Ixan Legacy Box Set

by Scott Bartlett

  According to the Ixan, he didn’t expect that to happen. He said his theoretical “universal brane cosmology” should also mean physics would remain constant across the universes she visited. Possibly, that had just been his way of convincing her to test the theory. The conversation hadn’t brought her much comfort either way.

  At last, the readings had all been taken, and Fesky instructed the Python’s engine to execute the primary subroutine. After a few long moments, it responded, flitting from universe to universe, working under the assumption Ochrim considered most likely—that the potentially trillions of trajectories that led to the same universe would cluster together. If that was true, it would just be a matter of mapping which “regions” of the path integral corresponded to which universes.

  Easy.

  She tried to watch the visual sensors as the engine worked, but she soon had to stop. The constant flickering—from starlight to no starlight, from the middle of a star system to stranded deep in the void—proved too much for her visual cortex to process.

  So she shut off visual and didn’t bother consulting the other sensors.

  Not for the first time, it occurred to her that if Ochrim’s quantum engine brought her into the middle of a star, or attempted to occupy the same space as a planet, she would die. He’d said that was extremely unlikely, since space tended to be overwhelmingly empty, but she found herself dwelling on it all the same.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the engine stopped, leaving her on the periphery of a star system, in who knew what universe. She checked the elapsed time—fifty-six minutes.

  Why did it stop?

  She waited almost another hour, and she was about to execute the second subroutine when lidar and radar sensors began to populate her display with more data:

  This was the Yclept System. And there was the Vesta, in formation with her battle group over Juktas.

  I’m back.

  It would take her the better part of a day to fly down to meet them, but she wasn’t about to chance traveling through the universes again just to find a closer spot. She began the journey.

  When at last she neared the supercarrier, she sent a transmission request directly to Husher’s com. He answered immediately.

  “Fesky?” Excitement filled his voice.

  “Captain. Is that really you, or did I return to the wrong universe?”

  “I think we’re going to have to operate under the assumption that I’m really me, and you’re really you.”

  “You’re sure this isn’t just a parallel universe, and you’re not your twin?”

  “All I know is that you left the Vesta twelve hours ago, and now you’re back. As long as every parallel Fesky returns to a parallel Husher, then what’s the difference, really?”

  “Thinking about this is making my head hurt.” Fesky said, brushing her talons through her crown feathers.

  “Then why don’t you come aboard. Ochrim’s eager to examine the readings. If it turns out we really did succeed, we’re leaving Yclept again, for longer this time. I’m planning to call on an old connection in Feverfew—the IU won’t like us leaving again, but I intend to let them know about it this time, so they can send more ships here. If my Feverfew connection cooperates, then hopefully we can get the modifications made in time to implement this new tech soon.”

  “Who’s your connection?”

  “Do you remember Calum Ralston?”

  Fesky paused. “Now I’m sure I’m in the right universe.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because the idea that there might be more than one Calum Ralston is too horrific for me to accept.”

  Chapter 37

  Reporting for Duty

  Chief Calum Ralston hobbled into the living room carrying a metal tray in shaking hands. “Want some tea?” he asked in a heavy Scottish accent, placing the tray on a circular table in the center of the room.

  Husher counted the mugs. There weren’t enough for everyone, even leaving out Fesky, whose beak didn’t interface well with mugs.

  “I can’t believe you still live in the same house, Calum,” Husher said, foregoing the tea so everyone else could have some. Everyone able to drink it, anyway.

  Ralston shrugged. “Why change things up? I don’t like change.”

  Fesky laughed, drawing a glare from the veteran. “Sounds kind of odd, coming from the man who helped topple the Commonwealth.”

  Snorting, Ralston said, “That was a bit different, what with them and Darkstream being about to destroy the universe and all, wasn’t it? Anyway, I like change now even less than I did then. That happens when you get older. You’ll see.” Ralston sniffed, then turned his glare on Husher. “Wait a minute. You don’t want me to help take down another government, do you? If that’s why you’re here, you can go fly, you bastards.”

  Tremaine spit his tea back into his mug, having just taken his first sip. That earned him a glare from Ralston, too.

  “Don’t like your tea?” the aging Scot said, volume rising sharply on the last word.

  “No, it’s just—well, it’s ice cold.”

  “What?” Ralston snatched up a mug for himself and took a sip. “Oh,” he said, replacing it on the tray. “Seems I forgot to boil the water.”

  Ochrim, about to drink from his mug, also placed his tea back on the tray, as quickly as he could. Probably, he was trying to be discreet, but Ralston didn’t miss much.

  “No government needs toppling,” Husher said, in an attempt to move things forward. “At least, if one does, we’re not asking for your help in doing it.”

  “That’s a relief,” Ralston spat. “What do you want, then?”

  “We need some pretty major modifications made to the Vesta’s lifeboat. I could file a request with the IGF, and they could seek approval from the IU, but the galaxy would likely be reduced to rubble by the time it got approved. I’m here to ask if there’s anything you can do to speed the process up a bit.”

  “What’s in it for me?’

  Husher fought the urge to fix Ralston with a glare of his own. “Hopefully, the mods will help us beat the Progenitors, and you’ll continue having a galaxy to live in.”

  “Ah. So you’re appealing to my better nature.”

  “We’re appealing to your will to live,” Fesky snapped, her patience having apparently run out. Which isn’t the most surprising development.

  Ralston ignored her. “Well, the veterans we got together to take down President Hurst have kept in touch, for the most part. And a few of them do work in the Feverfew Shipyards. They’re at the end of their careers, of course—a lot of them are overdue for retirement, if you ask me, even though they still choose to work. But they’re high up in the ranks, by now. Might be I can ask them to make something happen.”

  “Thank you,” Husher said.

  “I’m not doing it for you,” Ralston said. “I’m doing it because Senator Bernard would have wanted me to. She spent her career trying to build something, and I’m keen to help preserve what she helped build. It was your father that shot her, so I’m a bit hesitant to help you out at all. But the senator liked you, for some reason. I’ll help you for her.”

  Husher felt his face heating. “My father was under the influence of the Ixa when—”

  Putting up a hand, Ralston said, “Don’t push your luck, Captain. I said I’d help. Now go back to your ship. Leave me with the mods you want done, and I’ll let you know when the arrangements are made.”

  “Very well,” Husher said, standing. The others stood, too. Before they left, he forced himself to speak again: “Thank you, Chief Ralston.”

  Back on the Vesta, he ordered his crew to start making the necessary preparations for the supercarrier to enter dry dock.

  It took the better part of two days to make the arrangements—confirming clearance measures with the dry dock manager, clearing out the compartments that would be affected by the modifications, and a thousand other things. But at last, Husher settled into the comman
d seat to work with Chief Noni to guide the Vesta into dry dock.

  He opened his mouth to give the order to start moving toward the Feverfew Shipyards when the CIC hatch opened and a being entered. The figure was clad in strange, midnight armor with overlapping plates that cascaded downward to its feet, with a broad tail that swept the deck behind it.

  The faceplate, however, was transparent—and the face that stared out at Husher seemed to be engulfed in water.

  “Reporting for duty, Captain,” Ek said.

  Chapter 38

  Face the Music

  Captain Vanessa Harding sat at her desk with her hands clamped to the sides of her head, pulling her features backward as she poured over the reports her implant showed her. As was her habit, she’d had the device project them onto the surface of her desk, which acted as a screen. Scrolling through them was a matter of brushing her finger against the desktop.

  She was responsible for fifty-five ships—keeping them running and feeding their occupants. Morale throughout the mostly civilian fleet had been high after they’d fled Hellebore and made it through Feverfew without the IGF apprehending them. But it hadn’t taken much of drifting aimlessly through depopulated systems for morale to plummet back to the depths it had occupied ever since the Darkstream fleet had returned to the Milky Way.

  We can’t run forever. That was the realization that had quickly swept every ship. With no connections and nowhere to resupply, they had to stay on the run or turn themselves in. Rationing their food across the fleet would last them for three months at most, and the phrase “restricted diet” certainly didn’t do much to cheer anyone up.

  The other problem was that the darkgate network only extended so far. Yes, they’d evaded capture till now, but that would only last as long as the IGF was otherwise occupied. A concerted effort to hunt them down—to corner them in a dead-end system—would work. Vanessa knew that. The IU had apparently developed warp tech since Darkstream had fled the galaxy twenty years ago, which had enabled them to expand well beyond the darkgate network. But she didn’t have access to that tech, and so she was trapped within it.

  An alert told her that Plank, who captained the sole Quatro ship in the fleet, was hailing her. “Plank” was the name he’d chosen back on Eresos, to facilitate communication with humans.

  “Hello, Captain,” Vanessa said, trying not to sound as weary as she felt. She tried to avoid saying “Captain Plank,” since it sounded a bit funny to her.

  “Captain Vanessa Harding,” the Quatro said, the deep timbre of his voice an antidote to any thoughts of humor, just as their situation was. “We walk the path of hopelessness and ruin. We must choose a new one.”

  “Yes,” she said, nodding. “Things do look kind of bleak.”

  “I know nothing of this galaxy, and my ideas are limited for putting the fleet on better footing. But this was your home. Surely you know of an alternative to this predicament.”

  Vanessa hesitated. “I do,” she admitted. “Though it’s not one I’m eager to turn to.”

  “Why not?”

  She sighed. “Not all of Darkstream fled the galaxy. Some employees were fine remaining, and many were low-level enough that they escaped prosecution for the company’s crimes. But even some executives stayed, to face the music. I caught wind of one of those executives back while we were waiting in Hellebore, an old friend. Apparently he did five years in prison, got out, and landed a job with an interstellar shipping company almost right away.”

  “And you believe making contact with your friend might be of some benefit?”

  Slowly, she nodded. “Maybe. He could keep us informed about what’s going on in the galaxy at large—with the IU, and with the war. He might even be able to give us a lead on where we can resupply.” Though I fear the answer to that question is likely to lead down Pirate’s Path. Negotiating with criminals was not something she felt eager to involve tens of thousands of civilians in. That said, I suppose I’m a criminal now, too.

  “I sense your reluctance in this matter,” Plank said.

  “Yes. As far as I know, my friend is working in an office station in the Quince System, which is more populated than it once was. Going there would be very risky. It might be best for me to take a smaller craft, with just a few others. In the meantime, I’d pass command of the fleet to you.”

  “Waiting for your return would be trying for everyone,” the Quatro said. “Especially if it runs longer than expected.”

  “Yes.”

  “But we must do something. This is worth the risk, I think, Captain Vanessa Harding. You have my blessing in this.”

  I was afraid you’d say that. “All right, then. I’ll start preparing for the journey now.”

  Chapter 39

  Spire

  Sitting around for the month it took Feverfew shipwrights to complete the work on the Vesta was one of the hardest things Husher had ever had to do.

  Com drones entered Feverfew almost every day about new systems getting attacked by the Progenitors. They also contained rumors of more arrests made by the IU—of individuals with views they considered harmful to galactic security.

  According to information he’d gleaned from the com drones, the IU had deployed more ships to the Yclept System, to cover for the Vesta leaving. No rebuke had arrived for abandoning his post, either by com drone or otherwise.

  Surely they must know where we are. He supposed the government might just have too much occupying them to bother with reprimanding him right now. That said, he did pilot one of their seven remaining capital starships, and they seemed to have plenty of time to arrest people who held views they found distasteful, so it was strange they hadn’t taken the time to contact him.

  Oh well. Husher certainly wasn’t bored while he waited. The Cybele city council welcomed his help in effecting the necessary repairs after the day of rioting, not to mention relocating citizens whose homes had been affected by the fires, whether scorched or reduced to cinders. Hundreds of crewmembers had volunteered to double up with others in order to make room for displaced citizens in the Vesta’s crew quarters. Far more bunks were offered than were needed, which made Husher quietly swell with pride.

  He wasn’t only waiting on mods, in Feverfew. He’d also ordered all the Vesta’s sensors recalibrated, along with a full hull integrity check, with any damage patched up. At last, the day came when the dry dock manager messaged Husher to inform him that the mods and repairs had all been made. Husher left the Vesta to inspect them, walking the mammoth hold with Fesky, Ochrim, Tremaine, Ayam…and Ek.

  In her new exoskeleton, Ek towered several inches over even Ayam, who was otherwise the tallest among them. To allow her to control it, Ochrim had expanded on the Oculens technology that read brain waves, distributing it throughout the suit’s helmet so that Ek could control it by thinking, in a way she said felt quite natural. So she could communicate, the helmet also featured sophisticated sensors that picked up on sound waves traveling through the water, cleaned them up, and output them as clear speech through speakers on the suit’s exterior.

  But the main reason for developing the suit had been to prevent the space sickness Ek had almost died from, twenty years ago. To do so, Ochrim had filled the suit with water that had high enough salinity for Ek to perpetually float, even as she walked around the Vesta—and now, the shipyards. The suit was a lot closer to her natural environment, and as long as she spent enough time in Ochrim’s lab, performing calisthenic exercises in the large tank there, the Ixan said she should be fine.

  For Husher, the upshot was that now, he would have access to Ek’s keen perception in real-time. He’d already decided to confer the rank of commander on her, which he was sure Keyes would have done twenty years ago if it hadn’t been for the United Human Fleet’s restrictions on nonhuman personnel.

  It felt good to get off the Vesta for a bit, even if only onto another space-locked structure. It felt even better to take in the modifications they’d made to his ship.

 
“Along with topping up our missile arsenal after the engagements in Yclept and Alder, the main modifications were made to the Vesta’s lifeboat,” he told his officers. “In short, she’s not a lifeboat any longer. She’s a detachable craft capable of authentic interdimensional travel, and she’s been fitted with a railgun and missile tubes. She also has a full sensor suite and a warp drive.”

  “I’m all for it, sir,” Tremaine said. “But don’t you think the IU might have a problem with us messing with their lifeboat? They seemed to think it was pretty important for their effort to attract new residents to the starship cities.”

  “I think that ship has basically sailed, Chief. So to speak. The rioting will prevent our city’s population from increasing anytime soon, if you ask me.” Even since reaching Feverfew, Cybele’s population had been plummeting. As far as Husher could tell, everyone who wasn’t a hardline ideologue and who could afford to leave had left. When you added in all the radicals he’d kicked off his ship, that represented a sharp decline. “Besides, the Union has a problem with many things I do. This isn’t too bad, comparatively. Technically, the detachable craft could still be used as a lifeboat. It’ll just be a little more cramped in there, with all the new equipment.”

  “What are you going to name her?” Fesky asked.

  “Actually, I thought I’d leave that job to you,” Husher said. “Since you’re going to be the one to captain her.”

  Fesky’s beak opened and closed, and her feathers stood at attention. “Captain, I…I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything. Come up with a name, and send me some proposals for who you’d like to take as your crew.”

  “I’ll call her Spire. After the homeworld Wingers shared with Fins.” Fesky’s gaze shifted to Ek, who nodded.

  “Very good.” Husher met each officer’s eyes in turn. “A new chapter in this war has just begun.”