by Chris Fox
Aran moved to the opposite side of the table, and the rest of the company followed.
Crewes was the first to reach the table. “Sir, if I sit in this thing it’ll get smoked. Like, even outside my armor it wouldn’t be good for this chair.”
Aran agreed. “Noted. I’ll take care of it.”
Aran reached for the well of air in his chest, and drew enough to create a tendril for each member of the company, Tharn included. He scooped them up and set them in chairs molded to fit them. Weaving so many would have been taxing, once. Since meeting Virkonna it was trivial.
“You’re in the wrong line of work, sir.” Crewes cradled his hands behind his head as he settled into the translucent chair. “I could get used to this.”
“You and me both, sir.” Kezia leaned back. “It’s almost like we’re gonna get five minutes of R&R before the world starts blowing up again.”
Nervous laugher echoed up from the audience, and Kezia froze self-consciously, as if suddenly remembering they were all staring at her.
Bord hopped to his feet, and thrust an armored gauntlet at the audience. “You think you can laugh at my lady? She’s a proper hero, and you’d best show her the respect she deserves. You keep it up and I’ll turn the lot of you into frogs. See if I don’t. I’m a powerful mage.” He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “They don’t got no idea what you can do with spells, I figure. I bet they’ll buy it.”
“Captain Aran.” A handsome dark-haired man in his early twenties set down his glass and rose from the other side of the table. The man wore a black suit with a white shirt and black tie, of the sort their businessmen seemed to love. His hair was artfully sculpted with some sort of hair product, and had probably taken hours to perfect. The man offered a hand, and offered a plastic smile. “I’m Governor Austin, and on behalf of my people I would like to thank you for your heroic actions on New Texas. Countless people owe you their lives.” The smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Staged, like everything else. If anything, Aran sensed animosity in the man. Why, though?
Aran refrained from pointing out that it was actually Voria who’d saved the planet, and accepted the handshake with a plastic smile of his own. The custom was growing on him, mostly as a result of his time spent with Davidson. There’d been a lot of that on the trip from New Texas, and that was going to be sorely missed. Davidson was still the only officer he’d met, in any military, that he could relax around.
“Thank you, Governor.” Aran released his hand and returned to his improvised chair. “Everyone involved in this war, at every level, had a hand in pushing back the Krox. If not for the combined efforts of all involved, I don’t think I’d be standing here today. Ternus should be proud.”
The other man cleared his throat, then gave Aran a respectful nod. “Captain. I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Fleet Admiral Kerr. We met briefly at Marid, though in your defense you were otherwise occupied.”
“Yes, freeing Drakkon, but I still remember you, Admiral.” Aran offered a tight confederate salute. Kerr returned it.
The governor returned to his seat and looked as if he were about to say something when an aide with a device clipped to his ear ran over and bent to whisper something urgent.
The governor paled, and then turned to Tharn. His face went splotchy, and his amicable expression turned ugly. “Turn those things off. Now. NOW!” He rose to his feet and rounded on the film crews, who seemed unsure how to respond, at first.
Tharn cocked her head quizzically, but after a moment the silver-haired reporter waved a hand and the lights on the drones died. They rose into the air, and the stage lights dimmed enough that Aran could see the confused faces in the audience.
“Why did I just terminate a sector-wide feed, Governor?” Tharn demanded. Elegantly, of course. She raised a hand to straighten her bun, the silver curls immaculate under the lights.
“Because I told you to, Tharn,” the governor snarled. “I’ve just received word that a second sun has appeared in our system.” The governor rose shakily to his feet, and his hands were shaking as he spun toward the aide. “Get me a viewscreen. What the blazes is happening out there? I need answers, people.”
The aide seemed used to the abuse, and didn’t react as he touched the device on his ear, triggering a large holographic sphere in the center of the table’s U. A representation of the Ternus system burst into sudden clarity, complete with every station and every ship tagged in real time. The bulk of those defenses were, quite naturally, arrayed around the planet’s umbral shadow, where most foes would appear.
That left the Ternus defenders totally unprepared for the blazing star that had appeared near the planet’s nadir. That star dwarfed the planet, but Aran sensed that the size wasn’t the true threat. It wasn’t comprised of radioactive material, or whatever stars were made of. No, this thing was comprised of pure magic, most of it spirit. More than existed anywhere in the sector, so far as he knew.
“That’s no star,” he muttered, then rose to his feet. “That’s a god, an elder one. If I had to guess? We’re looking at Krox. Governor, your planet is about to be assaulted. You need to evacuate everyone you can. Now.”
It was far too late.
Tremendous magic built up somewhere in the distance, endless oceans of incredible power. Not spirit, as he expected, but earth. He had no idea what the spell did, but sensing that much power made Aran suddenly understand why Neith had hidden herself away, and why Virkonna had chosen what amounted to a voluntary coma.
Krox’s power dwarfed them all.
2
Gravity
Nebiat appeared in the sky over Ternus, the planet and its moons rotating beneath her. They were far smaller than she, their proportions about what one would expect when considered next to a star. Her arrival immediately altered the attitude of every satellite, every ship, and even the planet itself.
Those closest to her were drawn in by her gravity, disappearing into the roiling, white mass that comprised her body. Their memories, and thoughts, and even atoms were added to hers, strengthening her the tiniest bit.
The ships fortunate enough to be closer to the planet were not immediately pulled in, and many were already beginning to react to her arrival. She realized that with her senses she could perceive the face of every individual citizen on the world below. She saw the first few, a minority certainly, look up into the sky and notice a second sun suddenly appear.
Many were too self-absorbed to realize there’d been a change. The distracted fools were lost in one form of entertainment or another, and couldn’t be troubled to look out a window. They would go to their deaths oblivious.
Wait. Do not destroy this world. Krox cautioned.
That took Nebiat aback, so much so that she abandoned the spell she’d been about to cast. We came here specifically to destroy the capital of my enemies, to show them the kind of power they are dealing with. That was YOUR suggestion, remember?
I did not advise you to destroy this world. Krox countered. I advised you to make them fear you. Destroying this world will do that, but it will also limit their viable responses. They will know that you intend their obliteration, and they will have no choice but to band together and resist. That will breed the possibility of our defeat. Instead, you must show them a fate worse than death, and then show them that their own survival is possible if they abandon their allies.
Nebiat begrudgingly admitted, internally at least, that it made sense. She refused to give the god the satisfaction, though she wasn’t certain he was even capable of experiencing that sort of emotion.
Very well. I will deny my enemy this world, but allow some of their citizens to flee, and to spread word of what happened here.
Nebiat drew deeply from the well of earth she’d stolen from the Earthmother. She concentrated on the world below, and felt every atom making up its structure. Like most worlds, the core was comprised of molten rock covered by a thick outer crust, also of rock.
She focused on
that rock, and willed it to become much more dense. Nebiat began with the iron, already dense, and made it more so. She continued outward with each mineral she encountered, replicating the process until she reached the planet’s crust.
Silver, gold, granite, marble, and a hundred other substances grew increasingly dense, the entire planet thickening and hardening over the course of a few moments. The spell’s effects were very nearly instantaneous, at least from the perception of the poor fools living on the rock below.
Her work had two immediate effects. First, it dramatically increased gravity. Second, and much more insidious, the planet’s core began to cool as the thermal energy was spread through a much greater quantity of matter. In a handful of months that process would strip the planet of its protective magnetic field, though the suddenly unstable orbit would likely prove its undoing long before the magnetic field’s absence could kill them.
Nebiat was completely unprepared for the sudden vacuum as the immensity of earth magic left her. Completing the spell—if something this powerful could even be called a spell any longer—drained nearly all of the earth magic she’d siphoned, plus a good bit of her own reserves.
Divine acts come with a corresponding cost. Krox explained. If you wish to war upon this sector you will need more magic, and you will not find it here. You must devour a Catalyst, one of significant strength.
Nebiat savored a final glance at the doomed enemy capital. Her work was done here, and she could safely tend to other matters while news of the attack spread.
She considered Krox’s words, and realized the deity was right. They needed more magic. It was time to tend to that. She focused on the potent magical song Krox had used to translocate them, then duplicated it.
They left the skies over Ternus, leaving a doomed world in their wake.
3
Run
Aran hesitated only a moment, overwhelmed by the immensity of the magic pouring out of the god and into Ternus. He didn’t need to understand the spell to know what it meant. Ternus was doomed, and so was everyone who tried to fight that thing.
He quickly scanned the room, and saw two other exits. There was no going back the way they’d came, since the Hunter had already left the dock, and probably the system. They had to find another way off the station, and they needed to do it now.
“Governor.” Aran drifted into the air, his spellarmor gleaming under the lights. “Do you have a ship standing by? My company can escort you to safety.”
Austin nodded, then wiped sweat from his forehead. His hands were still shaking, likely from adrenaline, or the increased gravity. “My vessel is docked next to the Talon. Get me there alive, and I’ll give you your ship back.” The governor’s complexion was ashen, and he slowly swayed back and forth. “Kerr, what do we do about that thing? Give me options.”
Kerr rose slowly, his teeth gritted in obvious pain, and fought the increased gravity as he moved to the holo, the blue glow bathing his weathered face. “We do what the captain suggested, and we send a priority one evacuation order, system wide. Anyone able to flee, should. That includes the Hunter.”
The governor directed a withering look at his aide, who seemed to be dealing with the sudden gravity better than either of the others. “Make it happen, Jared. Order every vessel to lift off. Quickly.”
“Right away, sir.” The aide closed his eyes and tapped the device on his ear.
Aran’s stomach lurched as whatever spell Krox had cast reached completion. The magic faded, but the effects of the spell did not.
A final wave of immense gravity pressed down on him, and the air tendril strained to hold up his armor. He could feel his weight increasing, and that of the others. The scream of metal came from all around them as the walls began to twist and buckle.
“This place isn’t designed for this kind of gravity,” Kerr forced out through gritted teeth. “We need to get off this station before it comes apart.”
Panicked screams rang from the audience as they were pressed into their chairs by the suddenly increased gravity. Anyone without significant physical conditioning was in no position to even stand, much less run.
Another deep groan passed through the station, and the hologram showing the system flickered. When it returned it showed a sea of glittering dots falling toward the planet. Horror bloomed as Aran realized that their orbits were rapidly decaying because of the increased gravity.
“Bord,” Aran roared, forcing his armor into the air with a surge of void. “Grab the governor. Kezia, you’re carrying Kerr.” He spun to face Tharn. “Can you lead us to the Talon?”
“B-bay 34,” she managed. She clutched at her chest, and her face began to turn red. She took a single step forward, then started to collapse.
Aran willed his armor across the distance, and caught her just before she hit the deck. “Come on, people. Let’s go.”
Bord wrapped an armored arm around the governor, while Kezia scooped up the fleet admiral.
“That way.” Tharn raised a trembling hand. She was in fantastic shape for a woman her age, but the human body was only designed to withstand so much. “Not far.” Then she relaxed against Aran’s armor, unable to move.
Aran gave the audience one agonized glance, then whirled and zipped up the corridor. He hated triage, and in that moment he finally gained a little more sympathy for Voria. Making decisions that got other people killed sucked, but if someone didn’t make them, then more people ended up dead.
He zipped up the corridor as fast as he thought safe, winging around the few people strong enough to manage a walk. Most were still back in their seats, and Aran knew what that meant. They were dead. All of them. And there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.
He glanced down at Tharn, who’d lost consciousness. He had no way to check her vitals, so he kept moving as quickly as he could. She did not look good. Her skin was pale, and she’d stopped sweating. If she was breathing it was too shallow to make out.
The rest of the company had formed a single line behind him. As they charged up the corridor Tharn had indicated, he began to see berth numbers. Two, four, six. They had a ways to go.
They’d made it another few hundred meters, when the corridor ahead of them buckled. The ceiling caved in, twisting under the weight of the bulkhead above.
Aran extended a hand, and gritted his teeth as he reached for the void in his chest. He pulled up as much of the magic as he dared, and forced it into the wall of metal now blocking their path. It groaned and began to rise, millimeter by millimeter. “Crewes, a little help.”
“On it, sir.” Crewes trotted forward, then ducked nimbly under the gap Aran had created. He planted both hands against the collapsed ceiling, then heaved upward with a yell. After a moment, the metal began to rise. “All right, that’s the way we do it. Get through. Now, people. We got places to be.”
Aran waited for the rest of the company to scramble past Crewes. He wrapped Tharn in a net of air, then flung her gently up the corridor to safety next to Bord and Kezia.
“Hold on, Sergeant.” Aran squared his shoulder, and got ready to charge.
“Oh, I am not gonna like this, am I?” The sergeant winced, and the metal above him groaned ominously.
“No time to argue.” Aran channeled fire to increase his strength, and void to increase his mass. He sprinted forward, and caught Crewes in a flying tackle.
They rolled over and over again down the corridor, sparks flying as their armor scraped the walls. Behind them came a tremendous boom as the corridor collapsed, obscuring their view of the way they’d come.
“Well that sucked.” Crewes climbed to his feet. He was the closest to Tharn, and scooped up the unconscious reporter. “Best get moving.”
“Twenty-four through thirty-six is that way,” Aran read aloud, then started up the corridor. The rest of the squad followed, their pants of exertion loud on the open missive linking their spellarmor.
He zipped past 26, then 30. “Looks like we’re nearly there.�
�
Aran pulled up short next to the airlock, and felt something ease in him, a tension he’d been carrying since Nara had stolen the Talon. There she was, miraculously untouched, sitting in a berth that hadn’t yet come apart. Above her he could see fires burning through the metal, and knew it was going to get worse, quickly.
He cycled the airlock, which groaned in protest as the thick, metal door slid up into the roof. Aran accepted Tharn as Crewes forged past him and moved to stand near the inner airlock controls. They filed inside, then Crewes stabbed the big, red button. The door slid shut behind them, sealing briefly, then the opposite door slid up to reveal the Talon’s familiar blue membrane.
“C-captain,” Tharn gasped. Aran glanced down at the reporter’s face. Her eyes bulged, and a blood vessel burst in her right eye, filling it with blood. She clutched at her chest. “C-can’t breathe.”
The older woman spasmed suddenly, and Aran gently set her on the floor of the airlock. “Hang on, Tharn. We’re almost there. Bord, get over here.”
Bord set Kerr gently against the wall, then moved to Tharn’s side. His face bore uncharacteristic concern. “You just lie back now.” He rested a hand on Tharn’s forehead, and golden energy blazed from his palm. It pulsed into Tharn for several seconds, then ceased.
Tharn’s complexion hadn’t improved, and her eyes fluttered closed again. Bord looked up at Aran, and shook his head. “There’s nothing I can do, Captain. I can fix a cut, or a bruise. Her heart’s giving out, and the rest of her won’t be far behind.”
“Will getting her into the Talon help?” Aran gently picked the reporter up. She was so light.
Bord shook his head, and wiped at some moisture in the corner of his eye. “I don’t think so, sir. The damage is done.”
Aran carried Tharn through the membrane and back aboard his ship for the first time in nearly a month. The Talon’s golden corridors were a welcome sight even in their current circumstances.
