation, and irradiated corpses make great shock troops to use when they push Ternus directly. If we lose New Texas, they’ll use it as a staging ground to take your capital.”
“There only seems to be one real solution,” Ree interjected. “You need to convince your command structure to sacrifice themselves. They can ground the explosion right over their facility. That will prevent the Krox from gaining control, and wipe out a significant portion of their current forces.”
“Do you have any feelings at all?” Davidson snapped. He stabbed the map with his finger, and his drawl was thicker than usual when he spoke again. “We ain’t got much arable land on this planet. This ain’t Shaya. That plain, there—that’s our breadbasket. It’s downwind of the place you want to nuke. If we did this, our world would never recover. Even if we won, we’re talking famine until we could secure enough food from Colony 3. If Voria’s right about war on Ternus, then the capital is going to be snaking every last shipment. My people would die en masse.”
“And that’s better than letting the enemy carpet bomb the whole planet?” Ree shot back. Aran knew her well enough to know she’d never back down from a confrontation like this. Not if her pride was on the line.
“Respectfully,” Aran interrupted. “Ree, you haven’t fought the Krox. I have. They’re not just after a military victory here. They want to crush morale. Davidson, if the Ternus leadership on this world commits suicide, how will Ternus react? How will the average citizens of your world deal with loss like that?”
“Shit.” Davidson frowned. “Yeah, I see what you mean. We’re an independent lot. If you take away our leadership, we’ll break into a bunch of individual factions. Every faction will be focused on protecting their own territory. Easy pickings for the Krox. So what the depths do we do then?”
“The only thing we can.” Aran touched Fort Crockett on the map. “You insert my company in there, and we keep those people alive until your people get us some help. As long as that facility survives, the Krox have no choice but to deal with it. We keep them pinned long enough for reinforcements to arrive.”
“That’s suicide,” Ree protested. “You’ll never survive against that kind of enemy force. They must have dozens of binders, and countless troops.”
“I’ll need a map of Fort Crockett so I can start planning defenses.” Aran spoke as if Ree hadn’t. “Ree’s squadron can support the Hunter’s insertion run. You get us into low atmosphere, and let me do the rest.”
Davidson gave a low whistle. “Man, you are even crazier than I thought. I’ll get my people moving.”
27
Unlikely Allies
Now that they had a plan, and that plan required the aid of every resource he could muster, Aran decided to deal with the thing he’d been most dreading since leaving Shaya. He needed to break the news about Rhea to Kheross. He briefly considered bringing Crewes, and possibly Ree. That sent the wrong message, though. It showed fear, and suggested Aran needed the backup.
Worse, it showed a lack of trust.
That made the decision for him. Aran decided to go alone, risky or not. He threaded a weary path through the Hunter’s narrow corridors, once again missing the spacious layout of the Talon. Which made him think of Nara. Which made him focus instead on the present, to prevent dealing with bullshit emotions. Emotions were stupid.
The area outside the brig was deserted, except for the pair of Marines guarding the doorway. They gave a Ternus salute as he approached, and Aran instinctively answered it with a Confederate version. Did that fit anymore?
He walked into the brig and over to the only occupied cell. Kheross sat on the bench with one knee pulled up to his chest. He oozed relaxed arrogance. A predator in its lair.
“Have you finally encountered a threat that requires my strength?” Kheross gave a sharp smile. “I knew you’d come calling, but I didn’t think it would happen this quickly.”
“Yes, but I’m not here to release you.” Aran rested a hand on Narlifex, and noted that Kheross’s eyes flicked down. Good. “I have news, and you aren’t going to like it. I’m asking you to remain calm, and hear me out.”
“Oh I’m going to love this, aren’t I?” The deep purple in his eyes flared, and the energy in Aran’s chest sang out in answer. He didn’t like the reminder of their shared power.
“Rhea isn’t aboard,” Aran began, “Eros, the Tender, refused to release her after they finished the cleansing ritual. She’s in enforced, magical slumber.” He left out that her mind was probably being delved by Eros’s most powerful mages, as they attempted to extract every bit of her memory to learn if she was truly what she appeared to be.
Kheross eyed him calmly. “And you expect me to rage? You expect me to tear apart this cell, and then this ship—is that it?” He rose slowly to his feet and approached the bars. “I note that you came alone, despite knowing these bars aren’t really an impediment. Why, if you thought I might fly into a berserker rage?”
“Because I need you,” Aran admitted, as much to himself as to Kheross. “We’re walking into a fight that we’re unlikely
to walk out of, and I can either leave you locked up here, or I can trust an enemy to preserve his own skin. The thing is, Kheross, I don’t know you. I don’t know what motivates you or what you want. And that makes it really difficult to trust you.”
“Of course it does. You are a fool if you ever trust me.” Kheross gave a languid smile. “Void is cold, Outrider. It is eternal. It is patient. Slowly, star by star, it is draining the universe of all life. All heat. All light. And I am of the void. You know what it is I mean. You have been touched by it.”
“Not in the same way you have,” Aran said. “Void is one of many aspects I use. A tool, no more or less important than any other. It certainly doesn’t dominate me the way it does you.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps you don’t realize it yet. Void is insidious.” Kheross laughed, and slowly returned to his bench. “So you’ve come to ask if I’ll help in this battle? Tell me of this conflict.”
“The Krox have a fleet in orbit around our target,” he explained. “They’re pounding a facility in the mountains. We’re going to run their blockade, and insert our team into that facility. I want you to use your Wyrm form to help us get in, and then stick around to help the defenders survive for as long as we can.”
“A last stand?” Kheross raised an eyebrow.
“A holding action,” Aran corrected. “We will receive reinforcements from Ternus. All we have to do is hold out for a few days.”
Kheross gave a broad smile. “So long as I have a chance to kill Krox’s progeny.”
28
Stipulation
Aran tapped the final void sigil, and the scry-screen showed a sharp, purple Fissure veining across the black. On the other side lay stars, and light, and life. All around him Aran noticed sighs of relief, from Crewes and from Bord. Nearly a full week in the depths had weighed heavily on all of them.
