by A. R. Knight
I can’t miss.
The three of us meet in the building’s entryway. Malo’s still flat on the sponge, nerves fried by the heavy stun I delivered not long ago. As such, my war council consists of three: me, wearing robes meant for another species and still weak from a mortal wound barely healed. Viera, the healthiest of us, holds a pair of miners in her hands and stares out the doorway behind me, eternally searching for the next threat.
Then there’s T’Oli, a pearly blob decorated with two eyestalks. Out of any of us, I suppose the Ooblot has the most reason to be here. Made by the Sevora and abandoned by them, T’Oli’s been on a slow path to vengeance since its creation.
“You’re going to take Malo to the shuttle,” I say to T’Oli. I’m not so much standing as leaning on my short spear, the ache in my side sapping strength from my legs. “The two of you need to get away and leap back to Earth.”
“If you think warning the rest of the humans will help them survive,” T’Oli replies. “You are overestimating your species. Any Sevora raid will overtake them.”
“We fought them off last time,” Viera says.
“We were lucky, and the Sevora were distracted by the Vincere’s assault on Vimelia,” T’Oli replies. “With their survival at stake, they won’t play games. They will infiltrate, destabilize, infect and destroy.”
“I preferred it when you weren’t so depressing.”
“That’s why you need to get Malo back.” I steal the conversation. “He’s had Ignos in his head, he knows the Sevora, like you. And our people will follow him.”
Like they followed me, when they needed to.
“We could all go for the shuttle, you know,” Viera says. “We’d have time to get another message off, let that big ugly Kolas and the rest of their lizard friends save Lan and Gar.”
I’ve thought about that option. Followed it to the possible ends - what happens if Kolas doesn’t catch this ship? If the Sevora get away and restart this war that’s been going on for so long?
“There’s a chance to end it here,” I reply. “If we stop them and take this ship, then the Sevora are done. There won’t be another war, another species won’t be lost.”
“Since when did you get so grand?” Viera asks me, but she says the words with a slight smile. “The girl I remember only wanted a part to play in her own tribe.”
“My tribe’s a lot bigger now.”
T’Oli doesn’t put up any more resistance, though the Ooblot does help me break apart some more metal so I have a full-length walking staff to go with my short spear. Viera has her miners, and after we say one last goodbye to Malo, who blinks up at us, Viera and I head off.
Only one place to go, and that’s back towards the central ring. From there we have to get lucky and find where the Oratus are. Then we have to get really lucky and catch the Sevora before they turn Lan and Gar into the deadliest slaves imaginable.
We trade the blue lights of the residential section for the soft gold of the entertainment district, and I try not to pause as we pass by the bodies of the Sevora Flaum.
“Guess nobody’s looking for them yet,” Viera says as we move past. “T’Oli really helped. I could barely move, Kaishi. Without that Ooblot, I wouldn’t have been able to even pull the trigger on this thing.”
“We picked the right sewer to dive in, back then.”
Crossing the entertainment section takes a bit of time, as Viera takes the lead and scouts ahead, while I limp behind her with my staff. Whatever T’Oli used to get me on my feet, it’s definitely not a total miracle. Maybe I should have gone to the shuttle and sent the Ooblot with Viera on the rescue mission.
But I’m not one to send someone else to clean up my own mess.
“Gateway’s shut,” Viera says when I catch up to her on top of the small rise leading back towards the central ring. Like the others, there’s a black nub next to this one that doesn’t react at all when I wave a hand towards it. “Tried that too. Either there’s nobody watching, or they’re content leaving us here.”
“Well, I’m not content staying.”
It doesn’t take a long brainstorm to find a path through the gateway; Viera swiped two miners, but across all the burnt Flaum, there’s several more. We take the extra weapons, stack them against the gateway and get well back. Viera sets up the aim, takes a look at me.
“Ready? Because there’s no more secret mission after this. They’ll know we’re coming.”
“I don’t care.”
Viera laughs. “Liar.”
She’s right, and she shoots straight.
The fireball is loud and short, full of warping metal and the starved crackling of momentary flames with nothing but steel to bite into. The smoke is momentary, a mist whisked away by unseen, unfelt breezes that leaves behind a blasted hole in the center of the gateway.
“These doors don’t stop much, do they?” Viera says.
“Are your heavy doors deep inside your own home?” I reply, then heft my staff and walk forward. “Let’s go. Lan and Gar need us.”
“Yeah, you’ve made that clear,” Viera replies, keeping her miners up and ready. “Just promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“When we save their scaly butts, you’ll get them to admit they needed our help.”
The ring is more ominous when it’s empty. Bright and silver, but all the seeds hanging above look like teeth out of a nightmare. That the vast corridor extends in both directions without end also adds an eerie side, as if we’ve stepped into a mirrored universe where things just go off forever.
“I think we have two options,” I say to Viera as we stare across black-steel floor. “We either try to get into the seed ship’s core and hope we draw their attention, or we try and find which quarter has the Oratus.”
“Or a third,” Viera says, stepping in front of me. “We just start shooting.”
The sound of booted feet on metal clanks towards us from our right, and a trio of Whelk, come slithering around the corner. Two of them have miners, and one bears a pair of what look like short black sticks.
Their momentum carries them into view even as Viera opens fire, blitzing down the first two in a hot second, their gel-like bodies super-heating and bursting into gouts of gooey liquid. The last, with its miner, attempts a scattered retreat, spraying shots that manage to etch a nonsense pattern of burns into the walls around us.
“Don’t shoot it.” I put my hand on Viera’s arm. “What do you bet that thing’s going right where we want to be?”
“I like the way you think, Empress,” Viera replies, and then we’re off.
Or, at least, Viera is. I tell her to go ahead, keep on the Whelk’s trail as I stumble along. I’m not much use in a chase - no idea how good I’d be in a fight either - but my utter uselessness in this momentary encounter prompts me to ditch my short spear for one of the blasted Whelks’ miners. I may not be much of a shot, but I might be able to distract someone long enough for Viera to finish them off.
The Whelk goes halfway around the ring - bypassing one large, closed gateway - before scuttling through a wide open portal leading to someplace new and different. I’m surprised to see, from the ring as I catch up, breathing hard, to Viera that this section isn’t shrouded in dark like the others. It’s even brighter than the ring itself; an almost scalding white.
“Together?” I say to Viera as she gives me a look that speaks volumes about how battle-ready she thinks I am.
“Kaishi, you can stay back,” Viera says. “By my count, there were only a couple dozen Sevora on that ship. We’ve taken out almost half. Maybe more. I can handle this.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Then don’t get me killed, either.”
This time I grab her arm tight, make Viera look at me. “The Oratus are the priority. Not me. You get them out and they’ll make sure the Sevora are finished.”
I search her eyes, catch that lock of increasingly dirty and frayed white hair hanging down over Vi
era’s forehead. Back in the jungle, so long ago, the constant humidity kept Viera’s hair frizzy, at least until she caved and used the same ointments we’d cultivated from plants for years. Now, in the dry, dull air of these ships, it’s almost perfect.
Minus the dirt, the sweat, the scattered flecks of blood and ash.
Viera doesn’t have to reply. A simple, slight nod shows she understands.
24 The Power Station
Cavignum, during Aspicis’ long nights, looks like a frozen fireball expanding into the sky. An orange, roiling glow somehow kept constrained into a mostly perfect sphere. The bottom cuts away into a mammoth structure lit by a glittering army of lights. Skiffs blitz in and out, though Plake hesitates, hovering low and nestled in some vines before adding their own stolen ride to the bunch.
“We can’t just go in,” Plake says. “We don’t have any credentials, and I may be a smooth talker, but the rest of you are going to get us straight up shot.”
“There’s another problem,” Bas says. “We need to let Nobaa and Engee know when to get into the station.”
“Hope you remember the channel they’re listening on,” Agra-Red grumbles. “Cause I don’t. Not after they took everything away from us.”
Sax hisses a laugh. “I’ve had to remember so many codes and coordinates. Don’t worry, Whelk. When we have the diversion created, we’ll be able to send the message.”
“Grand.” Plake, dimly visible in the ambient light, waves a feathered arm up at the skiffs going by. “Any ideas on how we get inside? I’m not going to ask about a diversion because I know your answer’s going to be ‘destroy stuff’.”
“Can we use these?” Bas holds up one of the glimmer worms. “You said they might be batteries?”
“Maybe,” Plake replies, and the Vyphen takes a long look at them. “If nothing else, you could hide beneath them and let me get us inside.”
“Or I could,” Sax offers. “That way, if it goes poorly, I can fight.”
“If you have to fight right away, we’re all dead,” Plake says. “If nobody’s got a better idea, grab some worms and get cozy.”
The cargo skiff isn’t large enough to hold two giant Oratus lying down in it, at least not with any degree of comfort. Sax and Bas have to wrap entirely around each other, fitting arms and legs into any possible cranny, and encircling themselves with their tails. Plake and Agra-Red set about covering the two of them with the glimmer worms, each one hitting Sax like a squishy package of nutrient goop.
Agra-Red, then, squeezes itself down in between some of the worms, resting like a coating between the two Oratus. Whelks don’t quite have Ooblot levels of flexibility, but they’re pretty close. One advantage, Sax notes, is that Agra-Red can’t talk when it’s this spread out.
“Hope you’re all comfy,” Plake says.
Squeezed in the back of the cargo skiff, Sax can only tell what Plake’s doing by the feel of his weight as the skiff drops, thanks to the slight breeze that manages to make it through the layers. He’s not thrilled at being packed away like some piece of, well, cargo, but there didn’t seem to be any alternatives, and—
“Sax,” Bas says to him, and her hiss reminds him that their heads are actually touching. “Are you all right?”
“Perfect,” Sax replies, which is both far from the truth and close enough that it doesn’t matter.
“Good,” Bas says. “It wouldn’t be fair otherwise.”
“What wouldn’t be fair?”
“When it starts? I don’t want to feel like my score doesn’t count, just because you’re hurt.”
It’s been a while since they took a count. Casual missions feel so long ago; when their set dropped into a war zone or a Sevora facility with simple search-and-destroy orders. It’d been easier then to find some extra fun in the carnage. Not so much now, not when the consequences seem so much higher.
Then again, maybe the stakes mean their games are even more important. What would it matter if they came out of this conflict alive, but having lost themselves?
“I’m already winning,” Sax replies. “I took at least seven Flaum down back there. And the Amigga.”
“You didn’t kill the Amigga, the prisoners did.”
“But I—”
“The rules, Sax. I took five Flaum back at the prison. So you have a slight lead, for now.”
“For now.”
The skiff moves slow for a long time, with Plake telling all of them to keep quiet as they pass by another vessel. It’s a dull ride, but Sax isn’t disappointed by the soft moments with Bas. Before, with the Vincere, Sax always felt invincible. That he and Bas would always make it through to the next one.
Now that feeling’s gone, replaced with a grim fatalism. The odds of success are so low, the importance so high, that Sax feels better assuming he’s not going to make it to the end, replacing fear with a macabre determination.
“Coming up on the first gate,” Plake says. “Looks like the landing platforms are beyond. Keep still.”
The skiff slows, then stops.
“Manifest?” announces a squeaky Flaum voice.
“Uh, glimmer worms,” Plake replies.
There’s a moment’s silence, then Sax sees a crawling blue light pass over their cargo area. It’s a slow crawl, detailed.
“You hear about the other prison?” Plake says suddenly, loud.
“What prison?” the Flaum guard replies.
“Back that way, guess the prisoners rebelled?”
“You’re a Vyphen, aren’t you?” the guard says after hesitating. “Pretty strange to see one of you here, and running cargo?”
Plake’s going to ruin it. Sax tenses, ready to burst up from the glimmer worm cover and take out the guard. Not that they’d make it very far after, but dying in a fight would be better than getting gunned down lying in the back of a cart and covered in worms.
“You see what’s going on in the galaxy?” Plake says. “Everywhere’s a mess. At least here, you can get a stable job. Running glimmer worms is a lot better than dying up there.”
That, somehow, gets a laugh from the Flaum. “True. I was with the Vincere for a while, and I thought every day I’d be fodder in another attack. When the chance came to transfer here, I jumped on it.”
The light hovering on their cargo hold clicks off.
“Looks like a good haul,” the guard says. “Head to platform B, drop the worms there.”
“You got it.” Plake gets the skiff moving again, shifting its angle lower and to the right.
“I did not think we’d get through there,” Plake says a minute later. “You all owe me your lives.”
“After we saved you at the prison?” Sax hisses back. “We’re even.”
“Saved me? The Whelk and I were just fine. We didn’t need your claws.”
Sax knows Plake’s playing with him, and he doesn’t bother to reply. The skiff’s slowing down now for the landing, which means their disguises are about to be ruined.
Sax can’t wait.
“There’s guards and staff everywhere,” Plake says. “I have a new plan. Hold on.”
“What?” Sax manages to say as Bas offers a questioning hiss.
Plake sends the skiff suddenly into a tight right slant, and a second later Sax hears a startled squeak followed by the crunch of metal-on-metal collision. Pops sound from their own skiff, which wobbles in the air as microjets try to compensate for their now-non-functioning fellows. The shaky moment gets cut short, though, when Plake throws the skiff forward, bending it into a hard acceleration.
“Cut out, now!” Plake yells.
Sax doesn’t understand, but Bas does. His pair uses her claws to slice at the back of the skiff, breaking apart the thin railing into a shower of sparks. Sax twists his head so he can, for the first time, actually see out the back, and he catches the wide bronzed expanse of the landing platform, the various skiffs alighting on it, and all the people running towards another skiff that’s apparently crashed and is burning away on the
ground.
“Kick!” Bas hisses, and Sax follows her lead, pushing with his talons and scurrying out the back of the skiff.
On the way, with his tail, Sax scoops Agra-Red, pulling the Whelk behind them as they fall the few meters down to the landing pad’s surface. They’ve barely landed when the cargo skiff strikes something behind, bursting into crackling flame. Alarms sound out immediately, though the disastrous procession of events seems to have Cavignum’s guards confused.
Plake, well back from the other three, is already running up to the nearest guards, throwing her feathered self around and exclaiming outrageous threats about the skiff that allegedly hit hers.
“She’s buying us cover,” Bas hisses, though Sax thinks the gouts of smoke and fire are doing a better job than the Vyphen.
A look towards the explosion shows Plake didn’t aim at random either - around the bent, broken wreckage of their skiff is the similarly destroyed shape of a loading gate leading into Cavignum itself. It’s an opening that Sax and Bas are only too happy to take advantage of.
“Carry me?” Agra-Red says as the Oratus turn to move. “I can’t keep up with your giant legs.”
After a derisive snort from Sax, Bas takes the honors, scooping up the Whelk as they sprint towards the door. Sax closes his vents, holds his breath as they dash through the smoking sparks, and then they’re through to the other side.
Into the largest power plant in the galaxy.
They have two objectives - find a way into the base that Nobaa and Engee can access, and then make sure that way is open when the pair of Teven try to make their escape.
“Does Cavignum have a control center?” Sax asks as they dash through the wrecked door and into a wide cargo corridor.
It’s a silver space, metal tweaked and polished to handle the heat extremes possible in what amounts to a giant hole sucking heat from the planet’s core. The temperature inside is plenty warm already, especially compared to the chilly night outside, and the corridor’s ceiling is peppered with holes leading to vents top-side.
