***
“Shields have failed, sir!” the tactical officer yelled, his tail thrashing so hard it was clanking against the bulkhead behind him. “Hull breaches reported on decks five through nine and fifteen through seventeen. Starboard cannons are not respond—”
The Unifier lurched again as another salvo from the Mire cruiser tore into its starboard armor plating. Their engines had been destroyed, their shields had buckled, and Admiral Mothaal was no longer smiling.
“Activate auxiliary systems and use the emergency maneuvering jets to bring us about,” Mothaal ordered. “I want all port guns concentrating fire on that asteroid.”
“It’s over, Admiral,” Minister Drathir said through clenched fangs. “We have to shift back to normal space while we still have the chance.”
Mothaal twisted about in his command seat, his yellow eyes blazing like a solar flare. “Unlike the cowards in the Intelligence Ministry, warriors do not flee at the first sign of resistance. Their shields will not hold forever.”
“Ours are already gone, and the armor plating won’t save us,” Drathir told him. Clearly no one on this ship was used to losing, and their poise was rapidly crumbling. It was unfortunate that their pride had yet to follow. “Shift the ship back to normal space where we can make repairs.”
“And let them escape yet again?” Mothaal snapped back. “We cannot allow this rebellion to continue!”
“The Mire’s time will come, Admiral,” the Widow said softly from her perch by the viewport. “But for now, we must withdraw.”
Mothaal’s burning eyes settled upon her, and his mouth opened as if he intended to spit flame. “I don’t take orders from dreega filth.”
“No, but you do take them from me,” Drathir said, stepping up next to the man. “And so does your crew. Helmsman, activate the astral drive and return us to normal space.”
The young Baalir caste officer glanced once to his commander before his eyes returned to his station. “Yes, Your Excellency. Activating the astral drive.”
Another tremor shuddered across the battleship’s hull, and Drathir glanced down to the status board to see a fresh list of failing systems waiting for him. At this point they had to hope the Mire ship didn’t decide to follow them…
He shook his head in disgust. He hadn’t been alive to witness the destruction of Keledon a century ago, but he’d probably watched the holovids of that triumphant battle a thousand times as a child. And when he’d finally earned enough rank to view the official holorecordings years later, he’d watched those even more. It had been one of the greatest moments in Tarreen history, the final, glorious retribution against the human filth that destroyed the Old Empire.
Today they’d had the chance to eradicate the last legitimate vestige of human power in the galaxy, and they had failed. Two weeks ago, he probably would have blamed the woman standing at his side. He’d fully believed that she was sympathetic to the Mire, that she had been working behind-the-scenes to keep the revolution afloat all these years. But now he knew better. The Widow wanted to squash this insurrection as badly as he did. And despite today’s defeat, they would. He was certain of it.
“This is a mistake,” Mothaal hissed as his claws dug into the side of his chair. “We cannot allow this cancer to endure, even if it means losing the ship. Mark my words, Minister: the Convectorate will come to regret your cowardice.”
Drathir didn’t reply, and a few seconds later the engine status board pinged. The helmsman swung his head back around to face them. “The drive is ready, Your Excellency.”
“Execute.”
The battle vanished with an abrupt flash, and they were once again staring at the infinite void of deep space. The Mire ship did not follow.
“We will destroy them eventually, Minister,” the Widow whispered from his side. “I promise you that.”
“Yes,” Drathir said softly. “We will.”
Epilogue
The twin suns of Velrian Prime rose in near unison like the giant, flaming eyeballs of an angry god peeking over the horizon. The simultaneous sunrise was a remarkable stellar phenomenon that occurred only a few weeks out of every hundred or so years, and in many ways it was an apt metaphor for the Mire’s current situation. The Widow was out there watching somewhere, and sooner or later she would turn her gaze on this mostly dead little planet. Inevitably they would have to pack up and move, and the cycle would continue until each and every one of them was dead.
Or until they were dragged back to the Nidus and scrubbed of every thought and memory, anyway. Given those options, death didn’t seem nearly so bad.
Jenavian Vale sighed and closed her eyes as she dangled her legs off the cliff face. She wanted desperately to reach out with her powers and run through her routine of calming exercises, but of course that was impossible. She had nearly doomed all of these people once, and the moment she so much as telekinetically flicked on a light switch she would be dooming them again.
Somehow Markus had managed to endure four years of intermittent power use, and she was having trouble coping after only a few days. Though to be fair, he’d at least been able to retreat to the safety of New Keledon for an occasional breather. She no longer had that luxury. Now every psychic from the two of them down to the lowliest adept had to be extremely careful about when and how they accessed their abilities. It was infuriating and terrifying at the same time.
Most of all, however, it was humbling. The huntress had become the hunted. The Spider had become the Fly.
“There aren’t many things on this rock I’ll miss,” Markus said as he walked up behind her, “but the sunsets are definitely one of them.”
“Yes,” Jenavian whispered.
He sat down next to her and dangled his own legs off the cliff. “It reminds me a little bit of Typhus, actually.”
“Typhus only had one sun.”
“Yeah, but it had a bunch of moons. The last night we were together two of them were up in the sky. They were glowing so brightly it barely felt like nighttime at all. Do you remember?”
“I wasn’t really paying attention to the sky at the time.”
Markus smiled coyly. “I wasn’t either, but we did take a few breaks. Well, I did, anyway.”
“That part I remember.”
He grunted. “You couldn’t have been that disappointed if you weren’t watching the moons.”
“I wasn’t,” she said. “Not until you left, anyway…even after I said I wouldn’t be going with you.”
“Yeah,” he whispered, his smile fading. “Until then.”
Jenavian let the silence linger for a few seconds before taking in a deep breath and pushing the old memories away. At some point, they were both going to have to get over it. Our pasts are not relevant to our future, the old Spider saying went, and it was perfectly applicable here. Now was as good a time as any to start over.
“How’s your neck?” she asked.
“Fine, as long as I don’t spin around too quickly. Or at all, really. What about your arm?”
She glanced down to the newly-grafted layer of skin. Her psychogenetic regenerative abilities had made the process a lot less painful than it would have been for a normal human, and already it was nearly impossible to tell the difference between her forearms. Still, it itched like crazy.
“Well enough,” Jenavian told him. “We got lucky.”
Markus threw a quick glance back over his shoulder. “A lot of people did. And frankly I’m still shocked how well integration is going so far. Here, at least. Grier was saying they were having some issues on the Lundara base.”
“You mean the one with all the Rakashi and Neyris? I’m shocked.”
He shrugged. “Revask and Tavore just want what’s best for their people, and they’re scared. We all are. We can’t keep this up forever, not with so many. Our supplies aren’t going to last.”
Jenavian nodded. “Then it seems like it’s time for you and I to appropriate some more. Have you come up with any
good targets yet?”
“A few. There are plenty of poorly-protected supply depots nearby, and even the Widow’s reach isn’t infinite. But still…we both know this isn’t a permanent solution. We have to figure out a way to let the Minister’s Conclave know what’s really going on.”
“One crisis at a time. Right now I think it’s more important to find a real safe haven—especially for the Flies. It might be best to keep them separated from the others as much as possible. It should minimize the risks.”
Markus sighed wearily and glanced back out to the sunrise. “I’m just worried about the message that’s going to send to the others. We all need to be on the same side, and ultimately segregation will only calcify the old prejudices.”
“Maybe, but I don’t see any alternative. Just think about Selaris—one little nightmare and half the Convectorate fleet will be on its way to bomb us.”
“I know,” he murmured. “But one crisis at a time, right?”
She smiled ever-so-faintly. “Speaking of which, I guess I should get back to Thexyl and help him with the repairs. He’ll be due for a sleep cycle soon.”
“He’s been up for almost sixty hours straight. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect you didn’t give him enough to do on the Manticore. I think he’s reveling in all this repair work.”
“Kali don’t revel,” Jenavian said mildly. “But I suspect he enjoys having a clear goal and purpose.”
“From what he’s told me, I think he had one before. He’s wanted you to turn away for a long time. He must have a lot of patience.”
“More than I deserved.”
“I guess he and I have a lot in common then,” Markus jibed. “The good news is that I only want to shoot you occasionally now.”
“Interesting,” she said. “I still want to shock you pretty often.”
He snorted and brought himself to his feet. “I’m going to head inside and grab some breakfast. The rumor is that Thexyl managed to fix the extra food processors. I might even be able to synthesize Mira something besides kibble for once.”
“Mira,” Jenavian murmured, frowning. “Mirador?”
Markus smiled. “I figured it was the day that changed my life. Symbolism and all that.”
“You really are hopeless,” she said, turning away in mock disgust. Mostly mock disgust, anyway.
“Maybe,” Markus replied, offering her his hand. “The real question is whether or not you’re willing to be hopeless with me.”
She glanced back over her shoulder to the small encampment and the shielding bubble maintaining a breathable atmosphere. As hard as it was to imagine, most humans still lived in worse conditions than this. They might not have lived in fear of the Widow, but they did live in fear of the Convectorate, the Dowd, and a million other threats that were every bit as nasty. And none of that was going to change unless they fought back.
Together.
“I guess that is the question, isn’t it?” she asked.
Markus nodded. “So what’s your answer?”
Slowly, silently, Jenavian reached up and took his hand.
The Spider and the Fly Page 68
