Another return to a forum, another crazy idea. In this case, Take Two of 'Kantai Collection In...
A Sea of Stars (Kantai Collection)
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Book 1, Chapter 1: On Strange Shores
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Another return to a forum, another crazy idea. In this case, Take Two of 'Kantai Collection In Spess', after the previous concept sort of fizzled out...as so many ideas tend to do. I owe this post to not a few tireless test readers (you know who you are) who helped to sharpened what little skill and wit I had in putting this down - and also to the rest of you fellows out there who like and write about botes. Thanks for some way or another being an inspiration to me.
This is crossposted on SpaceBattles Forums under the name 'Xena_C', because this handle was taken. Oh well, what to do.
So without further ado, enjoy. Comments welcome! My skin can take it. I think.
=====
Kancolle: A Sea of Stars
Book 1: The Stars Awake
Chapter 1: On Strange Shores
31st July, 2542.
So I've bloody well gone and done it, it seems.
I believe it was the physicist Hououin who once attempted to prove that reality and time might be less akin to a single line, but rather to a veritable profusion of possibilities that could splinter off from the smallest choice of the least important actor.
In short, a terrible theory, but a fascinating thought nonetheless.
It may or may not also have to do with this deliciously reflexive case of schadenfreude I derive from pondering this morsel. That in an infinite number of other worlds running in parallel but differing by a thousand minutiae to ours, twenty five year old Ethel Lefkada Deschantes did not manage to be at the Warwick Convention Centre a week ago at 9.35am sharp for an interview with the Arc-Royal Geographic's representatives, land a place as a correspondent-in-training on the first try-
-and wind up on a shuttle bound for the border right this very moment, joining the growing number of media personnel on Watchpoint Calais!
Ah, Father will be furious.
He has made no secret with his displeasure with regards to the way I have spent my time outside of college classes: joining the Surrey-Vale's Writing Fraternity seems to have frustrated his military sensibilities very much. Strange, then, that he has never made anything but scorn of my desire to go to the border in any capacity at all, let alone this one.
There is little he can do, however. We had a deal. I gave my word: to forget his...excesses. To forget our disagreements about Mother. To study where and what he wished. And in return he gave his: my freedom to go as I will afterward. To write as I will, should I still wish to. Well, I do, and I leave it up to his honor to be gracious about his end of the deal.
I suspect he will leave it in the end, even if he might express his displeasure through a conspicuous lack of financing. Such is the happy fate of the social flag officer. Not that it matters to me, either - I am glad to be free of his leash. I recall that saying from so many centuries ago:
"Do you really want to spend your entire lives praying for longevity? We were born in order to die!"
Yes, a man may live three hundred years if he is fortunate. Four if he is rich. But this is the greatest conflict of our times. Shall we wait till it is over to start living? Surely not!
Even now that moment when my wait ends does not seem so long off anymore, though I can hardly believe that it has only been nine hours of faster than light travel from the time I stepped on board the New Avalon Orbital Elevator to take the shuttle. The windows are sealed -not there would be anything to see at such speeds- but the starmap indicates we are getting close to Tigris Sector's Eregion System, less than an hour away from the area surrounding Calais.
From there we will make landfall on Eridani Station, get briefed, and then move on to the Watchpoint itself: the eye of the storm.
One of many, truthfully, for the stars are too numerous for us to risk making a single place the biggest concentration of human military presence that has ever taken place. But we are close enough: in a few days, Calais will be the starting point of the largest military operation ever to have been undertaken. Forget D-Day, forget Balor Crater. The Retaking of Eregion System is the event of our times! And I will be there to see it in person. I, who have never even been this far from home, ever! What an adventure this shall be!
Now, I will admit it. That truth be told, I do not know if I am ready.
We have all heard the stories. About the struggle that our brave soldiers face on the border beyond the Watchpoints and their extraplanetary defense platforms. Of the horrors of facing a foe with numbers uncounted, of mustering against them to protect the edges of human space to bring us the light of victory. And what victories we have had! Fort Dreslov. Neo Cornwall. Ginaz, and most recently, a sweep of Rusalka System. Have we not all have seen the celebrations, reminiscent of nothing so much as a Roman triumph sans whispering slave?
For man is mortal, but humanity is eternal, and we are mighty amongst the stars. Or are we?
Even now I think to myself, how much of those very many tales were doctored, tailor-made for our consumption? To make us think that we are winning this battle far more than we really are? And if it were so, how much of what I or any other -no matter how eminent- will reach the ears of those I wish to reach?
These are petty fears in the grand scheme of things, I admit. Perhaps even selfish or foolish, and pointless to boot: what am I to do -what can be done- even if I am right?
I do not know the answer to that question. But one thing I do. That I have decided to go, just as I have desired.
To see if this Great Abyssal War is all they've chalked it up to be.
======
The silhouetted man snapped my diary shut with a sigh.
"A most dramatic tale. My condolences, Mr. Deschantes."
I cocked an eyebrow, ignoring the intensifying throbbing in my head, and the urge to make a grab for the tome. Too far away. Or was it? The shadows cast over the desk between us made it hard to tell.
"Condolences for what exactly? The invasion of my privacy? How I sound so very different in person?"
Or my incarceration in a room with a faceless fellow who seemed more interested in reading the last few paragraphs of my diary in an overdramatic voice than in me exactly?
"Come now. There is no need for hostility. I am complimenting you: I do believe you would have made a most eloquent correspondent. Though possibly never a particularly malleable one."
"Past tense. Very encouraging."
I got the distinct sense that he was smirking. And that I'd passed some unspoken test, somehow.
In fact, this guy definitely had some experience with making his body speak for him. He had to, after all - lest he waste the oh-so-intentional positioning of the lights in such a way that nary more than a hint of his features could show at any given time, while I by contrast bathed in molten white agony.
Bright lights and headaches. Simple connection, small courtesies, goddamn it. But maybe that was the point, just as surely as consideration was not the point.
The man nodded.
"Bold, too. Good. All the same, it was a concern that you might not be amenable to our terms."
Oh, so he had terms for me. Wonder what gave that away? The dim, four claustrophobia-inducing walls? The constant dramatic pauses to indicate doublespeak? Or maybe it was the whole 'we are now impressing upon you that we're very official and very important' set-up. Couldn't quite be sure.
"Is there even an opt-out?"
"Yes, there is." the man said. "But we will require you to come with us regardless of your decision."
"Even in a body bag?"
"Oh, no. Nothing of the sort. We would prefer, 'tragically lost in a cruel, senseless Abyssal attack on a civilian convoy'. I am afraid your relatives are not exempt from this necessary misinformation. For now."
There was silence as he regarded me.
"You seem upset, Mr. Deschantes."
"I am."
"Really? You will excuse me for prying, but the impression I got was quite the opposite."
"I said, I am."
I mean, give a man a break here. I saw more of his money and his orders than I did him. When we did meet, we argued. About...well, whatever. But he was still my dad. Ioannis Deschantes was my business, not the business of some suit.
"I see that I misjudged you."
Doubtful. Unless that was how they spelled 'trying to get a rise out of you' in Secret Agency-Speak. I totally fell for it, too.
"However," he continued, "let no one say that we are completely heartless. You will continue to have your rights and privileges should you accept this offer. It can be arranged, and more besides, until such time as your actual status may be divulged. For example, I can also provide answers to some of the burning questions you posed in your diary entry." He paused. "Only…"
"'Kiss me and I'll tell you'?"
"Yes. Among other things. So, what do you say?"
I considered my answer awhile longer than I would usually. I got the distinct sense that after all this time and effort, I must have done something for them to keep me alive, at least for the time being. Which was comforting, because the difference between that and the alternative didn't rise to the dignity of an choice.
"I'll bite. If I'm going to disappear for walking out on you, then better I be a well-informed ghost than not."
Again with that shadow-smirk of his. Yes, I was calling it that from now on if I ever saw it or him again.
"A reasonable decision," the man said, lacing his fingers together. Yeah, savor the victory over the fellow who never had a chance, why don't you. "In truth, before you begin, I have a question myself."
I shrugged. To tell the truth, I was never going to have the upper hand in this conversation. But if he was willing to pretending otherwise, might as well play along.
"Shoot."
"Do you believe in fate, Mr. Deschantes?"
"Not particularly."
"How about irony?"
"I see it at work here, yes."
Again, that sense of having jumped a hoop just about right. That, and the vaguest hint of amusement in his tone.
"An interesting set of beliefs. Well then. Ask away."
"So, first of all, what I asked before in my private notes. We've all heard the stories, but I don't want to hear that. Are we actually winning?"
"This war? No. No, we are not. But neither are we losing. The Abyssals have proved strategically clumsy in battle, and with some...notable exceptions we have thus far been able to outmaneuver them. Our major issue has been in locating the source of their seemingly infinite production lines and cutting them off before these unpleasant exceptions become the norm." He paused, letting that sink in. "We are making progress on that front. Rest assured therefore, that the public is not being lied to."
"Details are need-to-know?"
"Of course."
Come deeper down the rabbit hole and you'll find out, little Alice.
"Then why me? I'm not an soldier of any kind. Or even someone who would know anything about fighting the Abyssals. I'm a journalist-in-training. An intern. A year ago I was in college. Why would you need me?"
"That is quite a few questions at once. I will try to answer them adequately." He leaned forward just a little. "The 31st of July, a day ago. What can you tell me about that?"
"We were en route to Calais when we were hit. How were our losses?"
"Acceptable."
'Acceptable'. God-damned classic Agency Man. Just when I thought we were getting all genial and nice with one another, he had to remind me that he had more important concerns. Like measuring numbers against each other.
Damn him. Damn the war that made this kind of thinking okay.
Damn me for seeing his point at all.
"Your sacrifice will be remembered," he appended.
I tried not to eye him with great suspicion. Emphasis on tried. It was hard to tell when someone was pulling some invisible leash on you or not when their voice was barely distinguishable from tectonic movement.
"'Sacrifice'?" I asked.
Surprise. And a touch of disappointment.
"You do not remember?"
Testing. One, two. Ow.
Nope, headache still there, memory still missing.
"The whole part between then and now? Not at all."
"I see. I was informed that this might be the case. I suppose it falls to me to jog your memory where your own written words have failed." he said, leaning backward with his fingers still steepled. "Now, I admit that this news might be unpleasant, so let me ease you into this. You are an intelligent and sensible man: what do you make of the phrase 'progress thrives in times of conflict'?"
"Periods of warfare, strife and competition in general drives us to innovate and create, rethinking our own approaches and perspectives in the process. We learn from our foes. Sometimes steal from them. But how is this even related to why I'm needed?"
The man allowed the dust of silence to settle for a moment or two. Smugly, I imagined, because how people like him survived without that emotion the world would never know.
"You will see. Or perhaps not. No matter." he said, before a tapping noise came from under the table. "Come in."
A hidden door between the two of us slid open.
The figure who entered was small, and amid the room's size seemed all the tinier for it. A child perhaps, in the teens at most, and most certainly female, if the gait and the sailing double ponytails were to be trusted.
A single light shone down upon-
======
-he suppresses a shiver as the juking and jiving of the transport sends tremors running all across its frame. Any moment now it will break, he thinks, caught in the whipping winds that howl amid that swelling maelstrom of war that is their destination Watchpoint Calais, a perfect storm almost conjured out of thin air.
One moment there had been nothing. Then a thousand Abyssal ships wreathed in myriad-colored flames ethereal, flinging themselves out of the twisting ether of light-speed, had wedged themselves deep into the assembled lines of Terran Alliance ships, their dark tide pushing against the stalwart defenders in desperate ship-to-ship melee for control over the centrepiece and pride of their line.
Even now the attackers are relentless, each one heedless and fearless of the damage they take every side as they try to punch through, but the defenses hold, as they must. Their tiny transport, caught in the middle, cannot retreat now - they are so close now, so close to safe harbor.
Then it happens. A single ship emerges, the womb of eternal night writhing in agony in its wake. A titan, larger by half than the next largest ship on either side, a monstrosity of spasmodic black chitin with a maw as wide open as the gate to the netherworld. On it plows headlong and heedless through friend and foe alike, widening the breach its compatriots have punched through the defense by sheer girth alone as it plunges straight for Calais itself.
Too little and too late is fire redirected at the newcomer, and in a blazing moment of horrified clarity he knows its purpose. No conventional weapon known to man can bring down a Watchpoint by itself. But though it has them, this ship needs no conventional weapons.
It is the weapon, and the collision between the living missile and Calais reverberates even through the silence of space, consuming everything in a blazing sea of white-
-shattering fragments. Confusion. Pain. He rips the seat restraints away and leaps-
-he is floating free, hacking blood and precious stolen air. Every alert clamoring for attention he sees through spiderweb cracks in his helmet's crimson klaxons. Suit damaged, oxygen depleting, thirty five, thirty, twenty five percent. His vision swims in a sea of black fading in and out, in and out. But blissful sleep does not claim him. No, not when he can hear them. Amidst the scattered bones of once proud ships the dead and dying cry out, their screams, every final choking gurgling breath filling his eardrums even as he struggles to block them out.
He surges forward, harried all the way, to the nearest airlock and in a maddened desperate death-grip of bloodied arms he tears the emergency door off its hinges-
-to find nothing. Nothing of use but broken and burnt-out husks of man and machine. He keeps searching. Again he is foiled. And again. And again. And again and again-
-the explosion knocks him aside, smashing him against the wall. His lungs scream from every mere meager breath, but he barely feels it. The screams are closing in, they crush him alive in his suit. They hurt. They hurt. They are a fire. A fire in his arm, in his belly and chest, burning cankered and unquenchable, and through it he sees-
-A circle. Incomprehensible, incomprehensibly ancient; like the droning tongue he cannot name, echoing through space. Cruel; like the flash of unnumbered blades, a hunger to burn the stars. And boundless; drawing everything to itself and drinking them in.
Steel, blood, flesh and bone, but also voices, images, flashing before his eyes. The scent of the sun on the summer breeze. Twin babes wailing their first in unison. A hand in his wading through emerald fields. Lightless winter, wind-swept sands. The reek of alcohol on strobe-light starry walls of roaring guns aflame with sparkling brown eyes sneering defiantly into the frigid cold of space and into the horror of their so many so cold so many eyes gazing windows and mirrors we are as you are as-
-he reaches out and grasps a single spark, a lone light. Then two. Then ten. A hundred. A thousand. They circle and merge in his hands, and then into the quiet gloam of the stars comes a song whistling in on the solar winds: of gulls awakening the sun, of the jeweled sea sighing upon golden shores, of snow-white caps waved and thrown, of hearts swelling with a timeless, ageless pride.
Then without warning it escapes, wisp-fire rushing through the gaps between his fingers-
-and then he is flying, soaring on wings of steel. He no longer hears the slain, their cries drowned by the mighty roar of engines in his left ear, and the momentous crank of swivelling cannon to his right. He is the rising storm, he is one half of its alien pulsing heart as it pulses, his next words welling up within him to bursting-
======
The roaring in my ears was my own. Metal skittered across the ground. Then the voice that had torn forth cracked in my throat, and my face nearly fell forward into the table. Or would have if that desk was still whole, and not a thousands shards shimmering amid the light and the clamour of rushing, crunching footfalls-
"Psionic resonance falling-"
"-peak value one-zero-niner-eight-f-"
"-move to stabilize psionic feedback-"
My head throbbed. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't see. Too many dancing splotches of black. Too much light piercing through the gaps. So bright. Why the hell was it so bright?
"Stabilizing."
Antiseptic mint-fresh stung my nose as many hands grabbed me. Then, the pin-prick of needle against arm. The pain subsided, and with it came silence, blessed silence. From the thoughts. From the light. Yes. That was good. Real good.
Huh. The man was still watching. Well, of course he would.
"H-hey there Mr. Sandman. Think I-" I could barely recognize that groaning, rasping hoarseness as me. "-think I had me a crazy dream back there."
"A jester to the last, I see," the man said. "But I suppose that was the point of having you meet your partner."
Partner? Who was-
Right. Her. Yes. That was it. She'd- what did-
-what was-
-ugh. Couldn't keep..thoughts...
Eyelids...heavy...
"You might need a moment to process your new insights."
Even as silence devoured sound and darkness, light, a last thought came to me.
So he had been bald, after all.
"In the meantime, welcome to Fleet Group Poseidon, Mr. Deschantes."
This is crossposted on SpaceBattles Forums under the name 'Xena_C', because this handle was taken. Oh well, what to do.
So without further ado, enjoy. Comments welcome! My skin can take it. I think.
=====
Kancolle: A Sea of Stars
Book 1: The Stars Awake
Chapter 1: On Strange Shores
31st July, 2542.
So I've bloody well gone and done it, it seems.
I believe it was the physicist Hououin who once attempted to prove that reality and time might be less akin to a single line, but rather to a veritable profusion of possibilities that could splinter off from the smallest choice of the least important actor.
In short, a terrible theory, but a fascinating thought nonetheless.
It may or may not also have to do with this deliciously reflexive case of schadenfreude I derive from pondering this morsel. That in an infinite number of other worlds running in parallel but differing by a thousand minutiae to ours, twenty five year old Ethel Lefkada Deschantes did not manage to be at the Warwick Convention Centre a week ago at 9.35am sharp for an interview with the Arc-Royal Geographic's representatives, land a place as a correspondent-in-training on the first try-
-and wind up on a shuttle bound for the border right this very moment, joining the growing number of media personnel on Watchpoint Calais!
Ah, Father will be furious.
He has made no secret with his displeasure with regards to the way I have spent my time outside of college classes: joining the Surrey-Vale's Writing Fraternity seems to have frustrated his military sensibilities very much. Strange, then, that he has never made anything but scorn of my desire to go to the border in any capacity at all, let alone this one.
There is little he can do, however. We had a deal. I gave my word: to forget his...excesses. To forget our disagreements about Mother. To study where and what he wished. And in return he gave his: my freedom to go as I will afterward. To write as I will, should I still wish to. Well, I do, and I leave it up to his honor to be gracious about his end of the deal.
I suspect he will leave it in the end, even if he might express his displeasure through a conspicuous lack of financing. Such is the happy fate of the social flag officer. Not that it matters to me, either - I am glad to be free of his leash. I recall that saying from so many centuries ago:
"Do you really want to spend your entire lives praying for longevity? We were born in order to die!"
Yes, a man may live three hundred years if he is fortunate. Four if he is rich. But this is the greatest conflict of our times. Shall we wait till it is over to start living? Surely not!
Even now that moment when my wait ends does not seem so long off anymore, though I can hardly believe that it has only been nine hours of faster than light travel from the time I stepped on board the New Avalon Orbital Elevator to take the shuttle. The windows are sealed -not there would be anything to see at such speeds- but the starmap indicates we are getting close to Tigris Sector's Eregion System, less than an hour away from the area surrounding Calais.
From there we will make landfall on Eridani Station, get briefed, and then move on to the Watchpoint itself: the eye of the storm.
One of many, truthfully, for the stars are too numerous for us to risk making a single place the biggest concentration of human military presence that has ever taken place. But we are close enough: in a few days, Calais will be the starting point of the largest military operation ever to have been undertaken. Forget D-Day, forget Balor Crater. The Retaking of Eregion System is the event of our times! And I will be there to see it in person. I, who have never even been this far from home, ever! What an adventure this shall be!
Now, I will admit it. That truth be told, I do not know if I am ready.
We have all heard the stories. About the struggle that our brave soldiers face on the border beyond the Watchpoints and their extraplanetary defense platforms. Of the horrors of facing a foe with numbers uncounted, of mustering against them to protect the edges of human space to bring us the light of victory. And what victories we have had! Fort Dreslov. Neo Cornwall. Ginaz, and most recently, a sweep of Rusalka System. Have we not all have seen the celebrations, reminiscent of nothing so much as a Roman triumph sans whispering slave?
For man is mortal, but humanity is eternal, and we are mighty amongst the stars. Or are we?
Even now I think to myself, how much of those very many tales were doctored, tailor-made for our consumption? To make us think that we are winning this battle far more than we really are? And if it were so, how much of what I or any other -no matter how eminent- will reach the ears of those I wish to reach?
These are petty fears in the grand scheme of things, I admit. Perhaps even selfish or foolish, and pointless to boot: what am I to do -what can be done- even if I am right?
I do not know the answer to that question. But one thing I do. That I have decided to go, just as I have desired.
To see if this Great Abyssal War is all they've chalked it up to be.
======
The silhouetted man snapped my diary shut with a sigh.
"A most dramatic tale. My condolences, Mr. Deschantes."
I cocked an eyebrow, ignoring the intensifying throbbing in my head, and the urge to make a grab for the tome. Too far away. Or was it? The shadows cast over the desk between us made it hard to tell.
"Condolences for what exactly? The invasion of my privacy? How I sound so very different in person?"
Or my incarceration in a room with a faceless fellow who seemed more interested in reading the last few paragraphs of my diary in an overdramatic voice than in me exactly?
"Come now. There is no need for hostility. I am complimenting you: I do believe you would have made a most eloquent correspondent. Though possibly never a particularly malleable one."
"Past tense. Very encouraging."
I got the distinct sense that he was smirking. And that I'd passed some unspoken test, somehow.
In fact, this guy definitely had some experience with making his body speak for him. He had to, after all - lest he waste the oh-so-intentional positioning of the lights in such a way that nary more than a hint of his features could show at any given time, while I by contrast bathed in molten white agony.
Bright lights and headaches. Simple connection, small courtesies, goddamn it. But maybe that was the point, just as surely as consideration was not the point.
The man nodded.
"Bold, too. Good. All the same, it was a concern that you might not be amenable to our terms."
Oh, so he had terms for me. Wonder what gave that away? The dim, four claustrophobia-inducing walls? The constant dramatic pauses to indicate doublespeak? Or maybe it was the whole 'we are now impressing upon you that we're very official and very important' set-up. Couldn't quite be sure.
"Is there even an opt-out?"
"Yes, there is." the man said. "But we will require you to come with us regardless of your decision."
"Even in a body bag?"
"Oh, no. Nothing of the sort. We would prefer, 'tragically lost in a cruel, senseless Abyssal attack on a civilian convoy'. I am afraid your relatives are not exempt from this necessary misinformation. For now."
There was silence as he regarded me.
"You seem upset, Mr. Deschantes."
"I am."
"Really? You will excuse me for prying, but the impression I got was quite the opposite."
"I said, I am."
I mean, give a man a break here. I saw more of his money and his orders than I did him. When we did meet, we argued. About...well, whatever. But he was still my dad. Ioannis Deschantes was my business, not the business of some suit.
"I see that I misjudged you."
Doubtful. Unless that was how they spelled 'trying to get a rise out of you' in Secret Agency-Speak. I totally fell for it, too.
"However," he continued, "let no one say that we are completely heartless. You will continue to have your rights and privileges should you accept this offer. It can be arranged, and more besides, until such time as your actual status may be divulged. For example, I can also provide answers to some of the burning questions you posed in your diary entry." He paused. "Only…"
"'Kiss me and I'll tell you'?"
"Yes. Among other things. So, what do you say?"
I considered my answer awhile longer than I would usually. I got the distinct sense that after all this time and effort, I must have done something for them to keep me alive, at least for the time being. Which was comforting, because the difference between that and the alternative didn't rise to the dignity of an choice.
"I'll bite. If I'm going to disappear for walking out on you, then better I be a well-informed ghost than not."
Again with that shadow-smirk of his. Yes, I was calling it that from now on if I ever saw it or him again.
"A reasonable decision," the man said, lacing his fingers together. Yeah, savor the victory over the fellow who never had a chance, why don't you. "In truth, before you begin, I have a question myself."
I shrugged. To tell the truth, I was never going to have the upper hand in this conversation. But if he was willing to pretending otherwise, might as well play along.
"Shoot."
"Do you believe in fate, Mr. Deschantes?"
"Not particularly."
"How about irony?"
"I see it at work here, yes."
Again, that sense of having jumped a hoop just about right. That, and the vaguest hint of amusement in his tone.
"An interesting set of beliefs. Well then. Ask away."
"So, first of all, what I asked before in my private notes. We've all heard the stories, but I don't want to hear that. Are we actually winning?"
"This war? No. No, we are not. But neither are we losing. The Abyssals have proved strategically clumsy in battle, and with some...notable exceptions we have thus far been able to outmaneuver them. Our major issue has been in locating the source of their seemingly infinite production lines and cutting them off before these unpleasant exceptions become the norm." He paused, letting that sink in. "We are making progress on that front. Rest assured therefore, that the public is not being lied to."
"Details are need-to-know?"
"Of course."
Come deeper down the rabbit hole and you'll find out, little Alice.
"Then why me? I'm not an soldier of any kind. Or even someone who would know anything about fighting the Abyssals. I'm a journalist-in-training. An intern. A year ago I was in college. Why would you need me?"
"That is quite a few questions at once. I will try to answer them adequately." He leaned forward just a little. "The 31st of July, a day ago. What can you tell me about that?"
"We were en route to Calais when we were hit. How were our losses?"
"Acceptable."
'Acceptable'. God-damned classic Agency Man. Just when I thought we were getting all genial and nice with one another, he had to remind me that he had more important concerns. Like measuring numbers against each other.
Damn him. Damn the war that made this kind of thinking okay.
Damn me for seeing his point at all.
"Your sacrifice will be remembered," he appended.
I tried not to eye him with great suspicion. Emphasis on tried. It was hard to tell when someone was pulling some invisible leash on you or not when their voice was barely distinguishable from tectonic movement.
"'Sacrifice'?" I asked.
Surprise. And a touch of disappointment.
"You do not remember?"
Testing. One, two. Ow.
Nope, headache still there, memory still missing.
"The whole part between then and now? Not at all."
"I see. I was informed that this might be the case. I suppose it falls to me to jog your memory where your own written words have failed." he said, leaning backward with his fingers still steepled. "Now, I admit that this news might be unpleasant, so let me ease you into this. You are an intelligent and sensible man: what do you make of the phrase 'progress thrives in times of conflict'?"
"Periods of warfare, strife and competition in general drives us to innovate and create, rethinking our own approaches and perspectives in the process. We learn from our foes. Sometimes steal from them. But how is this even related to why I'm needed?"
The man allowed the dust of silence to settle for a moment or two. Smugly, I imagined, because how people like him survived without that emotion the world would never know.
"You will see. Or perhaps not. No matter." he said, before a tapping noise came from under the table. "Come in."
A hidden door between the two of us slid open.
The figure who entered was small, and amid the room's size seemed all the tinier for it. A child perhaps, in the teens at most, and most certainly female, if the gait and the sailing double ponytails were to be trusted.
A single light shone down upon-
======
-he suppresses a shiver as the juking and jiving of the transport sends tremors running all across its frame. Any moment now it will break, he thinks, caught in the whipping winds that howl amid that swelling maelstrom of war that is their destination Watchpoint Calais, a perfect storm almost conjured out of thin air.
One moment there had been nothing. Then a thousand Abyssal ships wreathed in myriad-colored flames ethereal, flinging themselves out of the twisting ether of light-speed, had wedged themselves deep into the assembled lines of Terran Alliance ships, their dark tide pushing against the stalwart defenders in desperate ship-to-ship melee for control over the centrepiece and pride of their line.
Even now the attackers are relentless, each one heedless and fearless of the damage they take every side as they try to punch through, but the defenses hold, as they must. Their tiny transport, caught in the middle, cannot retreat now - they are so close now, so close to safe harbor.
Then it happens. A single ship emerges, the womb of eternal night writhing in agony in its wake. A titan, larger by half than the next largest ship on either side, a monstrosity of spasmodic black chitin with a maw as wide open as the gate to the netherworld. On it plows headlong and heedless through friend and foe alike, widening the breach its compatriots have punched through the defense by sheer girth alone as it plunges straight for Calais itself.
Too little and too late is fire redirected at the newcomer, and in a blazing moment of horrified clarity he knows its purpose. No conventional weapon known to man can bring down a Watchpoint by itself. But though it has them, this ship needs no conventional weapons.
It is the weapon, and the collision between the living missile and Calais reverberates even through the silence of space, consuming everything in a blazing sea of white-
-shattering fragments. Confusion. Pain. He rips the seat restraints away and leaps-
-he is floating free, hacking blood and precious stolen air. Every alert clamoring for attention he sees through spiderweb cracks in his helmet's crimson klaxons. Suit damaged, oxygen depleting, thirty five, thirty, twenty five percent. His vision swims in a sea of black fading in and out, in and out. But blissful sleep does not claim him. No, not when he can hear them. Amidst the scattered bones of once proud ships the dead and dying cry out, their screams, every final choking gurgling breath filling his eardrums even as he struggles to block them out.
He surges forward, harried all the way, to the nearest airlock and in a maddened desperate death-grip of bloodied arms he tears the emergency door off its hinges-
-to find nothing. Nothing of use but broken and burnt-out husks of man and machine. He keeps searching. Again he is foiled. And again. And again. And again and again-
-the explosion knocks him aside, smashing him against the wall. His lungs scream from every mere meager breath, but he barely feels it. The screams are closing in, they crush him alive in his suit. They hurt. They hurt. They are a fire. A fire in his arm, in his belly and chest, burning cankered and unquenchable, and through it he sees-
-A circle. Incomprehensible, incomprehensibly ancient; like the droning tongue he cannot name, echoing through space. Cruel; like the flash of unnumbered blades, a hunger to burn the stars. And boundless; drawing everything to itself and drinking them in.
Steel, blood, flesh and bone, but also voices, images, flashing before his eyes. The scent of the sun on the summer breeze. Twin babes wailing their first in unison. A hand in his wading through emerald fields. Lightless winter, wind-swept sands. The reek of alcohol on strobe-light starry walls of roaring guns aflame with sparkling brown eyes sneering defiantly into the frigid cold of space and into the horror of their so many so cold so many eyes gazing windows and mirrors we are as you are as-
-he reaches out and grasps a single spark, a lone light. Then two. Then ten. A hundred. A thousand. They circle and merge in his hands, and then into the quiet gloam of the stars comes a song whistling in on the solar winds: of gulls awakening the sun, of the jeweled sea sighing upon golden shores, of snow-white caps waved and thrown, of hearts swelling with a timeless, ageless pride.
Then without warning it escapes, wisp-fire rushing through the gaps between his fingers-
-and then he is flying, soaring on wings of steel. He no longer hears the slain, their cries drowned by the mighty roar of engines in his left ear, and the momentous crank of swivelling cannon to his right. He is the rising storm, he is one half of its alien pulsing heart as it pulses, his next words welling up within him to bursting-
======
The roaring in my ears was my own. Metal skittered across the ground. Then the voice that had torn forth cracked in my throat, and my face nearly fell forward into the table. Or would have if that desk was still whole, and not a thousands shards shimmering amid the light and the clamour of rushing, crunching footfalls-
"Psionic resonance falling-"
"-peak value one-zero-niner-eight-f-"
"-move to stabilize psionic feedback-"
My head throbbed. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't see. Too many dancing splotches of black. Too much light piercing through the gaps. So bright. Why the hell was it so bright?
"Stabilizing."
Antiseptic mint-fresh stung my nose as many hands grabbed me. Then, the pin-prick of needle against arm. The pain subsided, and with it came silence, blessed silence. From the thoughts. From the light. Yes. That was good. Real good.
Huh. The man was still watching. Well, of course he would.
"H-hey there Mr. Sandman. Think I-" I could barely recognize that groaning, rasping hoarseness as me. "-think I had me a crazy dream back there."
"A jester to the last, I see," the man said. "But I suppose that was the point of having you meet your partner."
Partner? Who was-
Right. Her. Yes. That was it. She'd- what did-
-what was-
-ugh. Couldn't keep..thoughts...
Eyelids...heavy...
"You might need a moment to process your new insights."
Even as silence devoured sound and darkness, light, a last thought came to me.
So he had been bald, after all.
"In the meantime, welcome to Fleet Group Poseidon, Mr. Deschantes."
=== To be continued in Chapter 2: Inbound Flight ===
Last edited:
Book 1, Chapter 2: Inbound Flight
- Location
- Little Red Dot
And here's Chapter 2. If anyone was wondering when the shipgirls would show up to justify this being called an AU...
Note that this release schedule does not reflect my actual writing speed. Due to some real-life circumstances I already had quite a few things written out, and as such it was just a matter of doing some continuity correction and editing. I will do my best to update regularly, though.
As always, I hope you enjoy the read. Feel free to tell me why or why not below as well - these things can only help me improve, after all.
======
A Sea of Stars
Book 1: The Stars, Awake
Chapter 2: Inbound Flight
"Ethel..."
Hello?
Yes, hello. You have reached Ethel's Mental Voice Mail. Unfortunately, he is busy resting right now. Please leave a message after the tone - as long as you're not a burglar, a stalker, or automated salesbot. Or an over-enthusiastic partner. Not that he has a specific one in mind, but you know, just a suggestion.
"Ethel!"
Well bugger me silly. People couldn't keep their hands to themselves these days, could they? For a moment I wondered who it was who first standardized the procedure of 'if at first they don't get up, shake, shake, and shake them again'. Because whoever they were, they deserved to hang for this indignity.
Hey, Ethel!
Those two words rang in my head with a force that mere sound could not match, shaking the last vestiges of sleep from it.
"Okay, I'm up, I'm up."
Now far be it from me to claim that a Catha-class military transport craft could be the poster girl for comfort over function. Hell, I'd be downright worried for our future if they were. But a horizontal position plus healthy amounts of legroom meant sleep. Good, sumptuous sleep that had just been cut off in its prime. Rest in peace. Your services shall be fondly remembered, faithful servant.
But first, a quick look around.
Yup. Still strapped snugly into Thirteen B, the ignominious middle seat of three in the next-to-last row of our cabin. It was also on the immediate right of Thirteen A, where a young lady in her mid-teens sat, two dark ponytails spilling over her shoulders as she beamed down at me through deep sea-blue eyes.
Ladies and gentlemen, I present my partner, Suzune 'Suzy' Onjouji. Or if I used the official designation -and believe me I was still a bit torn on using it- TNS Suzukaze, Shiratsuyu-class shipgirl.
Yes, I did just say 'shipgirls'. Ships who were also girls. Or girls who were also ships - not that either formulation helped me sleep better at night. Our timeless tradition of objectifying our material creations had never sat well with me, and this most droll of portmanteaus wasn't helping any.
But then again, had I really expected to be anything but betrayed for hoping against hope that Fleet Group Poseidon was not the nadir of our creativity, after which could only come the inevitable fall?
======
"I'll admit it," I said once I was sure we were again alone - physically speaking, at least. "I'm sort of wishing that injection did knock me out right now."
"Unfortunately," Secret Agent Man continued from the restored comfort of the shadows, "we are on a timetable here. And are we not past the point in history where relaxants necessarily double up as sedatives?"
"Well it's not that. It's not even about the news either."
"Oh?"
"I'm serious. I mean, look, so the apparitions of twentieth century ships that we've given a modern overhaul isn't exactly News at Eleven," I explained. "And the psychic-"
"The word is PSIonic, for Psionic Sensory Interface."
"-the psionic soldiers who help offset the spiritual weight that deploying them occupies on our plane in exchange for cool powers? Definitely worth a whole twelve-episode holonet series on the Geographic. Or a trilogy of films. It would make money, I guarantee it."
"Good to know. But get back on track, Mr. Deschantes."
"Oh. Right. Well, just look at it this way," I continued, "we're already in a war against an enemy of startling contrarieties. Advanced control over faster-than-light travel but simplistic movements, an overwhelming preference for swarm tactics punctuated by moments of strategic brilliance, disgustingly hard to find but prone to engage in headlong charges when discovered. It's not a huge leap from one level of incomprehensible reality to another. Next thing you'll be telling me the apparitions of famous cars have returned as dazzlingly handsome young men."
"...did you Earthbound History?"
"Yes."
"That would explain the specificity. Do go on."
"Yes, so, this isn't strange. None of this is: even our inconsistent naming sense."
If there was a feeling for being transfixed by a bug-eyed stare, this was it.
"Is that what you have beef with?"
"Yes! I mean, come on." I thrust out both arms. "'Shipgirls'. Really?"
"It is a functional name."
"Uh-huh."
"Unconvinced?"
Oh by Jove, this man's a genius.
"Absolutely. Our latest and greatest, the raison d'etre of Fleet Group Poseidon, our first official contact with preternatural abilities not seen in action since Uruk and Balor Crater - and that's what we're calling them?!"
"Would you like to know why?"
No. No, not at all. My nodding means absolutely nothing, good sir, no more than the simmering anger I can feel simmering in you. An insignificant detail really, nor should I expect any story to come of it.
He leaned forward.
"Make no mistake: you cannot know how close we were to choosing some other abomination for a name. I do not claim to speak for all," the man growled, his voice a faultline flatline even as that placid rage towered ever higher with every punctuated word, "but the vocal contest between such names as 'Voidstalkers' and 'The Black Armada', among others, was a most puerile and childish affair. No, Mr. Deschantes. 'Functionality' was our hard-won compromise, and I am grateful for it."
A good few seconds went by in silence.
"Does that answer your question, Mr. Deschantes?"
"Almost."
"Do tell."
"So we made the quantum leap from that to a recursive acronym. How?"
"You would be shocked at how much our collective intelligence rises the less we discuss which aspects of naval weaponry should be appropriate to fetishize, and how."
I take back everything I said about you, bald guy. Those were indeed some rather terrible names, and the people who came up with them should be ashamed.
It could have been worse though. Like, way worse.
I mean, at least no one had come up with 'Flying Dutchwives', right?
=======
And that, kids, was how Grandpa Ethel discovered that a thousand yard stare that you cannot see burns just the same.
Just remembering that made me laugh, almost enough to cause me to forget that I had just been rudely roused by the telepathic equivalent of a reveille loudhailer.
Come on, I asked, trying not to sound as grumpy as I felt, did you really have to shout at me?
Hmmm, no, she thought, but I really, really had something to show you, so I thought this'd be faster!
Suzy, I distinctly remember that we had an agreement about this.
A fine agreement by all accounts; one that took the still-awkward edge off the whole my-thoughts-to-your-thoughts thing, certainly.
'Talk normally, only think the important stuff', right?
Yes, I replied.
Whether we liked it or not, shipgirls and the alternative forms of communication unique to them were still rarities. The psionic one percent if you will. And what was the role of the privileged minority if not to humor our more numerous brethren?
Sure, some of them were making Suzy's dramatic attempts to awaken me the butt of some humor, which was non-ideal even at its most harmless. But better that than to be given a wide berth out of fear.
But this is important!
Suzy protested.
Really?
"So," I said, switching to speech, "what was it you wanted to show me?"
"Is, not was," my partner said with a shake of her head. "It hasn't happened yet."
"Well whatever it is, it better be good."
"Oh, it is! See, I thought I might introduce you to-"
-Suzy's eyes darted toward the windows, then flicked back to me, rank excitement written all them.
"There they are!" She gushed, pointing. "Look! It's Gradivus Base and the Graf Zeppelin!"
"Mmhmm," I noted without looking, knowing full well that it might be taken for boredom.
Which she did, if the disapproving quirk of her lip was anything to go by.
"Eh, what kind of response is that? There's going to be a whole gathering of us here, Ethel." Suzy's eyes were as bright and wide as I'd ever seen them. "Other ships and their partners! We'll live together, train together...just think about it! It'll be so much fun!"
I struggled to suppress a grin. The hope that my sleep hadn't been sacrificed at the altar of mere curiosity had been a naive one, yes, but Suzy almost made up for it by being as good at spreading her plague of cheer as she had been bad at leading me on.
"You do know that we weren't told who we'd be meeting, right?"
"Oh, don't be such a pessimist. Graf is a great start!" Suzy insisted. "Also, did you know she was one of-"
"Our first shipgirls? Yeah."
"Looks it too, doesn't she?"
"Uh-huh."
Let's just say insensate fangirling isn't my jam, girl. But you're free to choose your own way, and I respect that.
"Say, which part do you think looks the best? I reckon it's gotta be the sleek bowline, wouldn't you agree?"
What a man can't respect however is trying to get the unwilling to participate. And on such scandalous topics, too. For shame!
"No comment."
Nor was Ethel Deschantes particularly weak to mid-elevator pitch pouts. They were cute, yes, and certainly useful in a pinch, but those who would be manhandled by such manipulative maneuvers were more malleable souls than I.
"Of course you can't comment," Suzy protested, "you haven't even had a look yet!"
Behold, here lies the Obvious, belaboured to death by DD(SG)-23, TNS Suzukaze on this the 6th of August, 2542. But maintaining the high ground meant constant tilling and terraform, so I did have a look anyway, and my, was it quite the sight.
Graf Zeppelin cruised alongside the hulk of intertwined rock and steel that had once upon a time been the asteroid Gradivus, now turned into one of the Advanced Warfare Research Division's bases of operation. Her sloped lines gleamed in the light of a distant sun, harking back to a time when it was not the breathless night of space but the foaming azure main that opposed progress, her flying smokestacks and flat-top deck testaments to the embryonic days of modern warfare.
Yet it was not the ancient Archimedean propeller or billowing black boiler smoke, but the familiar glowing vents of modern faster-than-light drives nestled in their sterns that kept Graf Zeppelin moving apace.
And looking closely one could espy other spots where the archaic and modern met on uneasy terms: in thin veins of LED lights that reflected differently off steel and superalloy plate, in anti-air turrets flanked by concealed launch tubes, and down sleek bevels of assorted weapons embedded into a profile that knew not the touch of vacuum.
The two were not alone: around them floated a bevy of more modern vessels that had fallen into a loose zig-zag formation with them. In all I counted over two dozen ships, each looking like they had sprung from the pages of a copy of Jane's or from a Sentinels of the Night holoboard, fully armed and ready for war as Pallas Athene might have been.
Looking upon that sight, I began to understand the almost casual air in the Catha, something that had seemed just a little incongruous to me before.
Our recent reverse at Akkad was to be remembered, yes, but only as two one among many that had come before and were yet to come. Indeed I could feel a mere-ness encroaching upon that memory, replaced by the surety that we still possessed no lack of resources or options.
I was certainly not the only one. Most everyone near and even not particularly near a window was stacked up beside one, gawking, pointing and chattering amongst themselves. Well, not that such indirect peer pressure ever had any chance of getting to me, I thought as I turned back to an expectant looking Suzy, one serving of condensed disappointment firmly on the tip of my tongue.
"I correct myself. I meant to say that I won't comment."
"What? Why?"
"Because I have a tendency to say unfortunate things, which should you let them slip during girls' talk at some point shall make my life a masterclass in disproportionate suffering, a legend of agony, a myth to frighten children for generations to come."
"Come on, I would never do that!"
To her credit, Suzy looked genuinely hurt.
"'Never' isn't a word I'd trust you with."
Or anyone else, for that matter. It was just a matter of principle.
"Booooo," my partner jeered, before turning pointedly away from me to face the window. "You're no fun at all."
"Yes. It is I, Sir No-Fun the Joyless at your service, milady," I replied.
Well, that was that. Perhaps now I could catch a bit more shut-eye before-
"My, aren't we chatty?"
-yes, before another interruption. Fool that I am, what was I hoping for?
Not this fellow, certainly. Mr Seat Fourteen A was more toothy smile wearing a head and rough-hewn shoulders than the other way around as he leaned over the seats that separated us, green-field eyes burning bright against sun kissed freckles and matte red hair. He was also deeply tanned; probably from somewhere with sunlight enough to push back against planetary greenhousing. Ulmud came to mind. Miglon and Sharazad, too. Maybe even Venus.
I counted two chevrons on his chest. A corporal, then.
"And who might you-"
I started, only to realize he hadn't been looking at me. Indeed I might as well have been transparent, tangential in all ways to his starry-eyed gaze on my partner.
"Say, you're one of them shipgirls, aren't'cha?"
"'Course! The name's Suzukaze!" She beamed. "But you can call me Suzy, I don't mind."
"Leckie. Johann Leckie," he said, and if his smile had been broad before it was impossible now. "Corporal, 322nd Orbital Cavalry."
So I was to be the sideshow animal here. Very well, I thought, leaning back into my seat and closed my eyes. Never let it be said that Ethel Deschantes was governed by some prehistoric predisposition to jealous, possessive anger.
"So, Suzukaze...that's the tenth ship in the Shiratsuyu destroyer class, huh? Guess they weren't lying about y'all all being Earthbound ships..." Leckie trailed off. "So, you're here for the joint op?"
"Yup! You too?"
"Of course!"
"Just your unit?"
"Nah, there's still the three-twenty-sixth and two-forty-first coming in on other boats."
"Three hundred and twenty six, huh? That's a pretty big number."
Well, I suppose playing a game of 'state the obvious' was one way to start conversation. Not one I endorsed, but it was a way.
"It's kinda gotta be big. You'd need that at least many to fuel the dumbest idea the Navy's ever come up with."
Oh, now wasn't that a bold claim? It was a wide galaxy after all. What was it that OrbCav did again?
"Really?"
"Anything's more sensible than chucking a division of power-armored soldiers strapped inside metal boxes out of ships at terminal velocity."
Hmm. No argument there.
"Sounds like you've had some experience."
"Uh, 'course. Lots!" Leckie was a pretty poor liar, even without the wave of uncertainty that washed off him as he spoke. Suzy and I were having words later if she was fooled by that glossing over he gave his training.
Well. If there was something more awkward than waking up eighty three stories off the ground in half a fibreglass gondola, a sodden velvet pillow fort on your chest and a zoo stampede in your head, it would have to be the silence that followed an ill-told fib.
On that note, screw you, Nirsha Gievv Valt. I don't care how stoned you were, but breaking someone else's gondola in two was downright ungentlemanly. Why, your ancestors would be ashamed of you.
"Man, they didn't lie when they said the Graf was a beauty," In other news, there was Leckie with the recovery! A semi-solid four point five out of ten. "They just don't make sloped bows like those anymore."
"I know right? Just makes you wanna meet her in person!" Through nigh-closed eyelids I could see Suzy turning to me. "See, Ethel? Now here's someone who actually cares!"
Oh sorry, what? Busy napping over here. As to your comment, of course such people would exist. Far be it from me to know all the fetishes the modern individual might have, and further still be it for me to judge them. Time to get back to catching up on some overdue rest-
A finger tapped my shoulder.
"Psst."
Oh dearie me, no. Not the surprise conspiratorial whispers.
"Heeey."
Anything but that!
"I know you're listening. Don't nobody fall asleep in seconds with all this racket going on."
No rest for the wicked, I thought as I cracked one eye open, rotating my head to the right to face the snickering occupant of Fourteen B.
Yes, fellow abandoned sidekick, I whispered back, you have my attention now.
She recoiled, her smile frozen. To her credit, her thoughts still maintained a coherent gist - as far as a doomsday-loop of 'ohmahgawdhesinmahhead' was coherent anyway.
Really now, one would think you'd all been briefed about psionics before.
Confusion mixed with apprehension made up the bulk of the woman's still inchoate response, but there was a fair sprinkling of curiosity there that we could work with.
Don't worry, this is more me talking at your head, I said, and you being bad at hiding what you thought. Now, you could continue gawking at me from the Dunce Corner, or, I paused for effect, I could teach you to talk to me, instead of at me.
Call me the master motivator. Her thoughts were still garbled, but I could sense her sharpening them, allowing that curiosity to take shape and swell into a genuine interest that outstripped her earlier fear. Still quite a ways off from throwing comprehensive thoughts, but then again, she didn't have the advantage of knowing the basics just by existing, or having them drop into her lap through some knowledge-granting vision.
So the best analogy I can find for this kind of thing is 'a unicorn's horn'.
Confused acknowledgement.
I'll explain: it's similar to a mnemonic device that musicians -well, the ones that aren't completely digital nowadays- use. I want you to imagine a space, a small spot perched on the bridge of your nose, or 'right between the eyes' as you soldiers might say. Mild amusement greeted that jibe. Then imagine a word. Take the thoughts, the ideas that surround that word. Twist and shape them. Condense their meanings, file them down to a single point. The 'horn'.
I formed a finger-gun, placing it on the bridge of my nose.
Then you pick a target, and thrust that 'horn' at them with all you've got.
Curiosity.
Go on, give it a go.
At the same time, I noted that our little exchange had been drawing some odd looks from those done fussing over our drop out of FTL. Well, they could keep staring. I had a class of one to teach, one which was going quite well. In fact, I could probably expect results any time now-
Holy shit this is weird, she said at last.
How I wish I could deduct points for stating the painfully obvious. Or for doubting my teaching abilities. But I'll give you a passing grade.
We, give out- well, so she was still bad at coming up with stuff without pre-prep. Still, extra credit for the effort. Fuckin' grades, now?
Of course we do, I scoffed. I expect a three hundred word reflection on your first psionic experience by noon tomorrow, whereupon I shall give you a paragraph of Forster's Maurice to read out loud in Thinkspeak, to be completed by- Hmm, today was Monday, was it not? -Wednesday.
"You're one crazy guy," she muttered out loud, shaking her head, "teaching someone this psychic mumbo-jumbo the first time you meet 'em."
"Crazy's a mild word."
"You couldn't even have known if it would work."
"Oh, I had faith. More than you kids seem to have nowadays," I quipped. "So, to whom do I owe the pleasure?"
"Corporal Margaret Angelos," said she with an extended hand, which I took firmly. "Scout Team Forza, 322nd Mechanized Orbital Cavalry. Homeworld's Ulmud. Fifth rock from Sange Solus, and don't you forget it, Mr. Deschantes."
"I won't. Planetary draft, or volunteers?"
"Most everyone here is the latter," she declared, slapping the unit patch on her shoulder with gusto. "Draft's for pussies."
Or desperate times.
"So, do I use the first or last name?"
"Just Marge," she replied, before pursing her lips in thought. "Also, uh, try not to mind the stares."
"The experience of being famous has been novel so far."
"Eh, trust me. I grew up with half the kids on this bird. I'd know when they're being weird. But you gotta understand." She shrugged. "Magic, summoning spirits, psychic powers - I miss anything?"
"Hopefully not."
"So yeah, that stuff feels like it came out of some game or story, you know? Takes people a while to adjust. Then some more to just waltz up to someone and ask them 'hey, can you read my mind?'"
"That's not stopping your friend over there," I pointed out.
"Well," Marge said, her lips spread out into a grin that rivaled Leckie's in its breadth, "he's one of those damn nerds."
Now I'd hate to break it to her, but in that and other things they are quite alike. Similar complexion, a little darker in her case. The same rough-chiseled cheeks, same sun-bleached hair, with her wiry copper sheen versus his red. The real difference-maker was the smiles. Leckie's was the enthusiastic masque of school's first hours, while Marge's was the friendly knife between the ribs, not so fond yet as to lack all enjoyment.
"Oh, they grow those a lot planetside?"
"Naw, only on Rich-And-Bored Boulevard," she laughed. "Rest of us folk have things to do out in the fields."
"You seem fond enough of him."
"I need to be. I'm his minder."
"Oi!" Leckie called. "I heard that!"
"So far, so few shits I give," Marge deadpanned.
Oh lady, you and I are gonna get along just fine.
"Pah," Leckie spat, "don't talk all smack-like. Bet'cher just jealous that you didn't get yourself introd-"
The ascending tones of a major triad played over the sound systems, and the green seat-belt signs lit up all through the hull.
[Listen up boys and girls, we're arriving at our destination soon,] our pilot drawled, her lazy tone lacking the expected military bearing. [See that sign? For those of you ponces who can't read, it means 'bums in seats'. Do just that, and this landing shouldn't be too bumpy. Probably.]
Laughter rippled across the rows of seats, along with a few calls of 'we'd better not crash!' and 'learn to fly, Challis!' Leckie took to this second one with a relish, his voice rising way above the rest of the din. Well, at least Suzy wasn't joining that tomfoolery, though I supposed a quick chat later about hanging with the wrong crowd couldn't hurt.
[And that means you, Corporal Leckie. Sit down, before I decide to make this very uncomfortable.]
Or someone else could do it for me, I thought as the young soldier sat down, his face a chastised shade or two redder than it had been before. Suzy for her part strained to contain her laughter as she slapped him on the back, earning her choking coughs and a grumbling aside of 'damn prissy arse - what's so great about officer school anyway?'
There was a story behind that, I supposed.
"Well, looks like this chat's gonna wrap up soon, Mr. Mind-Reader," Marge noted, the upward twist of her lips just a little more pronounced than before.
"I've told you, I'm not-" I cut myself off, rolling my eyes. "-eh, nevermind. You know what? I'm gonna have a bit of me-time before we land. Maybe even catch some shut-eye."
"As you like." Marge cocked her head, scratching her nose idly. "Actually…can I get one more thing?"
"Aye?"
"So, this might be a bit above my paygrade but, uh, this op was supposed to be a planetary rescue, right?"
Oh, good. One of the few things I did know.
"Yes."
"Well see, upstairs has been real cagey about giving us any more information. Now, not wanting to tell us shipgirls exist, that's acceptable. World-breaking crazy can stay need-to-know." Her lips scrunched up into a frown, her eyes sharpening slits of flint. "But someone should've reminded them that us Thunder Jumpers aren't so good when we don't know where we're jumping to."
Girl, I feel you. Really do. But the best I could do was put disappointment as diplomatically as possible.
"I'm afraid you may be barking up the wrong tree here."
"Eh? But I would've thought-"
"That we'd know better?" I sighed. "That might have been true if the two of us weren't two days shy of a full week in service."
Or a mile and a half short of proper shipgirl summoning procedure from what I'd read, but I suppose that was also above her paygrade.
"Five days..."
"Short notice, no? Frankly, I'm as puzzled as you are that we're here."
"Uh, that's not what I- I mean, it's been five days since-" A tiny smile crawled like newborn on all unsteady fours onto Marge's face. "You picked a strange time to join the fight."
"I know. I was there."
"...Dare I ask?"
"Best not to."
"Fair." Glancing up at nothing in particular, the soldier blew at a few unruly locks of hair, trying and failing to discipline them. "So we gotta wait and see, eh? Figures that it wouldn't be that easy."
"Is it ever?"
"Eh, never."
"Exactly."
"But I hope they'll spill soon. Don't wanna make this harder than it has to be."
"You and me both," I said, before turning back around to face forward, slipping both hands behind my neck as an impromptu cushion. "Well, time for a time out. See you soon, Corporal."
"'Soon', you say?" She teased. "I see I made a good first impression."
"The best - in a sample size of two."
"Whew. Real ray of sunshine, aren'tcha?"
"Like you wouldn't believe."
With that, I sank back into my seat. Suzy and Leckie had gone quiet on their end, presumably following goodbyes less abrupt than ours. The relative silence was good. Why, one could be forgiven for thinking that it might have become a forgotten concept despite all its virtues - such benefits as the opportunity to let drift and think about the near future a little.
Not that I was going to tax my own brain for that, faithful servant though it was.
Behold the OmniPad: the most recent manifestation of mankind's drive to have everything one might ever need in one tiny space. Like your retinal lens. Or the epidermis of your forearm. Or if you were as unadventurous as I, you could whip it out of your trouser pocket, swipe yourself through several security checks like the plebeian you were, and viola - all the data you were authorized to access, right at your fingertips.
For myself, that was just over halfway through Fleet Group Poseidon, Advanced Warfare Research Division, Key Personnel, at Entry Seventeen:
Commander (Dr.) Mraliz Vorkros, Senior Researcher (Xenobiology) and Acting Captain, TNS Graf Zeppelin.
Raw mischief stared back at me through two eyes dyed the hue of newborn sunset, and framed as they were by sloped lashes and dimpled grin I could almost hear some well-practiced joke bubbling forth to obfuscate the intellect that lay just beneath.
That was where the concept 'humanoid imitation' ended though, for the rest of Mraliz took the concept and ran it into blue-sky-thinking territory. Like, 'look at me twirl this fountain pen between my divisible tendril-fingers, and by the by did you notice that below the vaguely humanoid, white-coat-and-suit covered torso I don't so much walk as slither around on a quartet of black tentacles' hues of blue sky.
But such was the natural privilege of the shapeshifting Free Benthos of Europa, guaranteed by their membership in the Alliance. And even if no 'take-most-forms-you-will' clause was enshrined on 26th century stone tablets, body-shaming one's superior was still poor form.
Yes, 'superior': for Mraliz Vorkros was as of last week commander of the newly christened Strike Force Triton. She was also a psion, the first and only to be known to us so far. Proper paranoia, I supposed, for dealing with those who were still technically outsiders. A little irksome. But I'd have done the same, were I in power.
The Catha shuddered, losing all forward momentum to one of the many tractor fields in Gradivus Base's landing bay. A hubbub ran through the passenger cabin like static, people adjusting seat-belts, pushing bags under seats, doing some last minute grooming.
I flicked my OmniPad off.
Well then. Time to meet some new friends.
Note that this release schedule does not reflect my actual writing speed. Due to some real-life circumstances I already had quite a few things written out, and as such it was just a matter of doing some continuity correction and editing. I will do my best to update regularly, though.
As always, I hope you enjoy the read. Feel free to tell me why or why not below as well - these things can only help me improve, after all.
======
A Sea of Stars
Book 1: The Stars, Awake
Chapter 2: Inbound Flight
"Ethel..."
Hello?
Yes, hello. You have reached Ethel's Mental Voice Mail. Unfortunately, he is busy resting right now. Please leave a message after the tone - as long as you're not a burglar, a stalker, or automated salesbot. Or an over-enthusiastic partner. Not that he has a specific one in mind, but you know, just a suggestion.
"Ethel!"
Well bugger me silly. People couldn't keep their hands to themselves these days, could they? For a moment I wondered who it was who first standardized the procedure of 'if at first they don't get up, shake, shake, and shake them again'. Because whoever they were, they deserved to hang for this indignity.
Hey, Ethel!
Those two words rang in my head with a force that mere sound could not match, shaking the last vestiges of sleep from it.
"Okay, I'm up, I'm up."
Now far be it from me to claim that a Catha-class military transport craft could be the poster girl for comfort over function. Hell, I'd be downright worried for our future if they were. But a horizontal position plus healthy amounts of legroom meant sleep. Good, sumptuous sleep that had just been cut off in its prime. Rest in peace. Your services shall be fondly remembered, faithful servant.
But first, a quick look around.
Yup. Still strapped snugly into Thirteen B, the ignominious middle seat of three in the next-to-last row of our cabin. It was also on the immediate right of Thirteen A, where a young lady in her mid-teens sat, two dark ponytails spilling over her shoulders as she beamed down at me through deep sea-blue eyes.
Ladies and gentlemen, I present my partner, Suzune 'Suzy' Onjouji. Or if I used the official designation -and believe me I was still a bit torn on using it- TNS Suzukaze, Shiratsuyu-class shipgirl.
Yes, I did just say 'shipgirls'. Ships who were also girls. Or girls who were also ships - not that either formulation helped me sleep better at night. Our timeless tradition of objectifying our material creations had never sat well with me, and this most droll of portmanteaus wasn't helping any.
But then again, had I really expected to be anything but betrayed for hoping against hope that Fleet Group Poseidon was not the nadir of our creativity, after which could only come the inevitable fall?
======
"I'll admit it," I said once I was sure we were again alone - physically speaking, at least. "I'm sort of wishing that injection did knock me out right now."
"Unfortunately," Secret Agent Man continued from the restored comfort of the shadows, "we are on a timetable here. And are we not past the point in history where relaxants necessarily double up as sedatives?"
"Well it's not that. It's not even about the news either."
"Oh?"
"I'm serious. I mean, look, so the apparitions of twentieth century ships that we've given a modern overhaul isn't exactly News at Eleven," I explained. "And the psychic-"
"The word is PSIonic, for Psionic Sensory Interface."
"-the psionic soldiers who help offset the spiritual weight that deploying them occupies on our plane in exchange for cool powers? Definitely worth a whole twelve-episode holonet series on the Geographic. Or a trilogy of films. It would make money, I guarantee it."
"Good to know. But get back on track, Mr. Deschantes."
"Oh. Right. Well, just look at it this way," I continued, "we're already in a war against an enemy of startling contrarieties. Advanced control over faster-than-light travel but simplistic movements, an overwhelming preference for swarm tactics punctuated by moments of strategic brilliance, disgustingly hard to find but prone to engage in headlong charges when discovered. It's not a huge leap from one level of incomprehensible reality to another. Next thing you'll be telling me the apparitions of famous cars have returned as dazzlingly handsome young men."
"...did you Earthbound History?"
"Yes."
"That would explain the specificity. Do go on."
"Yes, so, this isn't strange. None of this is: even our inconsistent naming sense."
If there was a feeling for being transfixed by a bug-eyed stare, this was it.
"Is that what you have beef with?"
"Yes! I mean, come on." I thrust out both arms. "'Shipgirls'. Really?"
"It is a functional name."
"Uh-huh."
"Unconvinced?"
Oh by Jove, this man's a genius.
"Absolutely. Our latest and greatest, the raison d'etre of Fleet Group Poseidon, our first official contact with preternatural abilities not seen in action since Uruk and Balor Crater - and that's what we're calling them?!"
"Would you like to know why?"
No. No, not at all. My nodding means absolutely nothing, good sir, no more than the simmering anger I can feel simmering in you. An insignificant detail really, nor should I expect any story to come of it.
He leaned forward.
"Make no mistake: you cannot know how close we were to choosing some other abomination for a name. I do not claim to speak for all," the man growled, his voice a faultline flatline even as that placid rage towered ever higher with every punctuated word, "but the vocal contest between such names as 'Voidstalkers' and 'The Black Armada', among others, was a most puerile and childish affair. No, Mr. Deschantes. 'Functionality' was our hard-won compromise, and I am grateful for it."
A good few seconds went by in silence.
"Does that answer your question, Mr. Deschantes?"
"Almost."
"Do tell."
"So we made the quantum leap from that to a recursive acronym. How?"
"You would be shocked at how much our collective intelligence rises the less we discuss which aspects of naval weaponry should be appropriate to fetishize, and how."
I take back everything I said about you, bald guy. Those were indeed some rather terrible names, and the people who came up with them should be ashamed.
It could have been worse though. Like, way worse.
I mean, at least no one had come up with 'Flying Dutchwives', right?
=======
And that, kids, was how Grandpa Ethel discovered that a thousand yard stare that you cannot see burns just the same.
Just remembering that made me laugh, almost enough to cause me to forget that I had just been rudely roused by the telepathic equivalent of a reveille loudhailer.
Come on, I asked, trying not to sound as grumpy as I felt, did you really have to shout at me?
Hmmm, no, she thought, but I really, really had something to show you, so I thought this'd be faster!
Suzy, I distinctly remember that we had an agreement about this.
A fine agreement by all accounts; one that took the still-awkward edge off the whole my-thoughts-to-your-thoughts thing, certainly.
'Talk normally, only think the important stuff', right?
Yes, I replied.
Whether we liked it or not, shipgirls and the alternative forms of communication unique to them were still rarities. The psionic one percent if you will. And what was the role of the privileged minority if not to humor our more numerous brethren?
Sure, some of them were making Suzy's dramatic attempts to awaken me the butt of some humor, which was non-ideal even at its most harmless. But better that than to be given a wide berth out of fear.
But this is important!
Suzy protested.
Really?
"So," I said, switching to speech, "what was it you wanted to show me?"
"Is, not was," my partner said with a shake of her head. "It hasn't happened yet."
"Well whatever it is, it better be good."
"Oh, it is! See, I thought I might introduce you to-"
-Suzy's eyes darted toward the windows, then flicked back to me, rank excitement written all them.
"There they are!" She gushed, pointing. "Look! It's Gradivus Base and the Graf Zeppelin!"
"Mmhmm," I noted without looking, knowing full well that it might be taken for boredom.
Which she did, if the disapproving quirk of her lip was anything to go by.
"Eh, what kind of response is that? There's going to be a whole gathering of us here, Ethel." Suzy's eyes were as bright and wide as I'd ever seen them. "Other ships and their partners! We'll live together, train together...just think about it! It'll be so much fun!"
I struggled to suppress a grin. The hope that my sleep hadn't been sacrificed at the altar of mere curiosity had been a naive one, yes, but Suzy almost made up for it by being as good at spreading her plague of cheer as she had been bad at leading me on.
"You do know that we weren't told who we'd be meeting, right?"
"Oh, don't be such a pessimist. Graf is a great start!" Suzy insisted. "Also, did you know she was one of-"
"Our first shipgirls? Yeah."
"Looks it too, doesn't she?"
"Uh-huh."
Let's just say insensate fangirling isn't my jam, girl. But you're free to choose your own way, and I respect that.
"Say, which part do you think looks the best? I reckon it's gotta be the sleek bowline, wouldn't you agree?"
What a man can't respect however is trying to get the unwilling to participate. And on such scandalous topics, too. For shame!
"No comment."
Nor was Ethel Deschantes particularly weak to mid-elevator pitch pouts. They were cute, yes, and certainly useful in a pinch, but those who would be manhandled by such manipulative maneuvers were more malleable souls than I.
"Of course you can't comment," Suzy protested, "you haven't even had a look yet!"
Behold, here lies the Obvious, belaboured to death by DD(SG)-23, TNS Suzukaze on this the 6th of August, 2542. But maintaining the high ground meant constant tilling and terraform, so I did have a look anyway, and my, was it quite the sight.
Graf Zeppelin cruised alongside the hulk of intertwined rock and steel that had once upon a time been the asteroid Gradivus, now turned into one of the Advanced Warfare Research Division's bases of operation. Her sloped lines gleamed in the light of a distant sun, harking back to a time when it was not the breathless night of space but the foaming azure main that opposed progress, her flying smokestacks and flat-top deck testaments to the embryonic days of modern warfare.
Yet it was not the ancient Archimedean propeller or billowing black boiler smoke, but the familiar glowing vents of modern faster-than-light drives nestled in their sterns that kept Graf Zeppelin moving apace.
And looking closely one could espy other spots where the archaic and modern met on uneasy terms: in thin veins of LED lights that reflected differently off steel and superalloy plate, in anti-air turrets flanked by concealed launch tubes, and down sleek bevels of assorted weapons embedded into a profile that knew not the touch of vacuum.
The two were not alone: around them floated a bevy of more modern vessels that had fallen into a loose zig-zag formation with them. In all I counted over two dozen ships, each looking like they had sprung from the pages of a copy of Jane's or from a Sentinels of the Night holoboard, fully armed and ready for war as Pallas Athene might have been.
Looking upon that sight, I began to understand the almost casual air in the Catha, something that had seemed just a little incongruous to me before.
Our recent reverse at Akkad was to be remembered, yes, but only as two one among many that had come before and were yet to come. Indeed I could feel a mere-ness encroaching upon that memory, replaced by the surety that we still possessed no lack of resources or options.
I was certainly not the only one. Most everyone near and even not particularly near a window was stacked up beside one, gawking, pointing and chattering amongst themselves. Well, not that such indirect peer pressure ever had any chance of getting to me, I thought as I turned back to an expectant looking Suzy, one serving of condensed disappointment firmly on the tip of my tongue.
"I correct myself. I meant to say that I won't comment."
"What? Why?"
"Because I have a tendency to say unfortunate things, which should you let them slip during girls' talk at some point shall make my life a masterclass in disproportionate suffering, a legend of agony, a myth to frighten children for generations to come."
"Come on, I would never do that!"
To her credit, Suzy looked genuinely hurt.
"'Never' isn't a word I'd trust you with."
Or anyone else, for that matter. It was just a matter of principle.
"Booooo," my partner jeered, before turning pointedly away from me to face the window. "You're no fun at all."
"Yes. It is I, Sir No-Fun the Joyless at your service, milady," I replied.
Well, that was that. Perhaps now I could catch a bit more shut-eye before-
"My, aren't we chatty?"
-yes, before another interruption. Fool that I am, what was I hoping for?
Not this fellow, certainly. Mr Seat Fourteen A was more toothy smile wearing a head and rough-hewn shoulders than the other way around as he leaned over the seats that separated us, green-field eyes burning bright against sun kissed freckles and matte red hair. He was also deeply tanned; probably from somewhere with sunlight enough to push back against planetary greenhousing. Ulmud came to mind. Miglon and Sharazad, too. Maybe even Venus.
I counted two chevrons on his chest. A corporal, then.
"And who might you-"
I started, only to realize he hadn't been looking at me. Indeed I might as well have been transparent, tangential in all ways to his starry-eyed gaze on my partner.
"Say, you're one of them shipgirls, aren't'cha?"
"'Course! The name's Suzukaze!" She beamed. "But you can call me Suzy, I don't mind."
"Leckie. Johann Leckie," he said, and if his smile had been broad before it was impossible now. "Corporal, 322nd Orbital Cavalry."
So I was to be the sideshow animal here. Very well, I thought, leaning back into my seat and closed my eyes. Never let it be said that Ethel Deschantes was governed by some prehistoric predisposition to jealous, possessive anger.
"So, Suzukaze...that's the tenth ship in the Shiratsuyu destroyer class, huh? Guess they weren't lying about y'all all being Earthbound ships..." Leckie trailed off. "So, you're here for the joint op?"
"Yup! You too?"
"Of course!"
"Just your unit?"
"Nah, there's still the three-twenty-sixth and two-forty-first coming in on other boats."
"Three hundred and twenty six, huh? That's a pretty big number."
Well, I suppose playing a game of 'state the obvious' was one way to start conversation. Not one I endorsed, but it was a way.
"It's kinda gotta be big. You'd need that at least many to fuel the dumbest idea the Navy's ever come up with."
Oh, now wasn't that a bold claim? It was a wide galaxy after all. What was it that OrbCav did again?
"Really?"
"Anything's more sensible than chucking a division of power-armored soldiers strapped inside metal boxes out of ships at terminal velocity."
Hmm. No argument there.
"Sounds like you've had some experience."
"Uh, 'course. Lots!" Leckie was a pretty poor liar, even without the wave of uncertainty that washed off him as he spoke. Suzy and I were having words later if she was fooled by that glossing over he gave his training.
Well. If there was something more awkward than waking up eighty three stories off the ground in half a fibreglass gondola, a sodden velvet pillow fort on your chest and a zoo stampede in your head, it would have to be the silence that followed an ill-told fib.
On that note, screw you, Nirsha Gievv Valt. I don't care how stoned you were, but breaking someone else's gondola in two was downright ungentlemanly. Why, your ancestors would be ashamed of you.
"Man, they didn't lie when they said the Graf was a beauty," In other news, there was Leckie with the recovery! A semi-solid four point five out of ten. "They just don't make sloped bows like those anymore."
"I know right? Just makes you wanna meet her in person!" Through nigh-closed eyelids I could see Suzy turning to me. "See, Ethel? Now here's someone who actually cares!"
Oh sorry, what? Busy napping over here. As to your comment, of course such people would exist. Far be it from me to know all the fetishes the modern individual might have, and further still be it for me to judge them. Time to get back to catching up on some overdue rest-
A finger tapped my shoulder.
"Psst."
Oh dearie me, no. Not the surprise conspiratorial whispers.
"Heeey."
Anything but that!
"I know you're listening. Don't nobody fall asleep in seconds with all this racket going on."
No rest for the wicked, I thought as I cracked one eye open, rotating my head to the right to face the snickering occupant of Fourteen B.
Yes, fellow abandoned sidekick, I whispered back, you have my attention now.
She recoiled, her smile frozen. To her credit, her thoughts still maintained a coherent gist - as far as a doomsday-loop of 'ohmahgawdhesinmahhead' was coherent anyway.
Really now, one would think you'd all been briefed about psionics before.
Confusion mixed with apprehension made up the bulk of the woman's still inchoate response, but there was a fair sprinkling of curiosity there that we could work with.
Don't worry, this is more me talking at your head, I said, and you being bad at hiding what you thought. Now, you could continue gawking at me from the Dunce Corner, or, I paused for effect, I could teach you to talk to me, instead of at me.
Call me the master motivator. Her thoughts were still garbled, but I could sense her sharpening them, allowing that curiosity to take shape and swell into a genuine interest that outstripped her earlier fear. Still quite a ways off from throwing comprehensive thoughts, but then again, she didn't have the advantage of knowing the basics just by existing, or having them drop into her lap through some knowledge-granting vision.
So the best analogy I can find for this kind of thing is 'a unicorn's horn'.
Confused acknowledgement.
I'll explain: it's similar to a mnemonic device that musicians -well, the ones that aren't completely digital nowadays- use. I want you to imagine a space, a small spot perched on the bridge of your nose, or 'right between the eyes' as you soldiers might say. Mild amusement greeted that jibe. Then imagine a word. Take the thoughts, the ideas that surround that word. Twist and shape them. Condense their meanings, file them down to a single point. The 'horn'.
I formed a finger-gun, placing it on the bridge of my nose.
Then you pick a target, and thrust that 'horn' at them with all you've got.
Curiosity.
Go on, give it a go.
At the same time, I noted that our little exchange had been drawing some odd looks from those done fussing over our drop out of FTL. Well, they could keep staring. I had a class of one to teach, one which was going quite well. In fact, I could probably expect results any time now-
Holy shit this is weird, she said at last.
How I wish I could deduct points for stating the painfully obvious. Or for doubting my teaching abilities. But I'll give you a passing grade.
We, give out- well, so she was still bad at coming up with stuff without pre-prep. Still, extra credit for the effort. Fuckin' grades, now?
Of course we do, I scoffed. I expect a three hundred word reflection on your first psionic experience by noon tomorrow, whereupon I shall give you a paragraph of Forster's Maurice to read out loud in Thinkspeak, to be completed by- Hmm, today was Monday, was it not? -Wednesday.
"You're one crazy guy," she muttered out loud, shaking her head, "teaching someone this psychic mumbo-jumbo the first time you meet 'em."
"Crazy's a mild word."
"You couldn't even have known if it would work."
"Oh, I had faith. More than you kids seem to have nowadays," I quipped. "So, to whom do I owe the pleasure?"
"Corporal Margaret Angelos," said she with an extended hand, which I took firmly. "Scout Team Forza, 322nd Mechanized Orbital Cavalry. Homeworld's Ulmud. Fifth rock from Sange Solus, and don't you forget it, Mr. Deschantes."
"I won't. Planetary draft, or volunteers?"
"Most everyone here is the latter," she declared, slapping the unit patch on her shoulder with gusto. "Draft's for pussies."
Or desperate times.
"So, do I use the first or last name?"
"Just Marge," she replied, before pursing her lips in thought. "Also, uh, try not to mind the stares."
"The experience of being famous has been novel so far."
"Eh, trust me. I grew up with half the kids on this bird. I'd know when they're being weird. But you gotta understand." She shrugged. "Magic, summoning spirits, psychic powers - I miss anything?"
"Hopefully not."
"So yeah, that stuff feels like it came out of some game or story, you know? Takes people a while to adjust. Then some more to just waltz up to someone and ask them 'hey, can you read my mind?'"
"That's not stopping your friend over there," I pointed out.
"Well," Marge said, her lips spread out into a grin that rivaled Leckie's in its breadth, "he's one of those damn nerds."
Now I'd hate to break it to her, but in that and other things they are quite alike. Similar complexion, a little darker in her case. The same rough-chiseled cheeks, same sun-bleached hair, with her wiry copper sheen versus his red. The real difference-maker was the smiles. Leckie's was the enthusiastic masque of school's first hours, while Marge's was the friendly knife between the ribs, not so fond yet as to lack all enjoyment.
"Oh, they grow those a lot planetside?"
"Naw, only on Rich-And-Bored Boulevard," she laughed. "Rest of us folk have things to do out in the fields."
"You seem fond enough of him."
"I need to be. I'm his minder."
"Oi!" Leckie called. "I heard that!"
"So far, so few shits I give," Marge deadpanned.
Oh lady, you and I are gonna get along just fine.
"Pah," Leckie spat, "don't talk all smack-like. Bet'cher just jealous that you didn't get yourself introd-"
The ascending tones of a major triad played over the sound systems, and the green seat-belt signs lit up all through the hull.
[Listen up boys and girls, we're arriving at our destination soon,] our pilot drawled, her lazy tone lacking the expected military bearing. [See that sign? For those of you ponces who can't read, it means 'bums in seats'. Do just that, and this landing shouldn't be too bumpy. Probably.]
Laughter rippled across the rows of seats, along with a few calls of 'we'd better not crash!' and 'learn to fly, Challis!' Leckie took to this second one with a relish, his voice rising way above the rest of the din. Well, at least Suzy wasn't joining that tomfoolery, though I supposed a quick chat later about hanging with the wrong crowd couldn't hurt.
[And that means you, Corporal Leckie. Sit down, before I decide to make this very uncomfortable.]
Or someone else could do it for me, I thought as the young soldier sat down, his face a chastised shade or two redder than it had been before. Suzy for her part strained to contain her laughter as she slapped him on the back, earning her choking coughs and a grumbling aside of 'damn prissy arse - what's so great about officer school anyway?'
There was a story behind that, I supposed.
"Well, looks like this chat's gonna wrap up soon, Mr. Mind-Reader," Marge noted, the upward twist of her lips just a little more pronounced than before.
"I've told you, I'm not-" I cut myself off, rolling my eyes. "-eh, nevermind. You know what? I'm gonna have a bit of me-time before we land. Maybe even catch some shut-eye."
"As you like." Marge cocked her head, scratching her nose idly. "Actually…can I get one more thing?"
"Aye?"
"So, this might be a bit above my paygrade but, uh, this op was supposed to be a planetary rescue, right?"
Oh, good. One of the few things I did know.
"Yes."
"Well see, upstairs has been real cagey about giving us any more information. Now, not wanting to tell us shipgirls exist, that's acceptable. World-breaking crazy can stay need-to-know." Her lips scrunched up into a frown, her eyes sharpening slits of flint. "But someone should've reminded them that us Thunder Jumpers aren't so good when we don't know where we're jumping to."
Girl, I feel you. Really do. But the best I could do was put disappointment as diplomatically as possible.
"I'm afraid you may be barking up the wrong tree here."
"Eh? But I would've thought-"
"That we'd know better?" I sighed. "That might have been true if the two of us weren't two days shy of a full week in service."
Or a mile and a half short of proper shipgirl summoning procedure from what I'd read, but I suppose that was also above her paygrade.
"Five days..."
"Short notice, no? Frankly, I'm as puzzled as you are that we're here."
"Uh, that's not what I- I mean, it's been five days since-" A tiny smile crawled like newborn on all unsteady fours onto Marge's face. "You picked a strange time to join the fight."
"I know. I was there."
"...Dare I ask?"
"Best not to."
"Fair." Glancing up at nothing in particular, the soldier blew at a few unruly locks of hair, trying and failing to discipline them. "So we gotta wait and see, eh? Figures that it wouldn't be that easy."
"Is it ever?"
"Eh, never."
"Exactly."
"But I hope they'll spill soon. Don't wanna make this harder than it has to be."
"You and me both," I said, before turning back around to face forward, slipping both hands behind my neck as an impromptu cushion. "Well, time for a time out. See you soon, Corporal."
"'Soon', you say?" She teased. "I see I made a good first impression."
"The best - in a sample size of two."
"Whew. Real ray of sunshine, aren'tcha?"
"Like you wouldn't believe."
With that, I sank back into my seat. Suzy and Leckie had gone quiet on their end, presumably following goodbyes less abrupt than ours. The relative silence was good. Why, one could be forgiven for thinking that it might have become a forgotten concept despite all its virtues - such benefits as the opportunity to let drift and think about the near future a little.
Not that I was going to tax my own brain for that, faithful servant though it was.
Behold the OmniPad: the most recent manifestation of mankind's drive to have everything one might ever need in one tiny space. Like your retinal lens. Or the epidermis of your forearm. Or if you were as unadventurous as I, you could whip it out of your trouser pocket, swipe yourself through several security checks like the plebeian you were, and viola - all the data you were authorized to access, right at your fingertips.
For myself, that was just over halfway through Fleet Group Poseidon, Advanced Warfare Research Division, Key Personnel, at Entry Seventeen:
Commander (Dr.) Mraliz Vorkros, Senior Researcher (Xenobiology) and Acting Captain, TNS Graf Zeppelin.
Raw mischief stared back at me through two eyes dyed the hue of newborn sunset, and framed as they were by sloped lashes and dimpled grin I could almost hear some well-practiced joke bubbling forth to obfuscate the intellect that lay just beneath.
That was where the concept 'humanoid imitation' ended though, for the rest of Mraliz took the concept and ran it into blue-sky-thinking territory. Like, 'look at me twirl this fountain pen between my divisible tendril-fingers, and by the by did you notice that below the vaguely humanoid, white-coat-and-suit covered torso I don't so much walk as slither around on a quartet of black tentacles' hues of blue sky.
But such was the natural privilege of the shapeshifting Free Benthos of Europa, guaranteed by their membership in the Alliance. And even if no 'take-most-forms-you-will' clause was enshrined on 26th century stone tablets, body-shaming one's superior was still poor form.
Yes, 'superior': for Mraliz Vorkros was as of last week commander of the newly christened Strike Force Triton. She was also a psion, the first and only to be known to us so far. Proper paranoia, I supposed, for dealing with those who were still technically outsiders. A little irksome. But I'd have done the same, were I in power.
The Catha shuddered, losing all forward momentum to one of the many tractor fields in Gradivus Base's landing bay. A hubbub ran through the passenger cabin like static, people adjusting seat-belts, pushing bags under seats, doing some last minute grooming.
I flicked my OmniPad off.
Well then. Time to meet some new friends.
=== To be continued in Chapter 3: First Day at the Office ===
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Book 1, Chapter 3: First Day at the Office
- Location
- Little Red Dot
Phew! Sorry this took a little longer than the last despite already having been written. Schoolwork and the vagaries of my own obsession with editing everything I see. But I guess at some point you do need to stop and just let have some faith in the thought you've put into your work (or the lack thereof).
Thanks for all the comments so far, and I hope you guys enjoy the chapter!
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A Sea of Stars
Book 1: The Stars, Awake
Chapter 3: First Day at The Office
Life can be described as a hallway full of doors in every build and make, shape and size, each opening unto more, and those too unto others.
Some remain open for a time, others close to us once we have stepped through. Some we ourselves shut, for better and worse alike. But not a single one opens or closes the same. One may be thrown wide open with singular purpose, others creak and founder with indecision, and upon each we carve emotions, purpose, and meaning, perhaps for ourselves to revisit; or for others to stumble upon. Thus every life lived is unique, a constant novelty from life's first cry to final breath.
How misfortunate, then, that this day had taken a left turn off the sunny side of the street into that part of town where the earthy scents of wood and stone were replaced with stark, relentless steel and glass, where anger had corporeal form and rage spanned the entire visual spectrum.
Indeed it could not be more abundantly clear that behind this pair of blast doors and its embossed silver nameplate M. Vorkros, CO Gradivus Base was having a beautiful day, one that nobody had any business interrupting, especially not in such a vulgar fashion as either I, or the shipgirl beside me might. Yet needs must when the devil drives. So, whose would that dishonor be?
"Hey, Suzy-"
"No."
"What?"
The blue-haired girl didn't even look at me, choosing instead to steadfastly eyeball the floor next to the office entrance.
"No. No matter what your question is, my answer is no."
Well, hello there, Our Lady of Perpetual Perception. In all truth, I hadn't expected this to be easy. Which was precisely why it would be fun.
"Now that's hardly fair of you," I protested.
"Nope. Don't care."
"See, if you'd just let me-"
"Nuh-uh-nopedy-no."
"I'll pay for dinner."
"Eh, it's free at the cantina."
"Supper, then."
Ah, there we go. The silence of doubt at last. Now, striking at the ravenous inclinations of a shipgirl was a bit low, even for me. But in desperate times...
"I'll manage."
...anything was fair game.
"Pudding at the mess. A whole week's worth."
Yes, dinner will be served soon, I thought to myself. In the meantime, please feel free to leave your jaws on the welcome mat. One of our friendly staff will assist you in picking them up when you leave.
But the taste of victory was as fleeting as it was sweet, as Suzy struggled mightily, but at last shoved the offending anatomical section back into place with an audible clack.
"B-bribing military personnel is a punishable offense," she spluttered, looking most displeased to be in the right. "You should be ashamed of yourself."
"Oh, but how can I, when you seem to like the idea so much?" I shrugged. "But see, I don't blame you. It is pudding after all-"
"Ha! You guys are a riot!"
That burst of laughter, throaty with an aged whiff of menthol smoke, reminded me that we were not alone. For on each side of the door stood a soldier in dark grey fatigues and armor, 'MP' woven in white on black armbands wrapped round their left shoulder armor.
One was clean shaven, the other five-o'clock-shadowed. Both were as broad and imposing as military police ought to be. Both were also standing as far clear of either side of the office entrance as humanly possible. A whole meter away, in fact.
Most encouraging.
"But the girl's right, you know." Clean Jean said, waggling a finger at me. "Careless talk costs lives."
"And court-martials," Stubby Hubby added. "Never know when someone might be listening in."
"Why thank you, Big Brother," I retorted. "But if you're going to risk going in there first, be my guest."
Tweedle-dee at least did me the courtesy of considering the option.
"Tempting," said he, stroking his pristine chin. "but nah. We're happy right where we are."
Tweedle-dum didn't even bother. The first twirl of his wrist unholstered the telescopic baton at his side. The second extended it, and the third greeted the intercom panel next to the door with a two swift strokes of police brutality: one to slide the panel open, the other for the buzzer.
It rang. Then we waited. And waited. And then we waited some more. Oh yes, dear me Mrs. Robinson, what a dreadfully hot day this is-
"Seaman Eli?"
Eli-the-Newly-Named cleared his throat.
"Lieutenants Deschantes and Onjouji to see you, ma'am."
"One moment."
It was a curt send-off playing at pleasantry - at best. But it did have its perks. The air ceased its attempts to strangle me without the aid of my tie, a freedom that our two stooges enjoyed a fair bit, lacking as they did the requisite wardrobe of laryngeal discomfort. Well, at least someone felt better in their own skin.
The additional wait on the other hand was quite subpar. Not enough to rot flesh off bone, mind you. Not quite that bad. But I trust you too would find a minute experiencing several -admittedly decreasing- degrees of 'not quite choking to death on the very air you breathe' to be just a tad uncomfortable.
Hmmm. Yes. Uncomfortable. No other phrase rolled off the tongue quite so well, were I to describe my week. And it was a feeling that only intensified as the seconds ticked down to when the door must surely slide open.
See, here's the thing. The natural empathic rating of the average human stands just a hair above that of the average rock. Sometimes that outlook even seems rosy.
But we've all that moment where we could see beyond the ken of mere sight. Like when you're browsing some clandestine material, and then you turn as the hairs of your back stand on end, only to see that your glowering professor has been waiting to lay the law down on your Gommorite bum for the last dozen seconds or so.
Being a psion means that these rare flashes of clarity become a near constant instead. But it also gives you the tools to prevent death by metasensory overload. You could shut off. Deaden the noise before it became cacophony. Or at least I could. It was also only fair that our Brothers Trimm over here should be allowed to speak for themselves.
Another psion, though, now that changed the game. We could project our emotions a certain distance almost instinctively. Quite prominently too, so it seemed. Which raised questions. Many, in fact. But most immediately, given the palpable heat I had felt earlier, might it be possible to project 'Piss Off My Lawn!' hard enough to flash-fry someone on demand?
The door opened, hissing my reply: 'Hush boy, you have other things to think about now.'
Other things, such as dealing with the alien presently grinning in the entryway.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," Commander Mraliz Vorkros said, the trilling distinctive to a Benthos' natural vocal apparatus setting her voice pleasantly aflutter. Nonetheless there was a dangerous glimmer in her eyes as she sized us both up. "You seem a little stiff. Did the flight not sit well with you?"
Then without warning she shot forward, till she was so close I could feel the chill rolling off the translucent environ suit that members of her race were wont to wear when not in anything short of eyeball-freezing temperatures.
"Or is our highest recorded psionic resonance peak not just for show after all, I wonder?"
What. How?
It wasn't till the doctor's smile had taken on the manner of a shark that I realized my mistake. My simple, fatal mistake. How could one forget? Just as it was not above one of our foremost experts in shipgirl phenomena to know more than I about them, it was certainly not below them to test that which they did not yet understand on poor unwitting soul.
And to Mraliz, I certainly counted as one such potential victim.
"Seems you're still quite green, boy," she teased, sparkling amber eyes confirming my suspicions. "Ah, ah, no. Don't spill the beans just yet. That can wait."
With that, she slid over to the left, gesturing towards the open doorway.
"Do come in," she said, "and welcome to Gradivus Base."
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Mraliz Vorkros' office was a spartan affair, containing only the bare minimum that one could expect of an officer of her station. Two guest seats were arranged before a non-existent desk, both unneeded by a sentient that stood well over seven feet on tentacular haunches. Wall mounted displays showed schematics of both Gradivus and the Graf Zeppelin, albeit a similar foot above average eye level. Less expected, however, was the wall-mounted coffee machine. An antique of the pre-mass fabricator era, it was...
...well, let's just say that for some, pawning house, wives and children to get and maintain one was a fair price to pay.
Thus it had been with some trepidation that I had watched our host practically glide across the room, limbs flitting back and forth as they snagged cups from vacuum racks, poured beans, and pushed buttons, her lips spinning a tale of slanted modes and careless lilting quartertones.
But patience and trust were rewarded, and it was not long before each of us held in our hands a cup of lovely, dark mahogany magic, one whose aroma brought back to mind the best and worst hours in college life. Ah, nostalgia.
Next to me, Suzy peered into the depths of her own drink, her expression pensive. A pleasant surprise. Now if only she wasn't also allowing her cup to tilt further and further forward towards near-boiling doom. Any second now, and-
-our good host could show how having multiple limbs was a very convenient proposition. Yes, that worked too. Bonus points for causing Suzy to go a deep crimson shade.
"S-sorry! I was-"
"Distracted, I know." Mraliz chuckled, retracting the appendage with a chitinous rattle. "But do be careful from here on. My wallet is still hurting from having this shipped directly from Piaf two months back."
Huh. Two months, eh?
"I'm surprised you had the time to attend the Heritage Art Expo," I noted.
"I didn't," the doctor admitted. "I just read Royal Geo's 8-page pre-event coverage; placed an online order afterwards. The, uh," and here she paused, fingering her cup absently-
"Arita-yaki," Suzukaze piped up.
"-thank you. Yes, the Arita was much too fine to pass on," Mraliz finished.
I examined the specimen of the art in my hands. It was like black marble; but only if marble should be as scaled as dragonhide yet remain no less than pristine to the touch. Tracing its rim, I could feel the places where by craftsman's fiat the clay must have been made to give way. More here, less there. Without thought for such trivialities as perfection, that no two works should become twins.
"It is indeed exquisite."
"Aye, and I hope you enjoy the experience." Her smile thinned out a bit. "Goodness knows there's been too much unpleasantness about lately."
I cocked an eyebrow. I could imagine. In fact, I could even guess.
"Infuriating conversations, for example?"
"Like you wouldn't believe." Mraliz rolled her eyes as she took a generous swig of caffeinated Elysium. "But none of this talk about Akkad or other kerfuffles. I'm sure you two have been left with a lot of questions...but not while I'm having my coffee. Or until Graf gets here, at least. I can't guarantee that I could talk about it solo without blowing half a dozen gaskets."
So that display earlier was considered mild? Well, shit-la-merde.
Mraliz leaned back on her tentacular haunches.
"So yes, enough about misery me. How have our dashing Ghosts of Akkad been doing? Eager to strike another decisive blow against our enemies, I expect?"
"Just a question, Doc."
"Just Liz. Titles are so anti-fun." Well, right back at you, Liz. "But yes, ask away."
"Who thought of this 'Ghosts' nonsense, anyway?"
"Why, our mutual friend of course."
"Who? No, don't tell me. Let me guess," I said, hand held up. "Bald, shady, with a voice as smooth as ground asphalt?"
Suzy snickered. Thank you, thank you. For my next trick, I'll make it disappear.
On the other hand, it seemed a complaint about her esteemed colleague was worth but one sip of drink to Mraliz. We only needed a special print copy of the morning paper, and the age-old picture of banal nonchalance would be complete.
"I see Old Bailey made his usual impression."
Have I ever told anyone how much I respect people who codename themselves after courts? Because I really do. Really.
"Truth be told though," the doctor added, "I think he likes you two."
Calling Suzy 'unconvinced' was an understatement. Upright she sat, her earlier reticence long fled before the frown she now wore.
"You're not serious," she groaned.
"Perfectly so. What's wrong?"
"Three hundred and eighty seven." Suzy's right eyebrow began to twitch. "That's how many pages there are in The Project Poseidon Primer. And I had to read that. In five days." Smugness tugged at her lips. "I did it in four, though."
Correction, milady, if I may. We did it in four. A crowning achievement in amateur education if I should say so myself.
"Then today I meet someone on our transport who said that is the pre-101. Not even the beginning. If that's what Baldy does to people he likes, I'd hate to see what he does to those he doesn't."
"Well, that's-" Mraliz paused momentarily. "Uh-"
"-Unfortunate, but necessary."
The new voice was like still water. Calm. Quiet, almost, and yet it drowned the serpent-call of the doors with ease even before its owner entered the office.
To think that I would have reckoned this strange only days earlier. The sea of sound, bowing before its rightful ruler, its queen. But Commander Amanda Reiner, she whom history knew better as Graf Zeppelin, certainly looked the part.
Ramrod straight, she was clad in hoar-frost white down to the waist and from there in svelte black, and though her eyes were a familiar shale blue there was a vise-grip steel in the Commander's gaze as she sized us up. And no offense, but not even in my most fevered visions of our first battle together could Suzy hope to match that magnetic, relentless intensity.
The next time anyone moved, her right hand had been extended towards me for the last few seconds or so. Maybe more.
"Hmm," she mused. "I must confess, I expected-"
"Taller. Broader. A bit quicker with the rejoinders," I muttered as I stood to shake her hand. Man, it was hard to get back in the flow of things. "or maybe you'd prefer me without my glorious black sideburns?"
"Perhaps," Amanda nodded. "It does seem a little unbecoming of a hero to look so unruly. But that is a task best left to the media men."
Breaking off, she turned to Mraliz.
"So I take it you have been on the line with-"
"A minute, please."
The shipgirl transfixed her partner with a familiar look. One that reminded me of Dad, when he was being Ioannis 'I'm not saying I disapprove, but I disapprove' Deschantes.
"I believe you said-"
"To meet at sixteen-thirty hours shipboard time. I know. I just-" Mraliz sighed, rolling both eyes over to regard the ceiling. "-I just need a minute to finish my coffee. Alright?"
Amanda seemed to consider that.
"Hmm. One thing, if I may," she said.
"What is it?"
"Did Marshal Kowalcski say 'no'?"
"Yes. But-"
"Perfect. Then we can proceed."
Mraliz blinked.
"What?"
Wow, the nerve of people nowadays. I mean look, it's jaws we're talking about here. A part of one's sacred form, and not a thing cheaply replaced with modern science by any means - unlike, say, children you misplace at the mall district.
"Exactly what I said," Amanda replied, her voice slick with what had to be two hundred proof Bordeaux-de-Merdenon.
"And really, you shouldn't make me worry like that," the shipgirl continued, striding over to the screens that adorned the office walls. "Suddenly having to include non-Division assets into our plans would have been rather…"
Then the carrier turned back, a wan smile ghosting across her face.
"...inconvenient."
Mraliz just stared mutely at her partner for a moment or two. Then she did the only thing one did in such circumstances.
Sticking a palm out, she brought her face down duly to meet it.
"You know what, I don't care enough right now," she groaned, the cloud of simmering anger all but having disappeared in the meantime. "We'll do this your way."
"Good."
"Yes. 'Good'. That's all she has to say. O Responsible Reiner, O Marvelous Mandy, she of the masterful management and wondrous work ethic, I bow to your Teutonic superiority."
"The correct word is 'efficiency'."
"Whatever."
Amanda shook her head, tapping the OmniPad in her left hand.
"Sometimes I wonder if it is I," the shipgirl half-sighed, "and not you who commands this task force."
"It should have been, were that mine to give."
Woah. Was it just me, or was that at least a few strikes for idealism? Well, just another day in a bad season then. On that note, I stole a look at Suzy. In the good news, enough of that exchange had flown over her head you could form contrails out of the conjured question marks. In bad news-
"So, uh, I have a question, Gr- err, Amanda."
The blonde turned back to face us.
"Yes?"
"Who's 'they'?"
Well, I suppose my expectations could be surpassed from time to time. Not that I minded. Always thought they were a little low anyway.
"Good question, Suzukaze," came the pointed reply, "and well taken. So, I hear you've read the Primer, have you?"
"Memorized it," my partner declared, thumping a hand to her chest.
"Impressive."
So saying, Amanda turned back to face the screens, each of them glowing in turn as she ran a free hand across them. With a tightened fist, all their lights shrunk and were snuffed out.
Then, with an outward thrust of a reopened hand outwards she brought both ceiling and floor to life, covering the office in a burst of light that coalesced rapidly into a three-dimensional star-map of Indus Sector: our present location, and the furthest galactic coreward reach of the Alliance.
A room-wide holodeck, no expenses spared. Impressive.
"But I will be the judge of that. What do you know of the Indus Tributaries?"
Suzy tapped her chin.
Come on, girl. Don't fail me now.
"I guess this goes to the time when we weren't called the Alliance of Terra Novum yet. So the year is 2165, and some of our most important people sat down to talked about that very thing for a whole two weeks. And like most meetings where everyone is way important, they couldn't agree on all sorts of things and got really fed up!"
Ah, the sweet, sweet reverence for history - music to my ears. If not for my duty to hear this paragon tale out to the end, I could shed a tear right now.
"It was so bad that when both the Terra Novum Charter and the Mars-Yggdrasil Protocol were finally decided on, some people just decided this whole Alliance thing wasn't for them and left." Suzy shrugged. "Dunno why. I would've thought that making peace with aliens and developing more advanced computers was a good thing."
"So one should think. But stranger things have been done, Ja?"
"Guess so."
"Well then. Go on."
"So the last we hear of these people is three centuries and a half ago, when they begin their journey towards the core of the Milky Way." Suzy paused. "Ethel doesn't believe that though."
Mraliz shot me a wry smirk.
"Budding conspiracy theorist, are we?"
"As a wise woman once said, stranger things have been done," I replied.
"Either way, that all changed about eight years ago." Suzy interrupted. She then stood, indicating the center of the room. "May I?"
Amanda nodded.
"You still have the floor."
Reaching out, she tweaked the map with three fingers, first hesitantly, then with more confidence. I fought the urge to whistle as she punched up the zoom on the coremost section of the Indus. That resolution was some Asimov's World Fair material right there and no mistake, even for modern standards. Nothing but the best for our best, I supposed.
"The Indus Sector. Cielo System, Cielo Four, May 6th, 2534," Suzy said, holding the sand-swept planet in her hand. "FTL-band distress calls on an old Earth Confederacy frequency originating from this planet, and are picked up by a border fleet. But upon arrival they are caught in a running battle between Confederacy splinter elements and the lifeforms we now call the Abyssals."
A swipe of her hand painted the Indus Corridor a pulsing gold, all the better to contrast with the large splotches of Alliance blue that ran across its breadth.
"By the time the dust settles, it's August 2535. Over the next two and a half years, the Indus Corridor is secured with the help of Fleet Groups Upandla and Olomouc." The gold expanded accordingly, becoming the coreward bulwark every self-respecting student was made to learn in history class. "Searches for Abyssal home planets achieve next to nothing. But we do get a lull; that is, until Hive World Akkad literally explodes into being in the Eregion System on 9th November 2540."
She paused.
"But I digress. In accepting our help, eight systems strong and growing of Confederacy space has been made to accept partial Alliance governance. But they don't do it willingly, and grow more belligerent by the day concerning our operations in their territory." An odd smile slipped onto her face. "...and I guess I answered my own question plus interest, didn't I?"
"I believe that was the point of the exercise." Amanda nodded approvingly. "Well done, Lieutenant Onjouji."
"Unusual presentation of our founding history notwithstanding," Mraliz added with a quirk of her brow.
Now, woman, don't look at me like that. Surely I could not have been the sole mastermind for this historical heresy.
"I-uh," Suzy said sheepishly as she sat back down again, "thanks?"
"So. Yes, it is as you suggest." Taking the stage once more, Amanda shifted the map further coreward. "This is where the Gradivus, myself and our escorts are: on the orbital rim of the ninth Indus system, Sancaid. On paper, Fleet Group Olomouc -under command of Fleet Marshal Petr Kowalcski- holds the system. In reality, control is tenuous. Crawling with Abyssal raiders who use heavy hit and run strikes on approaching ships, ships Olomouc cannot spare."
"Ships they could spare," Mraliz corrected. "That is, if they didn't insist on playing white knights to half the Corridor."
"True," Amanda admitted. "Nonetheless, our business here is not to debate the Fleet Marshal's decisionmaking."
She began to pace the room, green dots lighting up in her wake.
"For this reason, Olomouc's garrison in Sancaid is more like an early warning system. Glorified listening posts in function, though still heavily armed and protected." The incarnate carrier gestured apropos the crest of emerald stars overhead, two fingers closing around the largest of them. "The nerve center is here, Sancaid Prime."
With a flick of her wrist, the planet lay before us in full color. Spiralling green strokes flocked to small masses of slate grey rock, together conspiring to shatter the blue monotony of ocean, while above the wind drove chariots of wild white horses across the sky in thin, numerous ranks.
"Beautiful, is it not?" Mraliz sighed, her till now constant irritation dissipating somewhat. "Very...what's the word you anthropocentrists love to use?"
"Earthlike?" Suzy asked.
"Yes. That. Which Sancaid Prime is, if you exclude the over one-hundred-percent urbanization and replace it with chest-high swamp, zero visibility rainstorms all year round, and unpredictable drafts trying to blast anything short of a heavy cruiser off course."
"Which we will watch out for, yes," Amanda noted, "in addition to a more recent environmental hazard."
Now I could count the number of times I found slapping a coat of fresh dark violet paint on a picture more frightening than funny. But Alliance maps did not use that color willy-nilly. No, they saved it for what one might call the Abyssal anvil, if their fleet of black horrors were the hammer.
"A Ginaz Storm," Suzy breathed.
"Good. You've done your homework on that front too. That saves us time." Amanda tucked both arms behind her back. "Three days ago, all contact with our planetside outpost at Fortuna's Reach, which houses both a FTL Comms Relay, a harbour and a complement of light ships, was lost in a Ginaz Storm outbreak.
A single gold point lit up where the sparse highlands met the ocean, surrounded -planet and all- by a thick, suffocating purple haze.
"Initial scans indicated that the FTL Interdiction Space generated by the Storm is large enough to rule out a high exospheric insertion, and it grows in size even as we speak. These signs of more permanent Abyssal commitment, combined with more pressing defensive concerns elsewhere, is more than adequate grounds for the refusals of aid from Olomouc or the Indus until sizable forces can be brought to bear."
"And you said this was a good thing," I interjected.
"I did."
"Liz disagreed."
"She has since come around."
That got a chuckle out of Mraliz, though from one oft-vanquished to another I knew the notes played to resign an unwinnable battle. A timely reminder. I was beginning to forget that Suzy and I weren't the only ones capable of a little tete-a-tete to settle things between ourselves.
"Allow me to explain further. Before Akkad, did you ever hear hide or hair of shipgirls? Of Project Poseidon? Or even of the Advanced Warfare Research Division, for that matter?"
"No."
"Which is as it should be," Amanda replied. "We mean to avoid such custody battles over 'the truth' as we seem ever so fond of every few decades or so. Now, we would win these battles eventually. But 'eventually' suggests that it would take time and effort, effort that it is best we not risk expending at all. Worse still if you deal in such secrets as we do."
So saying, she touched the gold marker that was Fortuna's Reach.
"Like so."
A strange sight greeted my eyes: line after line of silver-white glyphs crawled down the screens before us, each symbol a series of twists and turns that together formed a contorting, writhing tapestry of color and shape. They were words. Mere words, perhaps not even that, and not one of them meant a whit to me. Yet the image burned its way into my eyes.
Ancient. Alien. Beautiful and captivating, but at the same time wrong. Missing. Incomplete.
Incomplete. Incomplete-
"See anything?"
No, Doc. I stare at an object for god knows how long, break out into a cold sweat, and get jump-startled by the first thing that you said to me - yup, nothing here but us space chickens.
"I suppose." The words came out slow. Halting. "This mission... isn't really a rescue. It's a retrieval. We're heading over to pick up the rest of this...this thing, that they've managed to find somehow."
Man, trying to maintain coherence when your collar was doing its utmost to adhere to your neck, while the weight sitting atop that neck was trying to hammer itself into oblivion was frustration itself.
"Somehow? Oh no. We at the Division have been quite intentional about this discovery. And mind you, standing orders for contested territory mandates at least an attempt at personnel recovery. Best to get your facts straight," Mraliz corrected me. " But an astute observation otherwise. Pity we've lacked the alacrity to explore these less tangible aspects of psionics so far. Who knows what else we might have gleaned otherwise."
"Mira…" Amanda hissed.
"Eh, they should hear it." Mraliz dismissed with six harrumphing shoulders. "I've been saying this from the very start, that psionic resonance values aren't simply arbitrary measurements. That some good would come of taking time to understand it. Maybe find ways to apply and improve it. But did anyone listen? Nope. Always in such a hurry to arm our girls, always rushing to get them 'operationally ready.' No time to waste 'faffing about with your pet projects, Dr. Vorkros.'"
"To be fair, operational readiness is a critical and time-consuming objective-"
"Dammit Graf-frickin-Zeppelin; if I needed your opinion I'd read a voice procedure manual." Mraliz sighed. "Yeesh. Anyhoo, I've been letting this one dog lie, waiting for something like right now: On the brink of our first major psionics-related discovery since forming Poseidon, with shipgirls, psions and time aplenty. You have no idea how honest-to-goodness pumped I am to-"
"-wait until we have the whole artifact and everyone present before continuing your experiments instead of overstepping your authority again," Amanda cut in. "Most prudent. I approve."
Mraliz pouted, though one could only wonder: how much of it was the putdown, and how much was the Arita mug that had mysteriously left her hand only to reappear in her partner's.
"I was going to say that," the doctor protested.
"You were not."
"I was - before you interrupted me!"
"That is a common excuse, yes." The shipgirl took a tentative sip. Her face scrunched up. "And as the beverage, so the- yes, Lieutenant Onjouji?"
I glanced at my partner. Guess some things from school don't change at all. Raise your hand if you want to speak, wait your turn, and try not to ask silly questions if you want that gold star.
"Um, you mentioned other shipgirls, right?"
"So we did."
Suzy nearly shot out of her seat.
"Can we meet them?"
Amanda's smile was win.
"Unfortunately, that will be impossible at present. You will recall that I referred to our plans in the past tense." Her tone was not unkind, but not far short of businesslike. "I meant it: our plan is not a 'to-be'. It is already in motion."
Thanks for all the comments so far, and I hope you guys enjoy the chapter!
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A Sea of Stars
Book 1: The Stars, Awake
Chapter 3: First Day at The Office
Life can be described as a hallway full of doors in every build and make, shape and size, each opening unto more, and those too unto others.
Some remain open for a time, others close to us once we have stepped through. Some we ourselves shut, for better and worse alike. But not a single one opens or closes the same. One may be thrown wide open with singular purpose, others creak and founder with indecision, and upon each we carve emotions, purpose, and meaning, perhaps for ourselves to revisit; or for others to stumble upon. Thus every life lived is unique, a constant novelty from life's first cry to final breath.
How misfortunate, then, that this day had taken a left turn off the sunny side of the street into that part of town where the earthy scents of wood and stone were replaced with stark, relentless steel and glass, where anger had corporeal form and rage spanned the entire visual spectrum.
Indeed it could not be more abundantly clear that behind this pair of blast doors and its embossed silver nameplate M. Vorkros, CO Gradivus Base was having a beautiful day, one that nobody had any business interrupting, especially not in such a vulgar fashion as either I, or the shipgirl beside me might. Yet needs must when the devil drives. So, whose would that dishonor be?
"Hey, Suzy-"
"No."
"What?"
The blue-haired girl didn't even look at me, choosing instead to steadfastly eyeball the floor next to the office entrance.
"No. No matter what your question is, my answer is no."
Well, hello there, Our Lady of Perpetual Perception. In all truth, I hadn't expected this to be easy. Which was precisely why it would be fun.
"Now that's hardly fair of you," I protested.
"Nope. Don't care."
"See, if you'd just let me-"
"Nuh-uh-nopedy-no."
"I'll pay for dinner."
"Eh, it's free at the cantina."
"Supper, then."
Ah, there we go. The silence of doubt at last. Now, striking at the ravenous inclinations of a shipgirl was a bit low, even for me. But in desperate times...
"I'll manage."
...anything was fair game.
"Pudding at the mess. A whole week's worth."
Yes, dinner will be served soon, I thought to myself. In the meantime, please feel free to leave your jaws on the welcome mat. One of our friendly staff will assist you in picking them up when you leave.
But the taste of victory was as fleeting as it was sweet, as Suzy struggled mightily, but at last shoved the offending anatomical section back into place with an audible clack.
"B-bribing military personnel is a punishable offense," she spluttered, looking most displeased to be in the right. "You should be ashamed of yourself."
"Oh, but how can I, when you seem to like the idea so much?" I shrugged. "But see, I don't blame you. It is pudding after all-"
"Ha! You guys are a riot!"
That burst of laughter, throaty with an aged whiff of menthol smoke, reminded me that we were not alone. For on each side of the door stood a soldier in dark grey fatigues and armor, 'MP' woven in white on black armbands wrapped round their left shoulder armor.
One was clean shaven, the other five-o'clock-shadowed. Both were as broad and imposing as military police ought to be. Both were also standing as far clear of either side of the office entrance as humanly possible. A whole meter away, in fact.
Most encouraging.
"But the girl's right, you know." Clean Jean said, waggling a finger at me. "Careless talk costs lives."
"And court-martials," Stubby Hubby added. "Never know when someone might be listening in."
"Why thank you, Big Brother," I retorted. "But if you're going to risk going in there first, be my guest."
Tweedle-dee at least did me the courtesy of considering the option.
"Tempting," said he, stroking his pristine chin. "but nah. We're happy right where we are."
Tweedle-dum didn't even bother. The first twirl of his wrist unholstered the telescopic baton at his side. The second extended it, and the third greeted the intercom panel next to the door with a two swift strokes of police brutality: one to slide the panel open, the other for the buzzer.
It rang. Then we waited. And waited. And then we waited some more. Oh yes, dear me Mrs. Robinson, what a dreadfully hot day this is-
"Seaman Eli?"
Eli-the-Newly-Named cleared his throat.
"Lieutenants Deschantes and Onjouji to see you, ma'am."
"One moment."
It was a curt send-off playing at pleasantry - at best. But it did have its perks. The air ceased its attempts to strangle me without the aid of my tie, a freedom that our two stooges enjoyed a fair bit, lacking as they did the requisite wardrobe of laryngeal discomfort. Well, at least someone felt better in their own skin.
The additional wait on the other hand was quite subpar. Not enough to rot flesh off bone, mind you. Not quite that bad. But I trust you too would find a minute experiencing several -admittedly decreasing- degrees of 'not quite choking to death on the very air you breathe' to be just a tad uncomfortable.
Hmmm. Yes. Uncomfortable. No other phrase rolled off the tongue quite so well, were I to describe my week. And it was a feeling that only intensified as the seconds ticked down to when the door must surely slide open.
See, here's the thing. The natural empathic rating of the average human stands just a hair above that of the average rock. Sometimes that outlook even seems rosy.
But we've all that moment where we could see beyond the ken of mere sight. Like when you're browsing some clandestine material, and then you turn as the hairs of your back stand on end, only to see that your glowering professor has been waiting to lay the law down on your Gommorite bum for the last dozen seconds or so.
Being a psion means that these rare flashes of clarity become a near constant instead. But it also gives you the tools to prevent death by metasensory overload. You could shut off. Deaden the noise before it became cacophony. Or at least I could. It was also only fair that our Brothers Trimm over here should be allowed to speak for themselves.
Another psion, though, now that changed the game. We could project our emotions a certain distance almost instinctively. Quite prominently too, so it seemed. Which raised questions. Many, in fact. But most immediately, given the palpable heat I had felt earlier, might it be possible to project 'Piss Off My Lawn!' hard enough to flash-fry someone on demand?
The door opened, hissing my reply: 'Hush boy, you have other things to think about now.'
Other things, such as dealing with the alien presently grinning in the entryway.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," Commander Mraliz Vorkros said, the trilling distinctive to a Benthos' natural vocal apparatus setting her voice pleasantly aflutter. Nonetheless there was a dangerous glimmer in her eyes as she sized us both up. "You seem a little stiff. Did the flight not sit well with you?"
Then without warning she shot forward, till she was so close I could feel the chill rolling off the translucent environ suit that members of her race were wont to wear when not in anything short of eyeball-freezing temperatures.
"Or is our highest recorded psionic resonance peak not just for show after all, I wonder?"
What. How?
It wasn't till the doctor's smile had taken on the manner of a shark that I realized my mistake. My simple, fatal mistake. How could one forget? Just as it was not above one of our foremost experts in shipgirl phenomena to know more than I about them, it was certainly not below them to test that which they did not yet understand on poor unwitting soul.
And to Mraliz, I certainly counted as one such potential victim.
"Seems you're still quite green, boy," she teased, sparkling amber eyes confirming my suspicions. "Ah, ah, no. Don't spill the beans just yet. That can wait."
With that, she slid over to the left, gesturing towards the open doorway.
"Do come in," she said, "and welcome to Gradivus Base."
======
Mraliz Vorkros' office was a spartan affair, containing only the bare minimum that one could expect of an officer of her station. Two guest seats were arranged before a non-existent desk, both unneeded by a sentient that stood well over seven feet on tentacular haunches. Wall mounted displays showed schematics of both Gradivus and the Graf Zeppelin, albeit a similar foot above average eye level. Less expected, however, was the wall-mounted coffee machine. An antique of the pre-mass fabricator era, it was...
...well, let's just say that for some, pawning house, wives and children to get and maintain one was a fair price to pay.
Thus it had been with some trepidation that I had watched our host practically glide across the room, limbs flitting back and forth as they snagged cups from vacuum racks, poured beans, and pushed buttons, her lips spinning a tale of slanted modes and careless lilting quartertones.
But patience and trust were rewarded, and it was not long before each of us held in our hands a cup of lovely, dark mahogany magic, one whose aroma brought back to mind the best and worst hours in college life. Ah, nostalgia.
Next to me, Suzy peered into the depths of her own drink, her expression pensive. A pleasant surprise. Now if only she wasn't also allowing her cup to tilt further and further forward towards near-boiling doom. Any second now, and-
-our good host could show how having multiple limbs was a very convenient proposition. Yes, that worked too. Bonus points for causing Suzy to go a deep crimson shade.
"S-sorry! I was-"
"Distracted, I know." Mraliz chuckled, retracting the appendage with a chitinous rattle. "But do be careful from here on. My wallet is still hurting from having this shipped directly from Piaf two months back."
Huh. Two months, eh?
"I'm surprised you had the time to attend the Heritage Art Expo," I noted.
"I didn't," the doctor admitted. "I just read Royal Geo's 8-page pre-event coverage; placed an online order afterwards. The, uh," and here she paused, fingering her cup absently-
"Arita-yaki," Suzukaze piped up.
"-thank you. Yes, the Arita was much too fine to pass on," Mraliz finished.
I examined the specimen of the art in my hands. It was like black marble; but only if marble should be as scaled as dragonhide yet remain no less than pristine to the touch. Tracing its rim, I could feel the places where by craftsman's fiat the clay must have been made to give way. More here, less there. Without thought for such trivialities as perfection, that no two works should become twins.
"It is indeed exquisite."
"Aye, and I hope you enjoy the experience." Her smile thinned out a bit. "Goodness knows there's been too much unpleasantness about lately."
I cocked an eyebrow. I could imagine. In fact, I could even guess.
"Infuriating conversations, for example?"
"Like you wouldn't believe." Mraliz rolled her eyes as she took a generous swig of caffeinated Elysium. "But none of this talk about Akkad or other kerfuffles. I'm sure you two have been left with a lot of questions...but not while I'm having my coffee. Or until Graf gets here, at least. I can't guarantee that I could talk about it solo without blowing half a dozen gaskets."
So that display earlier was considered mild? Well, shit-la-merde.
Mraliz leaned back on her tentacular haunches.
"So yes, enough about misery me. How have our dashing Ghosts of Akkad been doing? Eager to strike another decisive blow against our enemies, I expect?"
"Just a question, Doc."
"Just Liz. Titles are so anti-fun." Well, right back at you, Liz. "But yes, ask away."
"Who thought of this 'Ghosts' nonsense, anyway?"
"Why, our mutual friend of course."
"Who? No, don't tell me. Let me guess," I said, hand held up. "Bald, shady, with a voice as smooth as ground asphalt?"
Suzy snickered. Thank you, thank you. For my next trick, I'll make it disappear.
On the other hand, it seemed a complaint about her esteemed colleague was worth but one sip of drink to Mraliz. We only needed a special print copy of the morning paper, and the age-old picture of banal nonchalance would be complete.
"I see Old Bailey made his usual impression."
Have I ever told anyone how much I respect people who codename themselves after courts? Because I really do. Really.
"Truth be told though," the doctor added, "I think he likes you two."
Calling Suzy 'unconvinced' was an understatement. Upright she sat, her earlier reticence long fled before the frown she now wore.
"You're not serious," she groaned.
"Perfectly so. What's wrong?"
"Three hundred and eighty seven." Suzy's right eyebrow began to twitch. "That's how many pages there are in The Project Poseidon Primer. And I had to read that. In five days." Smugness tugged at her lips. "I did it in four, though."
Correction, milady, if I may. We did it in four. A crowning achievement in amateur education if I should say so myself.
"Then today I meet someone on our transport who said that is the pre-101. Not even the beginning. If that's what Baldy does to people he likes, I'd hate to see what he does to those he doesn't."
"Well, that's-" Mraliz paused momentarily. "Uh-"
"-Unfortunate, but necessary."
The new voice was like still water. Calm. Quiet, almost, and yet it drowned the serpent-call of the doors with ease even before its owner entered the office.
To think that I would have reckoned this strange only days earlier. The sea of sound, bowing before its rightful ruler, its queen. But Commander Amanda Reiner, she whom history knew better as Graf Zeppelin, certainly looked the part.
Ramrod straight, she was clad in hoar-frost white down to the waist and from there in svelte black, and though her eyes were a familiar shale blue there was a vise-grip steel in the Commander's gaze as she sized us up. And no offense, but not even in my most fevered visions of our first battle together could Suzy hope to match that magnetic, relentless intensity.
The next time anyone moved, her right hand had been extended towards me for the last few seconds or so. Maybe more.
"Hmm," she mused. "I must confess, I expected-"
"Taller. Broader. A bit quicker with the rejoinders," I muttered as I stood to shake her hand. Man, it was hard to get back in the flow of things. "or maybe you'd prefer me without my glorious black sideburns?"
"Perhaps," Amanda nodded. "It does seem a little unbecoming of a hero to look so unruly. But that is a task best left to the media men."
Breaking off, she turned to Mraliz.
"So I take it you have been on the line with-"
"A minute, please."
The shipgirl transfixed her partner with a familiar look. One that reminded me of Dad, when he was being Ioannis 'I'm not saying I disapprove, but I disapprove' Deschantes.
"I believe you said-"
"To meet at sixteen-thirty hours shipboard time. I know. I just-" Mraliz sighed, rolling both eyes over to regard the ceiling. "-I just need a minute to finish my coffee. Alright?"
Amanda seemed to consider that.
"Hmm. One thing, if I may," she said.
"What is it?"
"Did Marshal Kowalcski say 'no'?"
"Yes. But-"
"Perfect. Then we can proceed."
Mraliz blinked.
"What?"
Wow, the nerve of people nowadays. I mean look, it's jaws we're talking about here. A part of one's sacred form, and not a thing cheaply replaced with modern science by any means - unlike, say, children you misplace at the mall district.
"Exactly what I said," Amanda replied, her voice slick with what had to be two hundred proof Bordeaux-de-Merdenon.
"And really, you shouldn't make me worry like that," the shipgirl continued, striding over to the screens that adorned the office walls. "Suddenly having to include non-Division assets into our plans would have been rather…"
Then the carrier turned back, a wan smile ghosting across her face.
"...inconvenient."
Mraliz just stared mutely at her partner for a moment or two. Then she did the only thing one did in such circumstances.
Sticking a palm out, she brought her face down duly to meet it.
"You know what, I don't care enough right now," she groaned, the cloud of simmering anger all but having disappeared in the meantime. "We'll do this your way."
"Good."
"Yes. 'Good'. That's all she has to say. O Responsible Reiner, O Marvelous Mandy, she of the masterful management and wondrous work ethic, I bow to your Teutonic superiority."
"The correct word is 'efficiency'."
"Whatever."
Amanda shook her head, tapping the OmniPad in her left hand.
"Sometimes I wonder if it is I," the shipgirl half-sighed, "and not you who commands this task force."
"It should have been, were that mine to give."
Woah. Was it just me, or was that at least a few strikes for idealism? Well, just another day in a bad season then. On that note, I stole a look at Suzy. In the good news, enough of that exchange had flown over her head you could form contrails out of the conjured question marks. In bad news-
"So, uh, I have a question, Gr- err, Amanda."
The blonde turned back to face us.
"Yes?"
"Who's 'they'?"
Well, I suppose my expectations could be surpassed from time to time. Not that I minded. Always thought they were a little low anyway.
"Good question, Suzukaze," came the pointed reply, "and well taken. So, I hear you've read the Primer, have you?"
"Memorized it," my partner declared, thumping a hand to her chest.
"Impressive."
So saying, Amanda turned back to face the screens, each of them glowing in turn as she ran a free hand across them. With a tightened fist, all their lights shrunk and were snuffed out.
Then, with an outward thrust of a reopened hand outwards she brought both ceiling and floor to life, covering the office in a burst of light that coalesced rapidly into a three-dimensional star-map of Indus Sector: our present location, and the furthest galactic coreward reach of the Alliance.
A room-wide holodeck, no expenses spared. Impressive.
"But I will be the judge of that. What do you know of the Indus Tributaries?"
Suzy tapped her chin.
Come on, girl. Don't fail me now.
"I guess this goes to the time when we weren't called the Alliance of Terra Novum yet. So the year is 2165, and some of our most important people sat down to talked about that very thing for a whole two weeks. And like most meetings where everyone is way important, they couldn't agree on all sorts of things and got really fed up!"
Ah, the sweet, sweet reverence for history - music to my ears. If not for my duty to hear this paragon tale out to the end, I could shed a tear right now.
"It was so bad that when both the Terra Novum Charter and the Mars-Yggdrasil Protocol were finally decided on, some people just decided this whole Alliance thing wasn't for them and left." Suzy shrugged. "Dunno why. I would've thought that making peace with aliens and developing more advanced computers was a good thing."
"So one should think. But stranger things have been done, Ja?"
"Guess so."
"Well then. Go on."
"So the last we hear of these people is three centuries and a half ago, when they begin their journey towards the core of the Milky Way." Suzy paused. "Ethel doesn't believe that though."
Mraliz shot me a wry smirk.
"Budding conspiracy theorist, are we?"
"As a wise woman once said, stranger things have been done," I replied.
"Either way, that all changed about eight years ago." Suzy interrupted. She then stood, indicating the center of the room. "May I?"
Amanda nodded.
"You still have the floor."
Reaching out, she tweaked the map with three fingers, first hesitantly, then with more confidence. I fought the urge to whistle as she punched up the zoom on the coremost section of the Indus. That resolution was some Asimov's World Fair material right there and no mistake, even for modern standards. Nothing but the best for our best, I supposed.
"The Indus Sector. Cielo System, Cielo Four, May 6th, 2534," Suzy said, holding the sand-swept planet in her hand. "FTL-band distress calls on an old Earth Confederacy frequency originating from this planet, and are picked up by a border fleet. But upon arrival they are caught in a running battle between Confederacy splinter elements and the lifeforms we now call the Abyssals."
A swipe of her hand painted the Indus Corridor a pulsing gold, all the better to contrast with the large splotches of Alliance blue that ran across its breadth.
"By the time the dust settles, it's August 2535. Over the next two and a half years, the Indus Corridor is secured with the help of Fleet Groups Upandla and Olomouc." The gold expanded accordingly, becoming the coreward bulwark every self-respecting student was made to learn in history class. "Searches for Abyssal home planets achieve next to nothing. But we do get a lull; that is, until Hive World Akkad literally explodes into being in the Eregion System on 9th November 2540."
She paused.
"But I digress. In accepting our help, eight systems strong and growing of Confederacy space has been made to accept partial Alliance governance. But they don't do it willingly, and grow more belligerent by the day concerning our operations in their territory." An odd smile slipped onto her face. "...and I guess I answered my own question plus interest, didn't I?"
"I believe that was the point of the exercise." Amanda nodded approvingly. "Well done, Lieutenant Onjouji."
"Unusual presentation of our founding history notwithstanding," Mraliz added with a quirk of her brow.
Now, woman, don't look at me like that. Surely I could not have been the sole mastermind for this historical heresy.
"I-uh," Suzy said sheepishly as she sat back down again, "thanks?"
"So. Yes, it is as you suggest." Taking the stage once more, Amanda shifted the map further coreward. "This is where the Gradivus, myself and our escorts are: on the orbital rim of the ninth Indus system, Sancaid. On paper, Fleet Group Olomouc -under command of Fleet Marshal Petr Kowalcski- holds the system. In reality, control is tenuous. Crawling with Abyssal raiders who use heavy hit and run strikes on approaching ships, ships Olomouc cannot spare."
"Ships they could spare," Mraliz corrected. "That is, if they didn't insist on playing white knights to half the Corridor."
"True," Amanda admitted. "Nonetheless, our business here is not to debate the Fleet Marshal's decisionmaking."
She began to pace the room, green dots lighting up in her wake.
"For this reason, Olomouc's garrison in Sancaid is more like an early warning system. Glorified listening posts in function, though still heavily armed and protected." The incarnate carrier gestured apropos the crest of emerald stars overhead, two fingers closing around the largest of them. "The nerve center is here, Sancaid Prime."
With a flick of her wrist, the planet lay before us in full color. Spiralling green strokes flocked to small masses of slate grey rock, together conspiring to shatter the blue monotony of ocean, while above the wind drove chariots of wild white horses across the sky in thin, numerous ranks.
"Beautiful, is it not?" Mraliz sighed, her till now constant irritation dissipating somewhat. "Very...what's the word you anthropocentrists love to use?"
"Earthlike?" Suzy asked.
"Yes. That. Which Sancaid Prime is, if you exclude the over one-hundred-percent urbanization and replace it with chest-high swamp, zero visibility rainstorms all year round, and unpredictable drafts trying to blast anything short of a heavy cruiser off course."
"Which we will watch out for, yes," Amanda noted, "in addition to a more recent environmental hazard."
Now I could count the number of times I found slapping a coat of fresh dark violet paint on a picture more frightening than funny. But Alliance maps did not use that color willy-nilly. No, they saved it for what one might call the Abyssal anvil, if their fleet of black horrors were the hammer.
"A Ginaz Storm," Suzy breathed.
"Good. You've done your homework on that front too. That saves us time." Amanda tucked both arms behind her back. "Three days ago, all contact with our planetside outpost at Fortuna's Reach, which houses both a FTL Comms Relay, a harbour and a complement of light ships, was lost in a Ginaz Storm outbreak.
A single gold point lit up where the sparse highlands met the ocean, surrounded -planet and all- by a thick, suffocating purple haze.
"Initial scans indicated that the FTL Interdiction Space generated by the Storm is large enough to rule out a high exospheric insertion, and it grows in size even as we speak. These signs of more permanent Abyssal commitment, combined with more pressing defensive concerns elsewhere, is more than adequate grounds for the refusals of aid from Olomouc or the Indus until sizable forces can be brought to bear."
"And you said this was a good thing," I interjected.
"I did."
"Liz disagreed."
"She has since come around."
That got a chuckle out of Mraliz, though from one oft-vanquished to another I knew the notes played to resign an unwinnable battle. A timely reminder. I was beginning to forget that Suzy and I weren't the only ones capable of a little tete-a-tete to settle things between ourselves.
"Allow me to explain further. Before Akkad, did you ever hear hide or hair of shipgirls? Of Project Poseidon? Or even of the Advanced Warfare Research Division, for that matter?"
"No."
"Which is as it should be," Amanda replied. "We mean to avoid such custody battles over 'the truth' as we seem ever so fond of every few decades or so. Now, we would win these battles eventually. But 'eventually' suggests that it would take time and effort, effort that it is best we not risk expending at all. Worse still if you deal in such secrets as we do."
So saying, she touched the gold marker that was Fortuna's Reach.
"Like so."
A strange sight greeted my eyes: line after line of silver-white glyphs crawled down the screens before us, each symbol a series of twists and turns that together formed a contorting, writhing tapestry of color and shape. They were words. Mere words, perhaps not even that, and not one of them meant a whit to me. Yet the image burned its way into my eyes.
Ancient. Alien. Beautiful and captivating, but at the same time wrong. Missing. Incomplete.
Incomplete. Incomplete-
"See anything?"
No, Doc. I stare at an object for god knows how long, break out into a cold sweat, and get jump-startled by the first thing that you said to me - yup, nothing here but us space chickens.
"I suppose." The words came out slow. Halting. "This mission... isn't really a rescue. It's a retrieval. We're heading over to pick up the rest of this...this thing, that they've managed to find somehow."
Man, trying to maintain coherence when your collar was doing its utmost to adhere to your neck, while the weight sitting atop that neck was trying to hammer itself into oblivion was frustration itself.
"Somehow? Oh no. We at the Division have been quite intentional about this discovery. And mind you, standing orders for contested territory mandates at least an attempt at personnel recovery. Best to get your facts straight," Mraliz corrected me. " But an astute observation otherwise. Pity we've lacked the alacrity to explore these less tangible aspects of psionics so far. Who knows what else we might have gleaned otherwise."
"Mira…" Amanda hissed.
"Eh, they should hear it." Mraliz dismissed with six harrumphing shoulders. "I've been saying this from the very start, that psionic resonance values aren't simply arbitrary measurements. That some good would come of taking time to understand it. Maybe find ways to apply and improve it. But did anyone listen? Nope. Always in such a hurry to arm our girls, always rushing to get them 'operationally ready.' No time to waste 'faffing about with your pet projects, Dr. Vorkros.'"
"To be fair, operational readiness is a critical and time-consuming objective-"
"Dammit Graf-frickin-Zeppelin; if I needed your opinion I'd read a voice procedure manual." Mraliz sighed. "Yeesh. Anyhoo, I've been letting this one dog lie, waiting for something like right now: On the brink of our first major psionics-related discovery since forming Poseidon, with shipgirls, psions and time aplenty. You have no idea how honest-to-goodness pumped I am to-"
"-wait until we have the whole artifact and everyone present before continuing your experiments instead of overstepping your authority again," Amanda cut in. "Most prudent. I approve."
Mraliz pouted, though one could only wonder: how much of it was the putdown, and how much was the Arita mug that had mysteriously left her hand only to reappear in her partner's.
"I was going to say that," the doctor protested.
"You were not."
"I was - before you interrupted me!"
"That is a common excuse, yes." The shipgirl took a tentative sip. Her face scrunched up. "And as the beverage, so the- yes, Lieutenant Onjouji?"
I glanced at my partner. Guess some things from school don't change at all. Raise your hand if you want to speak, wait your turn, and try not to ask silly questions if you want that gold star.
"Um, you mentioned other shipgirls, right?"
"So we did."
Suzy nearly shot out of her seat.
"Can we meet them?"
Amanda's smile was win.
"Unfortunately, that will be impossible at present. You will recall that I referred to our plans in the past tense." Her tone was not unkind, but not far short of businesslike. "I meant it: our plan is not a 'to-be'. It is already in motion."
=== To be continued in Chapter 4: Storm Front ===
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Book 1, Chapter 4: Storm Front
- Location
- Little Red Dot
And here's Chapter 4! It's a day or so later than it should have come out, because emergency cinema-going is a thing. But it has arrived, and that's the important thing...right?
As always, enjoy the chapter. All comments and other thoughts appreciated!
=======
A Sea of Stars
Book 1: The Stars, Awake
Chapter 4: Storm Front
"Well," I sighed out loud to no one in particular, "isn't this bothersome."
Not that anyone in particular could hear me, of course. A lone man in a long food queue was but one well of sighs amongst so many others in Cantina Four, which was in its turn only one amongst half dozen others that dotted the decks of Gradivus Base. All of them bloated, swaying and groaning even as this one did under burdens that any four walls would struggle to contain.
Rushing foot-falls. The jostling of bodies in between crowded benches and tables. Orders of food being hollered over the din. And then there were the conversations, heated, focused, laidback, meandering between all and sundry
range yesterday was such a pain in the ass
that Janoor better remember he owes me that twelve cred
But most centered around the now, as exemplified by the holodeck in the center of the canteen.
There, Sancaid Prime turned on its silent axis, a peaceful eye amid a raging storm that reached out to encroach upon the blackness of empty space. Even in miniature, the violet miasma surrounding the planet was
man that thing is somefuck ugly
is it growing yeah it's growing
it's written right there you blind or something
remember that monster from The Spawning, y'know, the amorphous spider thing with like a million eyes or some sh
it is much less red than we were told to expect
they're doing pretty good, our girls-
I frowned.
Suzy, you're doing it again.
At at once, the voices were hushed. In their place was a strange void, an almost embarrassed silence, one that Suzy broke with the mental -and perhaps not merely so- equivalent of biting her lip.
Sorry. I'm just-
Still feeling bummed out?
I immediately regretted cutting in. It was always better to let a person finish.
Uh huh.
A neutral enough response. Neutral was good. Or at least not catastrophic, and thus not in need of damage control just yet. On second thought, perhaps I'd do some anyway.
Now I'll admit, I can't say 'I know how you feel' in good faith.
Because telepathy is cheating?
A bit, I confessed. Also, I don't have...uh, you know.
Silence.
You don't remember, Suzy?
Hmmm. No, I don't.
Damn. And I thought I'd dodged a bullet there. O little shipboard log of the TNS Suzukaze, how you disappoint me.
I'm an only child, remember?
...Oh. Man, just call me the one-man awkwardness upgrade service. I mean, I just wish the holodeck wasn't in the middle of the cantina. Now I couldn't forget about it if I wanted to.
Which was probably the point, I noted.
Yeah. But- ugh, you know!
Sorry, know what again?
Ah, I could see Suzy folding her arms in frustration now.
Now you're being dense on purpose.
Guilty. Still, a therapist once told me that it helps to spell out your trauma.
You went to a therapist - and listened?
Such humility comes out of left field, that is true, I reflected. Oh look, the queue was moving again. Feet, shuffle forward if you please. But the point stands.
Ugh. I know. I know. It just...feels like shit.
And so you're binging.
I'm not bingeing!
I struggled not to roll my eyes as I took my place near the very front of the queue. Second in line in fact. That was fast.
"What might I get you today?"
The AI vendor asked the man in front of me.
'He' was poetry in a billion pixels as he stood behind a virtual storefront, from the twinkling obsidian eyes set into a weathered face to the Rorschachian oil stains on his girthy apron, and had a voice to match the size, booming forth from speakers that lined the fabricator machine.
"A bowl of Thai-style wanton noodles, please," came the reply.
I smirked.
Hear that, Suzy? One big-ass bowl of wanton noodles.
To most people, that's a meal. Not just one thing topping off a list of 'dishes someone else orders for you' which in your case includes -and correct me if I'm wrong- fish slice porridge, a supersize Queles Burger, miso steak and yoghurt on breaded asparagus, pork sausage rosti...and whole broiled Mbarian wildgame with ixberry stew.
Now tell me, in what world does this list not constitute a binge?
The response was a muffled mental 'urk!' followed by silence.
Go on, I pressed, trying not to sound too amused. I'm waiting.
I-it's called an emergency resupply session! Suzy protested.
Which, if nothing else, she continued more quietly, I have legitimate reasons for having.
I glanced at the holodeck, to a distant debris field right smack in the path of the incoming Ginaz Storm.
So you do, girl. So you do.
There, five blue arrows lay in wait. DD(SG)s twenty through twenty-two -Amatsukaze, Yuudachi, and Fubuki- , CA(SG)-7 Agano, and the Hanuman-class Stealth Battlespace Observer Iramabel. Advance guards. Scouts.
Bait.
Despite the name, Stealth Battlespace Observers weren't invisible. Optical stealth, even having left infancy for a century or so, meant nothing inside a Ginaz Storm, and certainly not with sensor arrays fully deployed in order to provide our fleet with the information we needed on Abyssal positions.
The moment the violet tide reached them, they would be as a nimbus of light in utter darkness. Or more accurately, as bloodied meat in a shark pool. The Abyssals would surely pounce. And when they did, so would we. As plans went this one was simple, and as sound as it was bold.
My eyes lingered over the Yuudachi, on the tiny formation's far left. Ah, Commander Reiner, for all your skill, I must confess to be a little disappointed. In your boundless wisdom, could you not have spared my partner a little consideration? Or, you know, at least not dangle her sister by blood just out of reach and drive her stir crazy in the process-
"-purchase anything?"
"Sorry?"
The vendor's thin smile told me in no uncertain terms that were the skillet in his meaty arm real I would be feeling it right this instant. Message duly received, good sir.
"I asked if you would like to purchase anything."
"Yes." Alright. Quick. The order, what was it again? "Yes. Sorry. I was distracted."
"Good. I thought we'd lost you there."
"How long?"
"About half a minute."
"Then I'll pay back in kind," I replied. "Two plates each of char siew wanton noodles and another two of sauteed vegetables on the side."
"Why, consider me mollified, sir. You will, however, find your fellow patrons less charitable."
Well, what do you know. Inchoate miasmas of roiling impatience could spontaneously materialize enough for visual detection after all. Perhaps someday, in a situation very much like this one, you too could be stopped by a mass of sentient indignance and be given a red card for time-wasting.
"Well if they require a levy they're free to name it. What's your price?"
"I find eight credits reasonable."
"It isn't extortion, no," I agreed, signing off on the bill with a flick of my OmniPad.
"Thank you for your patronage!"
And the fabricator hummed to life. The whirling symphony of the kitchen was a familiar one: the whirring and chopping, the slicing and stirring a soothing music to my ears.
Excuse me, milady, I called, but I was occupied otherwise.
I gathered.
Oh, 'I gathered', was it? How dismissive.
But there was no time for navel-gazing on the reason for Suzy's curtness; a ding put paid to such thoughts as the fabricator's 'mouth' slid open, bearing my orders froth from its metal innards on a tray.
"Your extras, sir," the vendor announced. "Enjoy your meal."
"So I will."
Tray in hand, I wheeled around and made to leave the queue, the aroma of the meal my shield against the fiery darts my former queue-mates rained down upon me with narrowed eyes and muffled grumbling, with such a fury that should reduce a lesser man to groveling, penitent, shamefaced- sorry, where was I?
Ah yes, the food. Stalled conversation with Suzy, and thoughts thereof. But first, the food. Fried pork lard, budu and oyster sauce; a match made in heaven. Why, it was so heavenly that a man might not begrudge the resultant shortening of his life expectancy; for what was life if un-enjoyed, and what was enjoyment if unshared?
Especially when there were so many to share it with, I thought as our table came into sight.
Company was a constant friend of the moody soul, and here it took the form of our newest friends, Corporals Ginger Meggs, Flavius Dweebius, and two others they'd brought along. Yes, 'friends', not 'acquaintances.' An arguably premature upgrade, but a favor done was a favor won, and sitting down to help cheer my partner up in my absence was no small favor.
As on the Catha previously, so here: it was Margaret 'Marge' Angelos who spotted me first.
"Hey!" She called, waving.
Suzy raised her eyebrows in greeting. Which was as much as a person could do with both hands and mouth full with a supersize Queles burger, so I gave that a passing grade.
Kaiser Nerdhelm on the other hand merely stopped his constant jabbering at my partner, but otherwise seemed as determined now as back then to impress upon me the meaning of sonder. Thank you, Seedy Gonzalez; this whole 'befriending' business had been going so well too.
It was the two unfamiliar faces, however, that held my attention.
"...so this here lad's the partner, then, Margie?"
The fellow who spoke first cut a curious figure, his otherwise shorn and noticeably less tanned appearance from his tablemates broken both by a rich brown goatee, plus a chakram-shaped tattoo that served as a fashionable disguise for the extensive cyber augments that crowded his left temple.
He also hadn't recognized me immediately, which was comforting. It was nice to have people buy you drinks, but drinking just to rid oneself of the cringe an insufferable nickname brought ruined all the fun.
Marge nodded.
"That he is, Chief. Mr-, huh, no. It's Lieutenant now isn't it? Lieutenant Deschantes, in the flesh."
Man, that once-over burned, and it wasn't just the red LED glow in the center of the man's left eye.
"What the hell," the older man muttered at last. "Doesn't look like the briefing profile at all. Whatever did they do to your face, lad?"
"It's my gigawatt smile," I supplied. Half-heartedly perhaps, but navigating the circumference of the table in this crowd without making obese dying elephants look graceful by comparison was hard when you were as encumbered as I. "Couldn't wear it during the photo-taking. They said it ruined the flash."
The other stranger pushed back some short black dreadlocks and brought a large palm to rest on on one tan cheek, while her other hand twirled a fork between two fingers.
"They let you wear that lip too, sir?"
"No camera can catch that, I'm afraid," I said as I sat down.
Suzy took another crunching, squelching bite of her burger.
"I apologize in advance for him."
Hush, girl. I have just returned from running a gauntlet of stall queues to get you food, plus sides. Plus your voices in my head on intermittent annoyance duty. The Association of Unnecessary Apologies just called, they want to rescind your provisional membership.
"Eh, no need," The woman laughed up to her twinkling brown eyes as I sat down. "Reckon I like you, sir."
"I'd prefer 'Ethel'. I don't wear ranks I don't earn."
"Honesty!"
I know, right? What the heck was a 'Simulated Lieutenant', anyway?
"Your loss, Edith." my partner noted.
Knuckles cracked in response.
"Think I can take one of those."
The woman's outstretched hand was calloused and corded with muscle up to where the ultramarine navy sleeves covered it up, with a grip to match: a crushing experience in every sense of the term.
"Petty Officer First Class, Edith Butler. 2IC of Scout Team Forza, 322nd OrbCav." At this, she jerked a thumb at the tattooed man, bright golden eyes twinkling. "I'm next in line if the old guy over there kicks it. Feel free to tell me when he does."
"Nope, hasn't happened yet; and hell if these old bones know why," the elder scout retorted, taking on a roguish twist of lip and cheek that was unexpected but not unwelcome. "Now, these idiots call me Boss, Chief, Geezer and other assorted claptrap. But not you, boy. You shall call me Master Chief Orfan Uruz. Petty Officer optional, that's too long."
Well, quiver my woodstocks.
Gradivus' crew complement was way too huge for a man to easily go through, to say nothing of the entire Task Force's, but I'd actually heard of this guy before - what were the odds? He was a seasoned soldier, with service preceding the Abyssal War, if recall served. Had a pretty famous stint in…
In...well, actually, I couldn't remember for the life of me - on to the customary handshake then.
Orfan's grip was light and supple, something I'd have expected from a man half his size, and while it was warm as any flesh it lacked a certain there-ness to it that modern military augments tended to leave intact. Pre-fourth gen cybernetics? Odd. He could be anywhere between a century or two old by the looks of it, but I was pretty sure his service didn't predate the Nanoculture Insurance Act. That had been what, 2285?
Nevermind. Not a question for first encounters.
"Always pleased to learn from experience," I said.
"Good, good." Orfan laughed. "I'll give you one free then: Never buy food for someone whose idea of a meal is a localized extinction event."
Too late for that, bub. Girl's been building a monument to our anemic appetites for the last fifteen minutes now, and it didn't look like she was stopping any time soon. But just as I thought that, Suzy did indeed stop, if only to give Orfan the stink eye.
"Hey, it's called Underway Resupply," she protested.
"Call it what you like, girlie sunshine," the Chief replied with an easy grin, "but these old bones wager we'll need a whole other ship or three someday soon, just t'keep you lasses topped off."
Leckie snorted.
"Bet you all a hundred that some big time bean counter is already planning that."
"Not a bet I'll take," Edith said between vicious spear-fuls of pudding. "Fully functional ships for a fraction of the standard maintenance cost? It's any data monkey's wet dream come to life- uh, no offense, Onjouji."
"We're cool."
A somewhat comfortable hush fell over the table. Edith continued rationing out what little was left of her dessert. Leckie flicked at his arm-mounted OmniPad idly. Marge watched Suzy eat with an expression caught between reverence and horror, while Orfan seemed content to just stand -or rather, sit- aloof for now.
Which narrowed my list of conversation partners down quite a bit. Just as well.
"Y'know, Chief-"
The klaxon was short and shrill, slicing through the din as if it were but a void.
[H-hour imminent. All hands prepare for jump,] the voice of Mraliz Vorkros boomed over the sound system. [Say again, H-hour imminent. All hands prepare for jump.]
It was like a starter gun had gone off. Food vanished down gullets as spoons became shovels and forks industrial plows. Officers and senior non-coms leaped onto tables, running feet answering their crisply barked orders. The directionless fog of human awareness in Cantina Four was now a wall of steel, ringing cold and bright in unison with every sure yet nimble step.
It was a human exodus of the highest order: well organized, high spirited, and immensely disappointing.
Sure, expecting anyone to share my heartbeat of holy shit it's happening it's actually happening was to assume a nadir of empathy too radiant for mortal realms. But misery loves company, and this whole 'rah-rah oom-pah-pah, we march, we fight for Sweet Terra' business was awful in that regard at best.
"Well damn that's a lot of 'em…"
But there we go. The Club Sans Enthousiasme could not stay empty forever, and how fitting that His Eminence, Johann Leckie -Le Vicomte de Braggalotte himself!- should be our first patron.
Make that two patrons: Marge was silent, her expression darkening as she too looked at the sphere, and at the sea of red that crept ever closer to the point of no return: a single line that marked where any further transmissions from our scouts would break stealth.
That was our fellow newbies covered. What abou-
Edith Butler was a blur of flying dreadlocks, swinging around the table to where her two subordinates sat at the edge of their seats. Goddamn military-grade augs. No one had any right being that fast while that large. Or that strong: I could feel the backslaps she was giving out with mine own scapulae.
And again. Ow, just ow.
"Chin up, greenhorns." Edith declared. "See now, playtime wouldn't be worth jack-shit if it came free!"
"Girl speaks truth!" Orfan barked heartily, slapping the table. "That's the way of the world: eat, drink and merry, because tomorrow you fight to do it all over again!"
A few shouts of 'hear hear!' could be heard in response.
Then he turned back to me, the intensity in his gaze only just offset by a wry grin.
"Not going to talk to your little miss?"
Ah. Yes, of course. The elephant in the room.
If everyone else had given the hologlobe at least a fourth look on account of that siren wail, Suzy must have had her eyes bolted to it by capital ship grade grav-tractors. She was also utterly quiet, so much so that those around her, even those passing by, could not but fall silent.
"Sure you've got to time to be pissing about here?"
"We're third rotation. The backup backup plan." Orfan jerked a thumb behind him to where a small minority of staff remained seated, though their plates too were either conspicuously empty or well on the way to being so. "If we have to be out there today, things have gone to double-triple fuck with plenty to spare."
"Also," he added pointedly, "I asked first."
I shrugged. Your concession, your loss.
"I'm considering how not to mess it up."
"So you do need help."
Cool those translight jets, Old, Bold and Sardonically Winking. I said I was taking time out to ponder future actions. A most wise course of action if I should say so myself, especially when the chattier half of this psionic bridge is presently doing her best Tower of Babel impression - a fews miles high, eloquent as stone, and locked in futile rebellion against reality.
But if he was up for some brainstorming, I wouldn't refuse him.
"Her older sister's with the scouting party," I confessed.
"The Yuudachi, I take it?" Now eyes, be brave. Do not make me look like a moron- oh how you betray me; our foe is grinning, smirking death's own rictus'd visage at our bewilderment. "What, weren't you listening to me earlier? We have briefings. So do you: the same ones, I'd wager. They tell us things, and very occasionally those things happen to be important."
Fair point.
"Right. So, yeah. A sister. Right in the line of fire. It's, well..."
Dammit, now I was the one plying the face of the holodeck for the words I needed. But alas, there was nothing there, neither mene, tekel nor upharsin. Only a crimson swarm to stand in for the finger of the divine, for our reckoning with-
-the collision reverberates through the silence of space, consuming everything in a blazing sea of white-
"Kid?"
Ugh. Come on, Ethel. There is a season for everything: a time to be silent, and a time to speak, and a time to engage in excessive navel-gazing vis-a-vis your most recent memories of the enemy. That is to say, not right now.
"It's a difficult idea for me to relate to," I finished.
Orfan hummed thoughtfully.
"No family or friends out there on the fronts?" That was rather straight to the point. He seemed to realize it too, though his shrug was less backpedal, more teasing mollification. "Just asking, kiddo. People tend to after a while."
"You could say that I've gotten used to it."
I let that hang for a few moments.
"Well then," the Master Chief huffed, folding his arms. "I won't pry. But if you aren't gonna make a move, mind if this old man gives it a swing?"
Oh good sir, you are truly too kind.
Now. To tell him or not to tell him…
Eh, whatever. If a man chanped so at the bit to charge, who was I to dismay him? And it was always nice to learn more about where we stood on the information-divvying ladder.
"Your funeral," I replied, gesturing towards where Suzy sat.
No more words were wasted. Striding over to where my partner sat in silence, Orfan pulled a chair over from a recently vacated table, and sat down right next to her.
"So, girl," the Master Chief began, "something on your mind?"
No reaction. Nay, nary a twitch.
This was a problem. Albeit in the sense that only thing worse than a 'forward the light brigade' approach to potential emotional minefields was the conspicuous lack of response from said minefield, but still a problem. Perhaps this was the right moment for a quick psionic mic check. A little blunt-edged as solutions went, but sometimes old fashioned was best.
I reached forward slowly, steadily towards the wall that Suzy had thrown up about herself, tracing each raw throbbing singularity in the coherent yet utterly alien whole. It was...different. And very impressive: nothing she'd done before came anywhere close.
Psionic Race (Innate), boys and girls. Yet our practice sessions -and what limited Poseidon records existed on the matter- yielded no decisive differences between them and us psions-by-induction. Only the patience, the persistence to find the chinks that must surely exist in any armor, and use that as our point of
intrusion
I froze, just barely managing to not 'jump' out of my own skin at that. One interminable second passed. Two.
Then Suzy's eyes snapped back into focus.
"Uh." She began with a flair that would have honored Demosthenes, red-faced and stuttering as she faced her grinning audience of one, realization dawning. "Um-"
She plunged low into a full bow.
"Sorry, Chief! I-"
"Relax, sunshine, we're cool-"
"-I'm really, really sorry!"
I watched them from the corner of my eye, all the while fighting the urge to add throttling whoever had written the section of the primer on Psionic Resonance to my bucket list of things to do before this war got me killed. Or to laugh out loud at Orfan's futile attempts to stop the litany of apologies my partner was pouring out upon him.
'Inexact science', my arse. But it was worth it.
"Alright, alright," the Master Chief said at last, looking every bit the beleaguered survivor of Space Storm Sumanai, "So zoning out isn't a pattern with you usually, I get that."
"Y-yeah." Suzy stammered. "It's just that..."
"Mmhmm?"
Several emotions whirled past my partner's features as she calmed herself down, before settling into a frown.
"...he told you."
"What?"
"Ethel told you." An accusatory glance flicked my way. "About Yuu-n- the Yuudachi."
Orfan raised both eyebrows.
"Oh, no, not at all." He chuckled softly, reaching for his breast pocket. "In fact, you'd be surprised-"
"Don't!" Suzy hissed, only to recoil at her own vehemence. "Don't," she murmured, her voice shrinking. "You'll get in trouble. We're not cleared for this, not yet."
Orfan did not remove his hand.
"And you're alright with that?"
Well, that was only the most blatant bait I'd seen in a year. But from the grinding of teeth I could hear from between Suzy's limits, it was working.
"Of course not!" She snapped. "She's my sister. We should be fighting together, not separated by a light-year of space and a buttload of waiting - her out on the frontline, me in some hidey hole! All these years, and now...I haven't even met her yet, let alone spoken a word to her. I don't even know what she looks like! And I never might! Do you even know-"
"Yeah, I do."
Were this me, Suzy's face would have scrunched up, and the 'no you don't' would have been swift in coming. But the conviction in Orfan Uruz's voice was a different beast before which she froze, face seizing in wide-eyed surprise at the sudden flame in his countenance.
So it was that the Master Chief retrieved the contents of his breast pocket unmolested, and next thing I knew a small object was spinning towards my partner's fumbling hands.
It was a photo. Not a holo-plate or some mini OmniPad like the one I used; an honest to goodness color print, sealed in plastic and looking only a tad worse for wear for it.
"My old Scout Team from Callidus Academy, Batch of Summer 2515, during my senior instructor term." He jerked a thumb over to where Edith had pulled Marge and Leckie aside. "Tell you what, these bumbling bozos hadn't even been born then."
"Get over that statistic," Edith called back. "It was only two weeks!"
Ignoring her, Orfan tapped the figure furthest left in the photo. "That's your's truly of course," he said, tapping his tattooed temple, "well, before I got these here fancy digs."
Then finger became fingers, one for each of the two person next in line.
"Yag Shal and Nora Troie, nee Meyer-Ohle."
The latter was a just under five foot three Terran, even counting the tilt from having a hand on one hip and the stray strands of rose-gold that poked up above a blazing curtain of hair. The former was arms akimbo and all frowns, as if an armored bipedal reptilian twice his companion's size with a scar over one fiery eye needed anything more in the intimidation department.
The tiniest grin played across Suzy's face, her first clean break from visible anxiety since we'd arrived at the cantina.
"They look happy together."
"Aye," Orfan agreed. "Love can bloom n'all. Even between the biggest pair of idiots I've ever seen. Still together too, the crazy bastards."
The Master Chief's eyes grew distant as he came to the last person in the picture. It reminded me a lot of Dad, on the rare days where we could meet and talk: minus the arguments, and the drinks needed to keep us civil.
"And that's my third grand-niece Rajelle," he said, idly tracing the side of the picture that framed the slightly taller, raven-haired young woman at the rightmost. "Funny thing, coincidences. Bounce her on your knee, read her her first stories, hold her wee hands in the kiddie pool...teach her how to hold a gun."
"How is she?"
"Presumed missing." The words were two shades away from inaudible. "FTL accident near Point Orestes."
Orfan leaned down, his eyes iron as they met Suzy.
"Point is, you ain't alone. Everyone's got someone. Living, dead. We fight for some. Others fight for us," he said, putting a hand on the shipgirl's shoulder. "But either way, we don't do jack for them by sitting around and feeling sorry for ourselves. We help them by doing what we can, by doing our job - and a soldier's job is pretty simple, no?"
Suzy bit her lip.
"That's the problem."
"What is?"
Her gaze flickered to mine, a motion that Orfan mirrored. But though the questions in their eyes were different, they could be answered the same way - with a simple shrug. I helped you make your bed, Chief, now you lie in it.
"Well, we-"
"-were given clear orders to stay put."
I did not need to turn to know who was behind us. Not all voices were created equal, and Commander Amanda Reiner's smoky black, on the rocks, no sugar blend was certainly on the memorable end of the spectrum, the sounds of salutes snapping into place a weak signifier of her presence by comparison.
"As you all were," she said with a wave.
Suzy frowned.
"Permi-"
"Your desire to charge headlong into danger is noted, Lieutenant," Amanda continued undeterred. "As is your intention to appeal that she be allowed to do it, Master Chief."
Speaking of inequality, someone needed to phone Hotline Heaven and check if this ability to interrupt conversations at fortuitous moments could be acquired, because heck if I didn't want me some of that.
Suzy worked her jaw, looking like she might protest the overly assessment, but Orfan held out a restraining hand in front of her.
"Thank you, ma'am."
"However, consider this: Lieutenants Onjouji and Deschantes have logged a mere seventy-six hours in augmented reality simulation courses in the past week, and all of fifteen minutes in actual combat." Amanda paused, affixing Orfan with slightly narrowed eyes. "You would throw the Marshal of the Navy herself out of Callidus if she suggested fielding recruits with twice that amount of training."
"Without an ounce of regret, ma'am."
"But you would bargain with me for the opposite purpose."
Man, this guy had balls: all the casually baleful presence Graf Zeppelin's avatar could exert, and it was just making his grin wider by the second.
"No, ma'am, I wouldn't."
"Oh?"
"The way I understand it, ma'am," Orfan replied, "this whole 'coming back from the dead thing' has been treated as a resumption of duty. Shipgirl training scores so far tell me that they think so, anyway, whatever changes we've made to naval warfare notwithstanding." He swept a hand out across the tables. "To sum the long story, less than a handful of people in this room have more operational experience than the seven years Suzy has, and I'm confident she'll show that out there today."
The Master Chief shrugged, a roguish light in his eyes.
"If given the chance, that is."
On any other person, the mottle of emotions that Amanda Reiner's face hurried to rid itself of would have registered as mere surprise. But annoyance, actual anger, then a wry smile? On everyone's favorite stoic? Someone speed-dial the Character Breakage Helpdesk.
Also, what do you know: the smile actually stayed on.
"You pick your fights well, Master Chief," Amanda admitted.
"You will too, ma'am, when you get as old as I am."
"And as for Lieutenant Deschantes?"
"Pah, girl can carry his candy ass," Orfan scoffed.
Amanda turned to Suzy.
"Can you, Onjouji?"
My partner blinked, as if shocked that the spotlight was now on her.
Well. Ten dollars on her bowing sometime soon. It was the Japanese thing to do, in any case. No, I never imagined I would ever have cause to think that. Life goals, Ethel, in three, two, one-
-there we go.
"I'll do my best, ma'am!"
Why, that was the most spirited I'd seen her all day. Fitting then, that the display should in turn render Amanda the most torn between faint smile and frown as I'd seen her yet.
"Then you should be pleased to know that against all better judgement-" 'my better judgement', her face all but said, "-your previous orders have been countermanded. DD(SG)-23 Suzukaze will report to Battle Line Alpha by nineteen-thirty shipboard time, left echelon of fleet carrier Graf Zeppelin and ready to jump."
Edith exchanged a look with Orfan before raising her hand, lips splitting into a grin that one could only call predatory.
"Regulation says shipgirls need a skeleton crew onboard, ma'am."
"And thank you for volunteering, Petty Officer Butler," Amanda replied. "322nd OrbCav's Scout Company will be stationed aboard your ship as a boarding/landing element. Master of Scouts Orfan Uruz will serve as your interim executive officer for the duration of this battle, pending review."
Suzy turned to Marge and Leckie, her eyes exultant. The two of them barely managed to grimace back. Guess 'understanding' superiors were a bitch. I mean, I could relate.
"You look like you have something to say," Amanda said, turning her gaze onto me.
"Well, I gotta admit, this is quite the exception we're making, ma'am."
"You will find such things par for course here - unfortunately." The shipgirl's default frown returned in full force, no doubt at the memory of a certain someone. "But worry not: from what I hear you are in able and experienced hands..."
"...As am I, in truth," she continued softly.
Then she turned on her heel.
"I look forward to our performance, Lieutenant Deschantes."
As always, enjoy the chapter. All comments and other thoughts appreciated!
=======
A Sea of Stars
Book 1: The Stars, Awake
Chapter 4: Storm Front
"Well," I sighed out loud to no one in particular, "isn't this bothersome."
Not that anyone in particular could hear me, of course. A lone man in a long food queue was but one well of sighs amongst so many others in Cantina Four, which was in its turn only one amongst half dozen others that dotted the decks of Gradivus Base. All of them bloated, swaying and groaning even as this one did under burdens that any four walls would struggle to contain.
Rushing foot-falls. The jostling of bodies in between crowded benches and tables. Orders of food being hollered over the din. And then there were the conversations, heated, focused, laidback, meandering between all and sundry
range yesterday was such a pain in the ass
that Janoor better remember he owes me that twelve cred
But most centered around the now, as exemplified by the holodeck in the center of the canteen.
There, Sancaid Prime turned on its silent axis, a peaceful eye amid a raging storm that reached out to encroach upon the blackness of empty space. Even in miniature, the violet miasma surrounding the planet was
man that thing is somefuck ugly
is it growing yeah it's growing
it's written right there you blind or something
remember that monster from The Spawning, y'know, the amorphous spider thing with like a million eyes or some sh
it is much less red than we were told to expect
they're doing pretty good, our girls-
I frowned.
Suzy, you're doing it again.
At at once, the voices were hushed. In their place was a strange void, an almost embarrassed silence, one that Suzy broke with the mental -and perhaps not merely so- equivalent of biting her lip.
Sorry. I'm just-
Still feeling bummed out?
I immediately regretted cutting in. It was always better to let a person finish.
Uh huh.
A neutral enough response. Neutral was good. Or at least not catastrophic, and thus not in need of damage control just yet. On second thought, perhaps I'd do some anyway.
Now I'll admit, I can't say 'I know how you feel' in good faith.
Because telepathy is cheating?
A bit, I confessed. Also, I don't have...uh, you know.
Silence.
You don't remember, Suzy?
Hmmm. No, I don't.
Damn. And I thought I'd dodged a bullet there. O little shipboard log of the TNS Suzukaze, how you disappoint me.
I'm an only child, remember?
...Oh. Man, just call me the one-man awkwardness upgrade service. I mean, I just wish the holodeck wasn't in the middle of the cantina. Now I couldn't forget about it if I wanted to.
Which was probably the point, I noted.
Yeah. But- ugh, you know!
Sorry, know what again?
Ah, I could see Suzy folding her arms in frustration now.
Now you're being dense on purpose.
Guilty. Still, a therapist once told me that it helps to spell out your trauma.
You went to a therapist - and listened?
Such humility comes out of left field, that is true, I reflected. Oh look, the queue was moving again. Feet, shuffle forward if you please. But the point stands.
Ugh. I know. I know. It just...feels like shit.
And so you're binging.
I'm not bingeing!
I struggled not to roll my eyes as I took my place near the very front of the queue. Second in line in fact. That was fast.
"What might I get you today?"
The AI vendor asked the man in front of me.
'He' was poetry in a billion pixels as he stood behind a virtual storefront, from the twinkling obsidian eyes set into a weathered face to the Rorschachian oil stains on his girthy apron, and had a voice to match the size, booming forth from speakers that lined the fabricator machine.
"A bowl of Thai-style wanton noodles, please," came the reply.
I smirked.
Hear that, Suzy? One big-ass bowl of wanton noodles.
To most people, that's a meal. Not just one thing topping off a list of 'dishes someone else orders for you' which in your case includes -and correct me if I'm wrong- fish slice porridge, a supersize Queles Burger, miso steak and yoghurt on breaded asparagus, pork sausage rosti...and whole broiled Mbarian wildgame with ixberry stew.
Now tell me, in what world does this list not constitute a binge?
The response was a muffled mental 'urk!' followed by silence.
Go on, I pressed, trying not to sound too amused. I'm waiting.
I-it's called an emergency resupply session! Suzy protested.
Which, if nothing else, she continued more quietly, I have legitimate reasons for having.
I glanced at the holodeck, to a distant debris field right smack in the path of the incoming Ginaz Storm.
So you do, girl. So you do.
There, five blue arrows lay in wait. DD(SG)s twenty through twenty-two -Amatsukaze, Yuudachi, and Fubuki- , CA(SG)-7 Agano, and the Hanuman-class Stealth Battlespace Observer Iramabel. Advance guards. Scouts.
Bait.
Despite the name, Stealth Battlespace Observers weren't invisible. Optical stealth, even having left infancy for a century or so, meant nothing inside a Ginaz Storm, and certainly not with sensor arrays fully deployed in order to provide our fleet with the information we needed on Abyssal positions.
The moment the violet tide reached them, they would be as a nimbus of light in utter darkness. Or more accurately, as bloodied meat in a shark pool. The Abyssals would surely pounce. And when they did, so would we. As plans went this one was simple, and as sound as it was bold.
My eyes lingered over the Yuudachi, on the tiny formation's far left. Ah, Commander Reiner, for all your skill, I must confess to be a little disappointed. In your boundless wisdom, could you not have spared my partner a little consideration? Or, you know, at least not dangle her sister by blood just out of reach and drive her stir crazy in the process-
"-purchase anything?"
"Sorry?"
The vendor's thin smile told me in no uncertain terms that were the skillet in his meaty arm real I would be feeling it right this instant. Message duly received, good sir.
"I asked if you would like to purchase anything."
"Yes." Alright. Quick. The order, what was it again? "Yes. Sorry. I was distracted."
"Good. I thought we'd lost you there."
"How long?"
"About half a minute."
"Then I'll pay back in kind," I replied. "Two plates each of char siew wanton noodles and another two of sauteed vegetables on the side."
"Why, consider me mollified, sir. You will, however, find your fellow patrons less charitable."
Well, what do you know. Inchoate miasmas of roiling impatience could spontaneously materialize enough for visual detection after all. Perhaps someday, in a situation very much like this one, you too could be stopped by a mass of sentient indignance and be given a red card for time-wasting.
"Well if they require a levy they're free to name it. What's your price?"
"I find eight credits reasonable."
"It isn't extortion, no," I agreed, signing off on the bill with a flick of my OmniPad.
"Thank you for your patronage!"
And the fabricator hummed to life. The whirling symphony of the kitchen was a familiar one: the whirring and chopping, the slicing and stirring a soothing music to my ears.
Excuse me, milady, I called, but I was occupied otherwise.
I gathered.
Oh, 'I gathered', was it? How dismissive.
But there was no time for navel-gazing on the reason for Suzy's curtness; a ding put paid to such thoughts as the fabricator's 'mouth' slid open, bearing my orders froth from its metal innards on a tray.
"Your extras, sir," the vendor announced. "Enjoy your meal."
"So I will."
Tray in hand, I wheeled around and made to leave the queue, the aroma of the meal my shield against the fiery darts my former queue-mates rained down upon me with narrowed eyes and muffled grumbling, with such a fury that should reduce a lesser man to groveling, penitent, shamefaced- sorry, where was I?
Ah yes, the food. Stalled conversation with Suzy, and thoughts thereof. But first, the food. Fried pork lard, budu and oyster sauce; a match made in heaven. Why, it was so heavenly that a man might not begrudge the resultant shortening of his life expectancy; for what was life if un-enjoyed, and what was enjoyment if unshared?
Especially when there were so many to share it with, I thought as our table came into sight.
Company was a constant friend of the moody soul, and here it took the form of our newest friends, Corporals Ginger Meggs, Flavius Dweebius, and two others they'd brought along. Yes, 'friends', not 'acquaintances.' An arguably premature upgrade, but a favor done was a favor won, and sitting down to help cheer my partner up in my absence was no small favor.
As on the Catha previously, so here: it was Margaret 'Marge' Angelos who spotted me first.
"Hey!" She called, waving.
Suzy raised her eyebrows in greeting. Which was as much as a person could do with both hands and mouth full with a supersize Queles burger, so I gave that a passing grade.
Kaiser Nerdhelm on the other hand merely stopped his constant jabbering at my partner, but otherwise seemed as determined now as back then to impress upon me the meaning of sonder. Thank you, Seedy Gonzalez; this whole 'befriending' business had been going so well too.
It was the two unfamiliar faces, however, that held my attention.
"...so this here lad's the partner, then, Margie?"
The fellow who spoke first cut a curious figure, his otherwise shorn and noticeably less tanned appearance from his tablemates broken both by a rich brown goatee, plus a chakram-shaped tattoo that served as a fashionable disguise for the extensive cyber augments that crowded his left temple.
He also hadn't recognized me immediately, which was comforting. It was nice to have people buy you drinks, but drinking just to rid oneself of the cringe an insufferable nickname brought ruined all the fun.
Marge nodded.
"That he is, Chief. Mr-, huh, no. It's Lieutenant now isn't it? Lieutenant Deschantes, in the flesh."
Man, that once-over burned, and it wasn't just the red LED glow in the center of the man's left eye.
"What the hell," the older man muttered at last. "Doesn't look like the briefing profile at all. Whatever did they do to your face, lad?"
"It's my gigawatt smile," I supplied. Half-heartedly perhaps, but navigating the circumference of the table in this crowd without making obese dying elephants look graceful by comparison was hard when you were as encumbered as I. "Couldn't wear it during the photo-taking. They said it ruined the flash."
The other stranger pushed back some short black dreadlocks and brought a large palm to rest on on one tan cheek, while her other hand twirled a fork between two fingers.
"They let you wear that lip too, sir?"
"No camera can catch that, I'm afraid," I said as I sat down.
Suzy took another crunching, squelching bite of her burger.
"I apologize in advance for him."
Hush, girl. I have just returned from running a gauntlet of stall queues to get you food, plus sides. Plus your voices in my head on intermittent annoyance duty. The Association of Unnecessary Apologies just called, they want to rescind your provisional membership.
"Eh, no need," The woman laughed up to her twinkling brown eyes as I sat down. "Reckon I like you, sir."
"I'd prefer 'Ethel'. I don't wear ranks I don't earn."
"Honesty!"
I know, right? What the heck was a 'Simulated Lieutenant', anyway?
"Your loss, Edith." my partner noted.
Knuckles cracked in response.
"Think I can take one of those."
The woman's outstretched hand was calloused and corded with muscle up to where the ultramarine navy sleeves covered it up, with a grip to match: a crushing experience in every sense of the term.
"Petty Officer First Class, Edith Butler. 2IC of Scout Team Forza, 322nd OrbCav." At this, she jerked a thumb at the tattooed man, bright golden eyes twinkling. "I'm next in line if the old guy over there kicks it. Feel free to tell me when he does."
"Nope, hasn't happened yet; and hell if these old bones know why," the elder scout retorted, taking on a roguish twist of lip and cheek that was unexpected but not unwelcome. "Now, these idiots call me Boss, Chief, Geezer and other assorted claptrap. But not you, boy. You shall call me Master Chief Orfan Uruz. Petty Officer optional, that's too long."
Well, quiver my woodstocks.
Gradivus' crew complement was way too huge for a man to easily go through, to say nothing of the entire Task Force's, but I'd actually heard of this guy before - what were the odds? He was a seasoned soldier, with service preceding the Abyssal War, if recall served. Had a pretty famous stint in…
In...well, actually, I couldn't remember for the life of me - on to the customary handshake then.
Orfan's grip was light and supple, something I'd have expected from a man half his size, and while it was warm as any flesh it lacked a certain there-ness to it that modern military augments tended to leave intact. Pre-fourth gen cybernetics? Odd. He could be anywhere between a century or two old by the looks of it, but I was pretty sure his service didn't predate the Nanoculture Insurance Act. That had been what, 2285?
Nevermind. Not a question for first encounters.
"Always pleased to learn from experience," I said.
"Good, good." Orfan laughed. "I'll give you one free then: Never buy food for someone whose idea of a meal is a localized extinction event."
Too late for that, bub. Girl's been building a monument to our anemic appetites for the last fifteen minutes now, and it didn't look like she was stopping any time soon. But just as I thought that, Suzy did indeed stop, if only to give Orfan the stink eye.
"Hey, it's called Underway Resupply," she protested.
"Call it what you like, girlie sunshine," the Chief replied with an easy grin, "but these old bones wager we'll need a whole other ship or three someday soon, just t'keep you lasses topped off."
Leckie snorted.
"Bet you all a hundred that some big time bean counter is already planning that."
"Not a bet I'll take," Edith said between vicious spear-fuls of pudding. "Fully functional ships for a fraction of the standard maintenance cost? It's any data monkey's wet dream come to life- uh, no offense, Onjouji."
"We're cool."
A somewhat comfortable hush fell over the table. Edith continued rationing out what little was left of her dessert. Leckie flicked at his arm-mounted OmniPad idly. Marge watched Suzy eat with an expression caught between reverence and horror, while Orfan seemed content to just stand -or rather, sit- aloof for now.
Which narrowed my list of conversation partners down quite a bit. Just as well.
"Y'know, Chief-"
The klaxon was short and shrill, slicing through the din as if it were but a void.
[H-hour imminent. All hands prepare for jump,] the voice of Mraliz Vorkros boomed over the sound system. [Say again, H-hour imminent. All hands prepare for jump.]
It was like a starter gun had gone off. Food vanished down gullets as spoons became shovels and forks industrial plows. Officers and senior non-coms leaped onto tables, running feet answering their crisply barked orders. The directionless fog of human awareness in Cantina Four was now a wall of steel, ringing cold and bright in unison with every sure yet nimble step.
It was a human exodus of the highest order: well organized, high spirited, and immensely disappointing.
Sure, expecting anyone to share my heartbeat of holy shit it's happening it's actually happening was to assume a nadir of empathy too radiant for mortal realms. But misery loves company, and this whole 'rah-rah oom-pah-pah, we march, we fight for Sweet Terra' business was awful in that regard at best.
"Well damn that's a lot of 'em…"
But there we go. The Club Sans Enthousiasme could not stay empty forever, and how fitting that His Eminence, Johann Leckie -Le Vicomte de Braggalotte himself!- should be our first patron.
Make that two patrons: Marge was silent, her expression darkening as she too looked at the sphere, and at the sea of red that crept ever closer to the point of no return: a single line that marked where any further transmissions from our scouts would break stealth.
That was our fellow newbies covered. What abou-
Edith Butler was a blur of flying dreadlocks, swinging around the table to where her two subordinates sat at the edge of their seats. Goddamn military-grade augs. No one had any right being that fast while that large. Or that strong: I could feel the backslaps she was giving out with mine own scapulae.
And again. Ow, just ow.
"Chin up, greenhorns." Edith declared. "See now, playtime wouldn't be worth jack-shit if it came free!"
"Girl speaks truth!" Orfan barked heartily, slapping the table. "That's the way of the world: eat, drink and merry, because tomorrow you fight to do it all over again!"
A few shouts of 'hear hear!' could be heard in response.
Then he turned back to me, the intensity in his gaze only just offset by a wry grin.
"Not going to talk to your little miss?"
Ah. Yes, of course. The elephant in the room.
If everyone else had given the hologlobe at least a fourth look on account of that siren wail, Suzy must have had her eyes bolted to it by capital ship grade grav-tractors. She was also utterly quiet, so much so that those around her, even those passing by, could not but fall silent.
"Sure you've got to time to be pissing about here?"
"We're third rotation. The backup backup plan." Orfan jerked a thumb behind him to where a small minority of staff remained seated, though their plates too were either conspicuously empty or well on the way to being so. "If we have to be out there today, things have gone to double-triple fuck with plenty to spare."
"Also," he added pointedly, "I asked first."
I shrugged. Your concession, your loss.
"I'm considering how not to mess it up."
"So you do need help."
Cool those translight jets, Old, Bold and Sardonically Winking. I said I was taking time out to ponder future actions. A most wise course of action if I should say so myself, especially when the chattier half of this psionic bridge is presently doing her best Tower of Babel impression - a fews miles high, eloquent as stone, and locked in futile rebellion against reality.
But if he was up for some brainstorming, I wouldn't refuse him.
"Her older sister's with the scouting party," I confessed.
"The Yuudachi, I take it?" Now eyes, be brave. Do not make me look like a moron- oh how you betray me; our foe is grinning, smirking death's own rictus'd visage at our bewilderment. "What, weren't you listening to me earlier? We have briefings. So do you: the same ones, I'd wager. They tell us things, and very occasionally those things happen to be important."
Fair point.
"Right. So, yeah. A sister. Right in the line of fire. It's, well..."
Dammit, now I was the one plying the face of the holodeck for the words I needed. But alas, there was nothing there, neither mene, tekel nor upharsin. Only a crimson swarm to stand in for the finger of the divine, for our reckoning with-
-the collision reverberates through the silence of space, consuming everything in a blazing sea of white-
"Kid?"
Ugh. Come on, Ethel. There is a season for everything: a time to be silent, and a time to speak, and a time to engage in excessive navel-gazing vis-a-vis your most recent memories of the enemy. That is to say, not right now.
"It's a difficult idea for me to relate to," I finished.
Orfan hummed thoughtfully.
"No family or friends out there on the fronts?" That was rather straight to the point. He seemed to realize it too, though his shrug was less backpedal, more teasing mollification. "Just asking, kiddo. People tend to after a while."
"You could say that I've gotten used to it."
I let that hang for a few moments.
"Well then," the Master Chief huffed, folding his arms. "I won't pry. But if you aren't gonna make a move, mind if this old man gives it a swing?"
Oh good sir, you are truly too kind.
Now. To tell him or not to tell him…
Eh, whatever. If a man chanped so at the bit to charge, who was I to dismay him? And it was always nice to learn more about where we stood on the information-divvying ladder.
"Your funeral," I replied, gesturing towards where Suzy sat.
No more words were wasted. Striding over to where my partner sat in silence, Orfan pulled a chair over from a recently vacated table, and sat down right next to her.
"So, girl," the Master Chief began, "something on your mind?"
No reaction. Nay, nary a twitch.
This was a problem. Albeit in the sense that only thing worse than a 'forward the light brigade' approach to potential emotional minefields was the conspicuous lack of response from said minefield, but still a problem. Perhaps this was the right moment for a quick psionic mic check. A little blunt-edged as solutions went, but sometimes old fashioned was best.
I reached forward slowly, steadily towards the wall that Suzy had thrown up about herself, tracing each raw throbbing singularity in the coherent yet utterly alien whole. It was...different. And very impressive: nothing she'd done before came anywhere close.
Psionic Race (Innate), boys and girls. Yet our practice sessions -and what limited Poseidon records existed on the matter- yielded no decisive differences between them and us psions-by-induction. Only the patience, the persistence to find the chinks that must surely exist in any armor, and use that as our point of
intrusion
I froze, just barely managing to not 'jump' out of my own skin at that. One interminable second passed. Two.
Then Suzy's eyes snapped back into focus.
"Uh." She began with a flair that would have honored Demosthenes, red-faced and stuttering as she faced her grinning audience of one, realization dawning. "Um-"
She plunged low into a full bow.
"Sorry, Chief! I-"
"Relax, sunshine, we're cool-"
"-I'm really, really sorry!"
I watched them from the corner of my eye, all the while fighting the urge to add throttling whoever had written the section of the primer on Psionic Resonance to my bucket list of things to do before this war got me killed. Or to laugh out loud at Orfan's futile attempts to stop the litany of apologies my partner was pouring out upon him.
'Inexact science', my arse. But it was worth it.
"Alright, alright," the Master Chief said at last, looking every bit the beleaguered survivor of Space Storm Sumanai, "So zoning out isn't a pattern with you usually, I get that."
"Y-yeah." Suzy stammered. "It's just that..."
"Mmhmm?"
Several emotions whirled past my partner's features as she calmed herself down, before settling into a frown.
"...he told you."
"What?"
"Ethel told you." An accusatory glance flicked my way. "About Yuu-n- the Yuudachi."
Orfan raised both eyebrows.
"Oh, no, not at all." He chuckled softly, reaching for his breast pocket. "In fact, you'd be surprised-"
"Don't!" Suzy hissed, only to recoil at her own vehemence. "Don't," she murmured, her voice shrinking. "You'll get in trouble. We're not cleared for this, not yet."
Orfan did not remove his hand.
"And you're alright with that?"
Well, that was only the most blatant bait I'd seen in a year. But from the grinding of teeth I could hear from between Suzy's limits, it was working.
"Of course not!" She snapped. "She's my sister. We should be fighting together, not separated by a light-year of space and a buttload of waiting - her out on the frontline, me in some hidey hole! All these years, and now...I haven't even met her yet, let alone spoken a word to her. I don't even know what she looks like! And I never might! Do you even know-"
"Yeah, I do."
Were this me, Suzy's face would have scrunched up, and the 'no you don't' would have been swift in coming. But the conviction in Orfan Uruz's voice was a different beast before which she froze, face seizing in wide-eyed surprise at the sudden flame in his countenance.
So it was that the Master Chief retrieved the contents of his breast pocket unmolested, and next thing I knew a small object was spinning towards my partner's fumbling hands.
It was a photo. Not a holo-plate or some mini OmniPad like the one I used; an honest to goodness color print, sealed in plastic and looking only a tad worse for wear for it.
"My old Scout Team from Callidus Academy, Batch of Summer 2515, during my senior instructor term." He jerked a thumb over to where Edith had pulled Marge and Leckie aside. "Tell you what, these bumbling bozos hadn't even been born then."
"Get over that statistic," Edith called back. "It was only two weeks!"
Ignoring her, Orfan tapped the figure furthest left in the photo. "That's your's truly of course," he said, tapping his tattooed temple, "well, before I got these here fancy digs."
Then finger became fingers, one for each of the two person next in line.
"Yag Shal and Nora Troie, nee Meyer-Ohle."
The latter was a just under five foot three Terran, even counting the tilt from having a hand on one hip and the stray strands of rose-gold that poked up above a blazing curtain of hair. The former was arms akimbo and all frowns, as if an armored bipedal reptilian twice his companion's size with a scar over one fiery eye needed anything more in the intimidation department.
The tiniest grin played across Suzy's face, her first clean break from visible anxiety since we'd arrived at the cantina.
"They look happy together."
"Aye," Orfan agreed. "Love can bloom n'all. Even between the biggest pair of idiots I've ever seen. Still together too, the crazy bastards."
The Master Chief's eyes grew distant as he came to the last person in the picture. It reminded me a lot of Dad, on the rare days where we could meet and talk: minus the arguments, and the drinks needed to keep us civil.
"And that's my third grand-niece Rajelle," he said, idly tracing the side of the picture that framed the slightly taller, raven-haired young woman at the rightmost. "Funny thing, coincidences. Bounce her on your knee, read her her first stories, hold her wee hands in the kiddie pool...teach her how to hold a gun."
"How is she?"
"Presumed missing." The words were two shades away from inaudible. "FTL accident near Point Orestes."
Orfan leaned down, his eyes iron as they met Suzy.
"Point is, you ain't alone. Everyone's got someone. Living, dead. We fight for some. Others fight for us," he said, putting a hand on the shipgirl's shoulder. "But either way, we don't do jack for them by sitting around and feeling sorry for ourselves. We help them by doing what we can, by doing our job - and a soldier's job is pretty simple, no?"
Suzy bit her lip.
"That's the problem."
"What is?"
Her gaze flickered to mine, a motion that Orfan mirrored. But though the questions in their eyes were different, they could be answered the same way - with a simple shrug. I helped you make your bed, Chief, now you lie in it.
"Well, we-"
"-were given clear orders to stay put."
I did not need to turn to know who was behind us. Not all voices were created equal, and Commander Amanda Reiner's smoky black, on the rocks, no sugar blend was certainly on the memorable end of the spectrum, the sounds of salutes snapping into place a weak signifier of her presence by comparison.
"As you all were," she said with a wave.
Suzy frowned.
"Permi-"
"Your desire to charge headlong into danger is noted, Lieutenant," Amanda continued undeterred. "As is your intention to appeal that she be allowed to do it, Master Chief."
Speaking of inequality, someone needed to phone Hotline Heaven and check if this ability to interrupt conversations at fortuitous moments could be acquired, because heck if I didn't want me some of that.
Suzy worked her jaw, looking like she might protest the overly assessment, but Orfan held out a restraining hand in front of her.
"Thank you, ma'am."
"However, consider this: Lieutenants Onjouji and Deschantes have logged a mere seventy-six hours in augmented reality simulation courses in the past week, and all of fifteen minutes in actual combat." Amanda paused, affixing Orfan with slightly narrowed eyes. "You would throw the Marshal of the Navy herself out of Callidus if she suggested fielding recruits with twice that amount of training."
"Without an ounce of regret, ma'am."
"But you would bargain with me for the opposite purpose."
Man, this guy had balls: all the casually baleful presence Graf Zeppelin's avatar could exert, and it was just making his grin wider by the second.
"No, ma'am, I wouldn't."
"Oh?"
"The way I understand it, ma'am," Orfan replied, "this whole 'coming back from the dead thing' has been treated as a resumption of duty. Shipgirl training scores so far tell me that they think so, anyway, whatever changes we've made to naval warfare notwithstanding." He swept a hand out across the tables. "To sum the long story, less than a handful of people in this room have more operational experience than the seven years Suzy has, and I'm confident she'll show that out there today."
The Master Chief shrugged, a roguish light in his eyes.
"If given the chance, that is."
On any other person, the mottle of emotions that Amanda Reiner's face hurried to rid itself of would have registered as mere surprise. But annoyance, actual anger, then a wry smile? On everyone's favorite stoic? Someone speed-dial the Character Breakage Helpdesk.
Also, what do you know: the smile actually stayed on.
"You pick your fights well, Master Chief," Amanda admitted.
"You will too, ma'am, when you get as old as I am."
"And as for Lieutenant Deschantes?"
"Pah, girl can carry his candy ass," Orfan scoffed.
Amanda turned to Suzy.
"Can you, Onjouji?"
My partner blinked, as if shocked that the spotlight was now on her.
Well. Ten dollars on her bowing sometime soon. It was the Japanese thing to do, in any case. No, I never imagined I would ever have cause to think that. Life goals, Ethel, in three, two, one-
-there we go.
"I'll do my best, ma'am!"
Why, that was the most spirited I'd seen her all day. Fitting then, that the display should in turn render Amanda the most torn between faint smile and frown as I'd seen her yet.
"Then you should be pleased to know that against all better judgement-" 'my better judgement', her face all but said, "-your previous orders have been countermanded. DD(SG)-23 Suzukaze will report to Battle Line Alpha by nineteen-thirty shipboard time, left echelon of fleet carrier Graf Zeppelin and ready to jump."
Edith exchanged a look with Orfan before raising her hand, lips splitting into a grin that one could only call predatory.
"Regulation says shipgirls need a skeleton crew onboard, ma'am."
"And thank you for volunteering, Petty Officer Butler," Amanda replied. "322nd OrbCav's Scout Company will be stationed aboard your ship as a boarding/landing element. Master of Scouts Orfan Uruz will serve as your interim executive officer for the duration of this battle, pending review."
Suzy turned to Marge and Leckie, her eyes exultant. The two of them barely managed to grimace back. Guess 'understanding' superiors were a bitch. I mean, I could relate.
"You look like you have something to say," Amanda said, turning her gaze onto me.
"Well, I gotta admit, this is quite the exception we're making, ma'am."
"You will find such things par for course here - unfortunately." The shipgirl's default frown returned in full force, no doubt at the memory of a certain someone. "But worry not: from what I hear you are in able and experienced hands..."
"...As am I, in truth," she continued softly.
Then she turned on her heel.
"I look forward to our performance, Lieutenant Deschantes."
=== To be continued in Chapter 5: Take the Plunge ===
Book 1, Chapter 5: Take the Plunge
- Location
- Little Red Dot
And finally, heeeere's Chapter 5!
This was probably the trickiest (and most agonized over) chapter yet. I confess that I barely trust myself to write any fight scenes worth a damn, let alone full scale space combat. But you need to, as the chapter title suggests, 'take the plunge' at some point.
Merely reading about battles and imagining it in your mind for far too long opens the writer to 'the megalomania of ideas' - that unwarranted thought in your mind that an idea that has not yet been born is somehow Athena herself: fully armed and ready for the world, indeed, superior to all that already draw breath.
I won't subject myself (or worse, y'all readers) to that travesty. So here's me putting my baby in the tarred wicker basket for a roadtrip down the swelling Nile, and hoping it goes well.
As always, enjoy the chapter - comments, reviews and thoughts all welcome!
======
A Sea of Stars
Book 1: The Stars, Awake
Chapter 5: Take the Plunge
He presses his fingertips against the glass, and listens to the song of the rain.
Perched on the boundary between frigid nature and manmade warmth, he feels the cold run up his arm in jolts. He presses closer, as long as his small hand can stand, then releases. The heat returns in a rush, leaving a tingling in his fingers. Strange, but not unpleasant. Fascinating, really. He does it again. Then again. And again.
"Another experiment? Precocious."
He casts one eye sideways.
They sent new one today. 'A little more your size, kid', they said. And she is indeed short, a poor fit to a corridor built for and used by larger, taller frames. He snickers. At least he will have some company for now.
So, what will they do today? He asks, hands on hips.
The smile on her is radiant, even more so than the light that silhouettes her.
"Oh no, no. Enough doing things. I'd like to start with a story."
Oh, stories, he replies, he loves those. They aren't told often. Perhaps that's why he likes them. He isn't sure.
She leands forward, pushing her hair back.
"Do we now?"
He nods, trying not to puff his chest out.
Not an inch.
Her laughter is like the sudden peal of thunder. Loud, and surprising. Mostly the second.
But it is not unpleasant.
"Well then, let's begin."
======
"Captain's chair that comfortable, sir?"
I opened my eyes with a surprising ease. Always thought I was a deeper sleeper than that.
But then again I suppose anyone would wake up if they were the object of some old guy's leering grin. Even if that old man looked more forty than a hundred, and even it was mostly concern and not cheek written on his face.
In any case, far be it from me to be fussy about attention. Especially when it came from the executive officer of the TNS Suzukaze. My executive officer.
"It's pretty good. Sure, it isn't business class, and this-" I waggled my gloved fingers, sealed as they were in the armored Divesuits the Navy's human staff wore, "-isn't built for maximum comfort, but this leg space?" I gave both limbs a flex, pushing the glowing sensor console out with my left leg to make more room. "Top notch."
Orfan Uruz gave me a searching look, his one natural eyebrow arched with many an unspoken question.
"You're taking this really well," he settled for at length.
I shrugged.
"I've had some FTL travel experience. Grad trip. School outings. Travelling with friends. And family."
Leckie snorted from off below and to the right, swivelling around in his chair.
"Sounds cushy, sir."
"Don't you mean sounds like right now, Corporal?"
"Well, I didn't ask for right now."
"The technical majority spoke for you."
"The technical majority can go s-"
"'Ey!" Edith snapped, her face stern as she rotated her own seat at Close-In Weapon Systems Control. "Watch it, Jo. Man who can't shut his trap embarrasses himself. Or gets charged for insubordination, and mind you, if Bleeding Heart Butter Bar over there won't do it I will."
So she said, but it was me at whom she shot an exasperated look once she was sure that Pissy MacRedhead had turned back around. Okay, I mimed with two hands up. Don't aggravate the aggressive nerd with Han Solo Syndrome. Got it.
"'Sides," she continued, "you should be glad that the up-theres let this warwagon fly with five people crewing it. Imagine the alternative!"
Leckie didn't respond to that, instead pulling his own sensor console closer and leaning into it.
I leaned over to Orfan.
"Just for the record, what is this alternative?"
"Half a dozen more bored people on the bridge, him sporting six bumholes extra. At minimum." The Master Chief sighed. "Biggest fault of the military, methinks. Educated the respect for an uneventful life right out of our children."
"Is that why I surprise you?"
"Well, college is four years too long," he pointed out. "And you went to school in New Valeria. Between Sukhumvit-Seinbeck and Alstreim Corp, our military-industrial complex's got that place locked down harder than an orbital penal colony."
"Guess I just never felt the spirit."
"Bet you didn't, tonedeaf little squirt that y'are. Also, I was talking about combat jumps."
"And I was lying."
Yes, I'll have another displeased pug impression to go, please. Less salt and less oil though, don't think my stomach can take it.
"To tell you the truth," I continued, sinking back in my seat as far as the cushioning, more shock absorber than sofa, allowed, "even I think it makes more sense that I should be pissing my pants."
Understatement of the century. We were ten minutes into Warp Jump. Five minutes more to Sancaid Prime, and our reckoning. Maybe our death. Forget pissing pants or shitting bricks, I could crap out Hadrian's Wall in a heartbeat and not surprise myself in the least.
Orfan read my silence wordlessly, before quirking a brow.
"So why don't you?"
It's the sea.
Psionic 'broadcasting' wasn't something we'd had the opportunity to try just yet. But hearing it now I could safely say that the primer didn't do it justice. Here in the seat of Suzy's -Suzukaze's- power, her voice rippled through the room towards the two of us, loud and clear yet effortless as the tread of her bow through this space between spaces.
"The sea? Don't y'mean-"
Space. Yes. Wherever a ship sails, there is her sea, and everything in it. One could almost imagine the Balorium-empowered engines hum a little lower as Suzy considered her next words. It may be weird to you, but even this strange plane is quite calming.
"More in your element as a flying metal box all bristlin' with guns, then?"
Rude, my partner tutted, so sharply I could almost see her tossing her ponytails. The 'ship' does come before the 'girl', you know.
"Fair enough. And that, ah, rubs off on the kid. Somehow."
I'm not 'the kid'. I'm 'Ethel Deschantes', and I'm right here.
Mmmmm. What was it they called it-
"Psionic Resonance," I offered.
-Yeah! So. Um. I guess?
Orfan's face twisted into a grimace, running a hand through his egregious lack of hair.
"Ugh," he grumbled. "Bet you a hundred creds our good Commander already had this mumbo jumbo thought out when she showed up in the cantina."
To be fair, we knew too.
"Just not this much."
People didn't seem to like telling us the whole story.
"Fair enough," the Chief acceded with a slow nod. "Well. It's good and all that y'all aren't scared any, but death doesn't need to respec that. So give it a wide berth, y'hear? Our lives're in your hands. Hull. Something."
That got a giggle from Suzy.
Alright.
"Good." Unlatching his seatbelts, Orfan allowed himself to float over his chair, jerking his thumb towards the bridge doors. "Now this old fellow's gonna go check on our boys and girls in the back. Stay cool and get along, now. Hail me if you need me."
With that and a hiss of the doors, he was gone.
I leaned...hmmm, actually, it was quite difficult to decide which way was leaning 'in' when the person you were talking was all around you, yet nowhere in specific. So I did the next best thing - look up at the ceiling.
So. What's up, Suzy?
Just a few last minute checks, she chirped. Revving up the engines, the FTL drive hub, the works.
As for our weapon systems? I asked, barely managing to keep from laughing at the mental image of a 600 meter ship doing the Three Pocket Pat.
Mmmm. Eh, they're not quite the old 'San kyuu san kombi', but if you talk to them- mmm, you should, you know?
I'll...pass for now.
Awww. I mean, you're the Captain! And they're soooo eager and earnest. Kinda like, uh. Kinda like puppies! Yeah! Good puppies. Another bell tinkle giggle filled the air. Well, big, dumb puppies too. But that's exactly what gives them their bite.
You think the Abyssals are afraid of teeth?
A man could prick a finger on the edge her smile suddenly took on.
Maybe not. But we can make them. We will.
And here I thought you were the calm one.
Oh my. Was that the sound of a mental bubble bursting? Wonders never ceased, so it was said, and the nuances of telepathy was certainly one such wonder.
Mmm. Well. Suzy twirled a 'finger' through her...hair? Wires? I guess it doesn't apply to everything? It's just- I just wonder if we'll be there in time.
Granted, I replied.
Yeah. And I'm out here now. I wanted this. It's the best we can do, but... Suzy chuckled softly. Heh. I wonder if Yuu-nee and the others felt this way too when they set out. You know. Rescue mission and all?
I sampled the thoughts running through her mind. Yeah, still dominated by that same dark Navy blouse and emerald eyes bracketed by...blonde hair, bangs kept in place by a black ribbon, of all things.
You mean 'did they find second thoughts inconvenient'?
Meanie. There was an almost audible clack of some inner gears being changed. Hmmm. Hold on, we have an incoming-
"We have a transmission," Marge completed Suzy's sentence. "Priority Line."
Plucking a sleek black wireless earphone from her right ear she latched the standard CIC's comms set on in its place, leaving the one on the left side in.
"I never took you for a multitasker, Corporal."
Marge placed a hand on her chest with a sly grin.
"With all due respect sir, I'm not the one leavin' the phone a-ringing."
Huh. Touche. And no, the rest of the room certainly wasn't chuckling at my expense.
"Fine," I said with a sigh. "Put it on."
Each of our sensor consoles burst into vibrant color right before our eyes, resolving to reveal the bridge of the Graf Zeppelin, with the imposing figure of its blonde avatar standing at front and center with arms clasped behind her back. At her side stood a grinning Mraliz, not one but two OmniPad-and-stylus sets clasped in her many limbs, lording her lack of armored spacesuit over the dozen other staff who sat ready at their positions.
Amanda raised a hand, clearing her throat.
"All ships, this is Commander Amanda Reiner."
"In but a few short moments, we will pierce the curtain between plains and come upon our destination, Sancaid Prime. Lynchpin of Indus System's forward defenses, their eyes in this time of war. Three days ago, those eyes were blinded, a pall cast over them by our foes, who emerge in their swarms from the Abyss of space.
"With that veil they have all but hidden the planet's surface, and we cannot know if the fight that raged on last we knew of it rages still. Perhaps Sancaid Prime has fallen. But where we do not know for sure, our mission -the mission of our Navy- is clear: 'no world to be abandoned that still resists, no troops unrelieved who still fight.' Nor will we willingly leave the bodies of those who fought so valiantly to the depredation of the elements, or worse still that of the enemy.
"No, instead we will make them pay. For every drop of blood, for every inch of land, for every comrade the Abyssals shall accrue a costly tax, one we shall exact as we drive them before us from this world." Her expression darkened a little. "So we would wish it, too, were we the stalwart dead."
"Mark my words, these Abyssals are not mere rabble. To expect to simply walk in and take what we wish is folly. But look to your left and to your right. These are the guns, the ships that will line up beside you, the fellows-in-arms who will carry you when you cannot carry yourself. Together you shall overcome the enemy that awaits us. Between you, heroism is not something to be sought. Rather, let every man do their duty, and let heroism follow in their wake."
Amanda paused briefly, her eyes seeming to gazing into the distance before regaining their usual edge.
"The time is almost upon us. Move in silence now, till the moment comes for us to strike with all the fury of a thunderbolt!" A thin smile tugged at her lips. "Good luck to you all - and godspeed."
The image flickered off.
[Forty five seconds to designated Warp exit point,] Suzy's voice filtered over the ship's broadcast channel.
"No spatial anomalies in sensor range," Leckie responded, "egress vector is clear."
"CIWS green."
"Main guns green."
I keyed up that same channel.
"Captain, green."
Marge snorted. Leckie's shoulders shook despite himself. Edith just stared at me, unamused.
"Really, sir?"
Yes, milady, really.
"Now I know many of you have doubts about me," I continued, "and you'd be right to. But for better or worse, gentle-somethings of the 322nd, we're in the same boat. So bear with me a bit, and I'll do what little I can to get us home."
And who knows, I noted apropos Suzy, they might even like what I can do.
No reply came, but I could feel the shipgirl's grin grow ever keener as our final seconds in the Warp ticked down.
"Exiting Warp in five, four, three, two, one-"
The ship lurched, and my food caught in my stomach.
Then our bridge screens shimmered to life, and my stomach caught in my throat.
Space lay in ruins before us, a black canvas now rent by great gashes of dark violet that tore across its surface, swept by eldritch storms that cut a jagged path across the horizon, set aflame by giant roiling clouds that masked the very surface of Sancaid Prime from sight.
Within that towering chaos, the Abyssals whipped up our sensor consoles into a whirling hurricane of red pulsing dots. Teeming. Swarming…
...in the other direction.
[Bearing correction complete.] Suzy reported. [Firing solutions adjusted.]
I threw a hand out.
"Fire at will!"
======
They called it 'c'. Three times ten to the power of eight meters per second.
The speed of light. The speed of death.
One shot from an Eos ship mounted laser would shred an unarmored ship at over a thousand kilometers with utter contempt, while Navy ships would only fare so much better before even the best composite layering failed. Nor did Suzy not fire her complement of five guns alone, far from it. Each of our ships dropped from warp all weapons ablaze, unleashing a crimson rain upon the Abyssal line, streams of pulse bolts bloodying the silent horizon.
Surprise was total. Caught wrong-footed by our scouts' misdirection, the first Abyssal vessels had to weather the brunt of our assault with only token defenses.
Which was to say they didn't: everywhere I looked another ship was skewered, another unformed matrix torn apart, their hulls not even having the time to char before warping, semi-liquid, weeping molten sludge wherever preionized death passed.
A formula for swift victory, were things ever so simple.
"Counterattack incoming!" Leckie yelled. "We've got Squids!"
But here was the big one word problem with the Swarm: 'more'. Always more of them. Case in point, two dozen solid blocks of Abyssal red that emerged from beyond the reach of our scouts' sensors, and mere moments later broke through the Ginaz Storm.
At the center of each nexus was a single Woe-class Swarm Carrier, the eponymous 'face' of our faceless foe: from the wraith-blue bioluminescence that ran across each cephalopod limb sprouting from its rear and sides, to the twin rows of ossified liths jutting from its prow that seemed like nothing so much as the teeth of some ravenous beast.
Around them buzzed an honor guard from hell. All sphere, ether-glow and too many teeth, each Drone was only a few times the size of the average human soldier, but they were nothing if not numerous. They teemed and writhed, forming ovoid defensive matrices around their motherships, which in turned birthed ever more from the bursting skin of their armored backs.
Thus organized did the Abyssal fleet charge headlong, straight into crisscrossed arcs of fire from our line's center.
[Main lasers ready.]
"Give em hell!" I struggled for the words, my tongue turning traitor for a second - not that I blamed it. "Retrothrusters at half power, back us up!"
Not a moment too soon, for the Abyssal war machine was wide awake now, hurling itself towards us with hatches battened firmly down. Whole swathes of drones were flayed off like so much seared skin, the exposed Woe carriers beneath then being turned to slag in an instant. Yet this time there were survivors. Tenuous ones, their molten flesh bleeding, oozing, writhing. But they survived, and every extra shot we aimed at them was one not aimed at the ones that would surely come up behind.
Or the smaller waves snaking towards both our flanks at a fraction of light speed unmatched by any human vessel. Sure, they could probably hold their own, and our formation wide retreat bought us time, but reduced fire was reduced fire. How long before-
"Losing your nerve, sir?"
Orfan quipped, his face weaponized sarcasm.
"Tell me your mouth didn't go dry when you first saw these bastards fight."
"Like the desert." He noted as another two Woes winked out of existence, leaving but eight more to charge our center. "Laser status?"
[Eos batteries cool in five.]
"We're coming into effective range of their shots," Leckie warned.
Edith gave a humorless chuckle.
"Gotcha. Jus' waiting to follow up nice and easy with-" Nimbuses of silver and grey exploded onto our screens. Another siren's cry followed, accompanied by a [ANTI-LASER ALERT] message splashed in red on every console. "-well, not that."
Anti-laser chaff. Some extra shielding to go with the speed to let them close the gap from middling ranges. Another staple trick in the Abyssal repertoire, and it didn't hurt that the staggered releases of cloud obscured their cannonades as they came howling in. Most were still caught by our point defenses, explosions blooming across the horizon.
The rest caught on our hull. On, and not 'in', or so I hoped. Because damn that was all a man could do to not claw the fabric off his seat with all this shaking going on.
[Reactive Layer One purged at Sections 20 through 23 and 42 through 47,] Suzy reported. [Projected hull attrition at 3% a minute.]
Pretty good. But no time for relief.
"E-"
"Firing MMAGs, sir," Edith reported, our bridge lurching to the whump, whump, whump of gyros and thrusters wrestling against the recoil of over a dozen Multipurpose Mass Accelerator Guns.
All along our line, the story was similar. Hits taken. Damage tallied. Fire returned.
And as with ours, so theirs. The Abyssals surged through the chaff cloud, weapons blazing into the eternal night. Many were obliterated by railgun shots, others almost cut to ribbons by superheated streams of plasma from cluster munitions. But still they kept coming, somehow maintaining a respectable volume of fire for the few doomed vessels they still possessed.
"Well." I snarled, teeth chattering through another- well, make that another two hits. "These things will never stop, will they?"
Orfan quirked a brow.
"Pretty sure that's the one thing our film industry can be truly honest about."
"More like 'on a scale of one to this, I'd give Fortress: Dreslov a solid four.'"
Heck, I'd give our combat sims an eight, I thought privately.
Six and a half, Suzy grumbled. Don't remember aching this much in all of Advanced Combat.
I managed a thin smile at that. At the very least, we'd done a good job extending the period where combat took place at ranges favorable to us so far. Now if we could keep the Abyssals at arm's length for just a short while longer-
-woah, stop right there, Ethel Deschantes. You gave the sims an eight. And remember what those sims taught you the first time? Yeah, that's right: wishful thinking gets people killed. Yes, killed for real by cruel death, whose hammerfall knows not the word if, only when and how.
Klaxons wailed, and that line of thought shattered like dropped glass as six golden rings burst onto our left flank, five expanding outward to encompass at least one friendly ship...and one so large it covered half a dozen.
Leckie paled.
"Hostile Jumps in five!"
On any other day I might have kicked myself in the head for being a jinx. But as things stood it felt like time was being wrung out, strained through a filter of agonizing slow motion. Our left flank fell back, retrothrusters in full flame, their defensive fire and formation only just shy of utter disarray as they fled the gaping maws of warp space that exploded into existence amidst them, and the black ships that emerged from that mouth of madness.
They barely avoided collision, and yet the last and the largest of the Abyssals would not be denied. On and on ship and unstable strangespace stretched, and even at this distance the prows of three cruisers forced into the rearguard began to bend, folding and crushing in on themselves wherever they came into contact with the Abyssal FTL Wakes.
Then six arcs of white-hot flame roared out into darkness, each striking a single ship and consuming them in roiling explosions.
It was like a spell had broken. Breathing seemed to come easier. Heck, I even had time to check who had fired the shots, even knowing full well that there was but one ship in our strike force that could safely carry Antimatter 'Blink' Rounds for MMAGs.
But no cheers greeted the sight, or the sight of the last Abyssal contacts on our center and right flanks disappearing, only an almost tangible sense of relief washing over the bridge.
"Hot damn." Edith whistled. "Looks like someone brought spare broadsides."
"Not sure I'd call Blink Cannons 'spare' anything." Marge adjusted her comm set nervously, staring out towards where the cruisers had managed to get back into formation. Battered and beleaguered, but alive. "Also, thank fuck for amidships bridges."
Orfan Uruz, however, simply frowned.
"Sensors, report in."
See, I said 'almost', because it wasn't relief you could believe in if the oldest dog in the room wasn't joining the V-day celebrations. Worse still, one look at the Chief had Leckie snapping his half open mouth shut and ducking back behind his chair. Very encouraging.
"R-resolving image now..." he began, and then trailed off. "...well shit."
Our screens told the story that Leckie's epithet began, a tale of smoke and debris being swept aside by fourteen miles of enraged Abyssal leviathan.
"Lacrimosa."
I too had recognized the creature by its schematics, but hearing the word ground out between an old veteran's teeth like a still raw scab, was just different.
It wasn't hard to speculate why either; if the Woe's 'Squid' moniker was as apt as dubiously affectionate, the Lacrimosa's 'Size Matters' was even more so.
As it turned out, being a big target didn't matter if getting hit didn't either. Salvo after salvo of MMAG fire was met in equal measure by white hot plasma bolts spewed forth from spinal cannons lining the giant Abyssal's back and sides, and what little got through was shrugged off. Our lasers fared better, the creature's hide writhing in pain as they lanced into its side, searing flesh and melting bone with their every touch. Now if only mere pain would do anything more than make the Lacrimosa slightly angrier. Or at least stop it from launching more Swarm Carriers in the droves at us from afar even as it advanced at an almost dismissive clip.
Yes, 'I don't give a shit about your raggedy-ass fleet. In the meantime, here, have some disposable minions to shoot until I get over there and kick you off this planet.' Message received, asshat.
Granted, the ugly burn wound that scoured the left side of its prow gave the lie to its invincibility. But antimatter ammunition was not fired cheaply, even for shipgirls.
Marge swivelled halfway in her seat to face Orfan and I.
"Priority One transmission from the Graf Zeppelin."
I rubbed my temple. "Put them on."
Mraliz's smile greeted us as the image of Graf's bridge sprang to life again, having at some point come to share center stage with Amanda from the discomfort of the latter's lap. Goddamn shape shifters and their ridiculous contortions.
"This day just gets better, doesn't it?"
"I hope you plan as well as you joke," I growled. "You said-"
"Intel suggested that Abyssal presence was light," the Benthos corrected me, "and past pattern analysis suggests that three days is very early for attempts at Hive World colonization. But there are always exceptions."
Oh hell, I didn't like that shrug, or the way she used that last word.
"Does this exception mean a quick planetside run to snag our artifact?"
"Told you he'd be fine." Mraliz turned to her partner, her face a touch smug for our situation as she turned back to face me.
"We're sending the 322nd -you included- planetside in four destroyers," she began, the outline of our backup plan piecing itself together onscreen. "Our scout team -minus the Iramabel- has gone in ahead to clear the way. They'll rendezvous with you post re-entry; between you there should be enough to eke out a beachhead and then some. Find whatever's left of Fortuna's Reach, get in, get our artifact, get out."
Mraliz tapped her chin briefly. Then another image popped up, that of a twisting tower of black Abyssal bone-rock plunged into shattered earth.
"This mission should be light on secondary objectives. Still, marking the Ginaz Spires they've planted for bombardment would be nice. Helping us salvage a few would be better still." Amanda shot the Benthos a look as resigned as it was disapproving. Mraliz Vorkros and her boundless enthusiasm for research, ladies and gents. "Between our orbital bombardments and their scuttling protocols it's been soooo very hard to nab one intact, and you know how it is with research material. Can't ever have enough of it!
"Anyway. As for communications...broadcast telepathy should work. Very difficult inside a Storm over these distances, but it's functional. If you can get below the clouds things might be smoother. Might even have some limited conventional comms. If not-"
The scientist shrugged. 'Make things work' it is, then. Got it.
"-and that's about it. Any questions?"
"Just one," I said. "Why-"
"Energy surge detected from Lima-01!"
Johann Leckie, ever the bearer of bad news. And the news according to our zoomed-in optics was the Lacrimosa's jagged prow sliding open...to reveal a trio of axial cannons.
[S-MANEUVER: ALPHA.]
The words burned like a brand on my console.
But there was no time to reply. Only to do.
"Hard to port. Get us under the Graf!" I looked up. "Suzy!"
[Let's do this.]
It began with desire. Desire bred will; and will, power. Power. Suzy was a wellspring of it, like the great sea that was her home. But it raged, churned without focus beyond her form. And power required focus. Control. I was control. I was focus, an anchor to our plane. To our common desire. What did we desire?
We desired to protect. The Abyssal corruption had spread this far. So close you could taste it. So close it might touch us, touch the ships in our formation who now shifted to crowd behind us and the Graf.
They would go no further.
The Lacrimosa struck, three huge plasma bolts arcing towards us.
And they struck thin air - or what had once been thin air, now crackling with a pale violet sheen that grew brighter as they strained to stop the terrible blow. For a few moments flames from a star's cauldron born contended against rippling waterfall. Then with a burst of incandescence, the former failed, dissipating into nothingness.
Silence reigned on the bridge for what seemed like an eternity. Then Amanda sighed, adjusting her peaked cap.
"Any more questions, Lieutenant?"
"...No, ma'am."
"Good, because there's going to be a lot less 'why you' and lots more 'why not you' from here on out," Mraliz noted with a waggle of her fingers, before leaning forward and 'poking' the screen. "Better get used to it, Lieutenant."
"Before you ask, do not worry about us. We will hold them here." Amanda's smile was as grim as ever, but there was amusement at the edge of her lips. "And if it comes down to it, we will show these unhappy children how a real carrier fights."
With that the feed cut out, and the Graf began turning on her vectored thrusters to face our newest opponent. The rest of our formation followed, their weapons blazing away as they reformed the curve that we'd first used to box the Abyssals of Sancaid Prime in.
Edith turned towards me, mock pity written on her face.
"Expectations, eh?"
"Seems so."
"My condolences."
"Bah. Save it," I grumbled, scratching my neck. Or rather, struggled to through the armored gorget of my spacesuit. "Anyway, you all heard the woman. Starboard turn, down twenty degrees. Guns to port, covering fire. And hail the, uh-"
"The Granbell, the Katowice and the Bruges," Marge offered.
"Yeah." I tried not to focus on how our ship's abrupt swing shifted in my guts. "Them."
"Gotcha."
All three responded to our hail almost instantaneously, mirroring their ships in swiftly falling in behind Suzy's barrier as she peeled away from the main formation.
"Well, lady and gents, it's into the belly of the beast with us," I began, looking at the three faces before me. "Now, I'm not expecting to lead you. But I hope you'll trust me to do my part, and I'll do my best not to get us killed."
Lavender-skinned Captain Izin Bat-Ami somehow managed to smile under the slate grey Antarian death mask she wore.
"'Do my best not to get us killed', says he who threw up a shield capable of negating a Heavy Plasma Lance." She folded a pair slender arms across her chest. "Worry not, 'Ghost of Akkad'. We on Destroyer Bruges have braved worse allies."
"Yeesh, Antarians. Always so formal." Captain Enzo Morales of the Destroyer Katowice rolled his brown eyes, running a hand through his curling black hair. "Tell you what, Captain Deschantes. You get us out of this mess, and I'll buy your whole bridge crew drinks when we get back on the Gradivus."
That got a mish-mash of cheers from Forza Squad. But if the Captain of the Granbell had anything to say about that or his colleagues' exchange, it was mere chaff to be burned to dust before the blaze in his eyes.
"Arhan Levos En Sha of Strike Cruiser Granbell acknowledges your call," the reptilian native of Anguirus System declared. "Let us not tarry; the liberation of this planet from these foul invaders awaits!"
"Thank you for your support." Frankly, I found Levos' utmost seriousness seemed a tad comical was juxtaposed against his compatriots' detachment and amusement respectively. But what was it they said? That enthusiasm by any other name would be just as endearing? "See you all planetside." I snapped off a salute. "For Terra."
"For the Alliance!"
Ye gods that was cheesy, I thought as the screens flickered off.
"Wow." Edith said, clapping slowly. "Where was all that chest-thumping when you were serenading us?"
"Words be like wine, girl," Orfan replied. "You gotta let'em age." He turned to me, a twinkle in his eye. "Don't worry, you'll make a fine propagandist. Eventually."
"Would that they'd just let me write speeches." I shifted forwards in my seat. "ETA to atmospheric re-entry?"
[Two minutes.]
"Ingress status, Leckie?"
"We're not being fired upon." The redhead paused. "Yet."
Optimism, I thought as I took a good, hard look at Sancaid Prime for the first time in what felt like the last forever or so. It wasn't much. But it was nothing good, for sure. Naught but a huge cloud of hellspawned smoke, and within it, heaven only knew what else.
And somehow, somewhy, Ethel Lefkada Deschantes -fresh off the shuttle and silver paint still drying off his two bars- was going in there. Leading the charge no less, and not for right, but for might.
It was all I could do to not sigh as I glanced up at the ceiling.
Guess we're committed now, eh, Suzy?
Quite sure we were in this since Day One. A cheeky grin spread across her invisible face. Or is somebody getting second thoughts?
Girl, we are so having a talk after this about not picking up the worst bits of your partner. Then I'm going to need a stiff drink. Preferably in private, where no one can hear me moan about my many inadequacies.
Try a thousand, I replied. Not to worry, meeting your sister isn't one of them.
Ha, like I'd be worried about that, Suzy scoffed. You'll love her!
The towering clouds ahead chose that very moment to loose a tapestry of lightning that repainted their darkness with brief splashes of violet and crimson gloaming, as if to mock my partner's enthusiasm.
I swallowed the ominous thought; a trivial effort on any other day, but nigh monumental now as we drew all too close to the enemy gates.
I'm sure I will, Suzy, I managed, though it was the last thing on my mind. I'm sure I will.
This was probably the trickiest (and most agonized over) chapter yet. I confess that I barely trust myself to write any fight scenes worth a damn, let alone full scale space combat. But you need to, as the chapter title suggests, 'take the plunge' at some point.
Merely reading about battles and imagining it in your mind for far too long opens the writer to 'the megalomania of ideas' - that unwarranted thought in your mind that an idea that has not yet been born is somehow Athena herself: fully armed and ready for the world, indeed, superior to all that already draw breath.
I won't subject myself (or worse, y'all readers) to that travesty. So here's me putting my baby in the tarred wicker basket for a roadtrip down the swelling Nile, and hoping it goes well.
As always, enjoy the chapter - comments, reviews and thoughts all welcome!
======
A Sea of Stars
Book 1: The Stars, Awake
Chapter 5: Take the Plunge
He presses his fingertips against the glass, and listens to the song of the rain.
Perched on the boundary between frigid nature and manmade warmth, he feels the cold run up his arm in jolts. He presses closer, as long as his small hand can stand, then releases. The heat returns in a rush, leaving a tingling in his fingers. Strange, but not unpleasant. Fascinating, really. He does it again. Then again. And again.
"Another experiment? Precocious."
He casts one eye sideways.
They sent new one today. 'A little more your size, kid', they said. And she is indeed short, a poor fit to a corridor built for and used by larger, taller frames. He snickers. At least he will have some company for now.
So, what will they do today? He asks, hands on hips.
The smile on her is radiant, even more so than the light that silhouettes her.
"Oh no, no. Enough doing things. I'd like to start with a story."
Oh, stories, he replies, he loves those. They aren't told often. Perhaps that's why he likes them. He isn't sure.
She leands forward, pushing her hair back.
"Do we now?"
He nods, trying not to puff his chest out.
Not an inch.
Her laughter is like the sudden peal of thunder. Loud, and surprising. Mostly the second.
But it is not unpleasant.
"Well then, let's begin."
======
"Captain's chair that comfortable, sir?"
I opened my eyes with a surprising ease. Always thought I was a deeper sleeper than that.
But then again I suppose anyone would wake up if they were the object of some old guy's leering grin. Even if that old man looked more forty than a hundred, and even it was mostly concern and not cheek written on his face.
In any case, far be it from me to be fussy about attention. Especially when it came from the executive officer of the TNS Suzukaze. My executive officer.
"It's pretty good. Sure, it isn't business class, and this-" I waggled my gloved fingers, sealed as they were in the armored Divesuits the Navy's human staff wore, "-isn't built for maximum comfort, but this leg space?" I gave both limbs a flex, pushing the glowing sensor console out with my left leg to make more room. "Top notch."
Orfan Uruz gave me a searching look, his one natural eyebrow arched with many an unspoken question.
"You're taking this really well," he settled for at length.
I shrugged.
"I've had some FTL travel experience. Grad trip. School outings. Travelling with friends. And family."
Leckie snorted from off below and to the right, swivelling around in his chair.
"Sounds cushy, sir."
"Don't you mean sounds like right now, Corporal?"
"Well, I didn't ask for right now."
"The technical majority spoke for you."
"The technical majority can go s-"
"'Ey!" Edith snapped, her face stern as she rotated her own seat at Close-In Weapon Systems Control. "Watch it, Jo. Man who can't shut his trap embarrasses himself. Or gets charged for insubordination, and mind you, if Bleeding Heart Butter Bar over there won't do it I will."
So she said, but it was me at whom she shot an exasperated look once she was sure that Pissy MacRedhead had turned back around. Okay, I mimed with two hands up. Don't aggravate the aggressive nerd with Han Solo Syndrome. Got it.
"'Sides," she continued, "you should be glad that the up-theres let this warwagon fly with five people crewing it. Imagine the alternative!"
Leckie didn't respond to that, instead pulling his own sensor console closer and leaning into it.
I leaned over to Orfan.
"Just for the record, what is this alternative?"
"Half a dozen more bored people on the bridge, him sporting six bumholes extra. At minimum." The Master Chief sighed. "Biggest fault of the military, methinks. Educated the respect for an uneventful life right out of our children."
"Is that why I surprise you?"
"Well, college is four years too long," he pointed out. "And you went to school in New Valeria. Between Sukhumvit-Seinbeck and Alstreim Corp, our military-industrial complex's got that place locked down harder than an orbital penal colony."
"Guess I just never felt the spirit."
"Bet you didn't, tonedeaf little squirt that y'are. Also, I was talking about combat jumps."
"And I was lying."
Yes, I'll have another displeased pug impression to go, please. Less salt and less oil though, don't think my stomach can take it.
"To tell you the truth," I continued, sinking back in my seat as far as the cushioning, more shock absorber than sofa, allowed, "even I think it makes more sense that I should be pissing my pants."
Understatement of the century. We were ten minutes into Warp Jump. Five minutes more to Sancaid Prime, and our reckoning. Maybe our death. Forget pissing pants or shitting bricks, I could crap out Hadrian's Wall in a heartbeat and not surprise myself in the least.
Orfan read my silence wordlessly, before quirking a brow.
"So why don't you?"
It's the sea.
Psionic 'broadcasting' wasn't something we'd had the opportunity to try just yet. But hearing it now I could safely say that the primer didn't do it justice. Here in the seat of Suzy's -Suzukaze's- power, her voice rippled through the room towards the two of us, loud and clear yet effortless as the tread of her bow through this space between spaces.
"The sea? Don't y'mean-"
Space. Yes. Wherever a ship sails, there is her sea, and everything in it. One could almost imagine the Balorium-empowered engines hum a little lower as Suzy considered her next words. It may be weird to you, but even this strange plane is quite calming.
"More in your element as a flying metal box all bristlin' with guns, then?"
Rude, my partner tutted, so sharply I could almost see her tossing her ponytails. The 'ship' does come before the 'girl', you know.
"Fair enough. And that, ah, rubs off on the kid. Somehow."
I'm not 'the kid'. I'm 'Ethel Deschantes', and I'm right here.
Mmmmm. What was it they called it-
"Psionic Resonance," I offered.
-Yeah! So. Um. I guess?
Orfan's face twisted into a grimace, running a hand through his egregious lack of hair.
"Ugh," he grumbled. "Bet you a hundred creds our good Commander already had this mumbo jumbo thought out when she showed up in the cantina."
To be fair, we knew too.
"Just not this much."
People didn't seem to like telling us the whole story.
"Fair enough," the Chief acceded with a slow nod. "Well. It's good and all that y'all aren't scared any, but death doesn't need to respec that. So give it a wide berth, y'hear? Our lives're in your hands. Hull. Something."
That got a giggle from Suzy.
Alright.
"Good." Unlatching his seatbelts, Orfan allowed himself to float over his chair, jerking his thumb towards the bridge doors. "Now this old fellow's gonna go check on our boys and girls in the back. Stay cool and get along, now. Hail me if you need me."
With that and a hiss of the doors, he was gone.
I leaned...hmmm, actually, it was quite difficult to decide which way was leaning 'in' when the person you were talking was all around you, yet nowhere in specific. So I did the next best thing - look up at the ceiling.
So. What's up, Suzy?
Just a few last minute checks, she chirped. Revving up the engines, the FTL drive hub, the works.
As for our weapon systems? I asked, barely managing to keep from laughing at the mental image of a 600 meter ship doing the Three Pocket Pat.
Mmmm. Eh, they're not quite the old 'San kyuu san kombi', but if you talk to them- mmm, you should, you know?
I'll...pass for now.
Awww. I mean, you're the Captain! And they're soooo eager and earnest. Kinda like, uh. Kinda like puppies! Yeah! Good puppies. Another bell tinkle giggle filled the air. Well, big, dumb puppies too. But that's exactly what gives them their bite.
You think the Abyssals are afraid of teeth?
A man could prick a finger on the edge her smile suddenly took on.
Maybe not. But we can make them. We will.
And here I thought you were the calm one.
Oh my. Was that the sound of a mental bubble bursting? Wonders never ceased, so it was said, and the nuances of telepathy was certainly one such wonder.
Mmm. Well. Suzy twirled a 'finger' through her...hair? Wires? I guess it doesn't apply to everything? It's just- I just wonder if we'll be there in time.
Granted, I replied.
Yeah. And I'm out here now. I wanted this. It's the best we can do, but... Suzy chuckled softly. Heh. I wonder if Yuu-nee and the others felt this way too when they set out. You know. Rescue mission and all?
I sampled the thoughts running through her mind. Yeah, still dominated by that same dark Navy blouse and emerald eyes bracketed by...blonde hair, bangs kept in place by a black ribbon, of all things.
You mean 'did they find second thoughts inconvenient'?
Meanie. There was an almost audible clack of some inner gears being changed. Hmmm. Hold on, we have an incoming-
"We have a transmission," Marge completed Suzy's sentence. "Priority Line."
Plucking a sleek black wireless earphone from her right ear she latched the standard CIC's comms set on in its place, leaving the one on the left side in.
"I never took you for a multitasker, Corporal."
Marge placed a hand on her chest with a sly grin.
"With all due respect sir, I'm not the one leavin' the phone a-ringing."
Huh. Touche. And no, the rest of the room certainly wasn't chuckling at my expense.
"Fine," I said with a sigh. "Put it on."
Each of our sensor consoles burst into vibrant color right before our eyes, resolving to reveal the bridge of the Graf Zeppelin, with the imposing figure of its blonde avatar standing at front and center with arms clasped behind her back. At her side stood a grinning Mraliz, not one but two OmniPad-and-stylus sets clasped in her many limbs, lording her lack of armored spacesuit over the dozen other staff who sat ready at their positions.
Amanda raised a hand, clearing her throat.
"All ships, this is Commander Amanda Reiner."
"In but a few short moments, we will pierce the curtain between plains and come upon our destination, Sancaid Prime. Lynchpin of Indus System's forward defenses, their eyes in this time of war. Three days ago, those eyes were blinded, a pall cast over them by our foes, who emerge in their swarms from the Abyss of space.
"With that veil they have all but hidden the planet's surface, and we cannot know if the fight that raged on last we knew of it rages still. Perhaps Sancaid Prime has fallen. But where we do not know for sure, our mission -the mission of our Navy- is clear: 'no world to be abandoned that still resists, no troops unrelieved who still fight.' Nor will we willingly leave the bodies of those who fought so valiantly to the depredation of the elements, or worse still that of the enemy.
"No, instead we will make them pay. For every drop of blood, for every inch of land, for every comrade the Abyssals shall accrue a costly tax, one we shall exact as we drive them before us from this world." Her expression darkened a little. "So we would wish it, too, were we the stalwart dead."
"Mark my words, these Abyssals are not mere rabble. To expect to simply walk in and take what we wish is folly. But look to your left and to your right. These are the guns, the ships that will line up beside you, the fellows-in-arms who will carry you when you cannot carry yourself. Together you shall overcome the enemy that awaits us. Between you, heroism is not something to be sought. Rather, let every man do their duty, and let heroism follow in their wake."
Amanda paused briefly, her eyes seeming to gazing into the distance before regaining their usual edge.
"The time is almost upon us. Move in silence now, till the moment comes for us to strike with all the fury of a thunderbolt!" A thin smile tugged at her lips. "Good luck to you all - and godspeed."
The image flickered off.
[Forty five seconds to designated Warp exit point,] Suzy's voice filtered over the ship's broadcast channel.
"No spatial anomalies in sensor range," Leckie responded, "egress vector is clear."
"CIWS green."
"Main guns green."
I keyed up that same channel.
"Captain, green."
Marge snorted. Leckie's shoulders shook despite himself. Edith just stared at me, unamused.
"Really, sir?"
Yes, milady, really.
"Now I know many of you have doubts about me," I continued, "and you'd be right to. But for better or worse, gentle-somethings of the 322nd, we're in the same boat. So bear with me a bit, and I'll do what little I can to get us home."
And who knows, I noted apropos Suzy, they might even like what I can do.
No reply came, but I could feel the shipgirl's grin grow ever keener as our final seconds in the Warp ticked down.
"Exiting Warp in five, four, three, two, one-"
The ship lurched, and my food caught in my stomach.
Then our bridge screens shimmered to life, and my stomach caught in my throat.
Space lay in ruins before us, a black canvas now rent by great gashes of dark violet that tore across its surface, swept by eldritch storms that cut a jagged path across the horizon, set aflame by giant roiling clouds that masked the very surface of Sancaid Prime from sight.
Within that towering chaos, the Abyssals whipped up our sensor consoles into a whirling hurricane of red pulsing dots. Teeming. Swarming…
...in the other direction.
[Bearing correction complete.] Suzy reported. [Firing solutions adjusted.]
I threw a hand out.
"Fire at will!"
======
They called it 'c'. Three times ten to the power of eight meters per second.
The speed of light. The speed of death.
One shot from an Eos ship mounted laser would shred an unarmored ship at over a thousand kilometers with utter contempt, while Navy ships would only fare so much better before even the best composite layering failed. Nor did Suzy not fire her complement of five guns alone, far from it. Each of our ships dropped from warp all weapons ablaze, unleashing a crimson rain upon the Abyssal line, streams of pulse bolts bloodying the silent horizon.
Surprise was total. Caught wrong-footed by our scouts' misdirection, the first Abyssal vessels had to weather the brunt of our assault with only token defenses.
Which was to say they didn't: everywhere I looked another ship was skewered, another unformed matrix torn apart, their hulls not even having the time to char before warping, semi-liquid, weeping molten sludge wherever preionized death passed.
A formula for swift victory, were things ever so simple.
"Counterattack incoming!" Leckie yelled. "We've got Squids!"
But here was the big one word problem with the Swarm: 'more'. Always more of them. Case in point, two dozen solid blocks of Abyssal red that emerged from beyond the reach of our scouts' sensors, and mere moments later broke through the Ginaz Storm.
At the center of each nexus was a single Woe-class Swarm Carrier, the eponymous 'face' of our faceless foe: from the wraith-blue bioluminescence that ran across each cephalopod limb sprouting from its rear and sides, to the twin rows of ossified liths jutting from its prow that seemed like nothing so much as the teeth of some ravenous beast.
Around them buzzed an honor guard from hell. All sphere, ether-glow and too many teeth, each Drone was only a few times the size of the average human soldier, but they were nothing if not numerous. They teemed and writhed, forming ovoid defensive matrices around their motherships, which in turned birthed ever more from the bursting skin of their armored backs.
Thus organized did the Abyssal fleet charge headlong, straight into crisscrossed arcs of fire from our line's center.
[Main lasers ready.]
"Give em hell!" I struggled for the words, my tongue turning traitor for a second - not that I blamed it. "Retrothrusters at half power, back us up!"
Not a moment too soon, for the Abyssal war machine was wide awake now, hurling itself towards us with hatches battened firmly down. Whole swathes of drones were flayed off like so much seared skin, the exposed Woe carriers beneath then being turned to slag in an instant. Yet this time there were survivors. Tenuous ones, their molten flesh bleeding, oozing, writhing. But they survived, and every extra shot we aimed at them was one not aimed at the ones that would surely come up behind.
Or the smaller waves snaking towards both our flanks at a fraction of light speed unmatched by any human vessel. Sure, they could probably hold their own, and our formation wide retreat bought us time, but reduced fire was reduced fire. How long before-
"Losing your nerve, sir?"
Orfan quipped, his face weaponized sarcasm.
"Tell me your mouth didn't go dry when you first saw these bastards fight."
"Like the desert." He noted as another two Woes winked out of existence, leaving but eight more to charge our center. "Laser status?"
[Eos batteries cool in five.]
"We're coming into effective range of their shots," Leckie warned.
Edith gave a humorless chuckle.
"Gotcha. Jus' waiting to follow up nice and easy with-" Nimbuses of silver and grey exploded onto our screens. Another siren's cry followed, accompanied by a [ANTI-LASER ALERT] message splashed in red on every console. "-well, not that."
Anti-laser chaff. Some extra shielding to go with the speed to let them close the gap from middling ranges. Another staple trick in the Abyssal repertoire, and it didn't hurt that the staggered releases of cloud obscured their cannonades as they came howling in. Most were still caught by our point defenses, explosions blooming across the horizon.
The rest caught on our hull. On, and not 'in', or so I hoped. Because damn that was all a man could do to not claw the fabric off his seat with all this shaking going on.
[Reactive Layer One purged at Sections 20 through 23 and 42 through 47,] Suzy reported. [Projected hull attrition at 3% a minute.]
Pretty good. But no time for relief.
"E-"
"Firing MMAGs, sir," Edith reported, our bridge lurching to the whump, whump, whump of gyros and thrusters wrestling against the recoil of over a dozen Multipurpose Mass Accelerator Guns.
All along our line, the story was similar. Hits taken. Damage tallied. Fire returned.
And as with ours, so theirs. The Abyssals surged through the chaff cloud, weapons blazing into the eternal night. Many were obliterated by railgun shots, others almost cut to ribbons by superheated streams of plasma from cluster munitions. But still they kept coming, somehow maintaining a respectable volume of fire for the few doomed vessels they still possessed.
"Well." I snarled, teeth chattering through another- well, make that another two hits. "These things will never stop, will they?"
Orfan quirked a brow.
"Pretty sure that's the one thing our film industry can be truly honest about."
"More like 'on a scale of one to this, I'd give Fortress: Dreslov a solid four.'"
Heck, I'd give our combat sims an eight, I thought privately.
Six and a half, Suzy grumbled. Don't remember aching this much in all of Advanced Combat.
I managed a thin smile at that. At the very least, we'd done a good job extending the period where combat took place at ranges favorable to us so far. Now if we could keep the Abyssals at arm's length for just a short while longer-
-woah, stop right there, Ethel Deschantes. You gave the sims an eight. And remember what those sims taught you the first time? Yeah, that's right: wishful thinking gets people killed. Yes, killed for real by cruel death, whose hammerfall knows not the word if, only when and how.
Klaxons wailed, and that line of thought shattered like dropped glass as six golden rings burst onto our left flank, five expanding outward to encompass at least one friendly ship...and one so large it covered half a dozen.
Leckie paled.
"Hostile Jumps in five!"
On any other day I might have kicked myself in the head for being a jinx. But as things stood it felt like time was being wrung out, strained through a filter of agonizing slow motion. Our left flank fell back, retrothrusters in full flame, their defensive fire and formation only just shy of utter disarray as they fled the gaping maws of warp space that exploded into existence amidst them, and the black ships that emerged from that mouth of madness.
They barely avoided collision, and yet the last and the largest of the Abyssals would not be denied. On and on ship and unstable strangespace stretched, and even at this distance the prows of three cruisers forced into the rearguard began to bend, folding and crushing in on themselves wherever they came into contact with the Abyssal FTL Wakes.
Then six arcs of white-hot flame roared out into darkness, each striking a single ship and consuming them in roiling explosions.
It was like a spell had broken. Breathing seemed to come easier. Heck, I even had time to check who had fired the shots, even knowing full well that there was but one ship in our strike force that could safely carry Antimatter 'Blink' Rounds for MMAGs.
But no cheers greeted the sight, or the sight of the last Abyssal contacts on our center and right flanks disappearing, only an almost tangible sense of relief washing over the bridge.
"Hot damn." Edith whistled. "Looks like someone brought spare broadsides."
"Not sure I'd call Blink Cannons 'spare' anything." Marge adjusted her comm set nervously, staring out towards where the cruisers had managed to get back into formation. Battered and beleaguered, but alive. "Also, thank fuck for amidships bridges."
Orfan Uruz, however, simply frowned.
"Sensors, report in."
See, I said 'almost', because it wasn't relief you could believe in if the oldest dog in the room wasn't joining the V-day celebrations. Worse still, one look at the Chief had Leckie snapping his half open mouth shut and ducking back behind his chair. Very encouraging.
"R-resolving image now..." he began, and then trailed off. "...well shit."
Our screens told the story that Leckie's epithet began, a tale of smoke and debris being swept aside by fourteen miles of enraged Abyssal leviathan.
"Lacrimosa."
I too had recognized the creature by its schematics, but hearing the word ground out between an old veteran's teeth like a still raw scab, was just different.
It wasn't hard to speculate why either; if the Woe's 'Squid' moniker was as apt as dubiously affectionate, the Lacrimosa's 'Size Matters' was even more so.
As it turned out, being a big target didn't matter if getting hit didn't either. Salvo after salvo of MMAG fire was met in equal measure by white hot plasma bolts spewed forth from spinal cannons lining the giant Abyssal's back and sides, and what little got through was shrugged off. Our lasers fared better, the creature's hide writhing in pain as they lanced into its side, searing flesh and melting bone with their every touch. Now if only mere pain would do anything more than make the Lacrimosa slightly angrier. Or at least stop it from launching more Swarm Carriers in the droves at us from afar even as it advanced at an almost dismissive clip.
Yes, 'I don't give a shit about your raggedy-ass fleet. In the meantime, here, have some disposable minions to shoot until I get over there and kick you off this planet.' Message received, asshat.
Granted, the ugly burn wound that scoured the left side of its prow gave the lie to its invincibility. But antimatter ammunition was not fired cheaply, even for shipgirls.
Marge swivelled halfway in her seat to face Orfan and I.
"Priority One transmission from the Graf Zeppelin."
I rubbed my temple. "Put them on."
Mraliz's smile greeted us as the image of Graf's bridge sprang to life again, having at some point come to share center stage with Amanda from the discomfort of the latter's lap. Goddamn shape shifters and their ridiculous contortions.
"This day just gets better, doesn't it?"
"I hope you plan as well as you joke," I growled. "You said-"
"Intel suggested that Abyssal presence was light," the Benthos corrected me, "and past pattern analysis suggests that three days is very early for attempts at Hive World colonization. But there are always exceptions."
Oh hell, I didn't like that shrug, or the way she used that last word.
"Does this exception mean a quick planetside run to snag our artifact?"
"Told you he'd be fine." Mraliz turned to her partner, her face a touch smug for our situation as she turned back to face me.
"We're sending the 322nd -you included- planetside in four destroyers," she began, the outline of our backup plan piecing itself together onscreen. "Our scout team -minus the Iramabel- has gone in ahead to clear the way. They'll rendezvous with you post re-entry; between you there should be enough to eke out a beachhead and then some. Find whatever's left of Fortuna's Reach, get in, get our artifact, get out."
Mraliz tapped her chin briefly. Then another image popped up, that of a twisting tower of black Abyssal bone-rock plunged into shattered earth.
"This mission should be light on secondary objectives. Still, marking the Ginaz Spires they've planted for bombardment would be nice. Helping us salvage a few would be better still." Amanda shot the Benthos a look as resigned as it was disapproving. Mraliz Vorkros and her boundless enthusiasm for research, ladies and gents. "Between our orbital bombardments and their scuttling protocols it's been soooo very hard to nab one intact, and you know how it is with research material. Can't ever have enough of it!
"Anyway. As for communications...broadcast telepathy should work. Very difficult inside a Storm over these distances, but it's functional. If you can get below the clouds things might be smoother. Might even have some limited conventional comms. If not-"
The scientist shrugged. 'Make things work' it is, then. Got it.
"-and that's about it. Any questions?"
"Just one," I said. "Why-"
"Energy surge detected from Lima-01!"
Johann Leckie, ever the bearer of bad news. And the news according to our zoomed-in optics was the Lacrimosa's jagged prow sliding open...to reveal a trio of axial cannons.
[S-MANEUVER: ALPHA.]
The words burned like a brand on my console.
But there was no time to reply. Only to do.
"Hard to port. Get us under the Graf!" I looked up. "Suzy!"
[Let's do this.]
It began with desire. Desire bred will; and will, power. Power. Suzy was a wellspring of it, like the great sea that was her home. But it raged, churned without focus beyond her form. And power required focus. Control. I was control. I was focus, an anchor to our plane. To our common desire. What did we desire?
We desired to protect. The Abyssal corruption had spread this far. So close you could taste it. So close it might touch us, touch the ships in our formation who now shifted to crowd behind us and the Graf.
They would go no further.
The Lacrimosa struck, three huge plasma bolts arcing towards us.
And they struck thin air - or what had once been thin air, now crackling with a pale violet sheen that grew brighter as they strained to stop the terrible blow. For a few moments flames from a star's cauldron born contended against rippling waterfall. Then with a burst of incandescence, the former failed, dissipating into nothingness.
Silence reigned on the bridge for what seemed like an eternity. Then Amanda sighed, adjusting her peaked cap.
"Any more questions, Lieutenant?"
"...No, ma'am."
"Good, because there's going to be a lot less 'why you' and lots more 'why not you' from here on out," Mraliz noted with a waggle of her fingers, before leaning forward and 'poking' the screen. "Better get used to it, Lieutenant."
"Before you ask, do not worry about us. We will hold them here." Amanda's smile was as grim as ever, but there was amusement at the edge of her lips. "And if it comes down to it, we will show these unhappy children how a real carrier fights."
With that the feed cut out, and the Graf began turning on her vectored thrusters to face our newest opponent. The rest of our formation followed, their weapons blazing away as they reformed the curve that we'd first used to box the Abyssals of Sancaid Prime in.
Edith turned towards me, mock pity written on her face.
"Expectations, eh?"
"Seems so."
"My condolences."
"Bah. Save it," I grumbled, scratching my neck. Or rather, struggled to through the armored gorget of my spacesuit. "Anyway, you all heard the woman. Starboard turn, down twenty degrees. Guns to port, covering fire. And hail the, uh-"
"The Granbell, the Katowice and the Bruges," Marge offered.
"Yeah." I tried not to focus on how our ship's abrupt swing shifted in my guts. "Them."
"Gotcha."
All three responded to our hail almost instantaneously, mirroring their ships in swiftly falling in behind Suzy's barrier as she peeled away from the main formation.
"Well, lady and gents, it's into the belly of the beast with us," I began, looking at the three faces before me. "Now, I'm not expecting to lead you. But I hope you'll trust me to do my part, and I'll do my best not to get us killed."
Lavender-skinned Captain Izin Bat-Ami somehow managed to smile under the slate grey Antarian death mask she wore.
"'Do my best not to get us killed', says he who threw up a shield capable of negating a Heavy Plasma Lance." She folded a pair slender arms across her chest. "Worry not, 'Ghost of Akkad'. We on Destroyer Bruges have braved worse allies."
"Yeesh, Antarians. Always so formal." Captain Enzo Morales of the Destroyer Katowice rolled his brown eyes, running a hand through his curling black hair. "Tell you what, Captain Deschantes. You get us out of this mess, and I'll buy your whole bridge crew drinks when we get back on the Gradivus."
That got a mish-mash of cheers from Forza Squad. But if the Captain of the Granbell had anything to say about that or his colleagues' exchange, it was mere chaff to be burned to dust before the blaze in his eyes.
"Arhan Levos En Sha of Strike Cruiser Granbell acknowledges your call," the reptilian native of Anguirus System declared. "Let us not tarry; the liberation of this planet from these foul invaders awaits!"
"Thank you for your support." Frankly, I found Levos' utmost seriousness seemed a tad comical was juxtaposed against his compatriots' detachment and amusement respectively. But what was it they said? That enthusiasm by any other name would be just as endearing? "See you all planetside." I snapped off a salute. "For Terra."
"For the Alliance!"
Ye gods that was cheesy, I thought as the screens flickered off.
"Wow." Edith said, clapping slowly. "Where was all that chest-thumping when you were serenading us?"
"Words be like wine, girl," Orfan replied. "You gotta let'em age." He turned to me, a twinkle in his eye. "Don't worry, you'll make a fine propagandist. Eventually."
"Would that they'd just let me write speeches." I shifted forwards in my seat. "ETA to atmospheric re-entry?"
[Two minutes.]
"Ingress status, Leckie?"
"We're not being fired upon." The redhead paused. "Yet."
Optimism, I thought as I took a good, hard look at Sancaid Prime for the first time in what felt like the last forever or so. It wasn't much. But it was nothing good, for sure. Naught but a huge cloud of hellspawned smoke, and within it, heaven only knew what else.
And somehow, somewhy, Ethel Lefkada Deschantes -fresh off the shuttle and silver paint still drying off his two bars- was going in there. Leading the charge no less, and not for right, but for might.
It was all I could do to not sigh as I glanced up at the ceiling.
Guess we're committed now, eh, Suzy?
Quite sure we were in this since Day One. A cheeky grin spread across her invisible face. Or is somebody getting second thoughts?
Girl, we are so having a talk after this about not picking up the worst bits of your partner. Then I'm going to need a stiff drink. Preferably in private, where no one can hear me moan about my many inadequacies.
Try a thousand, I replied. Not to worry, meeting your sister isn't one of them.
Ha, like I'd be worried about that, Suzy scoffed. You'll love her!
The towering clouds ahead chose that very moment to loose a tapestry of lightning that repainted their darkness with brief splashes of violet and crimson gloaming, as if to mock my partner's enthusiasm.
I swallowed the ominous thought; a trivial effort on any other day, but nigh monumental now as we drew all too close to the enemy gates.
I'm sure I will, Suzy, I managed, though it was the last thing on my mind. I'm sure I will.
=== To be continued in Chapter 6: Unto the Breach ===
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Book 1, Chapter 6: Unto the Breach
- Location
- Little Red Dot
And on the sixth chapter, Xena's life said 'let there be delays, and thesis papers to write; and let them invade Xena's brain-space to make for an arduously built and slightly different kind of chapter'. And it was so.
I'm really sorry about that.
But here it is all the same, Chapter 6! This was, again, quite challenging to write, especially due to a slight shift in tone to reflect...developments. But all the same, I hope it succeeded, and most of all - I hope you guys enjoy the chapter! As always, comments, all and sundry, are very much welcome!
======
A Sea of Stars
Book 1: The Stars, Awake
Chapter 6: Unto the Breach
Bridge crew of the TNS Suzukaze, your attention please. This is your Captain speaking. As you may have noticed, we are presently experiencing extreme turbulence due to reentry pressures and-
"Hey."
"What?"
"Anyone ever reckon there should be a cap on how many anti-ship point defense batteries a bunch of islands is allowed to have?"
-yes, Corporals Leckie and Angelos, thank you for the interruption. As I was saying, we are presently experiencing extreme-
"Oh yeah. Suborbital tarpitting was the Navy gripe on interservice tabletop."
-and thank you for the history lesson, Master Chief Uruz. Now, about the turbulence-
"'Was'? Why'd you stop?"
"Hey, you gotta get tired of Planetary Defense laughing at you at some point."
Okay. To hell with this.
Bridge crew of the TNS Suzukaze, this is your Captain speaking.
As you may have noticed -or maybe not, I certainly can't tell- we are experiencing extreme turbulence due to high re-entry pressures particular to Ginaz Storm-affected planets, not to mention the truly disgusting amount of surface firepower smashing into our psionic shields. Utmost concentration on maintaining said shield dictates that I cannot spare a moment for idle talk, lest we and the three allies we only barely protect with it be consigned to fiery destruction. And while I am loth to admit that I am a worm and no man, I confess that mine concentration is contingent on not being disrupted.
Thus, it would give me immeasurable relief if you gibbering, gormless, senseless, puerile, swine-spawn cretin could keep your mouths mercifully shut while we navigate this zero visibility deathtrap of a planetary thermosphere, until such time as we might successfully triangulate the positions of our tormentors.
Or die horribly, whichever comes first. Either way I shall be rid of your insufferable racket, and that shall be considered that a plus.
[Surface point defense triangulation complete.]
A hundred red dots sprawled across the network of isles beneath us. Right on time, Suzy dear. Ah, how sweet the sound of people crediting their station.
"Kinetic Rods loaded. MMAG fire arcs synced to laser traverse patterns."
Wonderful, Petty Officer Butler.
[Ready to commence low orbit kinetic bombardment.]
And our dear Suzy, ever the squad MVP.
No sooner had she spoken than the hitherto impenetrable fog of the Ginaz Storm began to thin out into a mere haze, giving us our first glimpse of the cirrus cloud layer below, and further down, a planet around which the grip of Abyssal corruption had only just begun to tighten.
The Palestri Isles, with its flying peaks that slid down into spirals of reef and rock, should have been the paragon of Sancaid Prime's lush natural beauty. No more: of the once rich coral and rock naught remained but charred bone, strange molten blue ichor bleeding through the cracks in those blackened structures. Some sizzled away into bracken lumps as they sank into the churning black waters below. But others against all nature welled upwards through spasming stone spires that rose from the ground, belching forth gobs of superheated matter that trailed plasma and seared atmosphere as they streaked towards us.
If people still believed in hell this would be it. And what better solution was there but for our hammer to fall all the harder? That thought brought a grin to my face as I watched four fire-arc grids paint the dimensions of that hammer on our screens.
[Your orders?]
"Give 'em hell, people."
[Roger.]
Suzy's voice was almost cheery, an eerie contrast to the vehemence with which she rained crimson light down across the island, burning through the Abyssal infestation as the five Eos turrets lining her top and bottom decks plied their generous semi-spherical traverse. Then came the railgun fire, plugging the gaps our lasers left with rods of steel that hemorrhaged soil and earth whence they plowed.
All across the chain of islands the story was much the same, our fellow destroyers opening up on the Abyssals with all the clinical, brutal force they could muster, leaving the unfortunate landmasses decks awash with fire.
Why, the very sight of it should have been enough for sympathy. That is, if these hadn't also been the fellows trying to blow us out of the sky for the last two minutes.
They weren't even done trying. More were crawling out of the stonework, each with two or three Plasma Spines mounted on fleshy masses and a profusion of root-like limbs that flexed as they clambered over the ravaged terrain.
And over the western horizon even our hobbled sensors could catch the silhouettes of inbound Abyssal fliers. Not the drones, but something at once more and less familiar. Steelwing aircraft, yet as erratic and ramshackle in their flight as in their form, with numerous places where tattered metal was patched up with wriggling chitin-flesh.
Marge gritted her teeth.
"Disgusting."
"Aye." Orfan almost sounded resigned - another thing best noted and not known. "That's Abyssal tactics for you."
Some would call it efficiency.
Would you? I asked.
I certainly can't say they waste war materiel.
Strange praise from the person laying waste to copious amounts of it.
They deserve it. The patchwork revival of sub-orbital defense solutions faced stark odds against our weaponry. Planes fell from the skies like stars in smoking death spirals, ramshackle walkers were erased by a shower of steel and flame. But tech-necromancy meant they could always make more. And there already so many of them. But still, it's a girl eat girl world out-
-hang on. Do you hear that?
No. What is it?
Someone's out there.
Already on it.
-ough...oi.
There it was. The voice was soft, though not for lack of trying. I was inclining my 'ear' as hard as I could; and the requisite lack of psionic indoor voice required to pierce a space shitstorm a couple hundred miles thick was almost too frightening to countenance.
Well, might as well try again-
COMING THROUGH, POI!
-and then every screen was a murder of screaming alerts.
"Unidentified object, losing altitude!" Leckie yelled, his face registering alarm. "It's going to hit the islands!"
"Suzy!"
[Aye, aye. Up and out!]
We weren't in its path, not directly. But you really didn't want to be anywhere near an object over a kilometer long making uncontrolled landfall. They tended to make quite the entry.
And what an entry it was. A Talon-class Abyssal Battlecruiser split the screaming clouds asunder, avian form barely recognizable through the columns of black smoke pouring from gaping wounds in its side, bioluminescent engravings sputtering and dying as it plummeted.
Then the creature struck the island chain, and with a final roar birthed a new sun in the mountainside's cradle. Bedrock and seabed alike fled or were ripped free from their roots, devoured by a giant shockwave crowned in pyrocumulus that only grew ever larger, and larger - then suddenly ceased, leaving the column of cloud-piercing debris and smoke to flag listlessly in the storm winds of Sancaid Prime...
...before being scattered altogether as four shapes began to emerge from the hellish morass that was once the planet's sky.
"Reading four Alliance IFFs," Marge called. "It's our rendezvous!"
But the newcomers did not descend to meet us, nor even get close enough to hail and be hailed. Instead they wheeled about and cruised away, prows set firmly westward against the approaching swarm of Abyssals, shields already beginning to light up under the answering volley of fire.
Yuu-nee! Suzy cried out.
Though we had never met before, I knew exactly which of our new friends my partner was addressing. It was in the slope of the bow, the weapon hardpoint positions, the two midship stack; my, one would almost think them twins.
And it was certainly in that eagerness to rush into battle, that almost suicidal courage that saw the Yuudachi at the forefront of the battle, charging headlong towards the enemy at such speeds that the Fubuki, Amatsukaze and Agano could barely keep up.
We're a liiittle bit busy here. My, one could only wonder why that might be. You guys finish the mission. We'll hold these off, then move further west to cut any further Abyssal reinforcements off. It won't be easy, but we'll like, do our best, poi! Let's meet again, Suzu-chan-
Whatever else Yuudachi might have said was drowned out as the four shipgirls ascended back into the Storm clouds amidst a flurry of explosions, keeping their return fire steady and unrelenting, pulling the Abyssals up and away from us in pursuit.
Orfan shook his head.
"Crazy kids."
You can say that again, I thought to myself, before turning my thoughts to my once again silent partner. You alright, Suzy?
I'm fine.
Sure?
Yeah. Yuu-nee's here. We're here. That's enough for now.
Attagirl.
I exchanged looks with Orfan, who simply leaned forward with a nod.
"Marge. Leckie. What's our status?"
"No further response from our rendezvous," the ginger-haired Corporal responded. "They've gone too far into the Storm."
"Shockwave dissipating. No life signs on the surface." Leckie reported. "No nuclear fallout detected. We're in the clear."
"Excellent." The Chief got to his feet, leaning into the screen in front of him with a finger on our formation-wide channel. "All units, prepare to drop." Then turning on his heel, he headed for the bridge doors, clapping the corner of my chair on the way out. "I'll be taking command planetside."
"Roger that," I replied.
Edith shot out of her own seat.
"Permission to-"
"Denied, sunshine."
"But-"
Orfan wheeled around to face his second-in-command, gaze level and frank. But it was the tiny hint of disappointment that cowed her.
"We'll need a steady hand up here," he said simply, before then turning that cyclopean gaze onto Marge and Leckie. "That goes for you two as well. Got it?"
No arguments there.
"Good. Later, kids."
They hissed shut, and then there were four, sitting in an uneasy silence belied only by the thrumming of Suzy's engines as she and our other three ships brought us closer to the surface in preparation for troop deployment.
"Act the part, he says," I muttered under my breath, running my fingers through my hair while swiping at the screen in front of me with my free hand.
In response, the image of Sancaid's Reach drew itself into existence, beginning with the three hundred meter-long elevator shaft that reached deep into the heart of the Palestri mountain range. A White Queen-class base, the Reach was part FTL communications outpost, part biodiversity research station, part high-security military base, and almost all underground.
The good news was that such a base would remain intact even in the event of, say, an giant battlecruiser crashing into its surface facilities. The bad news was well, more of the same, albeit including the bit where we were breaking into instead of trying to keep things out of one.
"Sooo…" Leckie said with a huff, leaning back into his own chair, "now we wait for trouble to start, eh?" I began to idly trace a certain 'Hallway 05' with my finger. Then came the stomping footsteps. That made me look up, just in time to witness Margaret Angelos clocking her friend over the head. "Ow! What the-?"
"You know what for!" Hmm, that was close. A few seconds more and I'd likely have agreed with him. A terrifying thought, and moreso for making myself a viable target for the ginger's stormy stare. "Don't you dare say shit like that. It's-"
"A jinx?" Leckie finished for her. "Ha. You ever watch those holos in the cinema? When people stare down shit creek's own asshole and still decide to jump in?" Marge frowned, but had no answer. "Yeah, that's what I'm saying. I'm not 'jinxing' anything."
That would have been the end of it, were the argument up to the two of them. Pity.
"So what are you saying, Corporal?" Edith asked, her tone chilly. Leckie said nothing in response, which was arguably the best in a selection of exclusively poor options. And yet the best in a bad situation was almost never good enough. "You find the prosecution of our mandate, to leap into the unknown when no other unit has the speed or wherewithal, reckless? Should I hope for your sake that there'll be no...trouble?"
Casual menace lurked under that friendliness like an iceberg's base, and with each rattle that ran through Suzy's hull to signal the departure of another OrbCav Dropship one could feel it loom closer.
Well then, Ser Geeky the Hesitant, your call. Hard to starboard now and evade certain death, or steady on silent and embrace oblivion. Either will entertain me, but one will leave us a crew member less. So be a dear and make the responsible decision, will you?
"No, Petty Officer Butler," Leckie said finally. "I signed up to serve, and I will."
"Now that's what I like to hear." Edith said with a smirk, before turning her chair back . "Had me worried for a second there. Job satisfaction is very important to us in the Navy, you know? Gotta make sure people get the right posting. Get to serve the way they want, and all."
Suzy whistled.
Man, that was quite the shutdown.
You think so?
Yeah. I mean, Edith's right. We're at war. If you're not ready to go all in you should just stay out. Suzy chuckled. Some of it's the frustration talking, though.
Hey, wanting to sit at the right hand of the Father is pretty tough business, I replied. And you? Think you're in the right place?
'Course. I'm a ship. We were born for this.
'Born for this', huh? A little out of context for me, this idea of defined purpose was.
Though then again if anyone had asked me last week if flying into a Ginaz Storm while on the cusp of unearthing the first psionic artifact in living memory was 'in context', I'd have laughed them out of town. So there you go. Life could be strange, and today was odder than most. But it wasn't all bad. If nothing else, we'd been blessed with the devil's own luck so far.
Surely it was not too much to ask for a little more?
======
Ethel Deschantes.
Birthdate, 18th August, 2516. Height, 180cm. Rank, Lieutenant. Character traits: Supreme patience. Flair for speech. Daredevil boldness. Dashing good looks.
And naivete. So, so much naiveté.
Such were my thoughts as the Dropship rattled, seized up by Sancaid Prime's gale force winds, causing the craft's main screen -and with it the image of Orfan Uruz- to shake.
"So," I began, "run our problem by me, Chief."
"Where d'you wanna start?"
Came the smiling reply.
"Well..."
The room Orfan Uruz and two other members of the 322nd Orbital Cavalry in full battle gear occupied was, in a word, unusual. All too pristine for a battlefield position, it also had a high domed ceiling, unadorned yet grand in its scale, a most inefficient rarity underground, even in this age of space-forged prefab.
But strangest of all was the frankly huge sculpture that took up the center of the room, made to seem larger still by the wide berth the three soldiers gave it. Twin liths of featureless stone rose into the air in half moon curves, both ends striving to meet again from being sundered far apart at the roots, only to fall short by mere meters at the end, their flattened tips reaching close to the roof of this underground basilica-
Orfan barked a laugh.
"'Aight, kid. I gotcha, I gotcha. So what you're staring at over here is-" The screen buzzed over with signal noise that cut the older man off for a few moments before subsiding to tolerable levels. "-goddamn Storm, won't even let a man- oh, are we back online?"
"We are."
"Great. So, we pulled some records between Indus' teeth. Apparently, the Reach underwent an expansion a month back. Three new floors planned, some twenty rooms in 'em. This," the Chief indicated with a jerked thumb, "was Room Thirty Four-Foxtrot. Sixth room, thirty and four stories down. Should've been simple." He shrugged. "But that was before we got some techs in The Reach's servers up on the twenty first. That's how we're talking, by the way. I'll give these space freaks credit, but turns out that just busting up some cables and screens ain't enough to put a comms nexus down for good. Now if only they had some Cavs on their end, eh?"
"Ooh-rah!"
May the day never come when I joined the campfire circle of cheering space jarheads.
"Let me guess. This isn't just one room?"
"Eh, guess that was obvious enough," Orfan replied with a roll of the eyes. "No, it wasn't. This place accounts for just over thirty percent of the total excavated volume. Inventory records we pulled showed signs of tunneling around this area-"
So saying the Chief held up a hand, pinching a piece of darkened rubble between two armored fingers.
"-and failing that, the liberal application of explosives to get in."
The optical array they were using to record tagged the walls of the dome and the debris as being made of similar material. A zoomed-in image on the side revealed the gate through which the troops had entered, marking a few [Structural Weaknesses] cracking the otherwise perfectly featureless rock.
"Fair," I noted. "But so far, so little that indicates why you need me down there."
"Oh, that's the easiest bit," Orfan scoffed. "Xu, show 'im."
The image tilting leftward for the briefest of moments was all the warning I got before a knife was sent whirling at the structure, only to have it suddenly stop midair.
No. Not 'stop', but 'stopped', caught in the shimmering grip of an all-too-familiar violet bubble. There it stayed frozen in place not only by that sphere of psionic force, but also by some distant yet keen regard. Seeing. Trying. Judging.
Then the weapon was dropped with a unceremonious clatter, like dust sloughed off royal robes.
If the Chief had felt that same gaze upon him, his shrug did not show it.
"There you have it. Nothing gets in."
Thoughts, Suzy?
Definitely psionics. Suzy's voice was made faint by distance, and likely the distraction of monitoring our many unmanned transports. It's not one of ours, though.
"Fascinating." The signal lights in the cargo bay lit up orange. "We're almost on the ground, Chief."
"Glad to hear it." Sudden recall and mirth therein derived lifted the old soldier's brows. "Oh, and just so you know, barring some massive discovery in the next few minutes or so, this structure - and you - are our best bet at finishing what Poseidon sent us to do," Orfan said, "so limber up, do some diaphragm breathing, think happy thoughts, whatever you need to prep, and I'll see you on this bell-end of the hills. Uruz out."
Strange how a blank screen might bear the world's weight with more grace than titan shoulders, and no Atlas was I who looked upon its dispassionate surface.
"Woo." A voice beside me cheered, as enthused as rainless desert and just as encouraging. No pressure, huh?"
"You get used to it," I said with a shrug.
Margaret Angelos gave me a nasty smirk.
"Ooh, hidden future tense. So the great Lieutenant Deschantes too is a work in progress?"
"Isn't everyone?"
"Fair."
We're here. The landing craft slowed to a hover, the cargo ramp falling open in a sudden wash of move-out green light to reveal dust clouds rolling across scorched earth mere feet below. Careful, Ethel.
For sure, I replied.
We leapt out and hit the ground the running, each stomp of our armored boots causing the steel-ploughed earth to groan in protest.
All around us the mountainside was abuzz. Heavily armed OrbCav troops in full-body powered armor knelt behind mobile cover emplacements all along the coast, wary weapons pointed at sky. Others scoured the area in groups of two, lugging still-glowing Abyssal salvage in all-terrain carriers towards their Dropships. And further up the mountain, behind a small wall of brutanium alloy-encased flesh and shoulder mounted Phoebus lasers, was the main elevator complex leading down into the Reach.
Or so it should have been. Like everything else in the vicinity the surrounding structures had been all but erased, leaving the soldiers around it to guard a giant hole in the ground while a heavy Argos gunship hovered overhead, half a dozen ziplines trailing from its open dual-purpose drop bays.
One of the guards stepped forward. Like all the others, this one bore neither rank patch nor unshielded helm, but here our in-suit HUDs swooped in to save the day with Lt. Elyas Djendro.
"Corporal Angelos, Lieutenant Deschantes."
"Sir," Marge saluted.
I just nodded. No, I did not have to resist snapping my hand up to my head.
Elyas grabbed one of the zipline control mechanisms, three familiar panels - black, red and blue - on its side.
"We had to, ah, surgically remove the elevator apparatus before clearing the place out, so you'll have to jump." He turned to me. "First time using one of these, Deschantes?"
"No, but back then I was made out of a few trillion pixels. Now I'm flesh and blood."
"Are you, though?" Elyas asked, waggling invisible eyebrows. "Just kidding. You know the drill: black to release maglocks. Hook to chest, feet into lower harness. Tap red to freefall, hold blue to brake, and use your suit's vectored jets as a secondary," he said, indicating the familiar controls on the device. "And I hope I don't need to tell you this, but do not grab at the shaft walls. Or worse, someone else's wire."
Oh yeah, I thought as I pulled one of the not-quite-taut cables towards myself. There was always that one poor bastard who had to make the drop real dramatic for everyone else.
"The Master Chief and his blokes will meet you on the thirty second," the Lieutenant continued.
Marge cocked her head.
"Not rock bottom, sir?"
"That's where the Furthest Reach begins." Elyas shrugged. "Yes, we are calling it that. You both ready?"
"Yessir."
I fiddled with mine. Chestplate apparatus check. Maglock check. Harness secured. Line secured.
"Aye."
"Carry on, then."
Right, Ethel, just like in the sim. Look straight, breathe deep. Exhale lightly. Tuck your tongue away. Then press the button-
-and do - not - scream.
Three floors, my HUD reported in chirpy green on the bottom left.
Five. Eight. Ten. Thirteen. Seventeen. Twenty one.
Twenty five.
I jammed the blue button in my hand. Twenty seven. Twenty nine. Thirty.
"Thrusters."
Jet flame stole about the corners of my artificially enhanced vision, slowing what was a plunge to a mere cruising crawl.
Thirty one. I tapped the black panel, allowing myself to push back and away from the line. Gently, I placed a foot on the ground. Predictably, it gave way, causing my world to sway drunkenly for a moment before the suit's gyrostabilizers kicked in, bringing me back upright with a slow clean and jerk.
"Nice landing," Marge commented, flaunting her less eventful landing with each sauntering stride.
Yes, yes. Come see the funny little clown suffering from Alien Leg Syndrome.
"Thanks. So, do I look like I feel?"
"Yeah. Like someone trying not to freak the fuck out." She said, inspecting accessway a few meters ahead of us. "Which is better than I was the third time I did this thing for real, so I'd say you're doing alright."
"Encouraging."
"That's me."
Quick mental mic check. Nope. Nada. Not a peep from Suzy. Guess this was as far as telepathy went. It had been a valiant effort from both of us, but a week of mostly unguided practice only went so far.
In other news, I thought as we walked, talk about 'clearing things out'. These corridors were seven men abreast, six men tall, and littered with the still-pulsing viscera of smaller Abyssals breeds: the mandibles of a Ripper here, the feeding tubules of an Octopod there. In one corner, a pair of Cavs carved spines off a ceratopsian Tank's carapace with their arc blades while a third kept watch, Gauss Shard Cannon at low port.
I swallowed.
"Shit. You guys do good work."
"It's God's work, and don't you forget it, kiddo."
Orfan stood on the threshold where pitted, bloodied metal bulkhead met spotless obsidian rock, beckoning us in. The three man squad he'd joined down here waited further within, weapons low but stances alert.
I glanced at Marge.
"Ladies first?"
"After you, sir," she replied.
I stepped forward. Then I froze. I was being watched. It was like that moment with Suzy, when I gazed into the heart of a tiny universe, and found that I was not wholly welcome there. There was more to this gaze though. Like before with that thrown knife, there was...attention? Interest? Definitely beyond mere curiosity. And certainly above fear, or this Xu guy would be a red smear on the ground by now.
Appraisal.
Assessment. Yes. That was it. Assessment, with a touch or a million of 'asshole'. Because why else would you let everyone else within ten feet and keep me out at ten meters, because apparently we can shit the same purple stuff out our brains nowletmeinyousonofabitchIhaveajobtodo-
-Okay. No dice. Brain break, time-out.
Now wouldn't literally every science fiction author ever be pleased? Precursors were assholes after all, and precursors with mind powers still more so! Now all we needed was for it to rip some nasty feels from the depths of mine. Of lying on the padded floor, burning, burning, aching all over while glacier-blue eyes look on, impassive, disappointed what do you want from me what were you expecting-
Oh no.
Oh no you didn't.
I thrust out a hand, and a wave of violet flame rushed across the room, crashing into the shield that surrounded the alien structure that was its center. Waves of emotion struck back, flowing through that link between us, surprise and confusion warring with something still garbled and distorted, spoken by lips too long unopened, in a language too long unstudied.
And, just as suddenly, it was gone, even less than a whisper, than a distant memory. I was alone again.
Alone, and just a little off kilter. Everything felt disconnected. I felt a chill as the suit wicked the sweat off my face, heard the sounds of heavy breathing and the hissing of ether flames dispersing into mist. Then there was the weight, because hot damn, did everything feel heavy. But none of this quite registered to me - at least until said mist cleared enough to reveal Orfan Uruz, both hands held out.
My IFF reader put the 'why' to that 'what': no less than six gun barrels were trained on me, three from the front and rear each. It seemed the salvager trio from earlier had gotten in on the action too. Thank goodness for friends in right places. Any less than our good Master Chief vouching for me and I'd be full of holes by now.
Orfan's secondary, inner visor lowered slowly, his unveiled face struggling against worry lines.
"Kid?"
He asked, almost hesitant.
"It wasn't...quite the best first impression," I admitted between pants. "But we've come to an understanding."
"Are you sure, sir?"
That was one of the salvagers. Corporal Ezx Lehra, the HUD read. Like Captain Izin before him, the male Antarian expressed his lingering suspicion just fine even under two masks. That he had continued training his Shard Cannon on me where most everyone else had at least begun to lower their weapons might have contributed to that image too. Probably. Just a little.
Guess I had to convince him. Stepping forward towards the stone liths, I reached out with my mind. This time there was no opposition, only a near-silent acquiescence to my desire to pass, to touch the lifeless stone.
Reaching the center, I wheeled around and waved, baby-kissing politician style.
"See? Still intact."
Orfan shook his head.
"Theatrics," he muttered, but stepped closer anyway. Sure enough, nary a speck of dust stirred as he joined me between the two stone arches. "So, what now?"
I didn't reply at first. There was nothing to say. There should have been nothing to say. Answers did not come amidst lifeless, silent stone. But yes. Of course. Of course! It was so obvious. You placed your hand around...there. Right smack in the middle of everything.
'Activate.'
Light sprang to life in a circle around where I had laid my palm. From there white glyphs spread like wildfire, racing across h the floor and up the two crescent arches, their make much like -nay, precisely like- the ones in the briefing. The language remained foreign, like that of the presence that had once guarded this room. But we had seen its like before, second-hand and incomplete though it had been then. Thus all of a few moments passed before purpose began to emerge, creeping at the edge of my thoughts.
My fingers danced across the symbols, each one unique in geometry as in meaning. 'Life'. 'Stop'. 'Land'. 'Hidden'. 'Time'. 'Arrival'. 'Call'.
Then, as before, palm within that circle. The circle depressed under my palm, sliding noiselessly inward where it had seemed all but solid before.
'Activate.'
The structure itself answered my call with one voice. The dark dome above us sang, the stone reverberating in tune to each note. The ground beneath our feet dissolved away, consumed first by white light and then by a sea of stars, till a clear night sky was mirrored in the floor beneath us - and yet neither I nor Orfan fell through. Something warm and pulsating pooled viscously about my fingers, but did not give any further. Indeed the barrier rippled and pushed against me, as if to say no, you make way.
So I did.
"Chief-" I began.
"Already there, boy-o."
Ah yes. There I go again, doubting Orfan's ability to be the sharper man between us. Already he was leaning on one of the crescent arches, his feet treading the edge between solid slate and the molten bright stars, his eyes fixed on the long cuboid object that broke the surface.
A sarcophagus? No. The glyphs spoke, fleetingly, of more. 'Record'. 'Memory'. 'Planet'. 'Reclaim'. And there was life within the alien rock yet, a faint but insistent heartbeat echoing through its smooth form.
"Woah." Marge spoke for the first time since we had entered the room, her tone almost reverent. "Fancy."
"It better be." Orfan didn't look quite so impressed. Probably didn't view this tomb as an object of fascination so much as the final impediment to a mission. "So this is all we need to take, kiddo?"
"Aye."
"Alright, you heard the man. Margie, Xu, Zand, Ilya, have at it. See how it weighs."
The four slid into position, each taking a knee at one corner of the sarcophagus. A silent count from three. Two. One, and they heaved it first to waist, then shoulder level.
Xu whistled.
"Well, what do you know," he said, all-too-youthful voice auguring with the nine foot something tall armor we all wore least out of anyone I'd met so far. "It's plenty light."
"It's four powered armors and one tomb," Marge laughed. "How hard could this be?"
"As hard as you want to jinx it, m'dear." Orfan muttered, sliding his inner visor back on. "Now chop chop, let's get a move on before-"
Thirty odd floors beneath the surface, only an explosion of titanic proportions could hope to knock us off our feet. But that didn't stop this one from trying.
"-Alright, toss that. Lehra, Conrad, Rodis, take point. Leg it!"
Eight pairs of limbs shot off to the races, barely impeded by one ground-shattering impact after another. Four took point, weapons trained and ready. Four more were in the rear, bearing the sarcophagus up on armored shoulders. Pressed between the two sections, of course, was yours truly. And while I was by no means the picture of grace, my suit gyros were handily winning the battle to keep me from stumbling over my nonexistent bootlaces.
"DJ, this is Bullhead," Orfan said, his voice dead even. "Pickup status?"
"Still here." By contrast, you could almost taste the steel wire tension in Elyas Djendro's voice. "Fire's creeping up from the east. They're playing cautious, but it's a show of force, Ground HQ reckons. We'll stay in play as long as we can. Just waiting on you. Then our contingents on the twenty first and the submarine pen on the the sixteenth can leave."
Damn. Where these halls so long before? The dead silence between distant rumblings in the ground amplified the sound of every footfall, every heaving breath. Another explosion, this one...closer somehow.
"...Be advised, Bullhead," Djendro continued, providing some relief from the disquiet. "Server room is reporting a lockdown breach on sixteenth. Outer bulkheads have been closed."
"Tell them they've been expedited."
"But shouldn't-"
"We can handle ourselves." Orfan almost growled. "Get 'em out."
"Understood." Elyas sounded resigned. Not his first time being overruled by experience, I assumed. "Wait. I don't- Bullhead, we have a problem. Sixteenth isn't responding to hails."
I brought up my HUD minimap. The Submarine Pen and the Server Center were like the room we were previously in. Listed on the sixteenth and twenty-first floors respectively, but so large in practice as to span multiple floors each, with only one floor separating both.
"Then get Twenty First. Same thing. Expedite departure."
"Roger that. I'll get b-"
A screech of static sheared through our ears.
"DJ, this is Bullhead. Say again, DJ."
No response.
The shaft entrance was close now. I could see the ziplines They dangled in the wind at the end of the cyalume-lit hall, the light far above wafting down, glinting off their twisted metal sinews. But Orfan raised a single hand, and our small formation stopped dead in its tracks, mere seconds shy of freedom.
"Guns up."
Up they went to a salvo of safeties clicking off. Hybrid Rifles for us, sidearms for Marge's group, accompanied by the low hydraulic hiss of two shoulder-mounted Infernus micro-missile launcher pairs sliding into place.
I swallowed, struggling to keep my finger from adhering to my rifle's trigger. Something was coming. I could feel it. See it with a sight that should never have been. An oppressive weight, the swirling of brackish water, down, down, down the sewer of the flowing universe. Hissing, bubbling, and with a pop, pop - a sick ozone aroma singeing the nose.
A shadow darkened the shaft. The water came down in droplets now. Each looming like an unnamed terror, and heavy as they fell.
Plip plop. Plip plop. With a sound of rushing wind, the first cyalume stick pair went out. Then the next. And the next. My HUD went wild, smart crosshairs chasing fleeting phantom targets.
Then it steadied. I saw it now. There it was, in the creeping shadow. No, it was the shadow. One with the mist - if mist could birth the horror that clawed towards us. Not quadruped, but leaning too much on knuckles at the end of elongated arms to be bipedal. Ash-grey muscle cords bulged, grotesque even on a figure so towering. Red light flashed from its eyes, themselves no more than larger gashes in a dark helm all but infested with crimson cracks.
This time the HUD read only one thing: Gemini (Assault-Amphibious) Class Identified.
And with a rasp of chained feet, another just like it stepped out from the shadows. Then another, and another, each one taking their place until the corridor, wide as it was, was all but swarmed.
How many were there? Two dozen? Four? Six? Too many; they poured out in the numbers, out of the darkness that hung heavy with the rain's pungent aftermath.
To my left, Orfan's teeth clenched in silence, sealed within his helm. But to my ear it was two flints crashing, the spark of battle lit.
"Fire!"
Then a dozen muzzles blazed away, dying stars in the encroaching night.
I'm really sorry about that.
But here it is all the same, Chapter 6! This was, again, quite challenging to write, especially due to a slight shift in tone to reflect...developments. But all the same, I hope it succeeded, and most of all - I hope you guys enjoy the chapter! As always, comments, all and sundry, are very much welcome!
======
A Sea of Stars
Book 1: The Stars, Awake
Chapter 6: Unto the Breach
Bridge crew of the TNS Suzukaze, your attention please. This is your Captain speaking. As you may have noticed, we are presently experiencing extreme turbulence due to reentry pressures and-
"Hey."
"What?"
"Anyone ever reckon there should be a cap on how many anti-ship point defense batteries a bunch of islands is allowed to have?"
-yes, Corporals Leckie and Angelos, thank you for the interruption. As I was saying, we are presently experiencing extreme-
"Oh yeah. Suborbital tarpitting was the Navy gripe on interservice tabletop."
-and thank you for the history lesson, Master Chief Uruz. Now, about the turbulence-
"'Was'? Why'd you stop?"
"Hey, you gotta get tired of Planetary Defense laughing at you at some point."
Okay. To hell with this.
Bridge crew of the TNS Suzukaze, this is your Captain speaking.
As you may have noticed -or maybe not, I certainly can't tell- we are experiencing extreme turbulence due to high re-entry pressures particular to Ginaz Storm-affected planets, not to mention the truly disgusting amount of surface firepower smashing into our psionic shields. Utmost concentration on maintaining said shield dictates that I cannot spare a moment for idle talk, lest we and the three allies we only barely protect with it be consigned to fiery destruction. And while I am loth to admit that I am a worm and no man, I confess that mine concentration is contingent on not being disrupted.
Thus, it would give me immeasurable relief if you gibbering, gormless, senseless, puerile, swine-spawn cretin could keep your mouths mercifully shut while we navigate this zero visibility deathtrap of a planetary thermosphere, until such time as we might successfully triangulate the positions of our tormentors.
Or die horribly, whichever comes first. Either way I shall be rid of your insufferable racket, and that shall be considered that a plus.
[Surface point defense triangulation complete.]
A hundred red dots sprawled across the network of isles beneath us. Right on time, Suzy dear. Ah, how sweet the sound of people crediting their station.
"Kinetic Rods loaded. MMAG fire arcs synced to laser traverse patterns."
Wonderful, Petty Officer Butler.
[Ready to commence low orbit kinetic bombardment.]
And our dear Suzy, ever the squad MVP.
No sooner had she spoken than the hitherto impenetrable fog of the Ginaz Storm began to thin out into a mere haze, giving us our first glimpse of the cirrus cloud layer below, and further down, a planet around which the grip of Abyssal corruption had only just begun to tighten.
The Palestri Isles, with its flying peaks that slid down into spirals of reef and rock, should have been the paragon of Sancaid Prime's lush natural beauty. No more: of the once rich coral and rock naught remained but charred bone, strange molten blue ichor bleeding through the cracks in those blackened structures. Some sizzled away into bracken lumps as they sank into the churning black waters below. But others against all nature welled upwards through spasming stone spires that rose from the ground, belching forth gobs of superheated matter that trailed plasma and seared atmosphere as they streaked towards us.
If people still believed in hell this would be it. And what better solution was there but for our hammer to fall all the harder? That thought brought a grin to my face as I watched four fire-arc grids paint the dimensions of that hammer on our screens.
[Your orders?]
"Give 'em hell, people."
[Roger.]
Suzy's voice was almost cheery, an eerie contrast to the vehemence with which she rained crimson light down across the island, burning through the Abyssal infestation as the five Eos turrets lining her top and bottom decks plied their generous semi-spherical traverse. Then came the railgun fire, plugging the gaps our lasers left with rods of steel that hemorrhaged soil and earth whence they plowed.
All across the chain of islands the story was much the same, our fellow destroyers opening up on the Abyssals with all the clinical, brutal force they could muster, leaving the unfortunate landmasses decks awash with fire.
Why, the very sight of it should have been enough for sympathy. That is, if these hadn't also been the fellows trying to blow us out of the sky for the last two minutes.
They weren't even done trying. More were crawling out of the stonework, each with two or three Plasma Spines mounted on fleshy masses and a profusion of root-like limbs that flexed as they clambered over the ravaged terrain.
And over the western horizon even our hobbled sensors could catch the silhouettes of inbound Abyssal fliers. Not the drones, but something at once more and less familiar. Steelwing aircraft, yet as erratic and ramshackle in their flight as in their form, with numerous places where tattered metal was patched up with wriggling chitin-flesh.
Marge gritted her teeth.
"Disgusting."
"Aye." Orfan almost sounded resigned - another thing best noted and not known. "That's Abyssal tactics for you."
Some would call it efficiency.
Would you? I asked.
I certainly can't say they waste war materiel.
Strange praise from the person laying waste to copious amounts of it.
They deserve it. The patchwork revival of sub-orbital defense solutions faced stark odds against our weaponry. Planes fell from the skies like stars in smoking death spirals, ramshackle walkers were erased by a shower of steel and flame. But tech-necromancy meant they could always make more. And there already so many of them. But still, it's a girl eat girl world out-
-hang on. Do you hear that?
No. What is it?
Someone's out there.
Already on it.
-ough...oi.
There it was. The voice was soft, though not for lack of trying. I was inclining my 'ear' as hard as I could; and the requisite lack of psionic indoor voice required to pierce a space shitstorm a couple hundred miles thick was almost too frightening to countenance.
Well, might as well try again-
COMING THROUGH, POI!
-and then every screen was a murder of screaming alerts.
"Unidentified object, losing altitude!" Leckie yelled, his face registering alarm. "It's going to hit the islands!"
"Suzy!"
[Aye, aye. Up and out!]
We weren't in its path, not directly. But you really didn't want to be anywhere near an object over a kilometer long making uncontrolled landfall. They tended to make quite the entry.
And what an entry it was. A Talon-class Abyssal Battlecruiser split the screaming clouds asunder, avian form barely recognizable through the columns of black smoke pouring from gaping wounds in its side, bioluminescent engravings sputtering and dying as it plummeted.
Then the creature struck the island chain, and with a final roar birthed a new sun in the mountainside's cradle. Bedrock and seabed alike fled or were ripped free from their roots, devoured by a giant shockwave crowned in pyrocumulus that only grew ever larger, and larger - then suddenly ceased, leaving the column of cloud-piercing debris and smoke to flag listlessly in the storm winds of Sancaid Prime...
...before being scattered altogether as four shapes began to emerge from the hellish morass that was once the planet's sky.
"Reading four Alliance IFFs," Marge called. "It's our rendezvous!"
But the newcomers did not descend to meet us, nor even get close enough to hail and be hailed. Instead they wheeled about and cruised away, prows set firmly westward against the approaching swarm of Abyssals, shields already beginning to light up under the answering volley of fire.
Yuu-nee! Suzy cried out.
Though we had never met before, I knew exactly which of our new friends my partner was addressing. It was in the slope of the bow, the weapon hardpoint positions, the two midship stack; my, one would almost think them twins.
And it was certainly in that eagerness to rush into battle, that almost suicidal courage that saw the Yuudachi at the forefront of the battle, charging headlong towards the enemy at such speeds that the Fubuki, Amatsukaze and Agano could barely keep up.
We're a liiittle bit busy here. My, one could only wonder why that might be. You guys finish the mission. We'll hold these off, then move further west to cut any further Abyssal reinforcements off. It won't be easy, but we'll like, do our best, poi! Let's meet again, Suzu-chan-
Whatever else Yuudachi might have said was drowned out as the four shipgirls ascended back into the Storm clouds amidst a flurry of explosions, keeping their return fire steady and unrelenting, pulling the Abyssals up and away from us in pursuit.
Orfan shook his head.
"Crazy kids."
You can say that again, I thought to myself, before turning my thoughts to my once again silent partner. You alright, Suzy?
I'm fine.
Sure?
Yeah. Yuu-nee's here. We're here. That's enough for now.
Attagirl.
I exchanged looks with Orfan, who simply leaned forward with a nod.
"Marge. Leckie. What's our status?"
"No further response from our rendezvous," the ginger-haired Corporal responded. "They've gone too far into the Storm."
"Shockwave dissipating. No life signs on the surface." Leckie reported. "No nuclear fallout detected. We're in the clear."
"Excellent." The Chief got to his feet, leaning into the screen in front of him with a finger on our formation-wide channel. "All units, prepare to drop." Then turning on his heel, he headed for the bridge doors, clapping the corner of my chair on the way out. "I'll be taking command planetside."
"Roger that," I replied.
Edith shot out of her own seat.
"Permission to-"
"Denied, sunshine."
"But-"
Orfan wheeled around to face his second-in-command, gaze level and frank. But it was the tiny hint of disappointment that cowed her.
"We'll need a steady hand up here," he said simply, before then turning that cyclopean gaze onto Marge and Leckie. "That goes for you two as well. Got it?"
No arguments there.
"Good. Later, kids."
They hissed shut, and then there were four, sitting in an uneasy silence belied only by the thrumming of Suzy's engines as she and our other three ships brought us closer to the surface in preparation for troop deployment.
"Act the part, he says," I muttered under my breath, running my fingers through my hair while swiping at the screen in front of me with my free hand.
In response, the image of Sancaid's Reach drew itself into existence, beginning with the three hundred meter-long elevator shaft that reached deep into the heart of the Palestri mountain range. A White Queen-class base, the Reach was part FTL communications outpost, part biodiversity research station, part high-security military base, and almost all underground.
The good news was that such a base would remain intact even in the event of, say, an giant battlecruiser crashing into its surface facilities. The bad news was well, more of the same, albeit including the bit where we were breaking into instead of trying to keep things out of one.
"Sooo…" Leckie said with a huff, leaning back into his own chair, "now we wait for trouble to start, eh?" I began to idly trace a certain 'Hallway 05' with my finger. Then came the stomping footsteps. That made me look up, just in time to witness Margaret Angelos clocking her friend over the head. "Ow! What the-?"
"You know what for!" Hmm, that was close. A few seconds more and I'd likely have agreed with him. A terrifying thought, and moreso for making myself a viable target for the ginger's stormy stare. "Don't you dare say shit like that. It's-"
"A jinx?" Leckie finished for her. "Ha. You ever watch those holos in the cinema? When people stare down shit creek's own asshole and still decide to jump in?" Marge frowned, but had no answer. "Yeah, that's what I'm saying. I'm not 'jinxing' anything."
That would have been the end of it, were the argument up to the two of them. Pity.
"So what are you saying, Corporal?" Edith asked, her tone chilly. Leckie said nothing in response, which was arguably the best in a selection of exclusively poor options. And yet the best in a bad situation was almost never good enough. "You find the prosecution of our mandate, to leap into the unknown when no other unit has the speed or wherewithal, reckless? Should I hope for your sake that there'll be no...trouble?"
Casual menace lurked under that friendliness like an iceberg's base, and with each rattle that ran through Suzy's hull to signal the departure of another OrbCav Dropship one could feel it loom closer.
Well then, Ser Geeky the Hesitant, your call. Hard to starboard now and evade certain death, or steady on silent and embrace oblivion. Either will entertain me, but one will leave us a crew member less. So be a dear and make the responsible decision, will you?
"No, Petty Officer Butler," Leckie said finally. "I signed up to serve, and I will."
"Now that's what I like to hear." Edith said with a smirk, before turning her chair back . "Had me worried for a second there. Job satisfaction is very important to us in the Navy, you know? Gotta make sure people get the right posting. Get to serve the way they want, and all."
Suzy whistled.
Man, that was quite the shutdown.
You think so?
Yeah. I mean, Edith's right. We're at war. If you're not ready to go all in you should just stay out. Suzy chuckled. Some of it's the frustration talking, though.
Hey, wanting to sit at the right hand of the Father is pretty tough business, I replied. And you? Think you're in the right place?
'Course. I'm a ship. We were born for this.
'Born for this', huh? A little out of context for me, this idea of defined purpose was.
Though then again if anyone had asked me last week if flying into a Ginaz Storm while on the cusp of unearthing the first psionic artifact in living memory was 'in context', I'd have laughed them out of town. So there you go. Life could be strange, and today was odder than most. But it wasn't all bad. If nothing else, we'd been blessed with the devil's own luck so far.
Surely it was not too much to ask for a little more?
======
Ethel Deschantes.
Birthdate, 18th August, 2516. Height, 180cm. Rank, Lieutenant. Character traits: Supreme patience. Flair for speech. Daredevil boldness. Dashing good looks.
And naivete. So, so much naiveté.
Such were my thoughts as the Dropship rattled, seized up by Sancaid Prime's gale force winds, causing the craft's main screen -and with it the image of Orfan Uruz- to shake.
"So," I began, "run our problem by me, Chief."
"Where d'you wanna start?"
Came the smiling reply.
"Well..."
The room Orfan Uruz and two other members of the 322nd Orbital Cavalry in full battle gear occupied was, in a word, unusual. All too pristine for a battlefield position, it also had a high domed ceiling, unadorned yet grand in its scale, a most inefficient rarity underground, even in this age of space-forged prefab.
But strangest of all was the frankly huge sculpture that took up the center of the room, made to seem larger still by the wide berth the three soldiers gave it. Twin liths of featureless stone rose into the air in half moon curves, both ends striving to meet again from being sundered far apart at the roots, only to fall short by mere meters at the end, their flattened tips reaching close to the roof of this underground basilica-
Orfan barked a laugh.
"'Aight, kid. I gotcha, I gotcha. So what you're staring at over here is-" The screen buzzed over with signal noise that cut the older man off for a few moments before subsiding to tolerable levels. "-goddamn Storm, won't even let a man- oh, are we back online?"
"We are."
"Great. So, we pulled some records between Indus' teeth. Apparently, the Reach underwent an expansion a month back. Three new floors planned, some twenty rooms in 'em. This," the Chief indicated with a jerked thumb, "was Room Thirty Four-Foxtrot. Sixth room, thirty and four stories down. Should've been simple." He shrugged. "But that was before we got some techs in The Reach's servers up on the twenty first. That's how we're talking, by the way. I'll give these space freaks credit, but turns out that just busting up some cables and screens ain't enough to put a comms nexus down for good. Now if only they had some Cavs on their end, eh?"
"Ooh-rah!"
May the day never come when I joined the campfire circle of cheering space jarheads.
"Let me guess. This isn't just one room?"
"Eh, guess that was obvious enough," Orfan replied with a roll of the eyes. "No, it wasn't. This place accounts for just over thirty percent of the total excavated volume. Inventory records we pulled showed signs of tunneling around this area-"
So saying the Chief held up a hand, pinching a piece of darkened rubble between two armored fingers.
"-and failing that, the liberal application of explosives to get in."
The optical array they were using to record tagged the walls of the dome and the debris as being made of similar material. A zoomed-in image on the side revealed the gate through which the troops had entered, marking a few [Structural Weaknesses] cracking the otherwise perfectly featureless rock.
"Fair," I noted. "But so far, so little that indicates why you need me down there."
"Oh, that's the easiest bit," Orfan scoffed. "Xu, show 'im."
The image tilting leftward for the briefest of moments was all the warning I got before a knife was sent whirling at the structure, only to have it suddenly stop midair.
No. Not 'stop', but 'stopped', caught in the shimmering grip of an all-too-familiar violet bubble. There it stayed frozen in place not only by that sphere of psionic force, but also by some distant yet keen regard. Seeing. Trying. Judging.
Then the weapon was dropped with a unceremonious clatter, like dust sloughed off royal robes.
If the Chief had felt that same gaze upon him, his shrug did not show it.
"There you have it. Nothing gets in."
Thoughts, Suzy?
Definitely psionics. Suzy's voice was made faint by distance, and likely the distraction of monitoring our many unmanned transports. It's not one of ours, though.
"Fascinating." The signal lights in the cargo bay lit up orange. "We're almost on the ground, Chief."
"Glad to hear it." Sudden recall and mirth therein derived lifted the old soldier's brows. "Oh, and just so you know, barring some massive discovery in the next few minutes or so, this structure - and you - are our best bet at finishing what Poseidon sent us to do," Orfan said, "so limber up, do some diaphragm breathing, think happy thoughts, whatever you need to prep, and I'll see you on this bell-end of the hills. Uruz out."
Strange how a blank screen might bear the world's weight with more grace than titan shoulders, and no Atlas was I who looked upon its dispassionate surface.
"Woo." A voice beside me cheered, as enthused as rainless desert and just as encouraging. No pressure, huh?"
"You get used to it," I said with a shrug.
Margaret Angelos gave me a nasty smirk.
"Ooh, hidden future tense. So the great Lieutenant Deschantes too is a work in progress?"
"Isn't everyone?"
"Fair."
We're here. The landing craft slowed to a hover, the cargo ramp falling open in a sudden wash of move-out green light to reveal dust clouds rolling across scorched earth mere feet below. Careful, Ethel.
For sure, I replied.
We leapt out and hit the ground the running, each stomp of our armored boots causing the steel-ploughed earth to groan in protest.
All around us the mountainside was abuzz. Heavily armed OrbCav troops in full-body powered armor knelt behind mobile cover emplacements all along the coast, wary weapons pointed at sky. Others scoured the area in groups of two, lugging still-glowing Abyssal salvage in all-terrain carriers towards their Dropships. And further up the mountain, behind a small wall of brutanium alloy-encased flesh and shoulder mounted Phoebus lasers, was the main elevator complex leading down into the Reach.
Or so it should have been. Like everything else in the vicinity the surrounding structures had been all but erased, leaving the soldiers around it to guard a giant hole in the ground while a heavy Argos gunship hovered overhead, half a dozen ziplines trailing from its open dual-purpose drop bays.
One of the guards stepped forward. Like all the others, this one bore neither rank patch nor unshielded helm, but here our in-suit HUDs swooped in to save the day with Lt. Elyas Djendro.
"Corporal Angelos, Lieutenant Deschantes."
"Sir," Marge saluted.
I just nodded. No, I did not have to resist snapping my hand up to my head.
Elyas grabbed one of the zipline control mechanisms, three familiar panels - black, red and blue - on its side.
"We had to, ah, surgically remove the elevator apparatus before clearing the place out, so you'll have to jump." He turned to me. "First time using one of these, Deschantes?"
"No, but back then I was made out of a few trillion pixels. Now I'm flesh and blood."
"Are you, though?" Elyas asked, waggling invisible eyebrows. "Just kidding. You know the drill: black to release maglocks. Hook to chest, feet into lower harness. Tap red to freefall, hold blue to brake, and use your suit's vectored jets as a secondary," he said, indicating the familiar controls on the device. "And I hope I don't need to tell you this, but do not grab at the shaft walls. Or worse, someone else's wire."
Oh yeah, I thought as I pulled one of the not-quite-taut cables towards myself. There was always that one poor bastard who had to make the drop real dramatic for everyone else.
"The Master Chief and his blokes will meet you on the thirty second," the Lieutenant continued.
Marge cocked her head.
"Not rock bottom, sir?"
"That's where the Furthest Reach begins." Elyas shrugged. "Yes, we are calling it that. You both ready?"
"Yessir."
I fiddled with mine. Chestplate apparatus check. Maglock check. Harness secured. Line secured.
"Aye."
"Carry on, then."
Right, Ethel, just like in the sim. Look straight, breathe deep. Exhale lightly. Tuck your tongue away. Then press the button-
-and do - not - scream.
Three floors, my HUD reported in chirpy green on the bottom left.
Five. Eight. Ten. Thirteen. Seventeen. Twenty one.
Twenty five.
I jammed the blue button in my hand. Twenty seven. Twenty nine. Thirty.
"Thrusters."
Jet flame stole about the corners of my artificially enhanced vision, slowing what was a plunge to a mere cruising crawl.
Thirty one. I tapped the black panel, allowing myself to push back and away from the line. Gently, I placed a foot on the ground. Predictably, it gave way, causing my world to sway drunkenly for a moment before the suit's gyrostabilizers kicked in, bringing me back upright with a slow clean and jerk.
"Nice landing," Marge commented, flaunting her less eventful landing with each sauntering stride.
Yes, yes. Come see the funny little clown suffering from Alien Leg Syndrome.
"Thanks. So, do I look like I feel?"
"Yeah. Like someone trying not to freak the fuck out." She said, inspecting accessway a few meters ahead of us. "Which is better than I was the third time I did this thing for real, so I'd say you're doing alright."
"Encouraging."
"That's me."
Quick mental mic check. Nope. Nada. Not a peep from Suzy. Guess this was as far as telepathy went. It had been a valiant effort from both of us, but a week of mostly unguided practice only went so far.
In other news, I thought as we walked, talk about 'clearing things out'. These corridors were seven men abreast, six men tall, and littered with the still-pulsing viscera of smaller Abyssals breeds: the mandibles of a Ripper here, the feeding tubules of an Octopod there. In one corner, a pair of Cavs carved spines off a ceratopsian Tank's carapace with their arc blades while a third kept watch, Gauss Shard Cannon at low port.
I swallowed.
"Shit. You guys do good work."
"It's God's work, and don't you forget it, kiddo."
Orfan stood on the threshold where pitted, bloodied metal bulkhead met spotless obsidian rock, beckoning us in. The three man squad he'd joined down here waited further within, weapons low but stances alert.
I glanced at Marge.
"Ladies first?"
"After you, sir," she replied.
I stepped forward. Then I froze. I was being watched. It was like that moment with Suzy, when I gazed into the heart of a tiny universe, and found that I was not wholly welcome there. There was more to this gaze though. Like before with that thrown knife, there was...attention? Interest? Definitely beyond mere curiosity. And certainly above fear, or this Xu guy would be a red smear on the ground by now.
Appraisal.
Assessment. Yes. That was it. Assessment, with a touch or a million of 'asshole'. Because why else would you let everyone else within ten feet and keep me out at ten meters, because apparently we can shit the same purple stuff out our brains nowletmeinyousonofabitchIhaveajobtodo-
-Okay. No dice. Brain break, time-out.
Now wouldn't literally every science fiction author ever be pleased? Precursors were assholes after all, and precursors with mind powers still more so! Now all we needed was for it to rip some nasty feels from the depths of mine. Of lying on the padded floor, burning, burning, aching all over while glacier-blue eyes look on, impassive, disappointed what do you want from me what were you expecting-
Oh no.
Oh no you didn't.
I thrust out a hand, and a wave of violet flame rushed across the room, crashing into the shield that surrounded the alien structure that was its center. Waves of emotion struck back, flowing through that link between us, surprise and confusion warring with something still garbled and distorted, spoken by lips too long unopened, in a language too long unstudied.
And, just as suddenly, it was gone, even less than a whisper, than a distant memory. I was alone again.
Alone, and just a little off kilter. Everything felt disconnected. I felt a chill as the suit wicked the sweat off my face, heard the sounds of heavy breathing and the hissing of ether flames dispersing into mist. Then there was the weight, because hot damn, did everything feel heavy. But none of this quite registered to me - at least until said mist cleared enough to reveal Orfan Uruz, both hands held out.
My IFF reader put the 'why' to that 'what': no less than six gun barrels were trained on me, three from the front and rear each. It seemed the salvager trio from earlier had gotten in on the action too. Thank goodness for friends in right places. Any less than our good Master Chief vouching for me and I'd be full of holes by now.
Orfan's secondary, inner visor lowered slowly, his unveiled face struggling against worry lines.
"Kid?"
He asked, almost hesitant.
"It wasn't...quite the best first impression," I admitted between pants. "But we've come to an understanding."
"Are you sure, sir?"
That was one of the salvagers. Corporal Ezx Lehra, the HUD read. Like Captain Izin before him, the male Antarian expressed his lingering suspicion just fine even under two masks. That he had continued training his Shard Cannon on me where most everyone else had at least begun to lower their weapons might have contributed to that image too. Probably. Just a little.
Guess I had to convince him. Stepping forward towards the stone liths, I reached out with my mind. This time there was no opposition, only a near-silent acquiescence to my desire to pass, to touch the lifeless stone.
Reaching the center, I wheeled around and waved, baby-kissing politician style.
"See? Still intact."
Orfan shook his head.
"Theatrics," he muttered, but stepped closer anyway. Sure enough, nary a speck of dust stirred as he joined me between the two stone arches. "So, what now?"
I didn't reply at first. There was nothing to say. There should have been nothing to say. Answers did not come amidst lifeless, silent stone. But yes. Of course. Of course! It was so obvious. You placed your hand around...there. Right smack in the middle of everything.
'Activate.'
Light sprang to life in a circle around where I had laid my palm. From there white glyphs spread like wildfire, racing across h the floor and up the two crescent arches, their make much like -nay, precisely like- the ones in the briefing. The language remained foreign, like that of the presence that had once guarded this room. But we had seen its like before, second-hand and incomplete though it had been then. Thus all of a few moments passed before purpose began to emerge, creeping at the edge of my thoughts.
My fingers danced across the symbols, each one unique in geometry as in meaning. 'Life'. 'Stop'. 'Land'. 'Hidden'. 'Time'. 'Arrival'. 'Call'.
Then, as before, palm within that circle. The circle depressed under my palm, sliding noiselessly inward where it had seemed all but solid before.
'Activate.'
The structure itself answered my call with one voice. The dark dome above us sang, the stone reverberating in tune to each note. The ground beneath our feet dissolved away, consumed first by white light and then by a sea of stars, till a clear night sky was mirrored in the floor beneath us - and yet neither I nor Orfan fell through. Something warm and pulsating pooled viscously about my fingers, but did not give any further. Indeed the barrier rippled and pushed against me, as if to say no, you make way.
So I did.
"Chief-" I began.
"Already there, boy-o."
Ah yes. There I go again, doubting Orfan's ability to be the sharper man between us. Already he was leaning on one of the crescent arches, his feet treading the edge between solid slate and the molten bright stars, his eyes fixed on the long cuboid object that broke the surface.
A sarcophagus? No. The glyphs spoke, fleetingly, of more. 'Record'. 'Memory'. 'Planet'. 'Reclaim'. And there was life within the alien rock yet, a faint but insistent heartbeat echoing through its smooth form.
"Woah." Marge spoke for the first time since we had entered the room, her tone almost reverent. "Fancy."
"It better be." Orfan didn't look quite so impressed. Probably didn't view this tomb as an object of fascination so much as the final impediment to a mission. "So this is all we need to take, kiddo?"
"Aye."
"Alright, you heard the man. Margie, Xu, Zand, Ilya, have at it. See how it weighs."
The four slid into position, each taking a knee at one corner of the sarcophagus. A silent count from three. Two. One, and they heaved it first to waist, then shoulder level.
Xu whistled.
"Well, what do you know," he said, all-too-youthful voice auguring with the nine foot something tall armor we all wore least out of anyone I'd met so far. "It's plenty light."
"It's four powered armors and one tomb," Marge laughed. "How hard could this be?"
"As hard as you want to jinx it, m'dear." Orfan muttered, sliding his inner visor back on. "Now chop chop, let's get a move on before-"
Thirty odd floors beneath the surface, only an explosion of titanic proportions could hope to knock us off our feet. But that didn't stop this one from trying.
"-Alright, toss that. Lehra, Conrad, Rodis, take point. Leg it!"
Eight pairs of limbs shot off to the races, barely impeded by one ground-shattering impact after another. Four took point, weapons trained and ready. Four more were in the rear, bearing the sarcophagus up on armored shoulders. Pressed between the two sections, of course, was yours truly. And while I was by no means the picture of grace, my suit gyros were handily winning the battle to keep me from stumbling over my nonexistent bootlaces.
"DJ, this is Bullhead," Orfan said, his voice dead even. "Pickup status?"
"Still here." By contrast, you could almost taste the steel wire tension in Elyas Djendro's voice. "Fire's creeping up from the east. They're playing cautious, but it's a show of force, Ground HQ reckons. We'll stay in play as long as we can. Just waiting on you. Then our contingents on the twenty first and the submarine pen on the the sixteenth can leave."
Damn. Where these halls so long before? The dead silence between distant rumblings in the ground amplified the sound of every footfall, every heaving breath. Another explosion, this one...closer somehow.
"...Be advised, Bullhead," Djendro continued, providing some relief from the disquiet. "Server room is reporting a lockdown breach on sixteenth. Outer bulkheads have been closed."
"Tell them they've been expedited."
"But shouldn't-"
"We can handle ourselves." Orfan almost growled. "Get 'em out."
"Understood." Elyas sounded resigned. Not his first time being overruled by experience, I assumed. "Wait. I don't- Bullhead, we have a problem. Sixteenth isn't responding to hails."
I brought up my HUD minimap. The Submarine Pen and the Server Center were like the room we were previously in. Listed on the sixteenth and twenty-first floors respectively, but so large in practice as to span multiple floors each, with only one floor separating both.
"Then get Twenty First. Same thing. Expedite departure."
"Roger that. I'll get b-"
A screech of static sheared through our ears.
"DJ, this is Bullhead. Say again, DJ."
No response.
The shaft entrance was close now. I could see the ziplines They dangled in the wind at the end of the cyalume-lit hall, the light far above wafting down, glinting off their twisted metal sinews. But Orfan raised a single hand, and our small formation stopped dead in its tracks, mere seconds shy of freedom.
"Guns up."
Up they went to a salvo of safeties clicking off. Hybrid Rifles for us, sidearms for Marge's group, accompanied by the low hydraulic hiss of two shoulder-mounted Infernus micro-missile launcher pairs sliding into place.
I swallowed, struggling to keep my finger from adhering to my rifle's trigger. Something was coming. I could feel it. See it with a sight that should never have been. An oppressive weight, the swirling of brackish water, down, down, down the sewer of the flowing universe. Hissing, bubbling, and with a pop, pop - a sick ozone aroma singeing the nose.
A shadow darkened the shaft. The water came down in droplets now. Each looming like an unnamed terror, and heavy as they fell.
Plip plop. Plip plop. With a sound of rushing wind, the first cyalume stick pair went out. Then the next. And the next. My HUD went wild, smart crosshairs chasing fleeting phantom targets.
Then it steadied. I saw it now. There it was, in the creeping shadow. No, it was the shadow. One with the mist - if mist could birth the horror that clawed towards us. Not quadruped, but leaning too much on knuckles at the end of elongated arms to be bipedal. Ash-grey muscle cords bulged, grotesque even on a figure so towering. Red light flashed from its eyes, themselves no more than larger gashes in a dark helm all but infested with crimson cracks.
This time the HUD read only one thing: Gemini (Assault-Amphibious) Class Identified.
And with a rasp of chained feet, another just like it stepped out from the shadows. Then another, and another, each one taking their place until the corridor, wide as it was, was all but swarmed.
How many were there? Two dozen? Four? Six? Too many; they poured out in the numbers, out of the darkness that hung heavy with the rain's pungent aftermath.
To my left, Orfan's teeth clenched in silence, sealed within his helm. But to my ear it was two flints crashing, the spark of battle lit.
"Fire!"
Then a dozen muzzles blazed away, dying stars in the encroaching night.
=== To be continued in Chapter 7: Fight and Flight Reaction ===
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Quick Update! Real Life and Upcoming Stuff.
- Location
- Little Red Dot
-Crickets in the clearing-
As I recall, I made mention of my undergraduate thesis and my ongoing work on it in Chapter 6's Author's Note. What I failed to mention is that Chapter 6's delays were only a result of my attempt to finish a first draft, with the completion of the thesis still to come afterward.
The result is, as you see, one month or so of rather awkward silence. However, rest assured that I am not dead. Nor is this fic! I completed my thesis and several other major semester submissions approximately two weeks ago.
(Special mention goes to @Whiskey Golf for filling my head with fluffy and pink ideas when I was still in the thesis shithouse, and @De3ta for bearing with my Semi-Academic-Angry-Rant-O-Bot 9000 moments.)
And as of today, Chapter 7 has been completed and tossed off to some sharks to rip- I mean, comment on. It will be up as soon as it is returned to me and given a few quick brushes. Chapter 8, I fear, has only 100 words to its name. But given that it began proper today, I suppose one could call that progress. Thanks for your patience, and sorry for not having clarified my situation earlier.
So stay tuned. We'll be back after the commercial break!
As I recall, I made mention of my undergraduate thesis and my ongoing work on it in Chapter 6's Author's Note. What I failed to mention is that Chapter 6's delays were only a result of my attempt to finish a first draft, with the completion of the thesis still to come afterward.
The result is, as you see, one month or so of rather awkward silence. However, rest assured that I am not dead. Nor is this fic! I completed my thesis and several other major semester submissions approximately two weeks ago.
(Special mention goes to @Whiskey Golf for filling my head with fluffy and pink ideas when I was still in the thesis shithouse, and @De3ta for bearing with my Semi-Academic-Angry-Rant-O-Bot 9000 moments.)
And as of today, Chapter 7 has been completed and tossed off to some sharks to rip- I mean, comment on. It will be up as soon as it is returned to me and given a few quick brushes. Chapter 8, I fear, has only 100 words to its name. But given that it began proper today, I suppose one could call that progress. Thanks for your patience, and sorry for not having clarified my situation earlier.
So stay tuned. We'll be back after the commercial break!
Last edited:
Book 1, Chapter 7: Fight and Flight Reaction
- Location
- Little Red Dot
Not quite on time, but hopefully on target. And better late than never, I suppose.
Chapter 7! I guess each chapter just gets more challenging than the next. The weight of plot, I suppose. More so in this case, because Chapter 7 both had the unenviable task of ending an arc while trying to resolve the most disparate of elements featured in the story so far, in narrative as well as tone. It also underwent a name change due to a change in content halfway through. I can only hope that the attempt went well.
Comments and feedback definitely welcome...and as always, enjoy.
=====
A Sea of Stars
Book 1: The Stars, Awake
Chapter 7: Fight and Flight Reaction
Thunder came ever unlooked for, like a thief in the night. As a child I would wait for it, breath stolen and hair standing on end, watching the trembling dark sky, waiting for the sky's own bells to toll.
For one frozen instant, the red eyes piercing through a screen of flames were the thunder.
Then a trio of Geminis burst out from within, and time moved again.
[Assisted Targeting Engaged.]
The Hybrid Rifle in my hands kicked against my shoulder, striking the lead Abyssal's legs with a three-shot burst, then again into its helm. It stumbled away to the side, straight into the path of two of its kin. Both leapt high, claws out and aimed for Orfan - foremost in our formation and dead ahead of me.
The Chief leaned away, courting the tips of the first claws by mere inches.
"Come to daddy, kiddies."
The meter-long arc blade was a living, ravenous thing in the old soldier's hands. It came sweeping up -slicing the offending razor nails clean off- then back down with a flick, relieving the monster of its head. In his other hand his Hybrid Rifle fired in measured staccato bursts, each one finding a mark at center mass of the second creature, jerking it about like an oversized puppet on maddened strings.
"I for one would prefer if they did not." Exz Lehra muttered. "But if they must."
The tall Antarian lacked Orfan's grace in deed as in word. But not that anyone minded; the Shard Cannon painting his grey OrbCav armor bone white as it fired was testament enough that elegance was sometimes unnecessary. Waves of alloy shards flew left and right, each tearing through ashen flesh like sodden paper and hurling one stricken beast after another back in a shower of its own gore.
Lance Corporals Carlos Conrad and Adam Rodis followed after, taking up either one of my flanks. Like Exz, the pair had no flash, no flourish, just a pair of their own Hybrid Rifles laying down the law in tungsten and timed airburst shrapnel, reaping a harvest of death in their wake.
[Infernus Course Locked.] My HUD warned, painting a cone of crimson that bloomed from behind us out into the corridor. [Clear Flight Vector.] I dropped prone without a second thought, barely keeping my rifle from hitting the deck.
The cone flushed green, and the familiar shoom of Infernus micro-missiles filled the air, well overhead yet painfully close, the oppressive heat they vented seeping through my armor where bullets and bone-claws had failed to tread.
Where I had been discomfited, the incoming Geminis were devastated by the twin salvos that plunged into their midst, detonating in a cacophony of torn limbs and charred flesh. That gave them pause - barely. Baying fury they came forth from deeper within the shadows, wounded and burned and scarred, wading through their dead with fearless, reckless abandon. And more besides waited in the crawling blackness of this hallway turned battleground, the only sign of them their pulsing false color forms.
Once again my tongue strained, bone dry, for hydration, a request my suit's systems obliged. But no liquid relief proffered could so easily quench fear.
As in space, so too here. The Abyssals came as a horde, hurling themselves into the fight, each one born of unnatural ferocity, aberrant endurance. And against such an overwhelming weight of numbers, even the strongest sword arm must falter, the tightest formation crack and wear out, grind down, till there was nothing left but dust and bones.
Yes. This was the face of the flame that had scourged the galaxy, and it was
dull
Two voices spoke that single word, each syllable a wave of goosebumps running up the crown of my hair. Both came unbidden. One was distant, detached and appraising; familiar. But it was the other that held me, stopped me from turning back to even so much as glance backward. For where mounted upon four shoulders the sarcophagus had gone back to a low hum, the other voice had not fallen silent. No, even now it rasped in my ear. Fetid, slick with the stench of sickened rainfall.
And so, so close.
"Kid?"
Concern bled through Orfan's visor as it turned to regard me, featureless though it was save for the light and shadow dance of muzzle flares.
[PRIVATE LINE,] my HUD read in obnoxious yellow text, just below the cold pulsating blue of the smart-targeting crosshairs, stark against the red eyes of another Gemini's scorched visage.
"I'm fine." I pulled the trigger as directed. The rifle kicked against my pauldrons, ending its misery in a crimson cloud. "Just-"
"Brain spillage?"
"Kinda."
"Wonderful." Orfan's voice was almost flippant as he buried his arc blade up to the hilt in a fallen Gemini's chest. "So, what's the scoop? We about to get eaten by some horror in the dark?"
If I had been at leisure, I would have turned to stare. Perhaps I did anyway.
"Ha! You'll learn, boy."
The Chief's left hand came up to call for attention.
The Hybrid Rifle remained nestled in his right, stable despite every cracking shot by twin dint of cybernetic limb and powered armor. Then it jerked, sending another grenade rocketing into the Abyssals' midst where it detonated with a ground-shattering force.
"Push on, but stay sharp!" He barked over the resulting din. "And save your ammo. If these chucklefucks want us -and there ain't much to want- this badly, they'll have brought more than a bunch of shithead mooks."
"So it's big game hunting then, Chief?"
Ezx noted, racking his Shard Gun with a wicked clack.
"Save us a chunk or two, Lehra!"
"Sure you're not going to just steal the kill, Angelos?"
That was Illya, his voice hearty over the crackling roar of pyrogel being applied to Abyssal skin.
"Oh, fuck off! That was the one tim-"
"Less talking, more aiming!" Orfan cut in. "Hop to!"
"Oorah!"
The private channel crackled to life again.
"Children."
Why, Chief, if I didn't know you better I'd say you sounded affectionate.
"They're too eager," I agreed.
"Don't everyone got tingly feelers in their head telling them bad things." Orfan pointed out. "But I agree. Keep that hocus-pocus of yours on. I think we're gonna need it."
That last line irked me. It irked me a lot. There was no way Orfan hadn't caught wind of Lehra and his two buddies carving the Tank up on his way to Furthest Reach. Hell, I'd have put fair coin on him having gotten them to do it - or having been there himself.
That meant there was something worse out there. Something far worse. But what? Only one thing to do. I reached with my mind, staring out -no, down, down- into that eerie nothing.
And nothing stared back. Oozing out of its black gates it wrestled, grappled, writhed as I fought to grasp it. It was a storm's nimbus, a sun-blotting swarm of flies that blocked sound, smell, and even the sight of another Gemini coming up to the left of
No. Adjust aim. Between the eyes. Fire. Keep searching.
An angry drumbeat started up in my head as if in protest. Down, down I pushed it, out of sight - but not out of mind. My hands shook, struggling to lock crosshairs over another Gemini. The shadows in the tunnel beyond only deepened as I reached into them, and as they grew long, my arm grew heavy. I sank. Into the sludge. Into the muck.
What was this? No. Not 'what'. 'Who'. Who was this?
Who are you?
"You say something, kid?"
What. Had the private line still been on? I was sure-
-Nevermind. How was it said again? Yes. Steady breaths. Steady. Back into the rhythm. Select target. Side of the head. Adjust. Fire. Adjust again. Fire.
"I'm...not sure myself. But there's something in there alright."
Yes. The rhythm. Keep at it, calm, steady.
"Can you locate it?"
"Not yet." I tasted iron trickling down my teeth. "But I will."
The Chief chuckled.
"That's what I like to hear. But loosen up. A string wound too tight snaps no matter what it's made of."
"Why, didn't know you cared."
"Surprise - and you're welcome."
"Glad we could come to an understanding."
"You too, kiddo. You too."
With that, the line clicked off, leaving me once again with my own thoughts, and that same oppressive weight I had felt when the cyalumes had first been snuffed out - stronger now than ever.
But that was fine. I was fine. I didn't need to know who or what was watching us. It was there, and that was plenty. I did not reach, did not have to stretch my hand out to touch and illuminate the living, breathing night around us. No, I simply allowed it to be. Allowed it to gaze upon us. For that which gazed outward was in turn wont to be gazed upon.
The only question left was: 'where'? Where would I be if I were some skulking, pansy spy-eye, gazing all high and mighty upon the mortals down below-
Huh. Amazing what a little clear thinking could do.
Come on then. Show yourself.
Show yourself to me.
Yes, to me, as it must to any who saw not merely with their eyes.
There. A shadow darted across the stark flashes of gunfire, almost too swift for human eyes, skidding to a stop along the concrete ceiling.
It was a Gemini, if a Gemini could have one upsize too many. Interwoven webs of splinters clung desperately to its two oak trunk legs. A flex of its claws revealed talons that would not look foreign staked through a grown human from nape to navel.
And if the others had been born from the dark mist that enshrouded us, this one -an Alpha among its kind- was the mist itself. Even thus exposed to me its shape was hazy and unclear. Eight yawning gouges had marked its path to its current perch with nary a sound, and those too seemed to blur and blend back into flat grey concrete prefab.
But now that I had peeked past the veil, its continued presence only made deception more evident.
In a few more seconds, Marge and Xu would fire off another Infernus micro-missile salvo, and our frontline would push into the gap created to cover for them to reload. There we be at our weakest. There would the opportunity this Gemini Alpha watched for with gleaming eyes emerge.
Not on Ethel Deschantes's watch.
"Contact. Up top-"
'Danger!'
Every nerve in my body screamed that single word, and heeding them I leaped away - just as the ground where I had just stood erupted in a torrent of splintered metal and tortured rock.
"-on me!"
Ezx was the first to turn and face the Alpha. Swivelling, he fired his Shard Cannon once, twice, thrice. I too weighed in with the rat-a-tat death rattle of my Hybrid Rifle. But as many times as we fired, were we also denied. The Abyssal champion seemed to melt into mist at the precise moment of impact, juking first left, then right, evading depleted uranium and superheated alloy shards alike with almost contemptuous ease. Our rearguard fared worse, their sidearm rounds barely sinking an inch past its ashen skin before being halted. Hardly enough to faze it.
Indeed, the Alpha seemed to sense that weakness, its eyes gleaming with feral intellect.
"This thing's fast!"
My man Captain Obvious on duty. Also, Antarians could express shock. That was a first - but not the good kind.
"Deal with it." Orfan yelled back. "We're busy here!"
Indeed they were, a mere three men tangling with all the remaining Gemini.
But that left only the Antarian and I between the giant Alpha and our rearguard - to whom its eyes now darted. It leaped, the ground cratering under its weight, claws out.
But I was already firing my jump jets, sliding to interception. I met it almost halfway, my hand coming up-
I desired to defend
-only to have three digits pass halfway through the still nascent barrier before finally being stopped.
Well. Never doing that again. But in good news, the wall had now closed around creature's left arm, trapping it.
"Totally planned that."
And that definitely had not come out more as a sigh of relief.
"Sure," Marge scoffed. "So, Danger Close?"
The creature had not heard us, but it may as well have. With a roar, it had begun raining blows upon my shield.
"Yes-" I grunted. Damn, this was hard without Suzy around. Two blows, and I could already feel the cracks forming. "-please."
"Xu! Danger close!"
"Say again," the young man repeated as he and Marge stepped past me, "Danger Close!"
I dropped prone. The rest of our little squad followed suit, scattering to the winds as best they could.
And then my shield was set aflame. A few seconds stretched out into eternity as the barrier stretched and warped, struggling to keep cohesion. My hands -I had reached out another, who knew how or why- trembled. The arms that held them up grew heavy. The drums in my head swelled to pounding crescendo, not helped by the overload causing my HUD to temporarily go berserk.
No matter. I would see this through. Outlast this creature. Now if only these goddamn sensors would come back online
[PROXIMITY AL
=======
He skids across the sweat-slick mat with a sickening crunch, the web weave fabric searing his red-raw skin. The padding helps him roll with the blow.
But 'help' eventually stops helping. 'Hard' becomes impossible. Such is the inevitable truth. More so than the strikes that rain down, that is what those tombstone grey eyes tell him.
He tries anyway. Blocks high, then low.
Then he misses. Staggers back. His foot touches exposed tatami. Damn. That was one step too many
"Eyes up!"
A hammer encased in flesh and bone slams into his side. Bursting stars darken his world for an instant. Then the cold gnaw of the ground brings him to, biting. Stinging.
======
hurting
[Status: Conscious.]
It hurt.
[Suit Breaches Extensive. Maintaining Life Support at Level 2.]
Everything hurt.
[Applying nanofoam cast to left arm, left intercostal segments.]
I cracked an eye open, looking up. Could've gone with down. But that seemed -felt- like a bad idea.
Smoke and fire was everywhere, blurring my vision. At least it was working. On the other hand -ahaha-ha!- I couldn't feel my left side. But it didn't feel that much lighter. Or did it? Hard to tell.
The old man was yelling something over the comms. Couldn't quite hear him. Too many ringing noises. What was going-
Ugh. Dammit. Don't shake me. Everything aches, for goodness-
"Ethel!"
I snapped my eyes open, revealing a familiar face.
"Huh. It's just you, Corporal Ginger Ale. And, uh-"
"You can call me Medic Guy in your future memoirs, sir," olive-skinned Carlos Conrad quipped, a twinkle in his grey-blue eyes, "but I'd prefer Carl. Also, you're stable."
"Good to know."
"Good to know my fucking ass." Marge's helmet was already depolarized, the disbelieving shake of her head doubling down on the astonishment in her voice. "If you got punched any harder you'd have put a hole through that wall."
"Always had a hard head."
"Awful joke." Ah, another plebeian shaking their head at humor beyond their ken. How tragic. "Listen, the suit says you won't die, but hard head or not, you're pretty fucked up." Marge stood up. "You just stay there for a bit."
"Uh huh."
Don't worry. I was finding the wall a rather relaxing thing to lean against right now.
"And, uh, try not to look at that arm," Carlos added, repolarizing his own visor. "We got this."
Got what now?
Right. The Alpha.
I peered past Marge. It looked kinda funny, the Abyssal did. But I suppose anything would, with an entire left flank hanging off party ribbons-style like that. Probably got ripped up when the Infernus salvo hit. Nasty stuff. And it was still getting shot at too- shit, those muzzle flashes were hard to look at.
Was that all it would take, though? And what was the Alpha's win condition? What had it really been here for?
What a thought to be thinking now. Totally beside the point. I mean, the point was...see, it was getting kinda hard to see altogether
=======
"Disappointing."
The eyes lose their flame. But dismay smoulders on. Disappointment. Yes, it's always been disappointment hasn't it. What a feeling. Makes it that much easier to keep one's meal in, he thinks.
"You looked away."
Yes sir, he grunts.
"You do not look away."
Yes sir.
"Do you understand why?"
Yes, he knows. Looking away changes nothing. Does nothing. Time flows on. The world still turns. People who will live, will live. And those who will die, will die.
"Good. Now get up, boy. Or are you dead?"
No.
"Then eyes up. Meet the enemy."
'Meet me', the eyes seem to say. It is not a thought he would have had then. But in this fevered moment sundered from time, the light in them tells a different tale.
He stumbles to his feet.
"Yes, that's right. Meet the enemy. Face to face, eye to eye, fist to
====
oh, shut up already, old man.
His voice comes out sharp. Angry.
The dream fades. No. It was not a dream. He will not diminish that moment, that memory. But the fact remains - he is no longer the boy from that memory.
No more than the being before him is Ioannis Deschantes.
The silver eyes smile, and without warning the mask of his father crumbles away like shadows at sunrise to reveal...nothing. With its disguise discarded, the being cannot even be called a shade or a ghost. It is an echo overstayed. A manuscript weathered. Nameless. Featureless. Ageless.
'Who are you?' He should ask. Would have asked. But no sooner do the words flash across his mind that the answer emerges. It is in the pulse of obsidian stone, cold but alive, all around them. It is the wind, a song of distant worlds.
It is the fragments that slough off its form like so many scales as the entity closes the distance between them. They fall away, dissipating into motes of light that coalesce into-
-OrbCav gunships take to the skies as the Abyssals swarm ashore from all directions. They launch devastating run after attack run, ruining the ranks of the bestial foe; but there are so, so many of them-
-Suzukaze fights like a lion, her dazzling shields aflare in the permanent twilight of Sancaid Prime's sky as she wards the worst of the fighting off the Granbell, Bruges and Katowice. They in turn form an impeccable firing line, cutting down swathes of Abyssal drones as they hurl themselves bodily-
-Agano and her team look up with wide eyes as two more Abyssal battlecruisers streak down into the atmosphere like falling stars. Their avian forms plummet, wrapped in funeral flame, their dirge sung by a flight of steel valkyries sent forth from a further above-
-his team struggles for their lives. For all its injuries the Alpha is still too swift, too strong. It ducks in and out of the shadows, evading their fire. With a single swing it splits Marge's rifle in half. With another it rips Illya's Infernus pods free, mocking Exz and Orfan's attempts to impede-
The visions fade without warning.
What-
A lesson. The first, and the last.
There is a note of approval in that genderless voice. He has passed, once again. But the voice they had heard when entering the sanctum is a mere whisper now. And if the echo before him had been falling apart before, it is almost gone now. Only its blank face is still whole, and even that is losing coherence, while the light grows ever brighter, swallowing them both.
He searches what remains of that visage. He's been shown this much. What now? There must be more-
You will know. It will come to you.
Huh. How very vague.
Language can be a narrow tool. But the mind is capable of more.
Fair enough. And yet it seems almost impolite to leave without a name. No one who teaches him, regardless of how short their time was, should ever go without one.
...A strange sentiment, the voice chides. We will meet again, you know.
'Strange' is right, and serves it right, he supposes. It's been an odd day all around, and he'll be damned if he doesn't share the love with anyone. The light grows blinding again. He can no longer see . But he imagines -just a little- that it might be smiling.
Very well then.
If you must know, I am-
====
My eyes snapped open.
Dammit, they always had to cut out at the good part, didn't they?
Ah well. On to the less pleasant bits.
I sat up. Yeah, still hurting all over. And it was a fine testament to OrbCav's well-earned place in our Navy's elite that we had not yet become beast-feed. But the ongoing tussle with the Alpha was only a small part of a battle in the balance. The less we delayed, the better.
Still, 'you will know', huh?
What an utterly infuriating thing to say.
I stood up, against the protests of indolent bones rudely awakening from their leisure.
So, how does it all begin?
Why, with a little trick. A mnemonic device. Nothing all that-
My good right hand burst into violet flame.
-special.
That was the easy part. A mere few moments in, my temples were already starting to throb, my eyes fighting to not become beguiled by the dancing tongues of fire before them.
As expected, this was going to be...tricky without Suzy around. But ah, what of it?
They call it 'the unicorn's horn'.
And strange, that I should have found another use for that tool so soon. Could one call it fate that I happened to walk in on someone projecting their mind so strongly it manifested as corporeal heat? Perhaps not.
But that didn't matter now. What was left was to sharpen those thoughts, condense their meaning, file them down to a razor point.
What thoughts would these be?
It hardly matters...but let's build on a rock solid foundation of 'fuck you' and go from there.
That I did, and poured the rest of my thoughts on. Twisted them together like cords, for in unity of vision there was strength. Forged them in fire, hammered them till they are as one. Then again.
And again, and again...
..And do try to ignore the mind-numbing pain. A minor inconvenience, not to worry.
After all, it was a good indicator of when precisely I would be done-
-ah. There we go. Better than I thought: I'd half-expected to have nigh all of my considerable brains drawn and quartered before we got halfway through.
I inspected my good hand. Held in it was a mere spark no longer, but a spear of fire incorporeal. Weightless, but thrumming with power. Without handle or shaft, but ready to be thrown.
Perfect. All that remained now was to find the moment to do so.
The moment when, hemmed in by fire focused upon into its tattered left side, the Alpha might slip up. Place itself in a position where it believed it might still maneuver, trusting as it had till now in its preternatural agility, but for a singular strike-
-Now.
I saw it. A now that was not yet present. The Alpha perfectly sidestepping another grenade. Leaping out on the wings of its fiery wake. Jinking under a storm of bullets as it made for our backline, and into that perfect void, the immaculate path into which I would let fly my spear
The lance struck the Abyssal squarely between its shoulders, burying itself into the creature's dark heart. Amazingly, the creature skidded back, but did not fall. Naked desperation flared in its eyes as it grasped futilely at the mortal weapon that never could be, yet was - and was killing it.
Then the Alpha collapsed, beginning to dissipate into mist before it could even hit the floor.
The remaining Gemini, bereft of their leader, began to retreat, their growls growing distant as they fell back into the darkness, itself receding with the Alpha's fall.
We watched them go in silence, our weapons trained. For an interminable moment, our ears drank in the sounds of flames crackling upon flesh. The rasps of dust to dust returning. The distant thunder of battle rumbling overhead.
Then Exz grunted, lowering his Shard Cannon.
"We had that."
Such striking bravado.
"Sure you did."
And in another world, I'd have choice words for you. But I'm a big guy. And a tired one. Mostly big, mind-
"...J." The comms crackled to life, the familiar voice of Elyas Djendro coming over the airwaves. "Say again. Bullhead, this is DJ! Do you copy?"
"DJ, Bullhead." My ears be forsworn; Orfan almost sounded tired. "You don't have to shout, we're here."
"Thank God! Listen, don't go back up the way you went down. Not right now. The main shaft at the summit is contested; you'll be cut to pieces in the crossfire." A sharp intake of breath, then a pained grunt. "Abyssals damn near overran the whole north face. But we're holding the south side, and word is we're winning the battle up top. So the call is to hold position for now."
"How long?"
"Ten mikes. Maybe more. There's just too many of them for us to do more than esti-look out, you idiots-"
The line cut as the longsuffering earth again shuddered under a series of merciless blows. And just like that, the tension that had bled from the room returned full force - only for Elyas' sharp cough to put the brakes on that train.
"Dammit. Few shots got too-" another wet hacking sound. "-close. We'll live. Problem is how you're going to get out."
Our minimaps, connected to the larger battle-net once again, updated as Elyas spoke.
"We only had a fairly tenuous grip on this base before, but after the power outage earlier we've lost all power. It's sprung a few extra leaks, too: as of last report, there was heavy flooding on the upper floors. In fact we were worried that you guys might have already drowned. Guess the Engineers managed to get some of the bulkheads shut before..."
I recalled the Alpha, silhouette huge against the flames, rictus horrid as it fought against the fatal wound I had dealt it, and shuddered.
"...yeah. So we're going to have to ask you all to stay put. Back up to a more defensible position. We'll come for you."
Or they could take the artifact off our cold, dead hands. I mean, we'd come for the people of Sancaid Prime. But we hadn't been able to make them any less deceased.
"Or we can make our own way out."
I noticed that those words had left my mouth only when the stares began to burn.
"You know of one?"
Marge spoke the doubts that were surely on everyone's minds.
"Maybe."
"How?"
'How?' Really? We ram through weirdspace to reach a planet covered in a crimson death storm, successfully land via the liberal application of literal mind powers, fight an alien that spawned out of black smoke - and what beggars belief is that Literal Mind Powers Guy could have somehow been told how else to use said powers by-
-wait. Wait.
Told by who again?
Ugh. Nevermind.
"I...figured something out," I managed. "Furthest Reach is the key. But I'll need to be there to make sure."
Now, having what must be a shattered arm under an anaesthetic foam cast did not usually impair self-comprehension. I did not require seven plus one visor plates radiating skepticism to know that such claims required proof.
But as of now, I had none.
Nor would there would be any help from Orfan this time. The Chief was all nonchalant folded arms, gun re-slung over slouching shoulders, and one step backward taken even as I turned to him - all hallmarks of a man with the means but not the will to help. And if I read the expectant tilt of head and tapping foot right, he had never been looking to do so.
No, he was waiting for me to justify myself. Prove myself.
Goddamn old men and their stupid life lessons straight out of nowhere, I thought with a deep sigh. Ugh. Awful idea. I could feel my ribs rattle with that one.
"Look. I can't explain how I know. Or even what I know. But Furthest Reach is both defensible and hardy. If we go back there, and my-" I groped for the right word. Not too vague, with just the slightest suggestion of greater depth. "If my hunch doesn't work out the way, we can still hold out there for rescue. But if it does…"
'We won't even need a rescue', I left unsaid. Some information worked its magic best that way.
"Or we can take our chances, either with an oceanload of water we don't even know how to break through to, let alone break through - or an island crawling with crazy, if that's more your glass of Guatemalan."
It was far from a perfect argument, or even good. But 'it wouldn't hurt, and the alternatives are unpalatable' served well when true. And serve it did, turning the silence from suspicious to thoughtful in a moment - a moment which was then broken by Orfan's chuckling.
"Still, for first contact with unknown alien bullshit, you seem to have a lot of faith in it."
I shrugged.
"Hasn't this whole mission just been a headlong charge into the unknown?"
A downward tilt of the head was the older man's only response. But for one versed in the hidden language of overcomplicated old-man-looks such as I, it was a victory.
'You're learning, kid.'
"That it has," the Chief allowed. "Mostly."
So saying, he turned to address the rest of the squad.
"Anyone else got a better idea?" Not a peep. "DJ?"
"...I'll relay your new position to HQ," Elyas replied.
"Good. Let's move!"
Well then. I suppose that was my cue to-
"Oh no you don't."
Orfan's armored hand pushed down on my left shoulder. Not aggressively, but forcefully enough that pushing against it sent jolts of dull aching down the wounded flank.
"Marge, Illya, grab him. Can'thave him passing out before he figures our way out of this."
"Aye, Chief."
Before any more could be said, I was hauled up by two pairs of arms - Marge's, and Illya's too, as they laid my good side out over the former's shoulder. Illya stood back for a second, inspecting their handiwork. Then he nodded, and we moved.
Exz led the way, sweeping the way ahead with Conrad. Rodis and Xu took up the artifact. We followed after, with Orfan shooting us a grin -oh, I knew it was one alright, under that visor- before taking up the rear.
And it would have been an uneventful stroll too, if it were not for a jab in my unbruised set of ribs.
"You know, this had better work." Marge murmured. "I was preventing the Mutiny on the Bounty over on the squad frequency back there."
Oh, so that was where the rest of the gang was most this whole time. Good to know not everyone was getting along with the mind freak straight away. We'd collapse the galaxy in on itself sustaining that kind of tolerance.
"Eh, you'll see."
"Such confidence," replied she, in a voice sorely lacking thereof.
"Runs in the blood."
"Mind they don't become delusions of grandeur."
"Harsh."
Marge's 'pffft' was loud enough to distort her mic.
"Harsh. Really? You're draped across my shoulders like an armored carpet, barely able to move under your own power. Did irony stop being your strong suit after you hit your head?"
"Feels the same as ever. And you? How's it going with subtlety?"
"Oh now you've-"
Another 'pffft!' interrupted her. This one was almost dignified in its reservation, but that itself only seemed out of place when compared to its source - Illya Litvyak, all nine feet of Heavy Infantry powered armor and utter silence hitherto.
"The fuck you laughing about, Illya?"
The armored giant said nothing. Pointing at the two of us, he shook his head.
"Petty? Us?"
A nod.
"Aren't you're such a noble soul." Marge half-spat. "Always with the low hanging fruit-"
"We're here." Exz's voice cut in.
And we were, but for the familiar midnight dome taking on a foreign look: where it should have been as dark as in its namesake hour, every inch of Furthest Reach's interior glowed softly, alien runes flaring like tiny stars. Nor was that same oppressive feeling, of being unwelcome in someone else's abode, still present.
Guess someone had prepared the way.
The rest of the squad tried not to gawk as they entered. My challenge was just the opposite. I had to go past merely seeing them. To not so much read as feel them. And to my own surprise, I could.
Hmmm. Yes. You, you and you. And those other few as well…
...oh, you ingenious, lazy alien bastards.
"So," Orfan asked as he stepped in, gun and eyes still trained on the rear, "where to?"
"Same place we picked up the artifact," I replied.
"Right then. Squad, squeeze."
"Huh." Marge noted as we closed ranks around the inner circle of the alien device. "Would've sworn that you pushed something the first time."
"We all start somewhere," I said.
Then I put my right hand to work.
A delta parting circles three, the self from three planes to be free.
A strident crown, a twisting sea, a ring of stars, both gate and key.
Violent lightning danced from my fingers, streaking from rune to rune, linking them in thrumming harmony. What was once dour stone floor melted away, revealing the spitting image of deep space churning below us.
A ring of gold surrounded us, surrounding us in still more symbols of strange import. The ones I stood out, glowing stronger than the rest. And there was something else. No eyes I had could perceive it, but it was-
One step alone binds this ship to your mind...merely seek what you wish to find.
"Vok hai," Exz breathed.
You and me both, man. Say what you want about these aliens, but they definitely had style.
"You think so?" I asked. "Then for my next trick, I'll make us disappear."
"And where to, Captain?"
Orfan's tone carried just a trace of amusement.
Ha. That was no question at all. My connection with Graf was warm acquaintance at best, and of the other shipgirls I could hardly claim to have even met them, let alone pinpoint their presences within space's nebulous labyrinth. And there was that sense that I would be...intruding, somehow.
No, the Suzukaze was the only place to go. Her I could see most clearly: fighting on, a giant of steel and fire, stalwart and valiant as she oh sweet holy shit she was turning to look my way, and I'd be damned if she didn't look as cross as two sticks.
Ethel. Between that one word and her flinty blue eyes lay a fleet's weight in displeasure - but Suzy broke it off into a sigh almost immediately. Nevermind. Killing you can wait - you've done a good enough number on yourself as-is. What is it?
We're wrapping this show up, I replied.
How- and then her eyes went wide, -are you serious?!
Aw, don't look at me like that, Suzy. I got this.
You nearly got yourself killed! And you're trying it aga-
Yes, I did. And yes, I am.
My partner gave me another look, suddenly seeming very, very old. Then a wry grin split the shipgirl's lightly bruised cheeks, and she was Suzy again.
Right. All aboard, then?
"...one moment." I replied, switching frequencies. "DJ, this is Liangfeng-Actual."
"Talk to me, Liangfeng-Actual."
"Get ready to pack it up. We're out of here."
"So it worked?"
I looked once again at the symbols before me, their purpose all so clear, yet even now inscrutable. Would it?
...Bah. What kind of question is that?
I thrust my good hand through the gap between them, reaching out amid the endless empty cold nothingness for another hand. For Suzy's hand.
Then hers seized mine, and it was over.
We landed as well as eight people in quarter-ton powered Aramus armor could when suddenly suspended in midair could. That is to say, 'surprisingly well', with all of us keeping my feet. I even landed in my chair. Hooray for literal mind powers, I supposed.
My comms panel came alive with a flick of my wrists. Huh. Already hooked up as I needed it. Second hooray for helpful partners.
"How does this sound to you, DJ?"
Elyas Djendro, once again rendered in full visual detail rather than the short shrift he'd received on my armor's HUD, raised both hands in surrender.
"...Say no more, Liangfeng. We'll see you topside."
"You too. Godspeed."
The feed cut, and in its absence I became painfully aware of the concern -and curiosity- in Edith's and Leckie's gazes.
Well this was going to be one hell of a debrief. And wasn't it always great when your arm beat your head to the proverbial ache at the thought of that?
"Incoming from our squad and Graf Zeppelin." And Suzy to the rescue again - if temporarily. "Putting them on."
I skimmed the onscreen data as the images resolved, feeling the rush of the cocktail my suit imbibed to keep me up and the pain down.
Evac was underway. Friendly losses minimal. Enemy casualties, staggering. A decisive victory by all counts, but by no means absolute. And we were no occupying force.
This would have to do. There would be other shots to take. Other opportunities for whatever we'd got our hands on today to prove its worth.
Levos En Sha looked almost a bit disappointed at that inevitability. Bat-Ami remained impassive, arms akimbo. Morales shaking his pipe out straight faced was the dourest I'd ever seen him. Liz's various appendages were quivering with expectation.
But it was Graf's whose eyes were most telling.
There will be questions, they warned.
Yes. Yes there would.
"Well then," Liz half-drawled. "Let's hear it."
But we'd cross that bridge when we got there - and then we'd throw it into the nearest sun.
"Artifact secured, ladies and gentlemen." I gestured towards said object. "Now let's get off this rock, shall we?"
Chapter 7! I guess each chapter just gets more challenging than the next. The weight of plot, I suppose. More so in this case, because Chapter 7 both had the unenviable task of ending an arc while trying to resolve the most disparate of elements featured in the story so far, in narrative as well as tone. It also underwent a name change due to a change in content halfway through. I can only hope that the attempt went well.
Comments and feedback definitely welcome...and as always, enjoy.
=====
A Sea of Stars
Book 1: The Stars, Awake
Chapter 7: Fight and Flight Reaction
Thunder came ever unlooked for, like a thief in the night. As a child I would wait for it, breath stolen and hair standing on end, watching the trembling dark sky, waiting for the sky's own bells to toll.
For one frozen instant, the red eyes piercing through a screen of flames were the thunder.
Then a trio of Geminis burst out from within, and time moved again.
[Assisted Targeting Engaged.]
The Hybrid Rifle in my hands kicked against my shoulder, striking the lead Abyssal's legs with a three-shot burst, then again into its helm. It stumbled away to the side, straight into the path of two of its kin. Both leapt high, claws out and aimed for Orfan - foremost in our formation and dead ahead of me.
The Chief leaned away, courting the tips of the first claws by mere inches.
"Come to daddy, kiddies."
The meter-long arc blade was a living, ravenous thing in the old soldier's hands. It came sweeping up -slicing the offending razor nails clean off- then back down with a flick, relieving the monster of its head. In his other hand his Hybrid Rifle fired in measured staccato bursts, each one finding a mark at center mass of the second creature, jerking it about like an oversized puppet on maddened strings.
"I for one would prefer if they did not." Exz Lehra muttered. "But if they must."
The tall Antarian lacked Orfan's grace in deed as in word. But not that anyone minded; the Shard Cannon painting his grey OrbCav armor bone white as it fired was testament enough that elegance was sometimes unnecessary. Waves of alloy shards flew left and right, each tearing through ashen flesh like sodden paper and hurling one stricken beast after another back in a shower of its own gore.
Lance Corporals Carlos Conrad and Adam Rodis followed after, taking up either one of my flanks. Like Exz, the pair had no flash, no flourish, just a pair of their own Hybrid Rifles laying down the law in tungsten and timed airburst shrapnel, reaping a harvest of death in their wake.
[Infernus Course Locked.] My HUD warned, painting a cone of crimson that bloomed from behind us out into the corridor. [Clear Flight Vector.] I dropped prone without a second thought, barely keeping my rifle from hitting the deck.
The cone flushed green, and the familiar shoom of Infernus micro-missiles filled the air, well overhead yet painfully close, the oppressive heat they vented seeping through my armor where bullets and bone-claws had failed to tread.
Where I had been discomfited, the incoming Geminis were devastated by the twin salvos that plunged into their midst, detonating in a cacophony of torn limbs and charred flesh. That gave them pause - barely. Baying fury they came forth from deeper within the shadows, wounded and burned and scarred, wading through their dead with fearless, reckless abandon. And more besides waited in the crawling blackness of this hallway turned battleground, the only sign of them their pulsing false color forms.
Once again my tongue strained, bone dry, for hydration, a request my suit's systems obliged. But no liquid relief proffered could so easily quench fear.
As in space, so too here. The Abyssals came as a horde, hurling themselves into the fight, each one born of unnatural ferocity, aberrant endurance. And against such an overwhelming weight of numbers, even the strongest sword arm must falter, the tightest formation crack and wear out, grind down, till there was nothing left but dust and bones.
Yes. This was the face of the flame that had scourged the galaxy, and it was
dull
Two voices spoke that single word, each syllable a wave of goosebumps running up the crown of my hair. Both came unbidden. One was distant, detached and appraising; familiar. But it was the other that held me, stopped me from turning back to even so much as glance backward. For where mounted upon four shoulders the sarcophagus had gone back to a low hum, the other voice had not fallen silent. No, even now it rasped in my ear. Fetid, slick with the stench of sickened rainfall.
And so, so close.
"Kid?"
Concern bled through Orfan's visor as it turned to regard me, featureless though it was save for the light and shadow dance of muzzle flares.
[PRIVATE LINE,] my HUD read in obnoxious yellow text, just below the cold pulsating blue of the smart-targeting crosshairs, stark against the red eyes of another Gemini's scorched visage.
"I'm fine." I pulled the trigger as directed. The rifle kicked against my pauldrons, ending its misery in a crimson cloud. "Just-"
"Brain spillage?"
"Kinda."
"Wonderful." Orfan's voice was almost flippant as he buried his arc blade up to the hilt in a fallen Gemini's chest. "So, what's the scoop? We about to get eaten by some horror in the dark?"
If I had been at leisure, I would have turned to stare. Perhaps I did anyway.
"Ha! You'll learn, boy."
The Chief's left hand came up to call for attention.
The Hybrid Rifle remained nestled in his right, stable despite every cracking shot by twin dint of cybernetic limb and powered armor. Then it jerked, sending another grenade rocketing into the Abyssals' midst where it detonated with a ground-shattering force.
"Push on, but stay sharp!" He barked over the resulting din. "And save your ammo. If these chucklefucks want us -and there ain't much to want- this badly, they'll have brought more than a bunch of shithead mooks."
"So it's big game hunting then, Chief?"
Ezx noted, racking his Shard Gun with a wicked clack.
"Save us a chunk or two, Lehra!"
"Sure you're not going to just steal the kill, Angelos?"
That was Illya, his voice hearty over the crackling roar of pyrogel being applied to Abyssal skin.
"Oh, fuck off! That was the one tim-"
"Less talking, more aiming!" Orfan cut in. "Hop to!"
"Oorah!"
The private channel crackled to life again.
"Children."
Why, Chief, if I didn't know you better I'd say you sounded affectionate.
"They're too eager," I agreed.
"Don't everyone got tingly feelers in their head telling them bad things." Orfan pointed out. "But I agree. Keep that hocus-pocus of yours on. I think we're gonna need it."
That last line irked me. It irked me a lot. There was no way Orfan hadn't caught wind of Lehra and his two buddies carving the Tank up on his way to Furthest Reach. Hell, I'd have put fair coin on him having gotten them to do it - or having been there himself.
That meant there was something worse out there. Something far worse. But what? Only one thing to do. I reached with my mind, staring out -no, down, down- into that eerie nothing.
And nothing stared back. Oozing out of its black gates it wrestled, grappled, writhed as I fought to grasp it. It was a storm's nimbus, a sun-blotting swarm of flies that blocked sound, smell, and even the sight of another Gemini coming up to the left of
No. Adjust aim. Between the eyes. Fire. Keep searching.
An angry drumbeat started up in my head as if in protest. Down, down I pushed it, out of sight - but not out of mind. My hands shook, struggling to lock crosshairs over another Gemini. The shadows in the tunnel beyond only deepened as I reached into them, and as they grew long, my arm grew heavy. I sank. Into the sludge. Into the muck.
What was this? No. Not 'what'. 'Who'. Who was this?
Who are you?
"You say something, kid?"
What. Had the private line still been on? I was sure-
-Nevermind. How was it said again? Yes. Steady breaths. Steady. Back into the rhythm. Select target. Side of the head. Adjust. Fire. Adjust again. Fire.
"I'm...not sure myself. But there's something in there alright."
Yes. The rhythm. Keep at it, calm, steady.
"Can you locate it?"
"Not yet." I tasted iron trickling down my teeth. "But I will."
The Chief chuckled.
"That's what I like to hear. But loosen up. A string wound too tight snaps no matter what it's made of."
"Why, didn't know you cared."
"Surprise - and you're welcome."
"Glad we could come to an understanding."
"You too, kiddo. You too."
With that, the line clicked off, leaving me once again with my own thoughts, and that same oppressive weight I had felt when the cyalumes had first been snuffed out - stronger now than ever.
But that was fine. I was fine. I didn't need to know who or what was watching us. It was there, and that was plenty. I did not reach, did not have to stretch my hand out to touch and illuminate the living, breathing night around us. No, I simply allowed it to be. Allowed it to gaze upon us. For that which gazed outward was in turn wont to be gazed upon.
The only question left was: 'where'? Where would I be if I were some skulking, pansy spy-eye, gazing all high and mighty upon the mortals down below-
Huh. Amazing what a little clear thinking could do.
Come on then. Show yourself.
Show yourself to me.
Yes, to me, as it must to any who saw not merely with their eyes.
There. A shadow darted across the stark flashes of gunfire, almost too swift for human eyes, skidding to a stop along the concrete ceiling.
It was a Gemini, if a Gemini could have one upsize too many. Interwoven webs of splinters clung desperately to its two oak trunk legs. A flex of its claws revealed talons that would not look foreign staked through a grown human from nape to navel.
And if the others had been born from the dark mist that enshrouded us, this one -an Alpha among its kind- was the mist itself. Even thus exposed to me its shape was hazy and unclear. Eight yawning gouges had marked its path to its current perch with nary a sound, and those too seemed to blur and blend back into flat grey concrete prefab.
But now that I had peeked past the veil, its continued presence only made deception more evident.
In a few more seconds, Marge and Xu would fire off another Infernus micro-missile salvo, and our frontline would push into the gap created to cover for them to reload. There we be at our weakest. There would the opportunity this Gemini Alpha watched for with gleaming eyes emerge.
Not on Ethel Deschantes's watch.
"Contact. Up top-"
'Danger!'
Every nerve in my body screamed that single word, and heeding them I leaped away - just as the ground where I had just stood erupted in a torrent of splintered metal and tortured rock.
"-on me!"
Ezx was the first to turn and face the Alpha. Swivelling, he fired his Shard Cannon once, twice, thrice. I too weighed in with the rat-a-tat death rattle of my Hybrid Rifle. But as many times as we fired, were we also denied. The Abyssal champion seemed to melt into mist at the precise moment of impact, juking first left, then right, evading depleted uranium and superheated alloy shards alike with almost contemptuous ease. Our rearguard fared worse, their sidearm rounds barely sinking an inch past its ashen skin before being halted. Hardly enough to faze it.
Indeed, the Alpha seemed to sense that weakness, its eyes gleaming with feral intellect.
"This thing's fast!"
My man Captain Obvious on duty. Also, Antarians could express shock. That was a first - but not the good kind.
"Deal with it." Orfan yelled back. "We're busy here!"
Indeed they were, a mere three men tangling with all the remaining Gemini.
But that left only the Antarian and I between the giant Alpha and our rearguard - to whom its eyes now darted. It leaped, the ground cratering under its weight, claws out.
But I was already firing my jump jets, sliding to interception. I met it almost halfway, my hand coming up-
I desired to defend
-only to have three digits pass halfway through the still nascent barrier before finally being stopped.
Well. Never doing that again. But in good news, the wall had now closed around creature's left arm, trapping it.
"Totally planned that."
And that definitely had not come out more as a sigh of relief.
"Sure," Marge scoffed. "So, Danger Close?"
The creature had not heard us, but it may as well have. With a roar, it had begun raining blows upon my shield.
"Yes-" I grunted. Damn, this was hard without Suzy around. Two blows, and I could already feel the cracks forming. "-please."
"Xu! Danger close!"
"Say again," the young man repeated as he and Marge stepped past me, "Danger Close!"
I dropped prone. The rest of our little squad followed suit, scattering to the winds as best they could.
And then my shield was set aflame. A few seconds stretched out into eternity as the barrier stretched and warped, struggling to keep cohesion. My hands -I had reached out another, who knew how or why- trembled. The arms that held them up grew heavy. The drums in my head swelled to pounding crescendo, not helped by the overload causing my HUD to temporarily go berserk.
No matter. I would see this through. Outlast this creature. Now if only these goddamn sensors would come back online
[PROXIMITY AL
=======
He skids across the sweat-slick mat with a sickening crunch, the web weave fabric searing his red-raw skin. The padding helps him roll with the blow.
But 'help' eventually stops helping. 'Hard' becomes impossible. Such is the inevitable truth. More so than the strikes that rain down, that is what those tombstone grey eyes tell him.
He tries anyway. Blocks high, then low.
Then he misses. Staggers back. His foot touches exposed tatami. Damn. That was one step too many
"Eyes up!"
A hammer encased in flesh and bone slams into his side. Bursting stars darken his world for an instant. Then the cold gnaw of the ground brings him to, biting. Stinging.
======
hurting
[Status: Conscious.]
It hurt.
[Suit Breaches Extensive. Maintaining Life Support at Level 2.]
Everything hurt.
[Applying nanofoam cast to left arm, left intercostal segments.]
I cracked an eye open, looking up. Could've gone with down. But that seemed -felt- like a bad idea.
Smoke and fire was everywhere, blurring my vision. At least it was working. On the other hand -ahaha-ha!- I couldn't feel my left side. But it didn't feel that much lighter. Or did it? Hard to tell.
The old man was yelling something over the comms. Couldn't quite hear him. Too many ringing noises. What was going-
Ugh. Dammit. Don't shake me. Everything aches, for goodness-
"Ethel!"
I snapped my eyes open, revealing a familiar face.
"Huh. It's just you, Corporal Ginger Ale. And, uh-"
"You can call me Medic Guy in your future memoirs, sir," olive-skinned Carlos Conrad quipped, a twinkle in his grey-blue eyes, "but I'd prefer Carl. Also, you're stable."
"Good to know."
"Good to know my fucking ass." Marge's helmet was already depolarized, the disbelieving shake of her head doubling down on the astonishment in her voice. "If you got punched any harder you'd have put a hole through that wall."
"Always had a hard head."
"Awful joke." Ah, another plebeian shaking their head at humor beyond their ken. How tragic. "Listen, the suit says you won't die, but hard head or not, you're pretty fucked up." Marge stood up. "You just stay there for a bit."
"Uh huh."
Don't worry. I was finding the wall a rather relaxing thing to lean against right now.
"And, uh, try not to look at that arm," Carlos added, repolarizing his own visor. "We got this."
Got what now?
Right. The Alpha.
I peered past Marge. It looked kinda funny, the Abyssal did. But I suppose anything would, with an entire left flank hanging off party ribbons-style like that. Probably got ripped up when the Infernus salvo hit. Nasty stuff. And it was still getting shot at too- shit, those muzzle flashes were hard to look at.
Was that all it would take, though? And what was the Alpha's win condition? What had it really been here for?
What a thought to be thinking now. Totally beside the point. I mean, the point was...see, it was getting kinda hard to see altogether
=======
"Disappointing."
The eyes lose their flame. But dismay smoulders on. Disappointment. Yes, it's always been disappointment hasn't it. What a feeling. Makes it that much easier to keep one's meal in, he thinks.
"You looked away."
Yes sir, he grunts.
"You do not look away."
Yes sir.
"Do you understand why?"
Yes, he knows. Looking away changes nothing. Does nothing. Time flows on. The world still turns. People who will live, will live. And those who will die, will die.
"Good. Now get up, boy. Or are you dead?"
No.
"Then eyes up. Meet the enemy."
'Meet me', the eyes seem to say. It is not a thought he would have had then. But in this fevered moment sundered from time, the light in them tells a different tale.
He stumbles to his feet.
"Yes, that's right. Meet the enemy. Face to face, eye to eye, fist to
====
oh, shut up already, old man.
His voice comes out sharp. Angry.
The dream fades. No. It was not a dream. He will not diminish that moment, that memory. But the fact remains - he is no longer the boy from that memory.
No more than the being before him is Ioannis Deschantes.
The silver eyes smile, and without warning the mask of his father crumbles away like shadows at sunrise to reveal...nothing. With its disguise discarded, the being cannot even be called a shade or a ghost. It is an echo overstayed. A manuscript weathered. Nameless. Featureless. Ageless.
'Who are you?' He should ask. Would have asked. But no sooner do the words flash across his mind that the answer emerges. It is in the pulse of obsidian stone, cold but alive, all around them. It is the wind, a song of distant worlds.
It is the fragments that slough off its form like so many scales as the entity closes the distance between them. They fall away, dissipating into motes of light that coalesce into-
-OrbCav gunships take to the skies as the Abyssals swarm ashore from all directions. They launch devastating run after attack run, ruining the ranks of the bestial foe; but there are so, so many of them-
-Suzukaze fights like a lion, her dazzling shields aflare in the permanent twilight of Sancaid Prime's sky as she wards the worst of the fighting off the Granbell, Bruges and Katowice. They in turn form an impeccable firing line, cutting down swathes of Abyssal drones as they hurl themselves bodily-
-Agano and her team look up with wide eyes as two more Abyssal battlecruisers streak down into the atmosphere like falling stars. Their avian forms plummet, wrapped in funeral flame, their dirge sung by a flight of steel valkyries sent forth from a further above-
-his team struggles for their lives. For all its injuries the Alpha is still too swift, too strong. It ducks in and out of the shadows, evading their fire. With a single swing it splits Marge's rifle in half. With another it rips Illya's Infernus pods free, mocking Exz and Orfan's attempts to impede-
The visions fade without warning.
What-
A lesson. The first, and the last.
There is a note of approval in that genderless voice. He has passed, once again. But the voice they had heard when entering the sanctum is a mere whisper now. And if the echo before him had been falling apart before, it is almost gone now. Only its blank face is still whole, and even that is losing coherence, while the light grows ever brighter, swallowing them both.
He searches what remains of that visage. He's been shown this much. What now? There must be more-
You will know. It will come to you.
Huh. How very vague.
Language can be a narrow tool. But the mind is capable of more.
Fair enough. And yet it seems almost impolite to leave without a name. No one who teaches him, regardless of how short their time was, should ever go without one.
...A strange sentiment, the voice chides. We will meet again, you know.
'Strange' is right, and serves it right, he supposes. It's been an odd day all around, and he'll be damned if he doesn't share the love with anyone. The light grows blinding again. He can no longer see . But he imagines -just a little- that it might be smiling.
Very well then.
If you must know, I am-
====
My eyes snapped open.
Dammit, they always had to cut out at the good part, didn't they?
Ah well. On to the less pleasant bits.
I sat up. Yeah, still hurting all over. And it was a fine testament to OrbCav's well-earned place in our Navy's elite that we had not yet become beast-feed. But the ongoing tussle with the Alpha was only a small part of a battle in the balance. The less we delayed, the better.
Still, 'you will know', huh?
What an utterly infuriating thing to say.
I stood up, against the protests of indolent bones rudely awakening from their leisure.
So, how does it all begin?
Why, with a little trick. A mnemonic device. Nothing all that-
My good right hand burst into violet flame.
-special.
That was the easy part. A mere few moments in, my temples were already starting to throb, my eyes fighting to not become beguiled by the dancing tongues of fire before them.
As expected, this was going to be...tricky without Suzy around. But ah, what of it?
They call it 'the unicorn's horn'.
And strange, that I should have found another use for that tool so soon. Could one call it fate that I happened to walk in on someone projecting their mind so strongly it manifested as corporeal heat? Perhaps not.
But that didn't matter now. What was left was to sharpen those thoughts, condense their meaning, file them down to a razor point.
What thoughts would these be?
It hardly matters...but let's build on a rock solid foundation of 'fuck you' and go from there.
That I did, and poured the rest of my thoughts on. Twisted them together like cords, for in unity of vision there was strength. Forged them in fire, hammered them till they are as one. Then again.
And again, and again...
..And do try to ignore the mind-numbing pain. A minor inconvenience, not to worry.
After all, it was a good indicator of when precisely I would be done-
-ah. There we go. Better than I thought: I'd half-expected to have nigh all of my considerable brains drawn and quartered before we got halfway through.
I inspected my good hand. Held in it was a mere spark no longer, but a spear of fire incorporeal. Weightless, but thrumming with power. Without handle or shaft, but ready to be thrown.
Perfect. All that remained now was to find the moment to do so.
The moment when, hemmed in by fire focused upon into its tattered left side, the Alpha might slip up. Place itself in a position where it believed it might still maneuver, trusting as it had till now in its preternatural agility, but for a singular strike-
-Now.
I saw it. A now that was not yet present. The Alpha perfectly sidestepping another grenade. Leaping out on the wings of its fiery wake. Jinking under a storm of bullets as it made for our backline, and into that perfect void, the immaculate path into which I would let fly my spear
The lance struck the Abyssal squarely between its shoulders, burying itself into the creature's dark heart. Amazingly, the creature skidded back, but did not fall. Naked desperation flared in its eyes as it grasped futilely at the mortal weapon that never could be, yet was - and was killing it.
Then the Alpha collapsed, beginning to dissipate into mist before it could even hit the floor.
The remaining Gemini, bereft of their leader, began to retreat, their growls growing distant as they fell back into the darkness, itself receding with the Alpha's fall.
We watched them go in silence, our weapons trained. For an interminable moment, our ears drank in the sounds of flames crackling upon flesh. The rasps of dust to dust returning. The distant thunder of battle rumbling overhead.
Then Exz grunted, lowering his Shard Cannon.
"We had that."
Such striking bravado.
"Sure you did."
And in another world, I'd have choice words for you. But I'm a big guy. And a tired one. Mostly big, mind-
"...J." The comms crackled to life, the familiar voice of Elyas Djendro coming over the airwaves. "Say again. Bullhead, this is DJ! Do you copy?"
"DJ, Bullhead." My ears be forsworn; Orfan almost sounded tired. "You don't have to shout, we're here."
"Thank God! Listen, don't go back up the way you went down. Not right now. The main shaft at the summit is contested; you'll be cut to pieces in the crossfire." A sharp intake of breath, then a pained grunt. "Abyssals damn near overran the whole north face. But we're holding the south side, and word is we're winning the battle up top. So the call is to hold position for now."
"How long?"
"Ten mikes. Maybe more. There's just too many of them for us to do more than esti-look out, you idiots-"
The line cut as the longsuffering earth again shuddered under a series of merciless blows. And just like that, the tension that had bled from the room returned full force - only for Elyas' sharp cough to put the brakes on that train.
"Dammit. Few shots got too-" another wet hacking sound. "-close. We'll live. Problem is how you're going to get out."
Our minimaps, connected to the larger battle-net once again, updated as Elyas spoke.
"We only had a fairly tenuous grip on this base before, but after the power outage earlier we've lost all power. It's sprung a few extra leaks, too: as of last report, there was heavy flooding on the upper floors. In fact we were worried that you guys might have already drowned. Guess the Engineers managed to get some of the bulkheads shut before..."
I recalled the Alpha, silhouette huge against the flames, rictus horrid as it fought against the fatal wound I had dealt it, and shuddered.
"...yeah. So we're going to have to ask you all to stay put. Back up to a more defensible position. We'll come for you."
Or they could take the artifact off our cold, dead hands. I mean, we'd come for the people of Sancaid Prime. But we hadn't been able to make them any less deceased.
"Or we can make our own way out."
I noticed that those words had left my mouth only when the stares began to burn.
"You know of one?"
Marge spoke the doubts that were surely on everyone's minds.
"Maybe."
"How?"
'How?' Really? We ram through weirdspace to reach a planet covered in a crimson death storm, successfully land via the liberal application of literal mind powers, fight an alien that spawned out of black smoke - and what beggars belief is that Literal Mind Powers Guy could have somehow been told how else to use said powers by-
-wait. Wait.
Told by who again?
Ugh. Nevermind.
"I...figured something out," I managed. "Furthest Reach is the key. But I'll need to be there to make sure."
Now, having what must be a shattered arm under an anaesthetic foam cast did not usually impair self-comprehension. I did not require seven plus one visor plates radiating skepticism to know that such claims required proof.
But as of now, I had none.
Nor would there would be any help from Orfan this time. The Chief was all nonchalant folded arms, gun re-slung over slouching shoulders, and one step backward taken even as I turned to him - all hallmarks of a man with the means but not the will to help. And if I read the expectant tilt of head and tapping foot right, he had never been looking to do so.
No, he was waiting for me to justify myself. Prove myself.
Goddamn old men and their stupid life lessons straight out of nowhere, I thought with a deep sigh. Ugh. Awful idea. I could feel my ribs rattle with that one.
"Look. I can't explain how I know. Or even what I know. But Furthest Reach is both defensible and hardy. If we go back there, and my-" I groped for the right word. Not too vague, with just the slightest suggestion of greater depth. "If my hunch doesn't work out the way, we can still hold out there for rescue. But if it does…"
'We won't even need a rescue', I left unsaid. Some information worked its magic best that way.
"Or we can take our chances, either with an oceanload of water we don't even know how to break through to, let alone break through - or an island crawling with crazy, if that's more your glass of Guatemalan."
It was far from a perfect argument, or even good. But 'it wouldn't hurt, and the alternatives are unpalatable' served well when true. And serve it did, turning the silence from suspicious to thoughtful in a moment - a moment which was then broken by Orfan's chuckling.
"Still, for first contact with unknown alien bullshit, you seem to have a lot of faith in it."
I shrugged.
"Hasn't this whole mission just been a headlong charge into the unknown?"
A downward tilt of the head was the older man's only response. But for one versed in the hidden language of overcomplicated old-man-looks such as I, it was a victory.
'You're learning, kid.'
"That it has," the Chief allowed. "Mostly."
So saying, he turned to address the rest of the squad.
"Anyone else got a better idea?" Not a peep. "DJ?"
"...I'll relay your new position to HQ," Elyas replied.
"Good. Let's move!"
Well then. I suppose that was my cue to-
"Oh no you don't."
Orfan's armored hand pushed down on my left shoulder. Not aggressively, but forcefully enough that pushing against it sent jolts of dull aching down the wounded flank.
"Marge, Illya, grab him. Can'thave him passing out before he figures our way out of this."
"Aye, Chief."
Before any more could be said, I was hauled up by two pairs of arms - Marge's, and Illya's too, as they laid my good side out over the former's shoulder. Illya stood back for a second, inspecting their handiwork. Then he nodded, and we moved.
Exz led the way, sweeping the way ahead with Conrad. Rodis and Xu took up the artifact. We followed after, with Orfan shooting us a grin -oh, I knew it was one alright, under that visor- before taking up the rear.
And it would have been an uneventful stroll too, if it were not for a jab in my unbruised set of ribs.
"You know, this had better work." Marge murmured. "I was preventing the Mutiny on the Bounty over on the squad frequency back there."
Oh, so that was where the rest of the gang was most this whole time. Good to know not everyone was getting along with the mind freak straight away. We'd collapse the galaxy in on itself sustaining that kind of tolerance.
"Eh, you'll see."
"Such confidence," replied she, in a voice sorely lacking thereof.
"Runs in the blood."
"Mind they don't become delusions of grandeur."
"Harsh."
Marge's 'pffft' was loud enough to distort her mic.
"Harsh. Really? You're draped across my shoulders like an armored carpet, barely able to move under your own power. Did irony stop being your strong suit after you hit your head?"
"Feels the same as ever. And you? How's it going with subtlety?"
"Oh now you've-"
Another 'pffft!' interrupted her. This one was almost dignified in its reservation, but that itself only seemed out of place when compared to its source - Illya Litvyak, all nine feet of Heavy Infantry powered armor and utter silence hitherto.
"The fuck you laughing about, Illya?"
The armored giant said nothing. Pointing at the two of us, he shook his head.
"Petty? Us?"
A nod.
"Aren't you're such a noble soul." Marge half-spat. "Always with the low hanging fruit-"
"We're here." Exz's voice cut in.
And we were, but for the familiar midnight dome taking on a foreign look: where it should have been as dark as in its namesake hour, every inch of Furthest Reach's interior glowed softly, alien runes flaring like tiny stars. Nor was that same oppressive feeling, of being unwelcome in someone else's abode, still present.
Guess someone had prepared the way.
The rest of the squad tried not to gawk as they entered. My challenge was just the opposite. I had to go past merely seeing them. To not so much read as feel them. And to my own surprise, I could.
Hmmm. Yes. You, you and you. And those other few as well…
...oh, you ingenious, lazy alien bastards.
"So," Orfan asked as he stepped in, gun and eyes still trained on the rear, "where to?"
"Same place we picked up the artifact," I replied.
"Right then. Squad, squeeze."
"Huh." Marge noted as we closed ranks around the inner circle of the alien device. "Would've sworn that you pushed something the first time."
"We all start somewhere," I said.
Then I put my right hand to work.
A delta parting circles three, the self from three planes to be free.
A strident crown, a twisting sea, a ring of stars, both gate and key.
Violent lightning danced from my fingers, streaking from rune to rune, linking them in thrumming harmony. What was once dour stone floor melted away, revealing the spitting image of deep space churning below us.
A ring of gold surrounded us, surrounding us in still more symbols of strange import. The ones I stood out, glowing stronger than the rest. And there was something else. No eyes I had could perceive it, but it was-
One step alone binds this ship to your mind...merely seek what you wish to find.
"Vok hai," Exz breathed.
You and me both, man. Say what you want about these aliens, but they definitely had style.
"You think so?" I asked. "Then for my next trick, I'll make us disappear."
"And where to, Captain?"
Orfan's tone carried just a trace of amusement.
Ha. That was no question at all. My connection with Graf was warm acquaintance at best, and of the other shipgirls I could hardly claim to have even met them, let alone pinpoint their presences within space's nebulous labyrinth. And there was that sense that I would be...intruding, somehow.
No, the Suzukaze was the only place to go. Her I could see most clearly: fighting on, a giant of steel and fire, stalwart and valiant as she oh sweet holy shit she was turning to look my way, and I'd be damned if she didn't look as cross as two sticks.
Ethel. Between that one word and her flinty blue eyes lay a fleet's weight in displeasure - but Suzy broke it off into a sigh almost immediately. Nevermind. Killing you can wait - you've done a good enough number on yourself as-is. What is it?
We're wrapping this show up, I replied.
How- and then her eyes went wide, -are you serious?!
Aw, don't look at me like that, Suzy. I got this.
You nearly got yourself killed! And you're trying it aga-
Yes, I did. And yes, I am.
My partner gave me another look, suddenly seeming very, very old. Then a wry grin split the shipgirl's lightly bruised cheeks, and she was Suzy again.
Right. All aboard, then?
"...one moment." I replied, switching frequencies. "DJ, this is Liangfeng-Actual."
"Talk to me, Liangfeng-Actual."
"Get ready to pack it up. We're out of here."
"So it worked?"
I looked once again at the symbols before me, their purpose all so clear, yet even now inscrutable. Would it?
...Bah. What kind of question is that?
I thrust my good hand through the gap between them, reaching out amid the endless empty cold nothingness for another hand. For Suzy's hand.
Then hers seized mine, and it was over.
We landed as well as eight people in quarter-ton powered Aramus armor could when suddenly suspended in midair could. That is to say, 'surprisingly well', with all of us keeping my feet. I even landed in my chair. Hooray for literal mind powers, I supposed.
My comms panel came alive with a flick of my wrists. Huh. Already hooked up as I needed it. Second hooray for helpful partners.
"How does this sound to you, DJ?"
Elyas Djendro, once again rendered in full visual detail rather than the short shrift he'd received on my armor's HUD, raised both hands in surrender.
"...Say no more, Liangfeng. We'll see you topside."
"You too. Godspeed."
The feed cut, and in its absence I became painfully aware of the concern -and curiosity- in Edith's and Leckie's gazes.
Well this was going to be one hell of a debrief. And wasn't it always great when your arm beat your head to the proverbial ache at the thought of that?
"Incoming from our squad and Graf Zeppelin." And Suzy to the rescue again - if temporarily. "Putting them on."
I skimmed the onscreen data as the images resolved, feeling the rush of the cocktail my suit imbibed to keep me up and the pain down.
Evac was underway. Friendly losses minimal. Enemy casualties, staggering. A decisive victory by all counts, but by no means absolute. And we were no occupying force.
This would have to do. There would be other shots to take. Other opportunities for whatever we'd got our hands on today to prove its worth.
Levos En Sha looked almost a bit disappointed at that inevitability. Bat-Ami remained impassive, arms akimbo. Morales shaking his pipe out straight faced was the dourest I'd ever seen him. Liz's various appendages were quivering with expectation.
But it was Graf's whose eyes were most telling.
There will be questions, they warned.
Yes. Yes there would.
"Well then," Liz half-drawled. "Let's hear it."
But we'd cross that bridge when we got there - and then we'd throw it into the nearest sun.
"Artifact secured, ladies and gentlemen." I gestured towards said object. "Now let's get off this rock, shall we?"
=== To be continued in Chapter 8: The Day After ===
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Book 1 Chapter 8: The Day After
- Location
- Little Red Dot
Wow, a chapter in a fortnight, on time and on schedule! What is happening? School's out - for the foreseeable future, and joblessness is in - hopefully not for the foreseeable future. But either way, here comes the (quire literal) 'Day After' chapter. I've never actually gotten to this narrative 'point' or needed its particulate 'tone' before in writing, so uh...be gentle if I make any missteps.
Otherwise, enjoy the chapter, and comments welcome!
=====
A Sea of Stars
Book 1: The Stars, Awake
Chapter 8: The Day After
'...Finally, I believe that the encounter with Abyssal Unit 'G-ALPHA' represents a striking advancement in observations of Abyssal proto-civilization.
Speculation and extrapolation as to an Abyssal hierarchy (Sark, 2536:17-22) (Seldon, 2537:25) (Goulding, 2541:245-247) beyond such necessitated by combat (see The Tethra Papers, Annex B:xviii) has been rife since the middle of the first phase of this conflict. Sark in particular predicted that as with most societies as advanced as the Abyssals seem to be, a creature high enough up the rung should be expected to make much more advanced tactical, perhaps even strategic and political decisions (2536:21).
The assault 'G-ALPHA' led on Sancaid's Reach does not conclusively prove such ideas. But the Alpha's point of entry choice, timing, use of other 'GEMINI' units as -in chronological order- a vanguard, smokescreen, and flanking force seem to be too much circumstantial evidence to simply ignore.
Regardless of whether these development have gone undiscovered for a time or are nascent, or something in between, such knowledge can greatly alter our understanding of the foe, even the course of the war - and thus strongly recommend that this matter be subjected to further investigation..."
====
Full stop. Tap 'Save'. Close.
"And that's a wrap, Suzy," I grunted.
Placing my OmniPad to the side of my hospital bed, I laced my fingers together, turning and stretching my palms to the ceiling.
Then I looked up - straight into a pair of soulless eyes that stared out from the foot of the bed, each deep blue iris a gravity well bent on choking the very zest for life from the air. Not that there was much to be had amid the well researched cheeriness of Gradivus Base's Medical Ward C, but well, whatever.
"Uh, Suzy?"
"Slooooooow," the shipgirl groaned.
"Beg your pardon?"
"You're so slow." Huffing, Suzy sat up, leaning a palm on one pouting cheek. "Could've sworn you took a million years to write those reports."
"Hey. I started work on them last night."
"Whatever. You had, y'know, options?" She listed them off with the fingers of her free hand. "Voice dictation? AutoScript? You could have even hooked up to my computers, we could have thought the reports into existence in half an hour - but nooooo, you had to write. With a stylus!"
"Now that's just rude." I tutted. "Penmanship, young lady, is a writer's soul expressed. A disciplined hand is a disciplined heart, and from such a spirit flows words even when none should come forth."
"Woah, listen to Mister Last Ice Age over here preach!"
And good afternoon to you too, Miss Zingiber Officinale, I thought as Marge and -surprise, surprise!- Illya Litvyak rounded the corner.
Illya opted to lean against the wall, right where General Katherine Wolfe was about to plant the early Terran Alliance flag upon Balor Crater, 2056.
His height meant their hairlines matched, gray on mural gray, though the coif was decidedly more premature on our resident Russian Manhunter. His size and stone-hewn jaw conspired against it, but I'd be damned if he was any older than me, while the matriarch of House Wolfe had already been pushing sixty by then.
The ginger plonked herself into one of two chairs by the bed's left side.
"Seriously though," Marge noted. "Your bedside manner could really use work, Suze."
"Nyeh. Ethel's fine."
"Ethel's under observation. Nanoculture post-op complications are rare, but they happen."
"Ha. He's too dumb to die."
"Wouldn't be so sure." I must have failed to hide my smirk, for Marge then turned on me with smiling fury. "And you! That'll teach you to make like a goddamn space superstar, only to have your life-signs stop for five whole seconds right after your moment of triumph, eh?"
"Your concern is appreciated, citizen."
"Appreciated?" Marge bobbed back and forth in her seat- "Man, you should be grateful-"
-only to have a large hand descend on her head. Ruffle, ruffle did that appendage go through her dirty red locks.
"-hey! Fuck you, Illya! Don't do that!"
And through her feathers too, apparently.
The larger man raised both hands, both strangely smooth and uncalloused hands, and stepped back with a peaceable smile directed at the annoyed ginger.
Not much for words, this fellow, yet he had spared me from having to sidestep whatever tongue lashing might have followed myself. Guess I could consider that a favor. Still, the conversation!
"So," I began, "should I be expecting more of you over? Or will I have to write cards?"
Illya's lips quirked, and there was of a more child in the resultant smile than I knew what to do with.
"Funny." And from the look on Marge's face, she didn't know either. "But no. Jo's out at the range with Exz, Rodis, Carl and a bunch of other guys. You know, right? That he's our-"
"Designated Marksman, yeah. I read. Extensively."
"Creepy."
"I know, right?" Suzy chimed in. "Since last night, that's all he's been doing. Browse, read, write reports, read...did I mention he reads?"
Illya raised three fingers.
"Yeah. That's all he ever does," the shipgirl finished.
Yeesh. Rip on a man for having a hobby, why don't you? But no, I could understand. It made for good opening small talk. A little preamble, a short preface, so Chapter One wasn't by its awkward lonesome, unable to begin or become.
Language was narrow like that. As were we. But the page had to turn eventually, and I would be perfectly willing to do the turning.
Or the ward doors could hiss open first to the sound of thundering feet, a half-resigned "Ma'am, please don't run insides the wards. Ma'am-"
-and a blur of billowing blonde, black, and silver screeching to a halt in front of us.
"...and she's safe!" Sailor Blondie announced. "Another run scored for the Indus City Highlanders, putting them up four to one on the Avra Shackletons!"
Man, you could just see the confetti raining down in here. Any moment now the band was going to start up. The Saints Would Come Marching In (Or Never Come if we were going for humor) and Boldly Old Gold's eyes would shift from green to red, then back again as they passed over mine.
Either way, I was quite certain that baseball runs done with one teammate tucked under each arm did not count for three.
"And hello, Suzu-chan!" Shiratsuyu Number Four waved to her sister with both hands - a move that would've deposited Sailor Silver and Black face first on the ground, but for some catlike reflexes that saw both shipgirls land on one knee each instead. "See?" Yuudachi continued, grinning at her two companions. "What did I tell you two?"
Yeah. Definitely needed to give Loony Toon Heaven a ring, see if they weren't missing an angel from Cloud Eleven or something.
The silver-maned shipgirl scowled, dusting herself off.
"That she'd be here. Yes. Great. About time you let go of my collar, you bimbo."
"Oh." Yuudachi's grin was that of the he cat caught with the hand in the cookie jar. "Errr, sorry?"
"Please don't do that again..." The darker-haired shipgirl muttered, though there was a note of resignation there. Her own smile, a bright and easy thing, returned as she turned to face us. "Uh, sorry for the mess. I'm Fubuki, Fubuki-class. Pleased to meet you all!"
Silver Surfette tossed a shoulder.
"Amatsukaze, of the Kagerou-class."
"Pleasure's ours, girl," Marge replied. "Thanks for the cover back there."
"And thanks for coming to visit," I added.
"O-of course. But just so you know, I had plans for today." Amatsukaze flicked one lush ponytail imperiously, folding her arms. "Don't you think even for a moment that I would have come here just to watch this airhead cave your face in for being a total idiot. It was just the right thing to do, after all...
"...what?"
Normally I'd be all in favor of catastrophic social ineptitude being punishable by exile to corrective penal colonies. But I suppose I could let this one slide. I mean, somebody get the reaction cam. Mild horror from Marge. A raised eyebrow from Illya - not much, but it was good as a feast from Seven Days A Smiling Slav.
And from Suzy, shock. Recognition. Then, was that a twinge of guilt?
Yes, yes it was.
...Ah. So that's what all this was about.
Ethel Deschantes, you stupid, stupid, stupid man.
Yuudachi ran a hand through her hair with a sigh.
"Really." Her voice was matter-of-fact, as if Amatsukaze hadn't just mentioned her actual intentions for being here but instead, say, the somewhat milder strangeness of two out of three Earthbound-era Japanese people in the room having very un-Japanese hair. "Isn't the point of these these things, like, supposed to be the surprise?"
"I guess." I shrugged. "For what it's worth, I think I deserve a p-"
Whump!
Huh. Could've sworn I had braced to move from 'cave your face in'. But even so, the palm buried into the pillow was barely an inch from my left cheek.
"Yuu-!"
Yuudachi waved her sister off.
"Relax, he's fine."
"Just declined actually taking that punch is all, no biggie," I added with a wave, before turning back to the elder Shiratsuyu.
Funny. I'd have thought she would be angrier. But the look on her face was mixed, and an odd mix at that. There was clear frustration in her face, true. Yet there was nowhere to rage at one's duty to go except at a scapegoat, and she may as well have been looking past me for one. Combine that with not a light tinge of both resignation and amusement, and her face was a veritable warzone indeed.
Being the older sibling sure was tough. Though it wasn't as if I could relate.
"All that said," I continued, "I can call you back once they've grown me inch-thick chobham for skin. If you'll have me."
For a moment, Yuudachi just stared at me, eyes wide. Then-
"Pfffft!"
-amusement won the war as she burst out laughing.
"Well, at least you're not, like, suicidal. Or stupid." Then she leaned closer, her voice suddenly a whisper. "We both know that. But you're not here to reassure me, are you?"
"Yeah, I get it. I get it."
With that, I peered past the elder Shiratsuyu. Everyone still very confused over there? A little consternation at play, perhaps? Good.
"Suzy?" Hmm. Maybe a bit too good in her case. Girl looked like she was going to explode any moment now. "Could you come over here?"
"Uhhhh. I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to-"
"Never mind that." First the stammering, then apologies? The horror! But we soldier on. "Just come over."
Mmm, no, that wouldn't do. Too insistent.
"Please?"
"W-well." Suzy still looked conflicted, but shuffled over all the same. "But you don't have to, I mean, I shouldn't have-"
And that was when I reeled her into a hug from an arm's length and a half out.
"Eh?" Incoming protests detected. Recommended course of action: ignore. Execute Operation Headpat. "E-E-Ethel?"
Proceed till target pacification is confirmed.
"Listen." My rendition of 'gentle but firm' was subpar at best, in both word and deed. But hell if I wasn't going to give it my best shot. "If anyone has to say any 'sorries' or 'shouldn't haves' here, it's me." And it seemed to be working for now at least - insofar as there was an observable difference between 'definitely' and 'maybe probably might just hyperventilate'. "I can't promise we won't have to do something like that again. But when we do..."
Liz's warning came to mind. Not so much 'why us' as 'why not us' and all.
"What?"
"I'll do what I can to put your feelings first."
Hmmm, that was kinda lame. But at least it sounded just like it felt. Just one over-his-head, under-qualified newbie trying his damnedest to not talk way over his pay grade- woah, that got depressing. What's that? Dubious research shows that increased pats per minute has a net positive effect on beta endorphin release? Wonderful.
Suzy seemed to think so too.
"...don't you forget that," she mumbled.
It was at this moment that I looked up to see Illya giving me a thumbs-up.
Yes, Senior Headpat Specialist. It is an honor to accept your seal of approval, for headpats are indeed a mysterious but beautiful thing. Perhaps, someday, they might even save the-
"Grk!"
Something -someone- was wrapping their arms around my ribs. And they were squeezing. Hard. Too late did I realize the mistake, looking down into the very face of pint-sized fury.
"S-Suzy-"
"And don't look away so quickly," she warned, "or I'll make extra sure you don't forget."
Hell if she. Wasn't. Already doing it!
"Message...received," I wheezed. "Now could you, ah, treat the fragile goods here with more-ach!"
"Make that, like, extra, extra sure," Yuudachi added sweetly from behind me.
Not. The neck. Too. Dammit. How's a man. Supposed to. Breathe like. That?!
"Uh, hey?" I waved out from the makeshift dogpile at the other people in the room. "Margie! Ilya! Bucky? Anybody?"
"Hell no," Marge replied.
"I'll pass," Fubuki demurred with a smile.
Amatsukaze rolled her eyes.
"Idiot."
Illya just shrugged.
How that betrayal stung. And I would have commented on it too, if the ward doors hadn't once again opened.
The person the sliding panels admitted was decidedly unremarkable, which given the events of the day was itself remarkable.
His black hair was mussed and uncombed, his glance just a bit askew, made more so by the first hints of a tired stoop. And all was that packaged into a humanoid box a little under six feet off the floor. All in all, stunningly normal.
And for a few moments, the entire room waited for Mister Relativus Ordinarius to say something. Indeed time crawled as the young man turned to look at Fubuki, a cocktail of emotions on his face. She returned in kind, smile receding away from her faded golden eyes.
Then, turning away, he scratched the back of his neck.
"Um, beautiful weather we're having, eh?"
...Now hiring: Secretary/Therapist.
Experience: preferred, especially in treating severe cases of sudden, crippling existential despair.
Needed: right about the hell now.
=====
"...and so they told me 'hey JD, there'll be some tests, and you'll have to stay at this base for a bit, and no you can't leave, but the food and accommodations are gonna be good, and by the way you're doing it for science and all so it's cool'-"
"Uh huh."
"-and I said 'yeah that seems like a swell idea'. I mean, there hadn't been much I was doing in Ops HQ down there at Ishtar Base otherwise. Nice place, I gotta tell you. But not one where things happen. So I thought, yeah, why not, if they'd have me?"
"Positive reinforcement is good, yes."
"I know! To be honest though, I never expected to pass with such flying colors."
"How so?"
"I mean, have you seen Fubes? She's got the sweetest smile, the prettiest eyes, the fluffiest hair, the most perfect legs, and perkiest-"
"-aaaand I'll have to stop you right there."
"Huh? Why?"
Why, indeed?
Because this conversation was going places not suited for- no, sorry, this conversation is not for public consumption. Move along, sharp-eared Señora with a full Lieutenant's bars. These are not the weirdos you're looking for.
Yes. Thank you. As I was saying, why, indeed?
Because this conversation was not going places suited for polite company. Because I sensed that I was about to be made deeply uncomfortable. And because at that moment, at two twenty four in the afternoon shipboard time, I sensed that I now had a good handle on the person currently walking next to me.
Ladies and gentlemen. Well, gentlemen, and then ladies at their own risk, I give you Jon Marcus Davies - call him whichever of those first names you want. But more on that after the conversation break.
"See, I strongly recall her leaving me to the wolves earlier," I said as one aggrieved.
Jon tried to shoot me a skeptical look. Emphasis on tried, because you could hardly hold another's gaze when yours flitted and twitched like an epileptic fairy godparent attempting the good old razzle dazzle.
And especially not when you tended to do...questionable things in the process.
"That all you got?" Left. Then right. There we go. "Come on, Yuu wasn't even angry."
"'Wasn't even angry' almost undid two days of cutting edge medical treatment."
"Hey, by all accounts, you deserved it."
Right again.
I suppose the only real pity was how long it took me to notice; oh, how Daddy Dearest would be so terrifically disappointed. That last thought brought an upward twist to my lips as we walked through the officer quarters, one that made my companion wince.
As should be the case.
"Like you deserved the cold reception you got from your fair lady?"
"...I don't know what you're talking about."
And once again left, and out into a corner...back again.
"Really?"
"Really."
So he got less good at hiding the tic when nervous.
Interesting, but filed away for later. Because come on, two unforced strikes? At this point it would be almost rude not to capitalize.
"Yeoman Reese Evans, between Canteen Three and the Specialist Mess."
He froze.
"Lieutenant Tav Ackerman, on the intra-deck tram we took here. Then a Chief Petty Officer Lorn, leaning over the Information counter. A bit on the mature side for that last one, but I suppose some people are into that." I let that sink in for a moment. "Need any more names?"
"...I thought we were supposed to be friends," he groaned.
"In a day? And in what?" No reply. Well, that was easier than I thought. "See, I reckon it's all free game. Some people can get lost in Sclera Crescent, some like taking endless trips down Slimfinger Lane. So you can keep Rear End Road, I could care less. But have some class, or we've got a non-starter on our hands."
Another left turn took us into Row 3 of the officer quarters.
"What about roommates, then?"
"Contingent on whether you can lead us to our room or not within the next eternity."
"Come on. I'm sure it was, uh, just around-" Jon looked this way and that, before settling on- "-here."
B3-012. A room much like any other - if not for the barely audible string strains of classical music filtering through the door.
"Didn't think you were the sort to leave a little night music on."
"And you've got a lot more to learn about me."
"Fair point."
A swipe of his fingers brought the biometric scanner by the door post to life, the LED-lined pad pulsing a little brighter as it took first his fingerprint, then a quick retina scan.
[Welcome, Lieutenant Jon Davies,] the device intoned, and the door opened.
"But for now, welcome to the pad, lad," Jon declared with a dramatic bow and sweep of his left hand. "Need introductions?"
I looked inside. A straight narrow corridor sparsely populated with footwear stood between the shower and our compact kitchenette. Further in lay two beds, with a cupboard beside and a pair of desks opposite each.
Leisure and comfort on one hand; survival and work on the other, all wrapped up in one compact cool-blue walled package. You could really see how Daewoo-Dormy got their contracts.
And boy was the nostalgia real.
"Surprisingly, no."
"Been in one of these?"
"College," I said, dumping my things down by the bedside.
"How did that go?"
"Wonderful." Kneeling beside it, I began to unpack. Could've probably had everything delivered and placed via RoomBot, but whatever. I wasn't so lazy I couldn't hang my own shirts up. "Didn't have to move for an entire year, for starters."
"Huh," came the reply.
How surprisingly considerate. Now then. Spare uniform sets and dress wear into the cupboard. OmniPad to the table, along with some writing materials. And if the shower was anything like the old one, there wouldn't be much space for my full set. So, try to compromise, or just leave the lot on the bedside table? Hmmm.
"Also, serious question."
"Mmhmm?"
"Are you and Suzu-"
"Aaaand cut. Take a breather, then we go for Take Two."
"Really? Could've sworn-"
"Nope. Halt. Cease and Desist."
If I was a worse man, I might have been tempted to think Jon amused by my annoyance. But was unlikely that all human beings enjoyed schadenfreude, or experienced smiles born thereby over genuine interest half as much as I, so we left it at that.
"And now that I have your attention, again, no. Despite what it looks like, we do not have that kind of relationship." I looked at him askance. "Nor would we. Don't you think she looks a little young for this? Don't you think Fubuki does?"
The silence was as eloquent as it was deafening. Exhausting, too. Ten seconds ago I could've warped straight into Sancaid orbit again, no problem. But now I wanted nothing more than to flop flat onto my bed, bury my face in my pillow, and block out the world.
And I did; albeit minus the 'block out the world' part. That bit never worked.
"Just...a word of advice, Pygmalion," I muttered from behind said pillow. Hmmm. Fresh linen, scent of summer, and memory foam. Pretty good. "Questions of 'real age' regardless, your Galatea is no sculpture." I shot Jon a pointed look. "You win no lady's favors from her by ogling rival rears."
"You sound experienced," he mused.
"More as the roadie than the rockstar," I admitted. "But what's the saying? 'The bystander sees clearly'?"
"...Fair 'nuff."
We stayed like that for a bit: me lazing about on my bed, him sitting at the edge of his own, fiddling with his own OmniPad the old-fashioned way. But like all games, the game of Disquiet Chicken must eventually have a winner. And I'd have pegged you to win, Mister Davies, if you didn't keep giving me the side-eye every half a minute or so.
"Can I ask a question?"
He said at last.
"Sure."
"Are you always this much of a shithead, or are you just on the rebound today?"
"Fifty-fifty. Maybe sixty-forty. Can't be sure."
"...Huh. Honesty."
'Not the answer I was expecting', hmmm? Why thank you, Jon Davies' arched brow and wry smile, for voicing his thoughts so helpfully.
"I find it easier to own who I am," I offered with a shrug.
"So they know what they're getting into?"
"Try before you buy, yes, after a sort. I'm sorry you didn't get the choice, J-"
"JD. My friends call me JD."
"You mean Fubuki calls you JD."
JD huffed - man, this guy was too easy.
"Trends have to start somewhere. And Fubes is a great place to start."
But he also did have a point, however bizzare it might be.
"Yeah, alright. Whatever." I extended a hand to him. Without fully turning my head, of course. The memory foam and I were just getting comfortable with each other, after all. "So. Friends?"
"Yeah, friends...you shitheel."
Guilty as charged, I thought. Still, that was one piece of compulsory interpersonal business concluded, and with a well-deserved respite of silence to go with it. All things considered, things were going pretty-
"Sure you don't need the rundown of the room?"
-and of course I spoke too soon.
"Not much to see. We've marked off sleeping territory, you've your desk, and you probably have dibs on the shower if we get off duty together. And it's probably not much to look at, unless you've prettied it up any?" No reply forthcoming. "I thought so. So all that's really left-"
[Incoming Call,] my OmniPad sang.
"-is to check my mail, as it happens."
"The Fire Kickers, Neo-Classique Versus The Blues. Good choice."
"Of course."
And I would have waited for the sample of Clair De Lune's leitmotif at 0:26, but for the Caller ID - 'Shitty Old Man Mk.II'. Guess Debussy would have to wait his turn.
Snagging the OmniPad, I rolled out of bed and walked over to my workstation. I gave the holodeck a wave. It hummed, motion trackers coming off standby. Making a pinching motion over my Pad, I 'threw' the screen at the wall, superimposing a cheery cherry pink 'Incoming Call - Accept [Y/N]' onto the wall.
"Accept Call."
If Orfan Uruz was annoyed at having been made to wait, he didn't look it.
"I see you're all settled in, kid."
"For better or worse."
"A man's always better settled in than not." The Chief grinned. "Wish the same could be said for settling down."
Well, that came out of nowhere. So, you must be how ancient to ride again? Or was that statement not meant for me? I stole a glance at JD. Nope, the man was every bit as confused as I was. Just old people things then.
"I'm...not going to ask where that one comes from," I said. "In any case, given that the odds of you calling me purely for leisure are infinitesimal at best, should we just skip the backstory drama?"
"Oh? And I was going to regale you with tales of my ancient exploits, too."
"Relax, I'm already impressed." Pulling the chair below the desk out, I plonked myself down on it, a wicked smile stealing its way onto my face. "But I'd prefer to hear about your present adventures on Iber. Seems like it'd be right up my alley."
Orfan gave a genial smile, but eyes such as his could roll a thousand rounds per minute, and you'd think they hadn't moved at all.
"Oh, yes. Trading business cards, kissing babies, the works. And don't forget petting some frantic politicians on the head and telling them that yes, this is all part of some larger effort to push the Abyssal threat off their borders." That was a few lifetimes worth of experience for you. Orfan actually managed to make that not sound creepy - an achievement worth the chills in and off itself. "And that yes, protected as they are by Fleet Group Olomouc, they have nothing to fear of reprisals for our action, much less in Indus' very seat of power. Lovely stuff."
"Hey now. The morale battle is one worth winning."
"And if someone hadn't been half-dead and in need of sewing together lest his left side fall apart, he'd be here to enjoy fighting it. I'm sure Marshal Kowalcski would have liked to meet the bold charger who broke the Abyssal ranks at the eleventh hour, behind whose back our forces were all but inexorable."
"Heh. Don't you pin that one on me," I retorted. "Marge tells me your own Commander Bolivar wanted you to go."
"As if anyone other than Reiner could stop the Doc from wilting out there," the Chief grumbled.
"Ah. Yes. That-"
"Ooorrrfiieeeesss."
At that moment I witnessed history; actual worry flickering across the older man's face as he threw a glance over his shoulder-
"...Well, shit. I'll get back to you in a-"
-before the realization that the voice was not in fact coming from behind him, but from the crawling mass of tentacles fizzling into existence on our holodecks. A mass of tentacles that had apparently not gotten the memo that Mraliz's Vorkros' amiable charm did not start and end with the sound of her voice alone.
"What's this I hear about me wilting again?"
Once again the Chief's experience did itself credit, yielding ground neither to rank nor rank, primal horror.
"Ma'am, it is my solemn duty to inform you that the unlawful takeover of a secure channel is prosecutable under-"
"Ah, come on. Don't be a prude." So Liz complained. But in a motion that for all its smoothness sounded like cement slurry and metal rammed through an industrial shredder, she shifted back into her half-humanoid form all the same. "Just here to check on two of my favorite people!"
Orfan pressed three fingers to his temple.
"I am literally next door."
"And I can't get out of bed because it is comfortable. And because I'm tired. And because life is meaningless without my Warpstone. Please send help. Or Mandy. Both would also be fine. Need them soonish though. Yesterday would have been nice."
So Liz said, in a perfectly moribund tone of voice. Yet the cheeky Dixie swing of her lips, and Orfan's only half-serious sigh in response intimated that all was not as dire as it first seemed.
"You do realize that you'll be living and breathing that-" and here the Chief's face scrunched up, as if deliberating if he should use the official -read: garbage- name, "-thing the moment we get back to Eris Yards, right?"
"You assume there is a problem here."
"Besides the crappy name?" Whew. Welcome to the Nomenclature Hater's Club, old man. "Just thought the off time might be good for you, Ma'am. It's been good for me. Definitely got the undue excitement down a bit."
"But if no one takes up the belief that our 'maybes' can become 'will bes', we've already lost, don't you think?"
The air seemed at that instant all too fragile, all too light to sustain two bitter, knowing smiles, equal but opposite. More worn and weathered, however, was the face that ceded ground first.
"...Aight, girl, aight. Just don't let the fun muddle your head."
Liz stuck out a dark blue tongue, and her share of the holodeck began to lose definition.
"No promises~"
"Ma'am-" Orfan warned, but the third screen had already fizzled out by then. "-and there she goes, like the wind."
"Not good with that type?"
"Don't you laugh, boy. You're gonna have a lot of time to get acquainted with 'that type' whether you like it or not. Trust me, it'll be something, alright." The chuckled that followed was bone-dust dry. "And not to forget, a gentle reminder that it's on their orders that you still haven't received full information clearance for your rank and position."
I shrugged.
"I'd do the same for me. Last thing we want is for the Dreams and Visions Care Package I received to have some unwanted hickeys on the backend."
"Good call. Surprisingly." Or perhaps not so much, given the satisfied look on his face. And what were the alternatives anyway? Yelling impotently into a void made out of ranks I would not have for years to come? "And speaking of Marge. Did she tell you what's happening then?"
"Some ceremony after party thing at ten?" I replied. "Very cryptic stuff."
"As it should be," the Chief agreed. 'She hasn't ever been to one herself, after all."
Huh. That was new. Some form of official initiation, perhaps? Something to symbolize the cutting of teeth against one's first mission? That would certainly suit the OrbCav's eclectic collection of traditions, if I could say so myself. Nonetheless...
"And I am involved, how?"
"A cavalryman respects the steed they rode on. And you did far more than merely carry us in and out of battle. Don't you think that's worth a seat of honor?" The Chief glanced to what would be my right. "That goes for all of you, you know. Your roommate too."
Huh. Figured that he might be able to guess the layout of our room with but a look.
I shot JD a look.
"Erm, I forgot?" He mouthed.
Ah yes. Trust me to have expectations.
"I'll be there," I said, turning back to face Orfan.
"Excellent." A crinkle of amusement stole through the Chief's brows. "And relax a bit about the unofficial information wheel. Somebody, everybody, anybody, nobody. You know?"
"I think you're relaxed enough for the two of us."
"Oh, it doesn't mean I won't put in a word or two with the appropriate people. Just telling you not to sprout white hairs over it."
"Whatever."
"Works for me." Tilting his head, Orfan flicked me a salute. "Later, kid."
With that, his face winked out of sight, leaving us two roommates by our lonesome once again. Which was just as well, I reckoned.
After all, some things were really not meant for polite company.
"So," I began, every word, every step measured clockwork calculus as I retrieved my OmniPad and turned towards JD. "Tea for you?"
And as might have been expected, my roomie was far less immune to veiled intimidation than Orfan had been. Indeed I could feel him shrink further back into his bed despite my voice being -in all humility- the picture of winsome geniality.
And despite my not moving towards him, but away, towards the kitchenette.
"...What?"
He managed at last.
"Do you have any urgent, prior arrangements?"
"No?"
"Good. It's three now. The ceremony is at ten. That makes seven hours for you to remember and cough up any other important things you might have neglected in the meantime, and to tell me all about them with meal time to spare. More than enough, I believe."
So saying, I reached for a cup and a plate.
"So, again: tea for you as we talk, or would you rather go without?"
Otherwise, enjoy the chapter, and comments welcome!
=====
A Sea of Stars
Book 1: The Stars, Awake
Chapter 8: The Day After
'...Finally, I believe that the encounter with Abyssal Unit 'G-ALPHA' represents a striking advancement in observations of Abyssal proto-civilization.
Speculation and extrapolation as to an Abyssal hierarchy (Sark, 2536:17-22) (Seldon, 2537:25) (Goulding, 2541:245-247) beyond such necessitated by combat (see The Tethra Papers, Annex B:xviii) has been rife since the middle of the first phase of this conflict. Sark in particular predicted that as with most societies as advanced as the Abyssals seem to be, a creature high enough up the rung should be expected to make much more advanced tactical, perhaps even strategic and political decisions (2536:21).
The assault 'G-ALPHA' led on Sancaid's Reach does not conclusively prove such ideas. But the Alpha's point of entry choice, timing, use of other 'GEMINI' units as -in chronological order- a vanguard, smokescreen, and flanking force seem to be too much circumstantial evidence to simply ignore.
Regardless of whether these development have gone undiscovered for a time or are nascent, or something in between, such knowledge can greatly alter our understanding of the foe, even the course of the war - and thus strongly recommend that this matter be subjected to further investigation..."
====
Full stop. Tap 'Save'. Close.
"And that's a wrap, Suzy," I grunted.
Placing my OmniPad to the side of my hospital bed, I laced my fingers together, turning and stretching my palms to the ceiling.
Then I looked up - straight into a pair of soulless eyes that stared out from the foot of the bed, each deep blue iris a gravity well bent on choking the very zest for life from the air. Not that there was much to be had amid the well researched cheeriness of Gradivus Base's Medical Ward C, but well, whatever.
"Uh, Suzy?"
"Slooooooow," the shipgirl groaned.
"Beg your pardon?"
"You're so slow." Huffing, Suzy sat up, leaning a palm on one pouting cheek. "Could've sworn you took a million years to write those reports."
"Hey. I started work on them last night."
"Whatever. You had, y'know, options?" She listed them off with the fingers of her free hand. "Voice dictation? AutoScript? You could have even hooked up to my computers, we could have thought the reports into existence in half an hour - but nooooo, you had to write. With a stylus!"
"Now that's just rude." I tutted. "Penmanship, young lady, is a writer's soul expressed. A disciplined hand is a disciplined heart, and from such a spirit flows words even when none should come forth."
"Woah, listen to Mister Last Ice Age over here preach!"
And good afternoon to you too, Miss Zingiber Officinale, I thought as Marge and -surprise, surprise!- Illya Litvyak rounded the corner.
Illya opted to lean against the wall, right where General Katherine Wolfe was about to plant the early Terran Alliance flag upon Balor Crater, 2056.
His height meant their hairlines matched, gray on mural gray, though the coif was decidedly more premature on our resident Russian Manhunter. His size and stone-hewn jaw conspired against it, but I'd be damned if he was any older than me, while the matriarch of House Wolfe had already been pushing sixty by then.
The ginger plonked herself into one of two chairs by the bed's left side.
"Seriously though," Marge noted. "Your bedside manner could really use work, Suze."
"Nyeh. Ethel's fine."
"Ethel's under observation. Nanoculture post-op complications are rare, but they happen."
"Ha. He's too dumb to die."
"Wouldn't be so sure." I must have failed to hide my smirk, for Marge then turned on me with smiling fury. "And you! That'll teach you to make like a goddamn space superstar, only to have your life-signs stop for five whole seconds right after your moment of triumph, eh?"
"Your concern is appreciated, citizen."
"Appreciated?" Marge bobbed back and forth in her seat- "Man, you should be grateful-"
-only to have a large hand descend on her head. Ruffle, ruffle did that appendage go through her dirty red locks.
"-hey! Fuck you, Illya! Don't do that!"
And through her feathers too, apparently.
The larger man raised both hands, both strangely smooth and uncalloused hands, and stepped back with a peaceable smile directed at the annoyed ginger.
Not much for words, this fellow, yet he had spared me from having to sidestep whatever tongue lashing might have followed myself. Guess I could consider that a favor. Still, the conversation!
"So," I began, "should I be expecting more of you over? Or will I have to write cards?"
Illya's lips quirked, and there was of a more child in the resultant smile than I knew what to do with.
"Funny." And from the look on Marge's face, she didn't know either. "But no. Jo's out at the range with Exz, Rodis, Carl and a bunch of other guys. You know, right? That he's our-"
"Designated Marksman, yeah. I read. Extensively."
"Creepy."
"I know, right?" Suzy chimed in. "Since last night, that's all he's been doing. Browse, read, write reports, read...did I mention he reads?"
Illya raised three fingers.
"Yeah. That's all he ever does," the shipgirl finished.
Yeesh. Rip on a man for having a hobby, why don't you? But no, I could understand. It made for good opening small talk. A little preamble, a short preface, so Chapter One wasn't by its awkward lonesome, unable to begin or become.
Language was narrow like that. As were we. But the page had to turn eventually, and I would be perfectly willing to do the turning.
Or the ward doors could hiss open first to the sound of thundering feet, a half-resigned "Ma'am, please don't run insides the wards. Ma'am-"
-and a blur of billowing blonde, black, and silver screeching to a halt in front of us.
"...and she's safe!" Sailor Blondie announced. "Another run scored for the Indus City Highlanders, putting them up four to one on the Avra Shackletons!"
Man, you could just see the confetti raining down in here. Any moment now the band was going to start up. The Saints Would Come Marching In (Or Never Come if we were going for humor) and Boldly Old Gold's eyes would shift from green to red, then back again as they passed over mine.
Either way, I was quite certain that baseball runs done with one teammate tucked under each arm did not count for three.
"And hello, Suzu-chan!" Shiratsuyu Number Four waved to her sister with both hands - a move that would've deposited Sailor Silver and Black face first on the ground, but for some catlike reflexes that saw both shipgirls land on one knee each instead. "See?" Yuudachi continued, grinning at her two companions. "What did I tell you two?"
Yeah. Definitely needed to give Loony Toon Heaven a ring, see if they weren't missing an angel from Cloud Eleven or something.
The silver-maned shipgirl scowled, dusting herself off.
"That she'd be here. Yes. Great. About time you let go of my collar, you bimbo."
"Oh." Yuudachi's grin was that of the he cat caught with the hand in the cookie jar. "Errr, sorry?"
"Please don't do that again..." The darker-haired shipgirl muttered, though there was a note of resignation there. Her own smile, a bright and easy thing, returned as she turned to face us. "Uh, sorry for the mess. I'm Fubuki, Fubuki-class. Pleased to meet you all!"
Silver Surfette tossed a shoulder.
"Amatsukaze, of the Kagerou-class."
"Pleasure's ours, girl," Marge replied. "Thanks for the cover back there."
"And thanks for coming to visit," I added.
"O-of course. But just so you know, I had plans for today." Amatsukaze flicked one lush ponytail imperiously, folding her arms. "Don't you think even for a moment that I would have come here just to watch this airhead cave your face in for being a total idiot. It was just the right thing to do, after all...
"...what?"
Normally I'd be all in favor of catastrophic social ineptitude being punishable by exile to corrective penal colonies. But I suppose I could let this one slide. I mean, somebody get the reaction cam. Mild horror from Marge. A raised eyebrow from Illya - not much, but it was good as a feast from Seven Days A Smiling Slav.
And from Suzy, shock. Recognition. Then, was that a twinge of guilt?
Yes, yes it was.
...Ah. So that's what all this was about.
Ethel Deschantes, you stupid, stupid, stupid man.
Yuudachi ran a hand through her hair with a sigh.
"Really." Her voice was matter-of-fact, as if Amatsukaze hadn't just mentioned her actual intentions for being here but instead, say, the somewhat milder strangeness of two out of three Earthbound-era Japanese people in the room having very un-Japanese hair. "Isn't the point of these these things, like, supposed to be the surprise?"
"I guess." I shrugged. "For what it's worth, I think I deserve a p-"
Whump!
Huh. Could've sworn I had braced to move from 'cave your face in'. But even so, the palm buried into the pillow was barely an inch from my left cheek.
"Yuu-!"
Yuudachi waved her sister off.
"Relax, he's fine."
"Just declined actually taking that punch is all, no biggie," I added with a wave, before turning back to the elder Shiratsuyu.
Funny. I'd have thought she would be angrier. But the look on her face was mixed, and an odd mix at that. There was clear frustration in her face, true. Yet there was nowhere to rage at one's duty to go except at a scapegoat, and she may as well have been looking past me for one. Combine that with not a light tinge of both resignation and amusement, and her face was a veritable warzone indeed.
Being the older sibling sure was tough. Though it wasn't as if I could relate.
"All that said," I continued, "I can call you back once they've grown me inch-thick chobham for skin. If you'll have me."
For a moment, Yuudachi just stared at me, eyes wide. Then-
"Pfffft!"
-amusement won the war as she burst out laughing.
"Well, at least you're not, like, suicidal. Or stupid." Then she leaned closer, her voice suddenly a whisper. "We both know that. But you're not here to reassure me, are you?"
"Yeah, I get it. I get it."
With that, I peered past the elder Shiratsuyu. Everyone still very confused over there? A little consternation at play, perhaps? Good.
"Suzy?" Hmm. Maybe a bit too good in her case. Girl looked like she was going to explode any moment now. "Could you come over here?"
"Uhhhh. I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to-"
"Never mind that." First the stammering, then apologies? The horror! But we soldier on. "Just come over."
Mmm, no, that wouldn't do. Too insistent.
"Please?"
"W-well." Suzy still looked conflicted, but shuffled over all the same. "But you don't have to, I mean, I shouldn't have-"
And that was when I reeled her into a hug from an arm's length and a half out.
"Eh?" Incoming protests detected. Recommended course of action: ignore. Execute Operation Headpat. "E-E-Ethel?"
Proceed till target pacification is confirmed.
"Listen." My rendition of 'gentle but firm' was subpar at best, in both word and deed. But hell if I wasn't going to give it my best shot. "If anyone has to say any 'sorries' or 'shouldn't haves' here, it's me." And it seemed to be working for now at least - insofar as there was an observable difference between 'definitely' and 'maybe probably might just hyperventilate'. "I can't promise we won't have to do something like that again. But when we do..."
Liz's warning came to mind. Not so much 'why us' as 'why not us' and all.
"What?"
"I'll do what I can to put your feelings first."
Hmmm, that was kinda lame. But at least it sounded just like it felt. Just one over-his-head, under-qualified newbie trying his damnedest to not talk way over his pay grade- woah, that got depressing. What's that? Dubious research shows that increased pats per minute has a net positive effect on beta endorphin release? Wonderful.
Suzy seemed to think so too.
"...don't you forget that," she mumbled.
It was at this moment that I looked up to see Illya giving me a thumbs-up.
Yes, Senior Headpat Specialist. It is an honor to accept your seal of approval, for headpats are indeed a mysterious but beautiful thing. Perhaps, someday, they might even save the-
"Grk!"
Something -someone- was wrapping their arms around my ribs. And they were squeezing. Hard. Too late did I realize the mistake, looking down into the very face of pint-sized fury.
"S-Suzy-"
"And don't look away so quickly," she warned, "or I'll make extra sure you don't forget."
Hell if she. Wasn't. Already doing it!
"Message...received," I wheezed. "Now could you, ah, treat the fragile goods here with more-ach!"
"Make that, like, extra, extra sure," Yuudachi added sweetly from behind me.
Not. The neck. Too. Dammit. How's a man. Supposed to. Breathe like. That?!
"Uh, hey?" I waved out from the makeshift dogpile at the other people in the room. "Margie! Ilya! Bucky? Anybody?"
"Hell no," Marge replied.
"I'll pass," Fubuki demurred with a smile.
Amatsukaze rolled her eyes.
"Idiot."
Illya just shrugged.
How that betrayal stung. And I would have commented on it too, if the ward doors hadn't once again opened.
The person the sliding panels admitted was decidedly unremarkable, which given the events of the day was itself remarkable.
His black hair was mussed and uncombed, his glance just a bit askew, made more so by the first hints of a tired stoop. And all was that packaged into a humanoid box a little under six feet off the floor. All in all, stunningly normal.
And for a few moments, the entire room waited for Mister Relativus Ordinarius to say something. Indeed time crawled as the young man turned to look at Fubuki, a cocktail of emotions on his face. She returned in kind, smile receding away from her faded golden eyes.
Then, turning away, he scratched the back of his neck.
"Um, beautiful weather we're having, eh?"
...Now hiring: Secretary/Therapist.
Experience: preferred, especially in treating severe cases of sudden, crippling existential despair.
Needed: right about the hell now.
=====
"...and so they told me 'hey JD, there'll be some tests, and you'll have to stay at this base for a bit, and no you can't leave, but the food and accommodations are gonna be good, and by the way you're doing it for science and all so it's cool'-"
"Uh huh."
"-and I said 'yeah that seems like a swell idea'. I mean, there hadn't been much I was doing in Ops HQ down there at Ishtar Base otherwise. Nice place, I gotta tell you. But not one where things happen. So I thought, yeah, why not, if they'd have me?"
"Positive reinforcement is good, yes."
"I know! To be honest though, I never expected to pass with such flying colors."
"How so?"
"I mean, have you seen Fubes? She's got the sweetest smile, the prettiest eyes, the fluffiest hair, the most perfect legs, and perkiest-"
"-aaaand I'll have to stop you right there."
"Huh? Why?"
Why, indeed?
Because this conversation was going places not suited for- no, sorry, this conversation is not for public consumption. Move along, sharp-eared Señora with a full Lieutenant's bars. These are not the weirdos you're looking for.
Yes. Thank you. As I was saying, why, indeed?
Because this conversation was not going places suited for polite company. Because I sensed that I was about to be made deeply uncomfortable. And because at that moment, at two twenty four in the afternoon shipboard time, I sensed that I now had a good handle on the person currently walking next to me.
Ladies and gentlemen. Well, gentlemen, and then ladies at their own risk, I give you Jon Marcus Davies - call him whichever of those first names you want. But more on that after the conversation break.
"See, I strongly recall her leaving me to the wolves earlier," I said as one aggrieved.
Jon tried to shoot me a skeptical look. Emphasis on tried, because you could hardly hold another's gaze when yours flitted and twitched like an epileptic fairy godparent attempting the good old razzle dazzle.
And especially not when you tended to do...questionable things in the process.
"That all you got?" Left. Then right. There we go. "Come on, Yuu wasn't even angry."
"'Wasn't even angry' almost undid two days of cutting edge medical treatment."
"Hey, by all accounts, you deserved it."
Right again.
I suppose the only real pity was how long it took me to notice; oh, how Daddy Dearest would be so terrifically disappointed. That last thought brought an upward twist to my lips as we walked through the officer quarters, one that made my companion wince.
As should be the case.
"Like you deserved the cold reception you got from your fair lady?"
"...I don't know what you're talking about."
And once again left, and out into a corner...back again.
"Really?"
"Really."
So he got less good at hiding the tic when nervous.
Interesting, but filed away for later. Because come on, two unforced strikes? At this point it would be almost rude not to capitalize.
"Yeoman Reese Evans, between Canteen Three and the Specialist Mess."
He froze.
"Lieutenant Tav Ackerman, on the intra-deck tram we took here. Then a Chief Petty Officer Lorn, leaning over the Information counter. A bit on the mature side for that last one, but I suppose some people are into that." I let that sink in for a moment. "Need any more names?"
"...I thought we were supposed to be friends," he groaned.
"In a day? And in what?" No reply. Well, that was easier than I thought. "See, I reckon it's all free game. Some people can get lost in Sclera Crescent, some like taking endless trips down Slimfinger Lane. So you can keep Rear End Road, I could care less. But have some class, or we've got a non-starter on our hands."
Another left turn took us into Row 3 of the officer quarters.
"What about roommates, then?"
"Contingent on whether you can lead us to our room or not within the next eternity."
"Come on. I'm sure it was, uh, just around-" Jon looked this way and that, before settling on- "-here."
B3-012. A room much like any other - if not for the barely audible string strains of classical music filtering through the door.
"Didn't think you were the sort to leave a little night music on."
"And you've got a lot more to learn about me."
"Fair point."
A swipe of his fingers brought the biometric scanner by the door post to life, the LED-lined pad pulsing a little brighter as it took first his fingerprint, then a quick retina scan.
[Welcome, Lieutenant Jon Davies,] the device intoned, and the door opened.
"But for now, welcome to the pad, lad," Jon declared with a dramatic bow and sweep of his left hand. "Need introductions?"
I looked inside. A straight narrow corridor sparsely populated with footwear stood between the shower and our compact kitchenette. Further in lay two beds, with a cupboard beside and a pair of desks opposite each.
Leisure and comfort on one hand; survival and work on the other, all wrapped up in one compact cool-blue walled package. You could really see how Daewoo-Dormy got their contracts.
And boy was the nostalgia real.
"Surprisingly, no."
"Been in one of these?"
"College," I said, dumping my things down by the bedside.
"How did that go?"
"Wonderful." Kneeling beside it, I began to unpack. Could've probably had everything delivered and placed via RoomBot, but whatever. I wasn't so lazy I couldn't hang my own shirts up. "Didn't have to move for an entire year, for starters."
"Huh," came the reply.
How surprisingly considerate. Now then. Spare uniform sets and dress wear into the cupboard. OmniPad to the table, along with some writing materials. And if the shower was anything like the old one, there wouldn't be much space for my full set. So, try to compromise, or just leave the lot on the bedside table? Hmmm.
"Also, serious question."
"Mmhmm?"
"Are you and Suzu-"
"Aaaand cut. Take a breather, then we go for Take Two."
"Really? Could've sworn-"
"Nope. Halt. Cease and Desist."
If I was a worse man, I might have been tempted to think Jon amused by my annoyance. But was unlikely that all human beings enjoyed schadenfreude, or experienced smiles born thereby over genuine interest half as much as I, so we left it at that.
"And now that I have your attention, again, no. Despite what it looks like, we do not have that kind of relationship." I looked at him askance. "Nor would we. Don't you think she looks a little young for this? Don't you think Fubuki does?"
The silence was as eloquent as it was deafening. Exhausting, too. Ten seconds ago I could've warped straight into Sancaid orbit again, no problem. But now I wanted nothing more than to flop flat onto my bed, bury my face in my pillow, and block out the world.
And I did; albeit minus the 'block out the world' part. That bit never worked.
"Just...a word of advice, Pygmalion," I muttered from behind said pillow. Hmmm. Fresh linen, scent of summer, and memory foam. Pretty good. "Questions of 'real age' regardless, your Galatea is no sculpture." I shot Jon a pointed look. "You win no lady's favors from her by ogling rival rears."
"You sound experienced," he mused.
"More as the roadie than the rockstar," I admitted. "But what's the saying? 'The bystander sees clearly'?"
"...Fair 'nuff."
We stayed like that for a bit: me lazing about on my bed, him sitting at the edge of his own, fiddling with his own OmniPad the old-fashioned way. But like all games, the game of Disquiet Chicken must eventually have a winner. And I'd have pegged you to win, Mister Davies, if you didn't keep giving me the side-eye every half a minute or so.
"Can I ask a question?"
He said at last.
"Sure."
"Are you always this much of a shithead, or are you just on the rebound today?"
"Fifty-fifty. Maybe sixty-forty. Can't be sure."
"...Huh. Honesty."
'Not the answer I was expecting', hmmm? Why thank you, Jon Davies' arched brow and wry smile, for voicing his thoughts so helpfully.
"I find it easier to own who I am," I offered with a shrug.
"So they know what they're getting into?"
"Try before you buy, yes, after a sort. I'm sorry you didn't get the choice, J-"
"JD. My friends call me JD."
"You mean Fubuki calls you JD."
JD huffed - man, this guy was too easy.
"Trends have to start somewhere. And Fubes is a great place to start."
But he also did have a point, however bizzare it might be.
"Yeah, alright. Whatever." I extended a hand to him. Without fully turning my head, of course. The memory foam and I were just getting comfortable with each other, after all. "So. Friends?"
"Yeah, friends...you shitheel."
Guilty as charged, I thought. Still, that was one piece of compulsory interpersonal business concluded, and with a well-deserved respite of silence to go with it. All things considered, things were going pretty-
"Sure you don't need the rundown of the room?"
-and of course I spoke too soon.
"Not much to see. We've marked off sleeping territory, you've your desk, and you probably have dibs on the shower if we get off duty together. And it's probably not much to look at, unless you've prettied it up any?" No reply forthcoming. "I thought so. So all that's really left-"
[Incoming Call,] my OmniPad sang.
"-is to check my mail, as it happens."
"The Fire Kickers, Neo-Classique Versus The Blues. Good choice."
"Of course."
And I would have waited for the sample of Clair De Lune's leitmotif at 0:26, but for the Caller ID - 'Shitty Old Man Mk.II'. Guess Debussy would have to wait his turn.
Snagging the OmniPad, I rolled out of bed and walked over to my workstation. I gave the holodeck a wave. It hummed, motion trackers coming off standby. Making a pinching motion over my Pad, I 'threw' the screen at the wall, superimposing a cheery cherry pink 'Incoming Call - Accept [Y/N]' onto the wall.
"Accept Call."
If Orfan Uruz was annoyed at having been made to wait, he didn't look it.
"I see you're all settled in, kid."
"For better or worse."
"A man's always better settled in than not." The Chief grinned. "Wish the same could be said for settling down."
Well, that came out of nowhere. So, you must be how ancient to ride again? Or was that statement not meant for me? I stole a glance at JD. Nope, the man was every bit as confused as I was. Just old people things then.
"I'm...not going to ask where that one comes from," I said. "In any case, given that the odds of you calling me purely for leisure are infinitesimal at best, should we just skip the backstory drama?"
"Oh? And I was going to regale you with tales of my ancient exploits, too."
"Relax, I'm already impressed." Pulling the chair below the desk out, I plonked myself down on it, a wicked smile stealing its way onto my face. "But I'd prefer to hear about your present adventures on Iber. Seems like it'd be right up my alley."
Orfan gave a genial smile, but eyes such as his could roll a thousand rounds per minute, and you'd think they hadn't moved at all.
"Oh, yes. Trading business cards, kissing babies, the works. And don't forget petting some frantic politicians on the head and telling them that yes, this is all part of some larger effort to push the Abyssal threat off their borders." That was a few lifetimes worth of experience for you. Orfan actually managed to make that not sound creepy - an achievement worth the chills in and off itself. "And that yes, protected as they are by Fleet Group Olomouc, they have nothing to fear of reprisals for our action, much less in Indus' very seat of power. Lovely stuff."
"Hey now. The morale battle is one worth winning."
"And if someone hadn't been half-dead and in need of sewing together lest his left side fall apart, he'd be here to enjoy fighting it. I'm sure Marshal Kowalcski would have liked to meet the bold charger who broke the Abyssal ranks at the eleventh hour, behind whose back our forces were all but inexorable."
"Heh. Don't you pin that one on me," I retorted. "Marge tells me your own Commander Bolivar wanted you to go."
"As if anyone other than Reiner could stop the Doc from wilting out there," the Chief grumbled.
"Ah. Yes. That-"
"Ooorrrfiieeeesss."
At that moment I witnessed history; actual worry flickering across the older man's face as he threw a glance over his shoulder-
"...Well, shit. I'll get back to you in a-"
-before the realization that the voice was not in fact coming from behind him, but from the crawling mass of tentacles fizzling into existence on our holodecks. A mass of tentacles that had apparently not gotten the memo that Mraliz's Vorkros' amiable charm did not start and end with the sound of her voice alone.
"What's this I hear about me wilting again?"
Once again the Chief's experience did itself credit, yielding ground neither to rank nor rank, primal horror.
"Ma'am, it is my solemn duty to inform you that the unlawful takeover of a secure channel is prosecutable under-"
"Ah, come on. Don't be a prude." So Liz complained. But in a motion that for all its smoothness sounded like cement slurry and metal rammed through an industrial shredder, she shifted back into her half-humanoid form all the same. "Just here to check on two of my favorite people!"
Orfan pressed three fingers to his temple.
"I am literally next door."
"And I can't get out of bed because it is comfortable. And because I'm tired. And because life is meaningless without my Warpstone. Please send help. Or Mandy. Both would also be fine. Need them soonish though. Yesterday would have been nice."
So Liz said, in a perfectly moribund tone of voice. Yet the cheeky Dixie swing of her lips, and Orfan's only half-serious sigh in response intimated that all was not as dire as it first seemed.
"You do realize that you'll be living and breathing that-" and here the Chief's face scrunched up, as if deliberating if he should use the official -read: garbage- name, "-thing the moment we get back to Eris Yards, right?"
"You assume there is a problem here."
"Besides the crappy name?" Whew. Welcome to the Nomenclature Hater's Club, old man. "Just thought the off time might be good for you, Ma'am. It's been good for me. Definitely got the undue excitement down a bit."
"But if no one takes up the belief that our 'maybes' can become 'will bes', we've already lost, don't you think?"
The air seemed at that instant all too fragile, all too light to sustain two bitter, knowing smiles, equal but opposite. More worn and weathered, however, was the face that ceded ground first.
"...Aight, girl, aight. Just don't let the fun muddle your head."
Liz stuck out a dark blue tongue, and her share of the holodeck began to lose definition.
"No promises~"
"Ma'am-" Orfan warned, but the third screen had already fizzled out by then. "-and there she goes, like the wind."
"Not good with that type?"
"Don't you laugh, boy. You're gonna have a lot of time to get acquainted with 'that type' whether you like it or not. Trust me, it'll be something, alright." The chuckled that followed was bone-dust dry. "And not to forget, a gentle reminder that it's on their orders that you still haven't received full information clearance for your rank and position."
I shrugged.
"I'd do the same for me. Last thing we want is for the Dreams and Visions Care Package I received to have some unwanted hickeys on the backend."
"Good call. Surprisingly." Or perhaps not so much, given the satisfied look on his face. And what were the alternatives anyway? Yelling impotently into a void made out of ranks I would not have for years to come? "And speaking of Marge. Did she tell you what's happening then?"
"Some ceremony after party thing at ten?" I replied. "Very cryptic stuff."
"As it should be," the Chief agreed. 'She hasn't ever been to one herself, after all."
Huh. That was new. Some form of official initiation, perhaps? Something to symbolize the cutting of teeth against one's first mission? That would certainly suit the OrbCav's eclectic collection of traditions, if I could say so myself. Nonetheless...
"And I am involved, how?"
"A cavalryman respects the steed they rode on. And you did far more than merely carry us in and out of battle. Don't you think that's worth a seat of honor?" The Chief glanced to what would be my right. "That goes for all of you, you know. Your roommate too."
Huh. Figured that he might be able to guess the layout of our room with but a look.
I shot JD a look.
"Erm, I forgot?" He mouthed.
Ah yes. Trust me to have expectations.
"I'll be there," I said, turning back to face Orfan.
"Excellent." A crinkle of amusement stole through the Chief's brows. "And relax a bit about the unofficial information wheel. Somebody, everybody, anybody, nobody. You know?"
"I think you're relaxed enough for the two of us."
"Oh, it doesn't mean I won't put in a word or two with the appropriate people. Just telling you not to sprout white hairs over it."
"Whatever."
"Works for me." Tilting his head, Orfan flicked me a salute. "Later, kid."
With that, his face winked out of sight, leaving us two roommates by our lonesome once again. Which was just as well, I reckoned.
After all, some things were really not meant for polite company.
"So," I began, every word, every step measured clockwork calculus as I retrieved my OmniPad and turned towards JD. "Tea for you?"
And as might have been expected, my roomie was far less immune to veiled intimidation than Orfan had been. Indeed I could feel him shrink further back into his bed despite my voice being -in all humility- the picture of winsome geniality.
And despite my not moving towards him, but away, towards the kitchenette.
"...What?"
He managed at last.
"Do you have any urgent, prior arrangements?"
"No?"
"Good. It's three now. The ceremony is at ten. That makes seven hours for you to remember and cough up any other important things you might have neglected in the meantime, and to tell me all about them with meal time to spare. More than enough, I believe."
So saying, I reached for a cup and a plate.
"So, again: tea for you as we talk, or would you rather go without?"
=== To be continued in Chapter 9: Breaking Bread, Sharing Wine ===
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Book 1, Chapter 9: Breaking Bread, Sharing Wine
- Location
- Little Red Dot
And so this took an entire month, mostly because it's been a pretty busy January all things being equal. Got my last bum a job, check. Studying to finish other qualifications in the meantime, check. Busying myself with other projects. Projects such as this - Check that too.
But if you're still here, I wouldn't burden you with the details, other than to say that for the foreseeable future my writing pace will be about as sedate as this. In the good news, the chapter is here, and I am pleased to say that I have already begun some work on the next.
So welcome (back), read on and enjoy! Comments and such would also be much appreciated.
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A Sea of Stars
Book 1: The Stars, Awake
Chapter 9: Breaking Bread, Sharing Wine
Trasyme: 'Any Time, Any Place - Right Now.'
And Ethel Deschantes had been there, a witness among many to the first fruit of that boast made by the bleeding edge of holographic display technology.
He had been fifteen then, filled with youth, life and acid skepticism about the perks of living alone in a modern acropolis like New Avalon.
What did it take to open such a child's eyes? Not much. Just two hundred and forty seven thousand people, on their feet in the Oran Greis Stadium, expressions of awe etched on every face as emerald turf and candy cane stands melted away amid azure waves, plunging them twenty thousand leagues under an ocean far too primordial to be our native waters, born as they were from the difficult and all too recently complete labor of terraforming.
And to not only see it, but to be there. To taste, to touch on one's own skin the salt air, the ancient coral. To hunt with the Krom Shark, to shelter with schools of Vorkela Krill.
It was a revelation.
And more might have been had, would that post-scarcity allowed us to hold this virtual ubiquity at our beck and call. But as things stood, I was only one or two viewings wiser than the average member of the 322nd.
Which was still quite the advantage, mind you. You didn't see me trying to discreetly navigate the warts and lumps of the pale, sloping rock for a seat that did not qualify for some exotic torture method. Or sweating profusely in the sweltering heat of ritual fires burning in urns and sconces - but mostly from the center of a circle formed by hundreds of bodies. Or strain to not steal peeks into the middle distance where the ceiling of Gradivus Base's Grand Ballroom had been replaced by a starry sky.
Really. You didn't.
Alright, fine. So military discipline was actually a thing with the OrbCav despite their many quirks, and the 322nd's planetary volunteer nature made them far more used to-
-what had the natives of Ulmud called this place again? Silverspire?
Ah yes. Mightiest of the eight great mountains of the small and otherwise somewhat flat planet, topped by a plateau famed for its use in ceremony and celebration alike, and now, by the grace of modern technology, the site of our joyous occasion.
So yes. Their planet, their mountain. Of course they would be more used to it.
It also helped that it was their unit CO up there near the middle addressing us and all. And man, did you have to hand it to Commander Levi Bolivar.
"...but more than we grieve them," he continued from what must surely have been a preamble most stirring, "we honor them as only soldiers can. We shall carry their torch, their flame, in our hearts, that it may remained undimmed and unbowed despite their sacrifice. Nay, it shall glow brighter still - and brightest in the moment when we plunge once more into the breach, and into the heart of our foe..."
Well, well. Fall in battle at the tip of the spear, and you got fine speeches told in your honor. Who would've known that deals could get so sweet? It certainly didn't hurt either that the OrbCav were also among the most hideously well compensated forces in our Navy.
Yet Bolivar's chiselled, scar-taut face was marked by a resolve much too plain to be wholly rehearsed, his amber-flecked brown eyes simmering with emotions too volatile for the dramatics proceeding from his mouth. Pride that his troops had returned victorious. Relief that so few had fallen. And was that a twinge of-
-my word, yes, yes it was.
Ah, what a week it must have been for him, one might suppose. No, what a life. To come back to the planet of one's birth, bearing the unenviable task of raising a force destined to fight -and die- far from home. To fill their heads with glory yet caution them against seeking it, knowing full well that the latter would so often be ignored. To stand before them, congratulating them for buying in.
Still, he pushed on. And just as well: this war wasn't the sort we wouldn't win without some grit, and a whole lot of belief, erroneous or not.
ing"...nor could we have won the day on the field without our brothers and sisters who risked their lives to keep the skies clear." Oh. At that part of the speech already, were we? "and it is in their honor, too, that we are gathered here today."
Well, guess that was our cue.
Levos En Sha raised two scaled fingers between his two hearts as he stood - the Qwen, the Antarian warriors' greeting. Izin Bat-Ami's mask was ivory-white, marked in the fierce red of victory. Enzo Morales angled his pipe towards the crowd in an informal salute. And the responding applause was indeed uproarious.
Our shipgirls were a somewhat cut-down party, what with Amanda Reiner representing a certain over-enthused scientist, and with most of Team Agano being in the escort party receiving said scientist and the rest of our command staff from their planetside duties on Iber.
But that didn't stop them from stealing the show. Amanda Reiner's dress blues were as immaculate as they were ancillary: her gaze alone might have captured half the eyes in the room within winter's grip despite the heat, and yet if those stares were anything but awe I should be a blind man. Next to me, Suzy made up for looking a little small in her Navy blouse by lighting the Silverspire up with a carnival grin. Rin Fubuki and JD for their part drew not a few laughs as they stood and bowed as one - before mutual realization dawned, and both turned away blushing.
Which left me, I suppose. Ethel Deschantes in the house, looking for non-existent shadows to blend into.
Mercifully, Bolivar raised a hand, and the applause began to die down, allowing us to be seated.
I glanced sidelong as I sat, to the area where Forza Team and company were seated.
Three pins holding normally free dreadlocks together and a pair of dark glasses gave Edith a distinctly aloof feel. Marge looked as if she might burst apart at the seams with pride - I suppose the black scythe over Abyssal teeth that newly adorned her left sleeve shoulder had something to do with that. But it was Johann Leckie who was the real surprise, the distant, pensive look he wore auguring neither with the present mood nor what I knew of him.
Ah, but then again, what did I know about any of them?
"Thank you." The Commander nodded to us. "Most of all, however, this day belongs most not to our glorious past, or our solemn present, but to our future. It belongs to those of us who have braved their first baptism in flame, and come out reborn. It belongs to those of us who have sharpened ourselves against our foe, who tested our steel against theirs, and lived to tell of it."
He placed one fist dead center over his chest.
"To us falls the grand mission to build on that wisdom, to continue to refine it, and when our time comes, to pass it on to those who will come after, that they will not have to pay the all too dear blood-price that we had to offer up to gain what we did."
Then without warning, his solemnity melted away to reveal a broad, warm smile.
"...And the fact that so many of us are gathered here tonight is worth a celebration, is it not?"
On cue, Gradivus staff emerged from paths cut through the heart of the mountain - the finest disguise for a below-decks kitchen modern technology could procedurally generate- bearing plates, casseroles and dishes of all sorts in their hands. On and on they streamed out, forming two ranks that flanked our tight circle.
Guess supper was served, then. Now all we needed was to break out the naked togas, and this would be a real dorm party. Bolivar seemed to think so too. I mean, look at this man and his spread out, take-in-the-adoring-crowd arms. Where did you get off acting the part of the Attican orator if you didn't mean to go the whole hog?
Swiping a pint mug from one waiting tray, the Commander held it before him like a victor would a blade.
"Eat. Drink. Share lives. Share tales." Already the rest of our drinks were being passed around in preparation for just that - and more besides, one should think. I caught a whiff of mine: Sarna's Single Malt. Fine taste. "For it is our common bonds that unite us, make us stronger. And most importantly," he finished with a wink, "we all deserve a break once in a while, don't we?"
Lusty cheers rippled through the audience as Bolivar raised his mug, many around us mirroring the motion.
"A toast, then. To the Cav. To the Alliance...and to us!"
====
"Now this," Edith declared, "is the life!"
Clang, went Mug Number Seven as the Petty Officer set it down on the floor with gusto.
I for my part regarded Number Two, cupped between my hands and still a quarter full for it.
"Really."
"Really. We've been on a no-parties diet since we started trainin' up the new batch of these kids." Raising one chiseled arm, Edith snapped her fingers, calling for another mug even as she wiped the last traces of its predecessor from her lips with a swiping sleep. "One for all, whatever for one, and all that dumbass shit."
Now, now, Ethel. Scrunching your face is most unpleasant, and no amount of alcohol can change that. Perhaps, one might raise an eyebrow -the mark of sophisticated, gentlemanly disagreement- instead?
Yes. Very good.
"It's Dumas to you. And please, it was a good line."
"A convenient line," she huffed. "But eh, y'know, s'all well. Boss Levi knows how to treat us right - jus' a matter of when he would find the occasion."
"I suppose."
"You suppose? Come now, sir, let's be honest. I saw your face during the ceremony. You were dying to get outta there-ey, thanks!" Edith cut off abruptly as her new drink arrived. Taking it from the cantina staff member's tray, she clapped the man on the shoulder before turning back to me. "Relax, the Boss has always been the short and sweet kind."
"An article of faith no one informed me of."
"Oh come on," she scoffed, raising the drink to her lips, "you're the guy with mind tricks. Couldn't you just-" the cup stopped with a muffled slosh, a hair's breadth from its intended destination. "-Ah. Right. Right. Suzy done mentioned that one already. Uh, forget I asked."
"It's fine."
Now, I hadn't been told much of what was and was not normal for people in our position, much less what was proper. But if you held a gun to my head for a frank answer, I'd say propriety's future was bleak. Indeed it would not surprise me if our work should someday necessitate communing with the minds of those with less capacity to respond. Or resist.
Till then, though...
"And man, would you look at 'em," Edith said, breaking my doomsaying fugue with a faux dreamy sigh. "The ladies of the hour."
I glanced over my shoulder at one of the larger tables that had been brought up around the center of the party. There stood Suzy and Fubuki, barely keeping their heads above the waters of thronging fandom. JD's partner seemed rather abashed to suddenly be the center of attention, but mine basked in it, shaking hands and accepting both praise and drink.
"Think we should go check if they're not putting the 'wine' into wining and dining?"
Edith rolled her eyes at that.
"Pretty sure shipgirls don't count under drinking age laws. Actually. Shit. Can they even get smashed? Would be a damn shame if they couldn't!"
"See," I said, taking a swig of my drink, "it's the principle of the matter."
"They have a goalkeeper, man."
"Who is himself trying to score."
The presence of JD hovering amidst the wellwishers had not escaped my notice. Or the Petty Officer's for that matter, even if she did seem a little late on her attempt to reassess his suitability as reliable help in this regard.
She shrugged at length.
"'Ey, if it works out in practice..."
"It had better."
Or else, I did not bother implying, and indeed I would have let the entire matter rest, if JD had not chosen that precise moment to shudder as if from a passing chill - nigh impossible for one so close to the towering ceremonial bonfire in the middle of the plateau.
Interesting. Chance? Or did he sense me somehow?
Edith Butler had certainly made up her mind on the matter.
"You sure work fast," she said, her expression just the slightest bit strained.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Really?"
"Really."
Edith gave me one last, long look.
"Well, whatever," she said, ending the conversation with another long draught.
"I'm happy you could see things my way."
"And I'm happy to see that you're your usual shitty self, boy!"
I didn't need to look very hard to find the person that had just said those words. For one thing, Orfan Uruz's voice was really hard to miss. For another, the man himself was sauntering right up to us from behind Edith. Seemingly alone, to boot. If anyone from our planetside party was here yet, the milling crowd hid them well.
The Petty Officer raised her mug by way of greeting, one he accepted with a magnanimity worthy of some ancient lord.
"Evenin', Chief."
"And to you, 'dith." Orfan's look turned cheeky. "And of course, to our fine fellow over here, who is probably wondering where everyone else is at this moment, and when he might be able to depart these formalities."
He paused, his eyes challenging me to offer some rebuttal.
As if I could. Another day, another twinkle in the old man's eye - and another reminder that a century's worth of experience could easily step into the breach where the mere power to link minds feared to tread. No point wasting more time than necessary.
"Care to enlighten us?"
"Sure. But not that I know precisely where everyone is," the Chief quickly qualified with a raised hand. "Our good doctor, especially."
"And I suppose you're relieved by that?"
"W...what?"
Oh my. Oh my, oh my. Did Orfan Uruz, so valiant, so mighty, so very self-assured, just stammer? Oh, please, don't mind me. I'll just be over here, beside myself in my grinning.
"Congratulations on earning your freedom."
"...You're not going to let that go, are you?"
I gave him my most beatific smile possible. And while I was well aware that the Chief did not shudder on its account, I appreciated the response all the same.
Edith did not share that sentiment, looking from one of us to the other as if we'd suddenly grown two heads each. Ah, a subordinate's plight, to have such questions about one's superior, but to rarely have the room to give them voice.
"Is this something I should know," she asked, "or is this a guy thing?"
"It's a guy thing," we replied as one.
It was not quite true, of course. But close enough, in my estimation - not to mention my suspicion. And Orfan seemed to appreciate the defense well enough, gathering himself after that brief slip by sitting down next to us.
"Let's start with the known factors then," the Master Chief declared, counting off with his fingers. "Matsu and Yuu will definitely be late. Said they were gonna get themselves cleaned up."
"Shaking off the stardust of the space roads?"
"Something like that," replied he with a slant of the shoulder. "And Agano's with them. Said they might destroy the shower if they had another, hmmm, how did she put it? Lively disagreement?"
"Sound about right, yeah."
That got me raised eyebrows on both sides.
"What?" I asked. "I met them this afternoon."
Guess our mutual friends didn't pass them the memo. Oh well.
"Moving on," Orfan continued, "Commander Vorkros should've been here...and would've, if she hadn't flat out given us the slip almost upon arrival. Chances are she's- where's Reiner?"
"Somewhere in this crowd. Last I saw she was with Bolivar and some of the staff officers."
"Guess there had to be someone responsible between the two of them," Edith said with a shrug.
"Well then, chances are that Doc is in the labs or her office, doing her usual tinkering."
"I'd have thought she was better at parties."
"So did I, kiddo. But just think about it: have either of us ever had a magic rock to busy ourselves with?"
"True."
I was drifting. Drifting further and further from this conversation.
There was no reason to. The banter was natural. Amusing. Even normal - but only for a given value of normal, that value being 'Edith Butler'.
See, the Orfan Uruz I knew was naggy in the way that only people old enough to be your parents several times over could be. But a profligate wastrel of words he was not. And perhaps it was all this soldierly nonsense we'd been having lately, but this sudden field trip out of character felt too long. Drawn out. It smacked of nothing so much as- mmm, let's see...
"Oh, you'd be surprised," Edith's voice broke through.
...of an ambush. No. The misdirection that preceded an ambush. And if a misdirection should come from the front…
Orfan sat on my ten and a half o'clock. That made the angle of attack four and a- no, four and two thirds. The air felt frostiest there.
Tense. Stagnant.
Now then. Who had our good man failed to mention so far?
"Of course, of course." Orfan nodded sagely. "And speaking of surprises..."
I moved, upper body tipping down to the right. The air whipped like a blade into the void left behind, missing by mere inches. That weave flowed into a tumble, leaving a second blow whooping into the ground next to me.
Yet as I looked up, I felt Orfan's eyes brush against mine. There was only amusement in them.
Without thinking I leaped up. Too late: a golden blur came slicing across the dustless rock, and though it did not quite latch on to my legs as they fled the earth, they made contact. Contact that sent me pitching forward, the red bedrock filling my vision - then stopping, its promise of pain stayed by four limbs thrust outward on flesh-carved instinct. A close shave, yet nary would it have been enough. This position was neither safety nor recovery, no, but an invitation for a fourth blow. One that would surely have been struck in a real fight, and to fatal effect.
But a real fight this was not - something the growing hoots and cheers from all around were far too glad to make known.
"Awesome!"
"Shit, he really can read minds!"
"Give us another!"
"I'll put fifty on the kid!"
"Seventy on the lady knight!"
Lady Knight? I slid into a kneeling position, and for the first time got a good look at my assailants.
A stranger pair one would be hard pressed to remember.
All from Terra to Eregion (what little of it we still held anyway) knew the Anguirians to be a warrior race. Proudly dangerous, and dangerously proud. Renowned for their diamond-hard hides, their fighting prowess with little more than that natural armor, and their pride in both the scars they won and the color of their cladding that grew richer with age.
So it seemed almost incongruous that Yag Shal Troie, armored in gold and with that long-browned gash over his eye, would allow himself be ridden after the manner of a horse.
Almost, that is: much became plain when one laid eyes upon his diminutive rider.
Yes, 'diminutive'. Why, if telomeric treatments hadn't made it damn near impossible to gauge the age of sub-centenarians, or if I hadn't already seen her face frozen into celluloid all too recently, ten times out of ten I would have laid a hand across my heart and told you that Nora Troie was the younger between us.
This was not at all helped by the manner in which noble refinement conferred by fine coifs -and a swirl of molten copper-gold hair bound up in part by a single pleat surely counted on the fine side of taste- tended not to play nice with looks of mock petulant disappointment.
A look which was schooled into righteous indignation in but the time needed for her to level an extinguished sconce at me, like a cavalier readying a charge.
"What, ho! This one's skill is keen!" Nora declared, declarative voice par excellence. "But thou art a knave still, with a ill countenance to match."
"Me, a knave?"
"Why, yes, of course! Or do you deny it?"
Rising from my genuflection, I regarded my accuser.
"More that I know not the reasons why, my lady."
"Ha! Lies and falsehood," scoffed she airily. "It is but common knowledge that any man who lives under the same roof as corruption should find himself liable to adopt it for his own."
Below her, Yag Shal snorted, two plumes of steam spouting from his nostrils. And in response Nora leaned down, her expression indulgent, pacifying.
"Peace, my love, my steed. You need not be so eager. We shall bring this wretch to heel yet."
My my, lady. There seems to be a misunderstanding here. A mystery to you, no doubt, but the way I see it hubby dearest has more in common with me than-
"Cease your simpering, rascal." The words cracked through the air like an imperious whip, a complete one eighty from how she had sounded a moment ago. "I did not ask for your commentary."
"I never knew my looks were so eloquent."
The look that I received in return could have melted clean through ship armor.
"Why you…" Nora cut herself off with an exaggerated huff. "...enough. I will hear no more of your unrepentant drivel. Prepare yourself, for-"
"-for this business is about to shelved, till such time as you to discuss it like civil people."
It was like winter had dropped a pre-season sneak preview - if winter was permitted to wear a flash of bleeding red and opal-gold as devices to go with its colors. And the sight of Amanda Reiner approaching, her glare razor sharp as sleet, was every bit as dreadful as frost's own coming.
For Nora, at least. Deer caught in ship headlights would be unflappable compared to the chevalier wannabe. Indeed it looked like the shorter woman might have warped out right that instant if any power, psionic or otherwise, allowed it.
"Well then. I would ask you to lower your lance, Lady Troie."
To Nora's credit, she held...well, not quite fast, but as close as one could get.
"...don't wanna."
"Opinion noted - as irrelevant." Graf Zeppelin's avatar said with a quirked an eyebrow, to the laughter of many. "Put the sconce down."
"IsaidIdontwanna-"
"Down, Nora."
Well, this was it. The climax. All that was left at this point was for something to give. Something had to, after all - either the unrelenting pressure from our 2IC, or my assailant's dignity.
And after an interminable moment less tense than it was simply annoying, Nora deflated.
"You're no fun," she mumbled.
"I do seem to get that a lot," Amanda agreed. "Alright, ladies and gentlemen. Nothing more to see here."
Those words were a formality, of course. Her arrival had all but strangled the prospect of a brawl in its crib, and with that opportunity for some midnight entertainment ruined, the crowd all but evaporated, the soldiers of the 322nd returning to whatever other distractions they had hitherto been busying themselves with.
That in spite, Amanda did not strain the quality of mercy, waiting for the commotion around us to fully dissipate before speaking again.
"Why do you have to encourage her, Arhan Yag Shal?"
I got the distinct sense that had the scarred Anguirian not been quadruped at that moment, he would be scratching his cheek in embarrassment. But for now Yag Shal Troie dipped his head low in lieu of a more complete proskynesis.
"I must plead husbandly omission, milady Reiner."
"Plea rejected," The carrier replied without missing a beat. "Act your age."
Satisfied that our errant knight-and-steed pair were now suitably chastised, Amanda turned her judging eye onto Orfan.
"And will you also plead omission, Master Chief?"
Ah, Orfan Uruz, ever immune to intimidations unjustly leveled. This time the old man just shrugged, seeming no more concerned with what was being said than a dog about dying fleas.
"Nay. I was sure the kid would dodge that."
"Oh, sure," I retorted. "Next time, I suggest using a hovertank or three to run me over."
"I'll keep that in mind," The Chief replied easily, before turning back to Amanda. "Charming young man, isn't he?"
The carrier nodded.
"Quite. Lieutenant, our fellow psions Yag Shal and Nora Troie. I believe the reverse requires no introduction?"
"Nope!"
Nora declared, her good mood having not so much returned as snapped back in place.
"Good," Amanda said with a nod. "Then I suppose that at this moment you have already met all of Agano Squadron."
Huh. Four shipgirls, three psions. That wasn't good math as far as I knew. But then again, what did I know?
"So you're a two for three deal?"
Nora nodded.
"The best kind of deal!"
"Or so matters panned out," Yag Shal added.
He sounded neutral enough, but there was a weight to those words, weight that demanded that they be given their due time. So I did; and at any rate a quick cough from Amanda was enough to steer anyone else away from the topic.
"And you will excuse me, Lieutenant, but as I was about to say, I did not recall you being so...agile on Sancaid Prime."
"Eh, I'm still not too good with the Aramus suit," I admitted. "Probably need that beaten into me some time too."
Edith's face scrunched up. My, wasn't today full of complex revelations? Or was it the flippant tone that got her?
"Pretty sure that's not how we do things at Boot Camp. 'Least, not the way you talk about it."
Well, that answered the question, if her assumptions rendered ambiguous by the frown that flickered across Orfan's face.
"...Beaten?"
But the clincher was Amanda Reiner's face. Why, if I didn't know better, I'd have called the look on it one of mild horror. I mean, what was I, some kind of twig flailing helplessly in the wind? I mean, that depended on one's perspective, and I suppose that to a shipgirl -or, to a lesser degree, a rampaging Abyssal built like a small tank- humanity in general must seem all too frail. But it rankled all the same.
"Sometimes that's the only way people learn."
"One would...suppose." Her face was still a tectonic riot: amusement bubbling up through the ever-shifting strata of curiosity mixed with -yes I had not read that wrong- concern. "But I assume this scuffle left you relatively unhurt?"
"First a save, and now you ask after my good health?" I sketched a mock bow. "Ma'am, I am unworthy-"
Wait. There was something else in there. Some unnameable displeasure? Yes, that was it. Worn and faded, but there nonetheless. Like an old-
Like an old wound still attached to the nerves. Worse, it was an old wound that I knew. Recalled, to be more accurate, not that it made things any less damning.
"-Sorry," I added as quickly as humanly possible. Thank goodness for Terrestrial Age History in sophomore year. "I spoke rashly. Not all difficult lessons are...equal."
Not a moment too soon; the mouth of Graf Zeppelin's avatar was already half-open, only to snap shut again. And for a few moments that was all I could see or hear. Nothing but the sound of her working jaw, no sight but the frost-melt eyes that studied mine.
Then at last, a small, but by no means guileless smile won.
"So, if you're going to play the gentleman, would you accept that words have consequences regardless?"
"Uh."
So I stalled, most eloquently. Okay. So that was unexpected. What now?
Ah, dammit. There was only one way this could ever go. Might as well get it over with.
"Just a light tap. Please?" I raised both hands up to eye level. "I don't think any amount of gentlemanliness would help if you actually hit me."
This time it was Amanda's turn to be surprised. But not for long, which was no surprise. She'd had more time to think this through, and even if such thoroughness hadn't already been habitual with her, cleaning up after Liz would surely have done the trick by now.
"Well played, Ethel Deschantes. Consider yourself off the hook-" Too late did I realize that our ever-sharp Lieutenant Commander had been waiting for me to let the breath I only half knew I was holding go. "-for now," she continued with a smirk. "In any case, I came not to cavort with you, but rather at the behest of a fellow gentleman."
"Ah yes, I can see him now. Red hair. Mild case of the freckles. Middling case of social anxiety. Major case of vaguely underage romantic interest. Do I have the right guy?"
"Yes." The response was stiff. "He wishes to speak to you in private."
"And in what private capacities? Frightened suitor to fraternal doomsday device?"
"I would think it's a little early for that."
"Precisely my point."
'If I hadn't just voided my right to do so, I would bat you across this room', said the look in the shipgirl's eyes as they swept over me. But we both knew that this quarrel was between me and Johann Leckie, not to mention that I had spoken nothing but the truth so far.
"You will find him on the Observation Deck," she said at length.
"Great. Knew I wasn't the only bloke wanting some fresh air around these parts." I dusted myself off as I stood up. "So, if you all don't mind?"
Orfan waved me off.
"Eh. Sometimes boys gotta talk it out."
"I'm with the old man," Edith concurred with a shrug.
Nora just looked surprised -and rightly so- that she was being consulted at all.
"Oh. Us?" She tittered, flicking her rose-gold hair. "No need to ask! You see, we were just about to leav-" -ker-snap!- went the air, flash frozen by two winter-sapphire eyes. "-err, I mean, we're happy to stay here and talk. Yes! Happy to stay-talk-things."
Well. It seemed fate had other plans for our would-be departees.
"Then I'll be off."
"I hope your meeting goes smoothly," the shipgirl called after me.
"Have fun!" Nora cheered.
"Don't trip yourself on the way out!" Orfan added.
I rolled my eyes all the way down the nearest stone stairs. Ye gods, the sincerity in here.
====
Johann Leckie was easy enough to find. The area outside the Grand Ballroom was understandably deserted, as was the path out to the elevators. The Observation Deck itself was not quite empty, with a smattering of groups here and there having their own little circle of heart-to-hearts.
And it was that last fact that really made Leckie stand out: the redhead was alone, staring out one of the viewing screens at the starry expanse beyond.
"You know, it's always annoyed me a bit that these things aren't real glass," I said as I approached.
Now see, I had expected to startle him a little. Indeed, that was the plan. But leaping away from the railings you'd been holding on to like they were scalding iron, and then fumbling with a salute? That was beyond even my expectations.
I held out a hand to stop him.
"I believe we've gone over this."
"E-er." Credit where it was due, Leckie did settle fast. "Yeah. Yeah, we did. You don't like the whole, uh, 'yes sir no sir' thing."
"No, I don't."
Or at least, not till I'd earned it.
An awkward silence passed between us then. Hello, Earth to Nerdlord McGee. This is where you're supposed to come in and say something. Anything.
No? Nothing? Okay, nevermind.
"So as I was saying," I said, tapping the wall that ostensibly separated the Deck from the vagaries of space. "it's a bit disappointing to know that this isn't actually glass."
"...Well, they're close enough, I guess?"
"What's close enough?"
"The optics. You asked about them."
"And what about them?"
Man. This felt like looking in a mirror dated seven years back. Like, seriously, when- oh wait a minute.
Was that why I hadn't liked him at first sight? Because that bumbling reticence, that slight dissatisfaction with everything and nothing at once that could not express itself, that tentative groping around for a kindred spirit and that sudden joy in finding one - were all too familiar? Ah Ethel Deschantes, you petty soul.
"They're embedded into the outer armor stratum's nano-structure by the million, each one so small it doesn't seem to make a difference in the final facade," Leckie explained, hands animated. "A design compromise. Best they could find. A bit low on the uh, aesthetics, but I guess it keeps people alive, so-" he paused, wringing his hands for a moment. "-yeah, and that's about it."
"Quite the love of boats you have there."
"Ulmud has an OFN," he replied, referring to the Orbital Foundry Networks that surrounded many resource-rich planets - the very backbone of Alliance industry. "Seen many a ship fly through its gates."
"And yet all the beauty in the world would not please him, till entered the Queen of Sheba."
Have I ever mentioned how fascinating and amusing someone looked when puzzling out a tangled Gordian grab-bag of meaning? Just wanted to say that.
"Did you just-"
"Yes, I did just. Suzy's a wonderful choice. I mean, I've only known her two weeks now, but you know," I shrugged. "Psion things."
Leckie cocked an eyebrow at that.
"Gets the knowing going?"
"Just so. Though there's not much to know, except that she's already a better person than I'll be in a hundred years."
"Assuming we live that long."
"Exactly. And it's also exactly why I won't stop you."
Okay, see here. While I did say that confused faces amused me, there really had to be an upper limit to how many times it could be done a minute. This was just unhealthy.
"...eh?"
Leckie choked out at last.
"Don't 'eh' me." Placing a hand on the railing, I leaned into it about it, all the better to lazily lecture my crimson haired companion. "Why shouldn't we be given a shot at things while we still breathe? And I don't own Suzy, nor would I want to even if she let me." I tossed a hand into the air. "Really, I've have a mind to just tell you to go take it up with her and be done with it."
"But you seemed so-"
"-Unfriendly? Opposed to your continued presence?" The Corporal nodded. "I was just messing with you. A small abuse of my authority, I suppose."
"That was it?"
"That was it."
Well. Correction, I had only been messing with him most of the time. Or maybe half. Alright, just sometimes, okay? Yeesh, consciences. Such inconvenient things to have. So inconvenient, in fact, that I could feel a yawn coming on already just from the stress of it all. Yawn I did, almost laying myself out on the railing in the process.
"Think I'm packing it up for an early night either way. Multiple hospital stays can really get to a guy." I gave him a sidelong look. "So. What're you going to do now?"
Leckie's response was to turn his face to the stars outside, looking to them for repose and inspiration no doubt. Yes. Now came the test. Mark your words carefully, young man, if you still want a head to spout them from in the future.
"I'm not ready."
Those words were a while in coming.
"Go on."
"Do you remember the joke you made before we warped in, s-Ethel? The one about doing what little you could?"
"I meant what I said."
"Which makes it all the funnier that you wound up doing so much." Leckie chuckled, but there was little humour in it, or in the paling knuckles of his hands as they wrapped around the railing. "I take it back, you know, when I said that sitting on the bridge was a cushy job. It wasn't. We had a few close calls while you were underground. One fuck up, and we'd have lost our ticket offworld."
"You have my thanks. Belatedly."
"But that's the thing. I didn't do jack. Suzy was pulling most of the weight. I mean, some might say she was born to do it. Literally. But still!" He sighed. "I think Edith might have been keeping up. I really think so. Not that that makes me feel much better. And Marge…"
"Finds a way to make you feel inadequate?"
"It's not her fault." Leckie's voice was prickly, almost defensive. "She's just always been good at things."
So this whole 'my brother's keeper' business went both ways for them. Color me impressed.
"If this incident was any indication, we're going to be crewing the Suzukaze more often. I need to not have to read my part off a script. I need to learn more." The redhead paused, scratching his cheek. "And well- okay, I'm not insulting you, but I talked to the Lieutenant Commander, and she mentioned that you psions understand their -your- ships, um, instinctively. Is that the word?"
"Yes. I wouldn't be able to teach you much, at least."
Turning around, Leckie leaned his back lightly against the rails, his gaze divided between me and the ceiling.
"So, yeah. I need some time. Get better at my job. Clean house."
"And?"
Johann Leckie looked me in the eye, a wry grin on his face.
"Well. We'll can only see where we can go from there once we're there, no?"
Ah, if only the Mirror Match Hatred Theory of Social Relations wasn't so long coined already. Or if I'd regarded Psychiatry with any more than passing interest.
"I guess I misjudged you," I admitted.
"It was a mutual thing." He extended a hand. "So we're even?"
As long as you don't complain when I put a spear made of brainfire through your chest as and when you mess up without fessing up, kiddo.
"Yes. Yes, we do." I seized his hand, given it a firm shake. "I don't suppose I could leave the rest of tonight to you, then?"
His grin failed a little, replaced by a small, confused frown.
"The rest...of what now?"
Reaching over, I patted him on the back.
"The night, my man. Specifically, escort duty. Many things go bump in after a party. As I said, I'm going to hit the sack. And in my stead, you are going to make sure none of that nonsense goes on with our young ladies."
"Like that fellow who hung around Fubuki?"
"Yeah, like so. Big man like you? Should be easy to put him in his place."
Leckie's frown grew deeper.
"He outranks me, you know."
"He is also medically incapable of acting his rank."
Why yes, young seeker, the ancient loa do tell me that your spirit animal is the dead goldfish - and that it is hilarious.
"You're an awful friend," Leckie muttered, clawing at a clump of gelled-up hair.
"Is that what they call those who keep their buddies out of trouble nowadays?"
His silence itself as good an reply as any.
I took one last, long look at the starry expanse. Long had they guided our kind as we navigated the dark night of sea and space alike, and even now they danced alongside the Gradivus and her escorts, casting unnumbered lights upon the final preparations now taking place for our departure into FTL, and from there to Eris Shipyards, headquarters of Fleet Group Poseidon.
But where I was going next, I did not need them to guide me.
Pushing myself off the rails, I gave Leckie one more bump on the shoulder as I passed.
"I'm making a move now. See you...and good luck, Jo."
====
The room was still empty when I slid the shower door open, wringing my hair dry as much as one might bother when armed with such crude tools as a towel and two hands. Guess this was going to be one of those nights. You know, the ones with the afterparty after the afterparty. But that suited me just fine.
Dumping myself onto the white sheets of my bed, I whipped my OmniPad up from where I had left it beneath my pillow.
One-fourteen in the morning shipboard time. In less than four hours, at the very crack of dawn, we would make our Jump back to Sol System, where Eris and...mmm. Perhaps it was premature to call anywhere in Sol 'home' yet. That it was the cradle of humanity did not its planets my nursemaids make. But far-flung Eris, furthest from human origin as Sol could get, seemed a fair place to start.
To the pillows then, bold stripling. We did want it to be a good start, after all.
But if you're still here, I wouldn't burden you with the details, other than to say that for the foreseeable future my writing pace will be about as sedate as this. In the good news, the chapter is here, and I am pleased to say that I have already begun some work on the next.
So welcome (back), read on and enjoy! Comments and such would also be much appreciated.
======
A Sea of Stars
Book 1: The Stars, Awake
Chapter 9: Breaking Bread, Sharing Wine
Trasyme: 'Any Time, Any Place - Right Now.'
And Ethel Deschantes had been there, a witness among many to the first fruit of that boast made by the bleeding edge of holographic display technology.
He had been fifteen then, filled with youth, life and acid skepticism about the perks of living alone in a modern acropolis like New Avalon.
What did it take to open such a child's eyes? Not much. Just two hundred and forty seven thousand people, on their feet in the Oran Greis Stadium, expressions of awe etched on every face as emerald turf and candy cane stands melted away amid azure waves, plunging them twenty thousand leagues under an ocean far too primordial to be our native waters, born as they were from the difficult and all too recently complete labor of terraforming.
And to not only see it, but to be there. To taste, to touch on one's own skin the salt air, the ancient coral. To hunt with the Krom Shark, to shelter with schools of Vorkela Krill.
It was a revelation.
And more might have been had, would that post-scarcity allowed us to hold this virtual ubiquity at our beck and call. But as things stood, I was only one or two viewings wiser than the average member of the 322nd.
Which was still quite the advantage, mind you. You didn't see me trying to discreetly navigate the warts and lumps of the pale, sloping rock for a seat that did not qualify for some exotic torture method. Or sweating profusely in the sweltering heat of ritual fires burning in urns and sconces - but mostly from the center of a circle formed by hundreds of bodies. Or strain to not steal peeks into the middle distance where the ceiling of Gradivus Base's Grand Ballroom had been replaced by a starry sky.
Really. You didn't.
Alright, fine. So military discipline was actually a thing with the OrbCav despite their many quirks, and the 322nd's planetary volunteer nature made them far more used to-
-what had the natives of Ulmud called this place again? Silverspire?
Ah yes. Mightiest of the eight great mountains of the small and otherwise somewhat flat planet, topped by a plateau famed for its use in ceremony and celebration alike, and now, by the grace of modern technology, the site of our joyous occasion.
So yes. Their planet, their mountain. Of course they would be more used to it.
It also helped that it was their unit CO up there near the middle addressing us and all. And man, did you have to hand it to Commander Levi Bolivar.
"...but more than we grieve them," he continued from what must surely have been a preamble most stirring, "we honor them as only soldiers can. We shall carry their torch, their flame, in our hearts, that it may remained undimmed and unbowed despite their sacrifice. Nay, it shall glow brighter still - and brightest in the moment when we plunge once more into the breach, and into the heart of our foe..."
Well, well. Fall in battle at the tip of the spear, and you got fine speeches told in your honor. Who would've known that deals could get so sweet? It certainly didn't hurt either that the OrbCav were also among the most hideously well compensated forces in our Navy.
Yet Bolivar's chiselled, scar-taut face was marked by a resolve much too plain to be wholly rehearsed, his amber-flecked brown eyes simmering with emotions too volatile for the dramatics proceeding from his mouth. Pride that his troops had returned victorious. Relief that so few had fallen. And was that a twinge of-
-my word, yes, yes it was.
Ah, what a week it must have been for him, one might suppose. No, what a life. To come back to the planet of one's birth, bearing the unenviable task of raising a force destined to fight -and die- far from home. To fill their heads with glory yet caution them against seeking it, knowing full well that the latter would so often be ignored. To stand before them, congratulating them for buying in.
Still, he pushed on. And just as well: this war wasn't the sort we wouldn't win without some grit, and a whole lot of belief, erroneous or not.
ing"...nor could we have won the day on the field without our brothers and sisters who risked their lives to keep the skies clear." Oh. At that part of the speech already, were we? "and it is in their honor, too, that we are gathered here today."
Well, guess that was our cue.
Levos En Sha raised two scaled fingers between his two hearts as he stood - the Qwen, the Antarian warriors' greeting. Izin Bat-Ami's mask was ivory-white, marked in the fierce red of victory. Enzo Morales angled his pipe towards the crowd in an informal salute. And the responding applause was indeed uproarious.
Our shipgirls were a somewhat cut-down party, what with Amanda Reiner representing a certain over-enthused scientist, and with most of Team Agano being in the escort party receiving said scientist and the rest of our command staff from their planetside duties on Iber.
But that didn't stop them from stealing the show. Amanda Reiner's dress blues were as immaculate as they were ancillary: her gaze alone might have captured half the eyes in the room within winter's grip despite the heat, and yet if those stares were anything but awe I should be a blind man. Next to me, Suzy made up for looking a little small in her Navy blouse by lighting the Silverspire up with a carnival grin. Rin Fubuki and JD for their part drew not a few laughs as they stood and bowed as one - before mutual realization dawned, and both turned away blushing.
Which left me, I suppose. Ethel Deschantes in the house, looking for non-existent shadows to blend into.
Mercifully, Bolivar raised a hand, and the applause began to die down, allowing us to be seated.
I glanced sidelong as I sat, to the area where Forza Team and company were seated.
Three pins holding normally free dreadlocks together and a pair of dark glasses gave Edith a distinctly aloof feel. Marge looked as if she might burst apart at the seams with pride - I suppose the black scythe over Abyssal teeth that newly adorned her left sleeve shoulder had something to do with that. But it was Johann Leckie who was the real surprise, the distant, pensive look he wore auguring neither with the present mood nor what I knew of him.
Ah, but then again, what did I know about any of them?
"Thank you." The Commander nodded to us. "Most of all, however, this day belongs most not to our glorious past, or our solemn present, but to our future. It belongs to those of us who have braved their first baptism in flame, and come out reborn. It belongs to those of us who have sharpened ourselves against our foe, who tested our steel against theirs, and lived to tell of it."
He placed one fist dead center over his chest.
"To us falls the grand mission to build on that wisdom, to continue to refine it, and when our time comes, to pass it on to those who will come after, that they will not have to pay the all too dear blood-price that we had to offer up to gain what we did."
Then without warning, his solemnity melted away to reveal a broad, warm smile.
"...And the fact that so many of us are gathered here tonight is worth a celebration, is it not?"
On cue, Gradivus staff emerged from paths cut through the heart of the mountain - the finest disguise for a below-decks kitchen modern technology could procedurally generate- bearing plates, casseroles and dishes of all sorts in their hands. On and on they streamed out, forming two ranks that flanked our tight circle.
Guess supper was served, then. Now all we needed was to break out the naked togas, and this would be a real dorm party. Bolivar seemed to think so too. I mean, look at this man and his spread out, take-in-the-adoring-crowd arms. Where did you get off acting the part of the Attican orator if you didn't mean to go the whole hog?
Swiping a pint mug from one waiting tray, the Commander held it before him like a victor would a blade.
"Eat. Drink. Share lives. Share tales." Already the rest of our drinks were being passed around in preparation for just that - and more besides, one should think. I caught a whiff of mine: Sarna's Single Malt. Fine taste. "For it is our common bonds that unite us, make us stronger. And most importantly," he finished with a wink, "we all deserve a break once in a while, don't we?"
Lusty cheers rippled through the audience as Bolivar raised his mug, many around us mirroring the motion.
"A toast, then. To the Cav. To the Alliance...and to us!"
====
"Now this," Edith declared, "is the life!"
Clang, went Mug Number Seven as the Petty Officer set it down on the floor with gusto.
I for my part regarded Number Two, cupped between my hands and still a quarter full for it.
"Really."
"Really. We've been on a no-parties diet since we started trainin' up the new batch of these kids." Raising one chiseled arm, Edith snapped her fingers, calling for another mug even as she wiped the last traces of its predecessor from her lips with a swiping sleep. "One for all, whatever for one, and all that dumbass shit."
Now, now, Ethel. Scrunching your face is most unpleasant, and no amount of alcohol can change that. Perhaps, one might raise an eyebrow -the mark of sophisticated, gentlemanly disagreement- instead?
Yes. Very good.
"It's Dumas to you. And please, it was a good line."
"A convenient line," she huffed. "But eh, y'know, s'all well. Boss Levi knows how to treat us right - jus' a matter of when he would find the occasion."
"I suppose."
"You suppose? Come now, sir, let's be honest. I saw your face during the ceremony. You were dying to get outta there-ey, thanks!" Edith cut off abruptly as her new drink arrived. Taking it from the cantina staff member's tray, she clapped the man on the shoulder before turning back to me. "Relax, the Boss has always been the short and sweet kind."
"An article of faith no one informed me of."
"Oh come on," she scoffed, raising the drink to her lips, "you're the guy with mind tricks. Couldn't you just-" the cup stopped with a muffled slosh, a hair's breadth from its intended destination. "-Ah. Right. Right. Suzy done mentioned that one already. Uh, forget I asked."
"It's fine."
Now, I hadn't been told much of what was and was not normal for people in our position, much less what was proper. But if you held a gun to my head for a frank answer, I'd say propriety's future was bleak. Indeed it would not surprise me if our work should someday necessitate communing with the minds of those with less capacity to respond. Or resist.
Till then, though...
"And man, would you look at 'em," Edith said, breaking my doomsaying fugue with a faux dreamy sigh. "The ladies of the hour."
I glanced over my shoulder at one of the larger tables that had been brought up around the center of the party. There stood Suzy and Fubuki, barely keeping their heads above the waters of thronging fandom. JD's partner seemed rather abashed to suddenly be the center of attention, but mine basked in it, shaking hands and accepting both praise and drink.
"Think we should go check if they're not putting the 'wine' into wining and dining?"
Edith rolled her eyes at that.
"Pretty sure shipgirls don't count under drinking age laws. Actually. Shit. Can they even get smashed? Would be a damn shame if they couldn't!"
"See," I said, taking a swig of my drink, "it's the principle of the matter."
"They have a goalkeeper, man."
"Who is himself trying to score."
The presence of JD hovering amidst the wellwishers had not escaped my notice. Or the Petty Officer's for that matter, even if she did seem a little late on her attempt to reassess his suitability as reliable help in this regard.
She shrugged at length.
"'Ey, if it works out in practice..."
"It had better."
Or else, I did not bother implying, and indeed I would have let the entire matter rest, if JD had not chosen that precise moment to shudder as if from a passing chill - nigh impossible for one so close to the towering ceremonial bonfire in the middle of the plateau.
Interesting. Chance? Or did he sense me somehow?
Edith Butler had certainly made up her mind on the matter.
"You sure work fast," she said, her expression just the slightest bit strained.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Really?"
"Really."
Edith gave me one last, long look.
"Well, whatever," she said, ending the conversation with another long draught.
"I'm happy you could see things my way."
"And I'm happy to see that you're your usual shitty self, boy!"
I didn't need to look very hard to find the person that had just said those words. For one thing, Orfan Uruz's voice was really hard to miss. For another, the man himself was sauntering right up to us from behind Edith. Seemingly alone, to boot. If anyone from our planetside party was here yet, the milling crowd hid them well.
The Petty Officer raised her mug by way of greeting, one he accepted with a magnanimity worthy of some ancient lord.
"Evenin', Chief."
"And to you, 'dith." Orfan's look turned cheeky. "And of course, to our fine fellow over here, who is probably wondering where everyone else is at this moment, and when he might be able to depart these formalities."
He paused, his eyes challenging me to offer some rebuttal.
As if I could. Another day, another twinkle in the old man's eye - and another reminder that a century's worth of experience could easily step into the breach where the mere power to link minds feared to tread. No point wasting more time than necessary.
"Care to enlighten us?"
"Sure. But not that I know precisely where everyone is," the Chief quickly qualified with a raised hand. "Our good doctor, especially."
"And I suppose you're relieved by that?"
"W...what?"
Oh my. Oh my, oh my. Did Orfan Uruz, so valiant, so mighty, so very self-assured, just stammer? Oh, please, don't mind me. I'll just be over here, beside myself in my grinning.
"Congratulations on earning your freedom."
"...You're not going to let that go, are you?"
I gave him my most beatific smile possible. And while I was well aware that the Chief did not shudder on its account, I appreciated the response all the same.
Edith did not share that sentiment, looking from one of us to the other as if we'd suddenly grown two heads each. Ah, a subordinate's plight, to have such questions about one's superior, but to rarely have the room to give them voice.
"Is this something I should know," she asked, "or is this a guy thing?"
"It's a guy thing," we replied as one.
It was not quite true, of course. But close enough, in my estimation - not to mention my suspicion. And Orfan seemed to appreciate the defense well enough, gathering himself after that brief slip by sitting down next to us.
"Let's start with the known factors then," the Master Chief declared, counting off with his fingers. "Matsu and Yuu will definitely be late. Said they were gonna get themselves cleaned up."
"Shaking off the stardust of the space roads?"
"Something like that," replied he with a slant of the shoulder. "And Agano's with them. Said they might destroy the shower if they had another, hmmm, how did she put it? Lively disagreement?"
"Sound about right, yeah."
That got me raised eyebrows on both sides.
"What?" I asked. "I met them this afternoon."
Guess our mutual friends didn't pass them the memo. Oh well.
"Moving on," Orfan continued, "Commander Vorkros should've been here...and would've, if she hadn't flat out given us the slip almost upon arrival. Chances are she's- where's Reiner?"
"Somewhere in this crowd. Last I saw she was with Bolivar and some of the staff officers."
"Guess there had to be someone responsible between the two of them," Edith said with a shrug.
"Well then, chances are that Doc is in the labs or her office, doing her usual tinkering."
"I'd have thought she was better at parties."
"So did I, kiddo. But just think about it: have either of us ever had a magic rock to busy ourselves with?"
"True."
I was drifting. Drifting further and further from this conversation.
There was no reason to. The banter was natural. Amusing. Even normal - but only for a given value of normal, that value being 'Edith Butler'.
See, the Orfan Uruz I knew was naggy in the way that only people old enough to be your parents several times over could be. But a profligate wastrel of words he was not. And perhaps it was all this soldierly nonsense we'd been having lately, but this sudden field trip out of character felt too long. Drawn out. It smacked of nothing so much as- mmm, let's see...
"Oh, you'd be surprised," Edith's voice broke through.
...of an ambush. No. The misdirection that preceded an ambush. And if a misdirection should come from the front…
Orfan sat on my ten and a half o'clock. That made the angle of attack four and a- no, four and two thirds. The air felt frostiest there.
Tense. Stagnant.
Now then. Who had our good man failed to mention so far?
"Of course, of course." Orfan nodded sagely. "And speaking of surprises..."
I moved, upper body tipping down to the right. The air whipped like a blade into the void left behind, missing by mere inches. That weave flowed into a tumble, leaving a second blow whooping into the ground next to me.
Yet as I looked up, I felt Orfan's eyes brush against mine. There was only amusement in them.
Without thinking I leaped up. Too late: a golden blur came slicing across the dustless rock, and though it did not quite latch on to my legs as they fled the earth, they made contact. Contact that sent me pitching forward, the red bedrock filling my vision - then stopping, its promise of pain stayed by four limbs thrust outward on flesh-carved instinct. A close shave, yet nary would it have been enough. This position was neither safety nor recovery, no, but an invitation for a fourth blow. One that would surely have been struck in a real fight, and to fatal effect.
But a real fight this was not - something the growing hoots and cheers from all around were far too glad to make known.
"Awesome!"
"Shit, he really can read minds!"
"Give us another!"
"I'll put fifty on the kid!"
"Seventy on the lady knight!"
Lady Knight? I slid into a kneeling position, and for the first time got a good look at my assailants.
A stranger pair one would be hard pressed to remember.
All from Terra to Eregion (what little of it we still held anyway) knew the Anguirians to be a warrior race. Proudly dangerous, and dangerously proud. Renowned for their diamond-hard hides, their fighting prowess with little more than that natural armor, and their pride in both the scars they won and the color of their cladding that grew richer with age.
So it seemed almost incongruous that Yag Shal Troie, armored in gold and with that long-browned gash over his eye, would allow himself be ridden after the manner of a horse.
Almost, that is: much became plain when one laid eyes upon his diminutive rider.
Yes, 'diminutive'. Why, if telomeric treatments hadn't made it damn near impossible to gauge the age of sub-centenarians, or if I hadn't already seen her face frozen into celluloid all too recently, ten times out of ten I would have laid a hand across my heart and told you that Nora Troie was the younger between us.
This was not at all helped by the manner in which noble refinement conferred by fine coifs -and a swirl of molten copper-gold hair bound up in part by a single pleat surely counted on the fine side of taste- tended not to play nice with looks of mock petulant disappointment.
A look which was schooled into righteous indignation in but the time needed for her to level an extinguished sconce at me, like a cavalier readying a charge.
"What, ho! This one's skill is keen!" Nora declared, declarative voice par excellence. "But thou art a knave still, with a ill countenance to match."
"Me, a knave?"
"Why, yes, of course! Or do you deny it?"
Rising from my genuflection, I regarded my accuser.
"More that I know not the reasons why, my lady."
"Ha! Lies and falsehood," scoffed she airily. "It is but common knowledge that any man who lives under the same roof as corruption should find himself liable to adopt it for his own."
Below her, Yag Shal snorted, two plumes of steam spouting from his nostrils. And in response Nora leaned down, her expression indulgent, pacifying.
"Peace, my love, my steed. You need not be so eager. We shall bring this wretch to heel yet."
My my, lady. There seems to be a misunderstanding here. A mystery to you, no doubt, but the way I see it hubby dearest has more in common with me than-
"Cease your simpering, rascal." The words cracked through the air like an imperious whip, a complete one eighty from how she had sounded a moment ago. "I did not ask for your commentary."
"I never knew my looks were so eloquent."
The look that I received in return could have melted clean through ship armor.
"Why you…" Nora cut herself off with an exaggerated huff. "...enough. I will hear no more of your unrepentant drivel. Prepare yourself, for-"
"-for this business is about to shelved, till such time as you to discuss it like civil people."
It was like winter had dropped a pre-season sneak preview - if winter was permitted to wear a flash of bleeding red and opal-gold as devices to go with its colors. And the sight of Amanda Reiner approaching, her glare razor sharp as sleet, was every bit as dreadful as frost's own coming.
For Nora, at least. Deer caught in ship headlights would be unflappable compared to the chevalier wannabe. Indeed it looked like the shorter woman might have warped out right that instant if any power, psionic or otherwise, allowed it.
"Well then. I would ask you to lower your lance, Lady Troie."
To Nora's credit, she held...well, not quite fast, but as close as one could get.
"...don't wanna."
"Opinion noted - as irrelevant." Graf Zeppelin's avatar said with a quirked an eyebrow, to the laughter of many. "Put the sconce down."
"IsaidIdontwanna-"
"Down, Nora."
Well, this was it. The climax. All that was left at this point was for something to give. Something had to, after all - either the unrelenting pressure from our 2IC, or my assailant's dignity.
And after an interminable moment less tense than it was simply annoying, Nora deflated.
"You're no fun," she mumbled.
"I do seem to get that a lot," Amanda agreed. "Alright, ladies and gentlemen. Nothing more to see here."
Those words were a formality, of course. Her arrival had all but strangled the prospect of a brawl in its crib, and with that opportunity for some midnight entertainment ruined, the crowd all but evaporated, the soldiers of the 322nd returning to whatever other distractions they had hitherto been busying themselves with.
That in spite, Amanda did not strain the quality of mercy, waiting for the commotion around us to fully dissipate before speaking again.
"Why do you have to encourage her, Arhan Yag Shal?"
I got the distinct sense that had the scarred Anguirian not been quadruped at that moment, he would be scratching his cheek in embarrassment. But for now Yag Shal Troie dipped his head low in lieu of a more complete proskynesis.
"I must plead husbandly omission, milady Reiner."
"Plea rejected," The carrier replied without missing a beat. "Act your age."
Satisfied that our errant knight-and-steed pair were now suitably chastised, Amanda turned her judging eye onto Orfan.
"And will you also plead omission, Master Chief?"
Ah, Orfan Uruz, ever immune to intimidations unjustly leveled. This time the old man just shrugged, seeming no more concerned with what was being said than a dog about dying fleas.
"Nay. I was sure the kid would dodge that."
"Oh, sure," I retorted. "Next time, I suggest using a hovertank or three to run me over."
"I'll keep that in mind," The Chief replied easily, before turning back to Amanda. "Charming young man, isn't he?"
The carrier nodded.
"Quite. Lieutenant, our fellow psions Yag Shal and Nora Troie. I believe the reverse requires no introduction?"
"Nope!"
Nora declared, her good mood having not so much returned as snapped back in place.
"Good," Amanda said with a nod. "Then I suppose that at this moment you have already met all of Agano Squadron."
Huh. Four shipgirls, three psions. That wasn't good math as far as I knew. But then again, what did I know?
"So you're a two for three deal?"
Nora nodded.
"The best kind of deal!"
"Or so matters panned out," Yag Shal added.
He sounded neutral enough, but there was a weight to those words, weight that demanded that they be given their due time. So I did; and at any rate a quick cough from Amanda was enough to steer anyone else away from the topic.
"And you will excuse me, Lieutenant, but as I was about to say, I did not recall you being so...agile on Sancaid Prime."
"Eh, I'm still not too good with the Aramus suit," I admitted. "Probably need that beaten into me some time too."
Edith's face scrunched up. My, wasn't today full of complex revelations? Or was it the flippant tone that got her?
"Pretty sure that's not how we do things at Boot Camp. 'Least, not the way you talk about it."
Well, that answered the question, if her assumptions rendered ambiguous by the frown that flickered across Orfan's face.
"...Beaten?"
But the clincher was Amanda Reiner's face. Why, if I didn't know better, I'd have called the look on it one of mild horror. I mean, what was I, some kind of twig flailing helplessly in the wind? I mean, that depended on one's perspective, and I suppose that to a shipgirl -or, to a lesser degree, a rampaging Abyssal built like a small tank- humanity in general must seem all too frail. But it rankled all the same.
"Sometimes that's the only way people learn."
"One would...suppose." Her face was still a tectonic riot: amusement bubbling up through the ever-shifting strata of curiosity mixed with -yes I had not read that wrong- concern. "But I assume this scuffle left you relatively unhurt?"
"First a save, and now you ask after my good health?" I sketched a mock bow. "Ma'am, I am unworthy-"
Wait. There was something else in there. Some unnameable displeasure? Yes, that was it. Worn and faded, but there nonetheless. Like an old-
Like an old wound still attached to the nerves. Worse, it was an old wound that I knew. Recalled, to be more accurate, not that it made things any less damning.
"-Sorry," I added as quickly as humanly possible. Thank goodness for Terrestrial Age History in sophomore year. "I spoke rashly. Not all difficult lessons are...equal."
Not a moment too soon; the mouth of Graf Zeppelin's avatar was already half-open, only to snap shut again. And for a few moments that was all I could see or hear. Nothing but the sound of her working jaw, no sight but the frost-melt eyes that studied mine.
Then at last, a small, but by no means guileless smile won.
"So, if you're going to play the gentleman, would you accept that words have consequences regardless?"
"Uh."
So I stalled, most eloquently. Okay. So that was unexpected. What now?
Ah, dammit. There was only one way this could ever go. Might as well get it over with.
"Just a light tap. Please?" I raised both hands up to eye level. "I don't think any amount of gentlemanliness would help if you actually hit me."
This time it was Amanda's turn to be surprised. But not for long, which was no surprise. She'd had more time to think this through, and even if such thoroughness hadn't already been habitual with her, cleaning up after Liz would surely have done the trick by now.
"Well played, Ethel Deschantes. Consider yourself off the hook-" Too late did I realize that our ever-sharp Lieutenant Commander had been waiting for me to let the breath I only half knew I was holding go. "-for now," she continued with a smirk. "In any case, I came not to cavort with you, but rather at the behest of a fellow gentleman."
"Ah yes, I can see him now. Red hair. Mild case of the freckles. Middling case of social anxiety. Major case of vaguely underage romantic interest. Do I have the right guy?"
"Yes." The response was stiff. "He wishes to speak to you in private."
"And in what private capacities? Frightened suitor to fraternal doomsday device?"
"I would think it's a little early for that."
"Precisely my point."
'If I hadn't just voided my right to do so, I would bat you across this room', said the look in the shipgirl's eyes as they swept over me. But we both knew that this quarrel was between me and Johann Leckie, not to mention that I had spoken nothing but the truth so far.
"You will find him on the Observation Deck," she said at length.
"Great. Knew I wasn't the only bloke wanting some fresh air around these parts." I dusted myself off as I stood up. "So, if you all don't mind?"
Orfan waved me off.
"Eh. Sometimes boys gotta talk it out."
"I'm with the old man," Edith concurred with a shrug.
Nora just looked surprised -and rightly so- that she was being consulted at all.
"Oh. Us?" She tittered, flicking her rose-gold hair. "No need to ask! You see, we were just about to leav-" -ker-snap!- went the air, flash frozen by two winter-sapphire eyes. "-err, I mean, we're happy to stay here and talk. Yes! Happy to stay-talk-things."
Well. It seemed fate had other plans for our would-be departees.
"Then I'll be off."
"I hope your meeting goes smoothly," the shipgirl called after me.
"Have fun!" Nora cheered.
"Don't trip yourself on the way out!" Orfan added.
I rolled my eyes all the way down the nearest stone stairs. Ye gods, the sincerity in here.
====
Johann Leckie was easy enough to find. The area outside the Grand Ballroom was understandably deserted, as was the path out to the elevators. The Observation Deck itself was not quite empty, with a smattering of groups here and there having their own little circle of heart-to-hearts.
And it was that last fact that really made Leckie stand out: the redhead was alone, staring out one of the viewing screens at the starry expanse beyond.
"You know, it's always annoyed me a bit that these things aren't real glass," I said as I approached.
Now see, I had expected to startle him a little. Indeed, that was the plan. But leaping away from the railings you'd been holding on to like they were scalding iron, and then fumbling with a salute? That was beyond even my expectations.
I held out a hand to stop him.
"I believe we've gone over this."
"E-er." Credit where it was due, Leckie did settle fast. "Yeah. Yeah, we did. You don't like the whole, uh, 'yes sir no sir' thing."
"No, I don't."
Or at least, not till I'd earned it.
An awkward silence passed between us then. Hello, Earth to Nerdlord McGee. This is where you're supposed to come in and say something. Anything.
No? Nothing? Okay, nevermind.
"So as I was saying," I said, tapping the wall that ostensibly separated the Deck from the vagaries of space. "it's a bit disappointing to know that this isn't actually glass."
"...Well, they're close enough, I guess?"
"What's close enough?"
"The optics. You asked about them."
"And what about them?"
Man. This felt like looking in a mirror dated seven years back. Like, seriously, when- oh wait a minute.
Was that why I hadn't liked him at first sight? Because that bumbling reticence, that slight dissatisfaction with everything and nothing at once that could not express itself, that tentative groping around for a kindred spirit and that sudden joy in finding one - were all too familiar? Ah Ethel Deschantes, you petty soul.
"They're embedded into the outer armor stratum's nano-structure by the million, each one so small it doesn't seem to make a difference in the final facade," Leckie explained, hands animated. "A design compromise. Best they could find. A bit low on the uh, aesthetics, but I guess it keeps people alive, so-" he paused, wringing his hands for a moment. "-yeah, and that's about it."
"Quite the love of boats you have there."
"Ulmud has an OFN," he replied, referring to the Orbital Foundry Networks that surrounded many resource-rich planets - the very backbone of Alliance industry. "Seen many a ship fly through its gates."
"And yet all the beauty in the world would not please him, till entered the Queen of Sheba."
Have I ever mentioned how fascinating and amusing someone looked when puzzling out a tangled Gordian grab-bag of meaning? Just wanted to say that.
"Did you just-"
"Yes, I did just. Suzy's a wonderful choice. I mean, I've only known her two weeks now, but you know," I shrugged. "Psion things."
Leckie cocked an eyebrow at that.
"Gets the knowing going?"
"Just so. Though there's not much to know, except that she's already a better person than I'll be in a hundred years."
"Assuming we live that long."
"Exactly. And it's also exactly why I won't stop you."
Okay, see here. While I did say that confused faces amused me, there really had to be an upper limit to how many times it could be done a minute. This was just unhealthy.
"...eh?"
Leckie choked out at last.
"Don't 'eh' me." Placing a hand on the railing, I leaned into it about it, all the better to lazily lecture my crimson haired companion. "Why shouldn't we be given a shot at things while we still breathe? And I don't own Suzy, nor would I want to even if she let me." I tossed a hand into the air. "Really, I've have a mind to just tell you to go take it up with her and be done with it."
"But you seemed so-"
"-Unfriendly? Opposed to your continued presence?" The Corporal nodded. "I was just messing with you. A small abuse of my authority, I suppose."
"That was it?"
"That was it."
Well. Correction, I had only been messing with him most of the time. Or maybe half. Alright, just sometimes, okay? Yeesh, consciences. Such inconvenient things to have. So inconvenient, in fact, that I could feel a yawn coming on already just from the stress of it all. Yawn I did, almost laying myself out on the railing in the process.
"Think I'm packing it up for an early night either way. Multiple hospital stays can really get to a guy." I gave him a sidelong look. "So. What're you going to do now?"
Leckie's response was to turn his face to the stars outside, looking to them for repose and inspiration no doubt. Yes. Now came the test. Mark your words carefully, young man, if you still want a head to spout them from in the future.
"I'm not ready."
Those words were a while in coming.
"Go on."
"Do you remember the joke you made before we warped in, s-Ethel? The one about doing what little you could?"
"I meant what I said."
"Which makes it all the funnier that you wound up doing so much." Leckie chuckled, but there was little humour in it, or in the paling knuckles of his hands as they wrapped around the railing. "I take it back, you know, when I said that sitting on the bridge was a cushy job. It wasn't. We had a few close calls while you were underground. One fuck up, and we'd have lost our ticket offworld."
"You have my thanks. Belatedly."
"But that's the thing. I didn't do jack. Suzy was pulling most of the weight. I mean, some might say she was born to do it. Literally. But still!" He sighed. "I think Edith might have been keeping up. I really think so. Not that that makes me feel much better. And Marge…"
"Finds a way to make you feel inadequate?"
"It's not her fault." Leckie's voice was prickly, almost defensive. "She's just always been good at things."
So this whole 'my brother's keeper' business went both ways for them. Color me impressed.
"If this incident was any indication, we're going to be crewing the Suzukaze more often. I need to not have to read my part off a script. I need to learn more." The redhead paused, scratching his cheek. "And well- okay, I'm not insulting you, but I talked to the Lieutenant Commander, and she mentioned that you psions understand their -your- ships, um, instinctively. Is that the word?"
"Yes. I wouldn't be able to teach you much, at least."
Turning around, Leckie leaned his back lightly against the rails, his gaze divided between me and the ceiling.
"So, yeah. I need some time. Get better at my job. Clean house."
"And?"
Johann Leckie looked me in the eye, a wry grin on his face.
"Well. We'll can only see where we can go from there once we're there, no?"
Ah, if only the Mirror Match Hatred Theory of Social Relations wasn't so long coined already. Or if I'd regarded Psychiatry with any more than passing interest.
"I guess I misjudged you," I admitted.
"It was a mutual thing." He extended a hand. "So we're even?"
As long as you don't complain when I put a spear made of brainfire through your chest as and when you mess up without fessing up, kiddo.
"Yes. Yes, we do." I seized his hand, given it a firm shake. "I don't suppose I could leave the rest of tonight to you, then?"
His grin failed a little, replaced by a small, confused frown.
"The rest...of what now?"
Reaching over, I patted him on the back.
"The night, my man. Specifically, escort duty. Many things go bump in after a party. As I said, I'm going to hit the sack. And in my stead, you are going to make sure none of that nonsense goes on with our young ladies."
"Like that fellow who hung around Fubuki?"
"Yeah, like so. Big man like you? Should be easy to put him in his place."
Leckie's frown grew deeper.
"He outranks me, you know."
"He is also medically incapable of acting his rank."
Why yes, young seeker, the ancient loa do tell me that your spirit animal is the dead goldfish - and that it is hilarious.
"You're an awful friend," Leckie muttered, clawing at a clump of gelled-up hair.
"Is that what they call those who keep their buddies out of trouble nowadays?"
His silence itself as good an reply as any.
I took one last, long look at the starry expanse. Long had they guided our kind as we navigated the dark night of sea and space alike, and even now they danced alongside the Gradivus and her escorts, casting unnumbered lights upon the final preparations now taking place for our departure into FTL, and from there to Eris Shipyards, headquarters of Fleet Group Poseidon.
But where I was going next, I did not need them to guide me.
Pushing myself off the rails, I gave Leckie one more bump on the shoulder as I passed.
"I'm making a move now. See you...and good luck, Jo."
====
The room was still empty when I slid the shower door open, wringing my hair dry as much as one might bother when armed with such crude tools as a towel and two hands. Guess this was going to be one of those nights. You know, the ones with the afterparty after the afterparty. But that suited me just fine.
Dumping myself onto the white sheets of my bed, I whipped my OmniPad up from where I had left it beneath my pillow.
One-fourteen in the morning shipboard time. In less than four hours, at the very crack of dawn, we would make our Jump back to Sol System, where Eris and...mmm. Perhaps it was premature to call anywhere in Sol 'home' yet. That it was the cradle of humanity did not its planets my nursemaids make. But far-flung Eris, furthest from human origin as Sol could get, seemed a fair place to start.
To the pillows then, bold stripling. We did want it to be a good start, after all.
=== To be continued in Chapter 10: The Apples of Eris ===
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