by Chris Fox
Every time he’d encountered a vessel that size with a spelldrive he’d felt its strength from kilometers away. He felt nothing from this ship. Absolutely nothing, as if no light, or magical signature could escape.
A hatch on the side opened, and a long metal ramp extended, made from the same oily metal. It attached to the dock with a loud clunk, and a moment later three figures emerged from the hatch. Skare was in the lead, and a little behind him came Governor Austin, and Voria’s mother, Jolene. She didn’t much resemble the major, with a severe sort of beauty and an extremely short haircut.
Austin and Jolene were deep in whispered conversation, and the matriarch gave a soft laugh as they approached.
“Captain!” Skare called from the catwalk leading from the dock to the ship. He gave Aran a friendly smile and waved his slender arm. Aran had the odd impression that the man was genuinely pleased to see him. “Thank you so much for joining us. I know you have pressing duties, but I’m quite proud of our newest technology, and want the opinion of the sector’s greatest warrior.”
Aran froze as the first part of Skare’s plan became clear.
Trap? Narlifex asked
No. Aran thought back, realizing that he didn’t really need to speak to the blade. Right now doing so would be awkward. Or not a lethal one anyway. I think he wants to show the Ternus colonies that we endorse this acquisition. That probably isn’t the extent of it, but it’s definitely a benefit.
He eyed the drones out of the corner of his eye, and noted that nearly a dozen were focused either on Skare, or on him. Damn it. He was still getting used to the idea of cameras, and wished he had more experience with tech. If he had been, or had someone like Pickus been here, the trap would have been clear.
“Skare.” Aran kept his tone neutral, and inclined his head slightly as he stepped onto the bridge. “I’m not sure what your proper title is.”
“Patriarch, but Skare is fine.” He waved dismissively. “Please, we are friends, Captain. Together, you and I are going to help turn the tide against Krox. This vessel is the first step. Please, come inside.”
Aran reluctantly followed Skare up the catwalk, and gave Jolene and the governor a polite smile as he passed them. Neither seemed overly interested in his presence, the governor especially. His attention was all on Jolene, but it didn’t seem to be romantic in nature. He stood like a dog waiting orders from its master. Yet the raw adoration that came along with binding was absent. He didn’t seem to be bound, exactly. So what hold did Jolene have over him?
He’d need to inspect the man’s aura to be sure, something he wasn’t particularly adept at. Nara would be a much better choice, and he briefly regretted not bringing her with him.
Skare led him through a tall, narrow corridor. The walls glowed with their own soft inner light, which grew brighter in patches of sigils that illuminated as they passed. They’d only made it a few meters inside when a wave of nausea boiled up. Aran tried to shake it off and focus on his surroundings.
Everything he saw here could be of use eventually, if they ever had to fight these ships. It was worth a little discomfort.
“Are you feeling all right, Captain?” Skare had reached his apparent destination, a small room that on a much smaller vessel might have been a bridge. There were only three chairs, each linked to its own console. Data in sector common scrolled across each screen, but as the queasiness intensified Aran found it difficult to study them.
He shook his head to clear it. “I’m fine. What purpose does this room serve?”
“This is the nerve center of the ship.” Skare extended his arms and gestured expansively. He shot a smile over his shoulder at Aran. “From here a single person can manage the entire vessel. Almost all functions are automated, and the ship contains a full complement of self-repairing drones to tend to the vessel’s day-to-day needs. Even catastrophic battle damage won’t disable her, and there is no crew to kill, really, save the vessel’s captain. We’re safely ensconced at the heart of the ship, protected by immense magic.”
Sweat beaded across Aran’s forehead, and Narlifex gave an agitated thrum against his hip. The vessel was doing something to him. Probably not quickly, but he definitely wanted to limit the amount of time he spent here. Skare had to know he’d feel it. The move seemed uncharacteristically blunt, even not knowing Skare personally. Inurans were notorious for their clever tactics. It was a message, though Aran still needed to decipher it.
“I don’t see a matrix. Where does the mage pilot from?” Aran walked slowly around the bridge, his uniform growing damp from sweat as the nausea worsened.
He couldn’t see any difference between the consoles, and they seemed interchangeable for controlling the ship.
“Caelendra,” Skare said, speaking to the air around him. “Please display a holographic representation of the ship’s spell matrices.”
An illusion appeared above the center of the room, so that it was visible from all six stations. It bothered Aran that he felt no magical signature, but of course tech didn’t produce any. The hologram showed a row of black tubes, each roughly person-sized.
This time Aran’s sinking feeling had little to do with the nausea.
“When we designed these vessels,” Skare explained cheerfully, “We wanted them to be as independent as possible, for as long as possible. Our stasis tubes allow mages to effectively work while they sleep. Their direct participation isn’t needed to utilize the spellcannon, or even to open a Fissure. The vessel’s pilot controls all magical functions, and the mages merely supply the energy.”
A ringing began in Aran’s ears, and heat rose from Narlifex, like a cat bristling its hackles. He needed to get out of here. “Governor, I apologize, but I think I caught a bug on the surface and I’m really not feeling well. Perhaps we can pick this up another time?”
About two weeks past never, maybe. He was never setting foot in one of these ships again. Unless as a part of a boarding party come to destroy it.
“Of course.” Skare frowned sympathetically, and turned to the governor. “Governor Austin, the captain has given his blessing, as you requested. Shall we depart at 6 am sector standard? That is, as long as everything meets with your approval, Captain?”
Several drones zoomed closer, their lenses whirring as they fought for the best angle to capture his response.
Aran knew he was trapped. He couldn’t protest. Or rather, he could protest and look like an idiot when he couldn’t provide any proof that this ship was anything other than it appeared…a miraculous last chance for Ternus to win the war.
And there it was. Skare was making him sick, and putting him off balance, because he wanted Aran to make a scene. Probably so he could start undermining whatever goodwill Aran had already earned with the Ternus people.
“The ship is impressive, Skare. Let’s hope it lives up your promises.” Aran gave a polite nod, and turned on his heel.
His entire uniform was damp by the time he reached the catwalk, but the instant he left the ship the queasiness abated.
The whole thing felt like a taunt, like Skare was thumbing his nose at Aran, because he knew there was absolutely nothing Aran could do about it. And, of course, Skare had been the picture of politeness for the cameras.
All he’d done was ensure Aran was more wary than ever of those ships. If they were given a full complement of mages, and gods forbid were able to drain a Catalyst, then these abominations might give even a god a run for its money. That was beyond terrifying.
And that put him in an unenviable position, a position he knew would come back to haunt him. He needed those ships to stop Krox, but in the process was handing his enemies a weapon they’d later turn against him.
“Captain,” Skare called after Aran as he reached the docking bay and stepped off the catwalk. He turned and saw the Inuran patriarch poke his head out the battleship’s doorway, “We’ll see you tomorrow, then?”
“Count on it.” Aran turned and started for the Talon’s berth. He was in de
ep now, but had a feeling the only way out was through it.
26
A New Body
Nebiat’s consciousness slowly returned to focus. Krox had explained what torpor was, but she hadn’t really understood it until now. The languid period wasn’t quite sleep, but they lacked any other basis of comparison. It was more like non-awareness of the possibilities streaming out in all directions. A period of relative blindness, during which Nebiat had explored Krox’s memories.
In particular she’d sought battles against other gods. She wanted to understand how such battles were to be conducted, to give her some idea of how to formulate a plan to destroy Shaya. Krox had participated in hundreds of such battles, each separated by centuries, or even millennia. In most he’d grown stronger, though he’d also lost a significant number.
Every battle he’d lost had a commonality.
Yes, Krox agreed. Hubris. In every case I assumed my victory was assured, and placed myself in a vulnerable position. I took risks, and my enemies exploited them. I am curious to see if you repeat my mistakes, or allow prudence to govern your actions.
She realized something terrifying in that moment. Krox didn’t fear any potential fate. He didn’t fear being killed, because a god couldn’t really be killed. He could be dominated. He could even be absorbed. But such an act would only change him, and she knew from his memories that immense boredom was a constant problem. Any change was good.
We have finished absorbing the Heart. What will you do now?
Nebiat didn’t answer. Instead, she concentrated on her physical form, on the roiling magical energy that comprised her body. That was part of the problem. It was so alien, and if she was a god, why did she need to be confined by such things?
She visualized a new form, one that would be uniquely her. At first, she considered making that form a Wyrm to honor her past. “No, no, that’s far too predictable.” If she’d still possessed a mouth she would have smiled.
So far as her enemies knew, Nebiat was dead or in hiding, and Krox was their true enemy. They knew nothing about her survival, and thus Voria wouldn’t know to expect her. She needed to preserve that situation, and that meant creating a form that was different from anything she’d used in the past.
She thought back to one of the gods she’d seen in Krox’s memory, the great Shivan. Shivan appeared as a towering human comprised entirely of stars and nebulae. Such a god would terrify mortals, far more than an amorphous blob of magic ever could.
More and more I value your addition to my mind, Krox rumbled. You understand mortals, and how they perceive their universe. It is unclear to me why the form you are crafting will inspire more fear. Their end comes regardless of our physical form, and all know this—why should this form terrify them more than a star?
Nebiat avoided addressing Krox directly as much as possible, but in this case enjoyed the answer. “You’re right. You don’t understand mortals. You just finished explaining to me that the basis of our power comes from worship. If we want followers, then we must inspire fear, true. But not too much fear. It we are too alien, then mortals will feel nothing but gibbering terror when they behold us. For us to capture their wills, we must be familiar. We must look, at least partially, as they do.”
A pair of arms extended from the main body of the star, and then a pair of legs. After a moment’s thought, a second pair of massive arms extended from the star, and then a neck and head emerged from the top. She reshaped her body, changing her form to resemble the stars, as Shivan had.
Nebiat was happy with what she’d created, but reminded herself that she was after a certain degree of fear. She elongated the eyes on her cosmic face, and removed the mouth. Finally, she grew a half dozen tentacles from the head, mimicking those who’d dragged her father into Krox’s swirling mass.
And you believe this form will be effective in garnering worship? Krox seemed genuinely curious.
“I am positive.” Nebiat was pleased. Finally, she felt as if she had a body again. “When we arrive at Shaya they will know their end has come, and when I magnanimously spare a fragment of their people, they will eagerly bend knee.”
And when will you begin your assault?
Nebiat focused on the swirling clouds of Ifrit clinging to various areas of her new body. They swam across her like schools of fish, basking in her magic and power. They were a potent weapon, but they were not enough. For her to conquer Shaya she still required more troops.
She knew just where to acquire them.
27
Con Job
Voria’s teleport deposited her near the center of the Chamber of the First, atop the small dais Eros had used for his grand speeches. Nearly three dozen men and women clustered around it, most of them more interested in glaring at their neighbors than in staring up at her.
Normally that would have been just fine, as she wasn’t overly fond of the attention. But now she needed their cooperation, or their entire world would be little more than a memory. She needed to be a leader.
That was made doubly difficult by last night’s nightmare, the same she’d been having for days. She saw the death of her world nightly, and, thus far, didn’t have the foggiest idea how she was going to prevent it.
“I’ve come here today,” Voria called, her voice cutting through the bits of chatter still going on. “To perpetrate the greatest con in the history of our people.”
That got their attention. Every gaze swept up at her with rapt attention. Some showed anger. Others shock. A few amusement. But they were all focused now.
“Krox is coming to end our world. He has reclaimed his heart, making him stronger than ever.” She paused for a moment and allowed the implications to sink in. Almost all seemed to realize what that meant. “Now, he will come for us. He is a greater god, and he will crush this world unless we can pull off a miracle.” She licked her lips, and let her eyes roam the audience. “To resist we must have a goddess to oppose their god, and that is exactly what we’re going to do. I am going to perform an investiture of power, taught to me by Shaya herself. Gentlemen, we’re going to elevate me to godhood, so that I can shield our world against Krox.”
Ducius cleared his throat, and attention shifted his way. He stepped forward and lowered a hood to expose thick, white hair framing a troubled face. “Voria, apologies for interrupting. Our previous…animosity is diminished, but you murdered my son. I will not blindly follow you, and I will not participate in pointless deceit. Are you suggesting we create a false god? If so, how will that stop a real one?”
Voria took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly as she composed her answer. “We are, in point of fact, creating a goddess. The investiture is real, and if you doubt that look behind you at the pool.”
She’d been ready for the questions, and was armed with the best evidence she could have hoped for. Shaya had delivered that to her, and it should make convincing them possible.
“Goddess preserve, the pool.” Ducius’s eyes had gone wide, and he dropped to his knees next to it. “There’s so much more magic. Is this…part of the ritual somehow? What have you done, Voria?”
She knelt next to him, and took his hand in hers. Voria held his gaze, and told the truth. “I’ve spoken with her, Ducius. I saw her become a goddess, and I saw her die. She refilled the pool, using her own strength. She offered it to help us defend ourselves. Performing this ritual will require us to drain the rest of her power. That puts this world in terrible danger, I realize. But no more than it already is.”
“And the con?” Ducius released her hand and rose shakily to his feet.
Voria joined him, smoothing her confederate uniform as she rose. She still wasn’t sure why she wore it. “Part of the ritual requires worship. The way Shaya described it was like spiritual currency. My ascension requires convincing our people that I will be powerful enough to stop Krox. If they believe it, then they can provide me with enough strength to defend our world. Krox is powerful, but he has no followers. Theoretically, I will.”
“And if they do not believe?” Ducius’s tone was a bare whisper. The rest of the chamber was silent.
She met his stare, and its gravity. “Then our death is assured. Either we convince our people that we can and will win, or we are definitely doomed to fail. If we succeed, then we have a chance of saving our world, and to be completely forthright, it isn’t a very good chance. You’re aware of what happened to Ternus, Ducius. Krox didn’t just kill their world. He set up a cruel trap that will kill them slowly, over a period of months. It’s like pulling the wings off a fly. And that being is coming for our world.”
Ducius hunched over, and his shoulders trembled. Tears streamed down his face, and his throat worked as he sought words. “You want me to go to a people who know all of your crimes, and you want me to convince them that you’re a goddess strong enough to stop Krox? And if I cannot, all those people will die? It seems we have little choice, then. We succeed, or we lose it all.” He shook his head. “I cannot believe my boy is dead, and I’m helping his murderer become a goddess.”
Several gasps went up throughout the room at that, but Voria raised a hand to quiet them. “No, he’s not wrong. Every word of what he said is true. I am not worthy of being a goddess, but I am what we have, like it or not. You do not have to like me, but if you cannot ensure that our people do, then all of us are doomed.”
Ducius mastered himself, and cleared his throat before speaking. “Very well. We have no choice. You are going to become a goddess, and armed with the righteous strength of the Shayan people you will oppose, and defeat, Krox. We will make him pay for his atrocities, and our united people will gladly help you claim vengeance. And I will go to my grave knowing my son’s soul will never rest because of my actions.”
