by J. N. Chaney
“Piper, don’t be rude, darling,” Valerie said.
“It’s not a problem,” Magnus replied, though inwardly, he always got a little nervous around kids. He’d only had one sibling—an older brother—and no cousins.
Magnus knelt and placed his helmet on the floor. “I’m Adonis,” he said, guessing they should start on a first-name basis. He didn’t want to be “Mr. Magnus” to her—that was his father.
“I know.”
“Piper!” Valerie scolded. “Mind your manners.”
“I’m Piper,” she said, holding out her hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, Piper.”
“Pleased to meet you,” she replied, shaking one of Magnus’s fingers. Then, in one quick motion, she let go of his hand, dropped her stuffed animal to the floor, and placed both her palms against Magnus’s cheeks. Magnus almost recoiled; the gesture was so intimate, and he was a stranger after all. But her face held curiosity and delight, and he felt that pulling away might disappoint her. She smiled at him, her hands pressing harder against the sides of his face as his lips smushed together. Magnus looked up to see that Valerie was aghast.
“I was right,” Piper said. “It is you.”
“It’s me?” Magnus asked, looking back at Piper.
“Yes. Of course. You remember, right?” Piper stepped back.
“Remember? I’m sorry, Piper, I don’t—”
“After the explosion. You walked up to me. You looked very scary at first. I thought you were a bad guy. I thought you were going to hurt me. But then you told me everything was going to be okay and took off your helmet.”
“I’m so sorry, Piper. I don’t think I know what you’re talking about.” Magnus was disturbed by her use of the word explosion and even more disturbed by how utterly convinced she was that whatever she was describing had really happened. She spoke as if she believed it—as if she knew it.
“Of course you do,” she replied, withdrawing her hands. “You and I were just there together. You’re so silly.”
“You’ll have to forgive her,” Valerie said, kneeling next to the girl and holding her shoulders. “She’s been having very intense dreams.”
“It wasn’t a dream, Mama. I keep telling you, but you don’t believe me.”
“Sure I do, darling.”
“No,” Piper said wrestling from her mother’s grip and moving beside Magnus. “You don’t believe me. But Adonis does.” She looked into his face, wispy strands of blond hair falling over her blue eyes and freckled nose. “Don’t you, Adonis?”
Magnus hesitated. For some reason, he felt himself wishing Awen was with them. She would know what to say. He looked from Valerie to Darin and back to Piper. “I, uh—”
“But, Adonis,” Piper pleaded, “we were just there. You—you rescued me.”
“I’m sorry, Piper, but I don’t—”
“No one believes me.” Piper reached down for her stuffed animal, spun away from Magnus, and ran around the couches.
“Piper! Come back!” Her mother moved to follow her, but the senator caught her arm. The girl ran down the corridor, her soft footfalls fading away to nothing.
“I’m very sorry for that, Magnus,” the senator said, inviting him to sit back down.
“Yes, she’s been having very vivid dreams as of late,” Valerie added. “We’re not sure why or what they mean. All scans show normal brain activity, but there seems to be…”
Magnus watched as the senator reached for Valerie’s forearm. Not the most loving point of connection when trying to comfort someone. Are they hiding something? Because that sure looks like a reminder not to say too much.
“Seems to be what?” Magnus asked.
“Nothing,” Valerie said, waving him off and placing her hand over her husband’s. “It’s nothing.”
Magnus looked between them. Clearly, she’d been about to share more—wanted to share more. But her husband was stopping her. “If there’s something else going on, you need to tell us. Maybe we can help.”
The senator took a deep breath and looked at his wife then back at Magnus. “Her dreams are… there have been some… manifestations.”
“Manifestations?” Magnus asked, furrowing his brow. “Can you explain?”
“It seems that when she dreams, things happen,” Valerie said. “I woke her up from a dream where she said she was falling into a mountain, reaching for the sides of a bottomless pit. When I woke her up, her fingers were… were…”
“Her fingers were bloody, Lieutenant,” the senator finished. “As if she had just run them across rough granite.”
“And the dream of the explosion she just told you about…” Valerie’s eyes filled with tears. “That was last night.”
“You don’t think it had something to do with your drive-core failure, do you?” Magnus asked, suddenly concerned that maybe these people had lost their minds. Maybe the air was going stale, or there was a containment leak. He knew crazy things could happen in the void.
“We’re not sure, of course,” the senator said. “This is far too speculative to be conclusive. However, our engineer hasn’t been able to assign a cause for the sudden failure.”
Just then, Gilder called over the handheld comm.
“Go ahead, Private,” Magnus said.
“She’s dead, Lieutenant.”
“Excuse me?”
“She’s dead, sir. The drive core, I mean. I know I’m new to my job and all, but even I can tell you that this core is down for the count. Sucked dry.”
“That’s what our engineer said, too, Lieutenant,” the senator said. “I can confirm his findings.”
Magnus spoke back into the radio. “You absolutely sure about that, Private?”
“Sure that it’s never gonna push an electron again, sir,” replied Gilder. “Whatever hit this thing, it isn’t like anything I’ve ever seen. I don’t think I ever even saw a completely depleted core at school. Yet the life support and systems generators are completely intact.”
“Copy that. Come on back.” Magnus looked at the senator. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a floating house without a motor.”
“So it seems.”
“Listen, Senator. I can’t say I know anything about your daughter. That’s above my pay grade. But I do know we can get you to the closest substation, and you’re on your own from there. Is that acceptable with you?”
“Quite so, Lieutenant.” The senator stood and extended his hand. “Thank you.”
“Our pleasure, sir,” Magnus said, shaking it.
“Lieutenant?” came a voice over the handheld comm’s secondary channel. It was the warrant officer.
“Go ahead, Nolan.”
“A ship just jumped out of subspace. Bull Wraith. And it’s got a lock on our position.”
“Republic?” Magnus asked.
“Sir, I—”
“Is it a Republic vessel?”
“I can’t tell, sir.”
“What do you mean, you can’t tell?”
“It’s not broadcasting any designation classifiers and won’t reply to hails. Closing quickly. AI puts it at ninety-eight seconds.”
Splick. This isn’t good. No Republic ship was that hard to get ahold of. The whole thing felt off to him, which meant it was time to leave. And fast.
“Prepare to depart, Nolan. We’ll be there in sixty.”
“What’s happening?” Valerie asked.
“Grab your daughter, and leave everything else,” Magnus ordered. Then he broadcast on the primary channel, “Time to jump, team. Exfil on the double.”
“All souls accounted for,” Dutch yelled to the bridge.
“Detach,” Nolan ordered Rawlson.
“Detaching.” There was a momentary pause, and the ship shuddered. “Ship away, ship away,” Rawlson said.
“Well, would you look at that,” the senator said, peeking his head inside the bridge. Out the starboard window loomed one of the most foreboding heavy armored transports in the galaxy. Bull Wraiths
, while not destroyers, still packed a serious punch for any ship unlucky enough to tangle with one. The black hulk looked more like a battering ram than a starship and boasted two mega-gauss cannons on either side of its nose-forward bridge. Several Titan missile-defense batteries were clustered above and below the hull, while T300 blaster turrets covered the sides.
Beyond weapons capabilities, the ship also had an advanced cargo and rapid delivery system, or ACARD. It was able to stow and deploy everything from munitions and troops to armament and small cruisers faster than most ships could run a startup sequence. It deployed its cargo from four cavities, including one under the bridge, which Magnus always thought looked like a giant maw ready to chomp down on prey. It was commonly said that if the Bull Wraith didn’t scare you, whatever was in it should.
“You gotta give us something, Nolan,” Magnus said.
“Almost ready, sir.”
“That’s not good enough.” He watched the warrant officer finish the start-up sequence, port the two main engine ventricles, and slide his fingers up the dashboard for full engine burn.
“There she is,” Nolan said. “Everyone hold on! Engines ahead, full!”
Magnus and the senator grabbed seat backs as the ship lurched forward. The cockpit rattled, and a loud roar filled the air. While the Sparrow didn’t meet anyone’s definition of comfortable, it was fast, and that was all that mattered at the moment.
“How soon until we can jump?” Magnus asked, yelling above the engines.
“Coordinates almost calculated!” Rawlson replied.
“Jump core standing by!” Gilder added.
“Lock in those coordinates,” Nolan ordered. “We need to be gone yesterday!”
The roar would have been deafening had it lasted any longer. Magnus glanced at Rawlson’s displays and saw that they were pulling away from the Bull Wraith. A small wave of relief filled his chest. But he’d seen far too much action to know that nothing was over until you’d had at least one good meal to commemorate your survival.
“Locked!” Rawlson yelled.
“Jumping!” Nolan exclaimed and slid the secondary throttle fields to full. But nothing happened. No space-time bend, no light stretch—nothing. To make things worse, the engines suddenly started to wind down.
“I need to know what’s going on here, Nolan,” Magnus ordered.
“I don’t know, sir.”
“That’s unacceptable!”
“Jump core off-line,” Rawlson yelled. “Propulsion off-line. Navigation off-line!”
Nolan spun around. “How’s this happening?”
“It’s the other ship, isn’t it, Lieutenant?” the senator said.
Magnus was afraid of this. While the Republic placed certain limitations on its weapons capabilities, particularly hostile long-range ship-to-ship interfacing, non-Republic fleets did not feel the need to be so ethical. No doubt a Luma stipulation or some political jockey who wanted to make everyone feel better about having the deadliest navy in the galaxy. But they weren’t the deadliest navy, at least not anymore. That was the irony of it all. To make the public feel like you were less of a monster, you had to reduce your battle readiness, which always made you more of a target. It was a brutal cycle.
“Well, I think it’s safe to say she ain’t Repub,” Magnus said.
“Sir,” Rawlson said, “we’re being towed in.”
“Can’t throw it off?” Nolan asked.
“Negative, sir.”
“She’s got us right where she wants us.” Magnus turned to the senator. “Sir, I want you and your family in the captain’s quarters. It will be the safest place for you until we have a plan.”
“But, Lieutenant—”
“Sir, your safety is my mission objective. End of story.”
“I understand.”
“Dutch,” Magnus said.
“Yes, Lieutenant.”
“You seem to like that armory.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied.
“Outfit everyone with a blaster then help me fortify the cargo bay for optimal cover.”
“Copy that.”
“All hands,” Magnus said in a full voice, “prepare to be boarded.”
24
For the first time since the attack on the mwadim’s palace, hope had returned to Awen—not enough to dissuade her from leaving the Order but enough to make her see this last thing through. After all, no one in three generations had discovered a new race. And beyond that, she didn’t know of anyone discovering life in another universe.
Awen had her doubts, of course. The whole thing could be a scheme, someone’s idea of a grand joke. But based on how many people had died for this stardrive and the lengths her master—the traitor—had gone to for its acquisition, she very much doubted this was a joke.
A new world in a new universe. She tried to drift off to sleep for the first time in days. Suddenly, all the pain she’d endured felt worth something. It was not all in vain if it meant making the cultural discovery of the century. Maybe even the cultural discovery of the millennium.
She began to wonder what this new planet looked like, what color its star was. Then she wondered if the other universe’s model of physics even behaved like her universe’s. For all she knew, Geronimo Nine would cease to exist the moment it crossed the quantum tunnel’s event horizon.
But that didn’t seem likely. Why go to so much trouble to contact another universe only to invite visitors to their instant deatomization? She opened her eyes in the darkness. A hostile species might do that. Plus, no one would ever survive long enough to report back, so it would be effective. Diabolical, but effective.
“No,” she said out loud and readjusted her pillow. “That’s not going to happen.” At least she hoped it wasn’t. A race advanced enough to communicate beyond the limitations of space-time surely wouldn’t be hell-bent on annihilating extra-local species without even meeting them. Plus, TO-96 seemed to have the physics worked out in that strange head of his—at least in theory.
Awen suddenly felt a wave of guilt that she was not sharing this news with anyone else. The galaxy should know, after all. But who could she contact? Not the Luma, as all communication channels were probably compromised. She wished she could at least speak to Willowood, ask her for advice, maybe even get her to come along. But Awen had already put the elder’s life in grave danger—she wasn’t about to jeopardize her further.
Next, she thought about her parents. She wanted to contact them. But any efforts to do so would probably only put their lives in danger, she concluded with a growing sense of remorse. If she survived this—if they all survived this—Awen would tell her father that pursuing peace beyond Elonia was possible. And necessary.
Awen also wished she could contact Magnus. He would be good to have along on this expedition. As a professional—a trooper—of course. One I can trust. One who I…
She couldn’t bring herself to finish that thought, at a loss for words that would express her feelings about him.
And what do you feel, Awen?
“Gratitude,” she said out loud. “That’s all.” But she knew she was lying to herself.
Awen felt herself sinking deeper into the bed, the covers pulled tight around her chin. Just as the last wave of consciousness overtook her, she wondered if Magnus had read her handwritten note yet. She smiled.
Geronimo Nine entered the Psylon system and made port on Ki Nar Four without incident—Awen’s vomiting aside. Being on the far side of the Omodon quadrant in the Khimere sector, the back-world planet was a longtime haven for the galaxy’s most notorious criminals. Unlike the Dregs, where setting up shop close to the Jujari offered some semblance of protection, Ki Nar Four was for those who truly wanted to disappear from watchful Republic and non-Republic eyes alike. The downside to this, of course, was that Ki Nar Four had its own set of rules and, therefore, its own sets of eyes.
The planet itself was a constantly rupturing sphere of molten lava and charred tectonic plates. Seismic shif
ts would have shattered anything built on the crust, so the first pioneers established small floating cities a few kilometers above the surface. What the class-two terrestrial planet lacked in the more obvious natural resources essential to sustaining life—such as water and biofuel, which had to be imported—it made up for in raw power. The constant release of elemental gases and heat made ideal commodities that not only supported the energy needed to keep large cities hovering in atmosphere but also served as revenue streams for whoever exported them to the rest of the quadrant. The person who controlled the elements controlled the credits. And that was just who Ezo was headed to see.
“I want you with the ship,” Ezo said to Awen as he checked his pistol in the cargo bay.
“Nice try,” Awen replied, moving past him toward the open ramp.
“Whoa, where do you think you’re going? You can’t be seen walking out there.”
“And why not?”
“You’re a Luma. Of all planets in the galaxy, this one hates your kind the most.”
“Do I look like a Luma to you?” Awen said, sweeping her hand over her outfit.
Ezo placed the barrel of his pistol under her necklace and held up the medallion. Awen snatched it away and stuffed it inside her turtleneck.
“It’s still best if you stay here, Awen.”
“I have to admit he’s right,” TO-96 said.
“See?” Ezo raised his palms. “Told you.”
“This is no place for a lady,” the bot continued. “You’ll only draw unnecessary attention to us… well, to Ezo, anyway.”
“To the both of us,” Ezo corrected, looking at the bot. “Why just me?”
“Sir, no one of her caliber has stayed with you for more than a night. I’m afraid that will only serve to—”
“And that’s enough of that,” Ezo said, glaring at the bot. He holstered his pistol and smoothed his leather jacket.
“You might need me,” Awen said.
Ezo laughed. “Need you? If you haven’t noticed, Ezo has gotten along fine without you until now. I think you may be overestimating your importance, Star Queen. Last I knew, it was you who needed us back on Worru.”
