by Alex White
Nilah searched his face for some hint of meaning. She still wasn’t sure what that entailed.
“You know,” said Courtney. “An ascendancy? The reason we’re here?”
She feigned comprehension. “I know. I’m just waiting for you to get to the bleeding point.”
Courtney sat up straight. “We could team up. You could distract while I cast. Less competition. Just think about it.”
For a prospective cultist, Courtney struck her as a well-adjusted, eager-to-please young man. Unlike Heather, he seemed to understand the rules of society, even outside of civilized space.
“I’ve got to ask,” she said. “Why are you here?”
“Talking to you?”
“Why are you trying to join the Children, you daft git?” The cultists seemed to like it when she was mean, so she added on a little extra nastiness.
He leaned against the wall next to her. “Because I’m supposed to be somebody. I’ve got a destiny. We’re the chosen ones, and like, uh, there’s always somebody trying to like—stop us from getting that.”
How very poetic you are.
“Like,” Courtney began, “we’re held back in all kinds of ways. My mom is actually a big deal on Taitu. Or at least, she was. She was one of the senior vice presidents of Audian Logistics. We were, like, stupid rich. Lived in Verdance and everything.”
Nilah knew that neighborhood of Taitu’s capital well. More than a few politicians, lobbyists, and heads of major syndicates made the great forest their home, and they all threw parties when the grand prix was in town.
She shrugged. “Sounds like you were rich, and now you wear rags and live on a cot. Not the wisest trade I’ve heard.”
His eyes narrowed. “You think I gave it up? Do you have any idea what happened to Audian Logistics?”
“I’m guessing the answer isn’t ‘They continued shipping goods across the galaxy for a fair and equitable price.’”
“You’re damned right they didn’t. When those bastards from the Capricious overthrew the prime minister, there were all kinds of inquests from the new puppet state. My mom was indicted by the Office of the Special Prosecutor!” Courtney’s hands shook, and Nilah half wondered if he’d turn on her in rage.
“Was your mother part of the conspiracy?”
“What conspiracy? You mean the one the new prime minister made up so she could throw all of her enemies in jail? They said my mom helped orchestrate the barges to supply the Harrow. They put her in prison, and she’s rotting there still. Like, I’m never going to forget the day they pulled me out of class at Wilkinson University, saying the bill wasn’t paid. The dean didn’t care that my grades were great. He didn’t care that I had nowhere else to go! The Special Branch froze our assets and left me to starve!”
It’d be pointless to ask if his mother was innocent. The courts might have an ironclad case, and little Courtney would never believe it.
“And that’s when I finally understood the way the galaxy works,” said Courtney. “There’s no one out there looking out for you. There’s just you, the mountain you have to climb, and your prize waiting at the top. I thought I had everything, but they took it from me in a heartbeat. Worse still, they gave my family fortune to those Clarkie washouts as part of the Restitution Fund. The prime minister needed an excuse to drain the fortunes of the most influential people on Taitu, and she found it.”
“I’m guessing you don’t believe the Winnower Fleet destroyed Clarkesfall.”
“Oh, please! Like, I know you’re just testing my faith, but that’s ridiculous. Who would ever believe something like that? The ‘Fallen’—or whatever—are just a bunch of losers from a dead world coming begging for handouts. They screwed up their own planet. They should have to fix it.”
His words put tiny little holes in Nilah’s heart—as stupid and stumbling as he was, she’d spoken similarly back when she was a racer, relentlessly pursuing the Driver’s Crown. She never would’ve denied the genocide, but she hadn’t shown an abundance of empathy. When Mother killed Cyril Clowe on the track, Nilah had considered the murder an inconvenience, costing her points in her race for the championship against Kristof Kater. When Nilah had been forced to land on Carré with the crew of the Capricious, she hadn’t appealed to Duke Thiollier to spare his people the indignities of indentured servitude and slavery. She’d been single-minded, aiming only for her future as queen of the Pan-Galactic Racing Federation. If Mother hadn’t tried to kill her, would Nilah ever have stuck her neck out for someone else?
“Yeah,” said Nilah. “They think they ought to get a free ride just because their planet was destroyed.”
Courtney gave a bitter laugh. “Allegedly destroyed. But I get what you mean. Like the rest of us have problems, too. I basically don’t have a mark at all. It’s not like running around murdering people is a job.”
“I think that’s called an assassin.”
“Okay, no, though, because I …” He grimaced as he struggled for a counterpoint, then gave up with a sigh. “No one wants me for that. It’s like being a freaking dull-finger, but you don’t see me complaining about it.”
Nilah restrained herself from slapping him. Boots must’ve been rubbing off on her. “You’re a scholar, Courtney.”
“Thanks,” he said, smiling. “You get me.”
That I do, mate. That I do.
She watched a cadre of guards making their way through the crowd, shoving supplicants out of the way. “And what is our strategy for the ascendancy?”
But before he could answer, one of the guards pointed to her, and all five turned in her direction.
“Hello, hello,” said Nilah, her throat tightening. She didn’t want to admit it, but her brawl with Heather Ashburn left her with a few bruises, and she’d be extra sore tomorrow. “What have we here?”
“Maybe they’re pissed off?”
“Maybe I need to kick their asses, too,” muttered Nilah, watching them close the gap to her. In truth, she’d never be able to take all five without her Flicker, and the other supplicants and guards might join in.
Shaver stopped in front of her. “Hope,” she said.
She held out her fist, and Nilah didn’t know what to do. In fighting, touching knuckles meant it was time to start the match. If she did nothing, maybe she’d take that as a sign she relented.
Eventually, Shaver shook her fist and said, “Hold out your damned hand.”
Nilah cupped her hands beneath the guard’s, and she dropped a half ration into her palms.
“It would’ve been Heather’s,” said the guard, grinning from ear to ear.
Nilah took the morsel into her mouth; unlike the other rations, this one was fresh, like a cookie straight out of the oven. The taste conjured a distant night cycle aboard the Capricious, sharing Boots’s ration bar and talking into the late hours. It took all of Nilah’s restraint not to give a little groan of pleasure as she exhaled.
When she’d finished chewing, the guard nodded. “It appears you have a destiny.”
Nilah gave Shaver her most menacing smile. “Too right, chum. Too right.”
Was it night? Nilah couldn’t remember. They kept the lights on inside the recruitment station at all times, and she began to have strange dreams. But on the fourth cycle, she dreamed only of blackness, running across her skin like rivulets of oil, and the strange ululation of the shadow spell.
Night pooled in the corners, spilling over the floor, the cots, and the other supplicants. It rose underneath her, lifting her body free of the worn mattress. The wandering voice became a dirge.
When someone shrieked, Nilah realized she wasn’t dreaming.
A sea of shadows churned inside the barracks, tumbling supplicants’ bodies against one another, sweeping the cots aside. The cultists’ shrieks reflected off every wall, and Nilah’s fearful cries escaped her throat, unbidden. Then someone shouted, “He comes!” and the screams dimmed. More of them shouted for their “Lord,” abandoning their panicked cries. Nilah joine
d them, half out of hope, half out of fear. Maybe they could appease him.
The shadows became a still pond in which the supplicants floated, only their heads above the ink. She churned her arms as though swimming, but it made little difference—the shadows pushed her to the surface like a saltwater lake.
A deep growl emanated through the space, like the low, smooth drone of a maneuvering thruster through a ship’s hull. Words took shape from its depths.
“You must not fear. Know only desire.”
“Yes!” shouted someone in the back, and the ink drained a few centimeters. The others cried out for him, as well.
“Bide your time, for even when you are paralyzed …”
The blackness congealed around Nilah, freezing her limbs in place, and she spied panic on the faces around her. She strained against her prison, but it wouldn’t part. Pressure built inside her limbs and her head grew light as her surroundings constricted.
The archives had been full of gnashing teeth and grasping claws, thousands of wild blades eager for flesh. Now the shadow held her helpless. It could drive a spike through her heart or tear her spine from her body.
Was this the ascension? Had she already screwed up?
She clicked the transmitter in the top of her mouth and wheezed out the word “Help.”
“… you must be ready to strike.”
With a disorienting swirl, darkness drained away, leaving nearly a hundred supplicants on their rumps, as well as a matching lupine shadow creature for each. Nilah’s black dog loomed over her, spikes of matted fur covering an unknowable hide. Snarling echoed through the room, coming from everywhere at once. The beast took a step toward her, and she scrambled backward.
Ten paces away, one of the animals latched onto another cultist, and he screamed, blood pouring from the bite marks on his arm. The beast shook its head, menacing the wound with jagged teeth, which seemed to multiply with each passing second.
“Be ready to strike.”
Nilah swallowed her fear and launched for the creature, slamming her knee into its snout. The shadow went scrabbling back and splashed across the ground into a pool of night. The other cultists followed suit, attacking the animals and crushing them in a single blow. They banded together until all of the creatures were nothing more than black puddles.
“Well done, my Children of the Singularity,” came the deep voice, and Nilah realized that speakers were pumping him into every corner of the room. “The dogs are circling, and you have chosen to stand against them.”
The puddles oozed into the shape of a man, his flesh eating the light around him.
“I am Lord Vraba, the right hand of our master,” came the voice.
Some of them gasped. Others shook with joyful laughter. A roaring applause suffused the barracks, drowning out all other noise. The shadow raised its hand for silence.
And they all took a knee.
The shadow man leapt, becoming a spherical arrangement of continents. Nilah recognized the silhouette of her homeworld, Taitu, in them.
“Our world,” said Vraba, “was the greatest power this galaxy has ever known. We were the seat of wealth …” Cheers rang out. “… of beauty …” More cheers. “… of power.” Vraba became a man-sized sword, whose blade slammed into the concrete ground, taking root in the floor with eager tendrils. The closest supplicants reached down to touch them, and the shadows quested out to caress them in turn.
Nilah glanced around to find the cultists’ eyes wide with elation. This was the man they’d all come to see. She tried to copy their expressions, clapping when they clapped, whooping when they whooped, but she knew Vraba’s display to be nothing more than a show, his voice conveyed by a nice sound system. If he’d wanted to show his real power, he would’ve chewed someone to pieces.
Across the barracks, Alister backed into a far corner, awe on his face, and Nilah spotted a tiny flash in his hand. Had he cast a glyph? He began to inch toward the nearest guard.
Nilah looked for Jeannie, finding her only a few paces away. Inching through the crowd, she reached Jeannie and whispered, “Moira, your friend needs to pay better attention to our lord.”
Jeannie jumped, but noted the direction of Nilah’s gaze. She immediately began pushing toward Alister.
“But Taitu has been infected,” hissed Vraba, his avatar shaking and crumbling at the edges, “with weakness and doubt. Our leaders seek to sell our interests through galactic treaties. We welcome tens of thousands of criminals, wastrels, and undesirables to our world, polluting our noble soil. Our prime minister is nothing more than a GATO puppet, spinning lies about the greatest military leader of our age.”
“Kill her!” screeched one of the supplicants, and the others joined in with a host of reprehensible punishments. Nilah added her own voice to the mix, watching with trepidation as Alister brushed past the first guard. He must have read the man’s mind, but not found what he was looking for.
Alister locked eyes with Nilah, gesturing toward Shaver. Nilah shook her head no, but she could see the defiance in his eyes.
“Taitu is doomed.” Vraba became a man, his silhouette growing a full five meters, so tall he could brush the ceiling. “Grand Admiral Henrick Witts understood and created the Winnower Fleet to give us a final chance. And instead, our world spurned him.”
Alister cast his glyph again, hiding the flash as best he could with a half turn of his body. He was going to get himself killed. Spell in hand, he took another step toward Shaver. Jeannie was closing on him, but she might not reach him in time.
“But we are the inheritors of that stolen planet,” said Vraba, “and we will take what fate has denied us. In your faces, I see commitment and the will to forge your destiny alone. If you succeed in reaching the Pinnacle, you’ll have the honor of serving at the Grand Admiral’s pleasure. You will be more than a Taitutian, more than a human, more than mere meat; you’ll be a vessel of everlasting glory at our side. In a week, I shall appear in person to take you from this world into the vast night, your futures unabridged by the false comforts of civilization.”
Nilah did the mental calculations. If she made it to the Pinnacle, and Vraba took her away … she’d lose her chance to rendezvous with the Capricious. She might never make contact without getting caught.
Perhaps the Special Branch agent had already been extradited in the same fashion. Perhaps the whole mission was a deadly waste of time. Her eyes darted back to Alister.
His hand was a centimeter from Shaver’s back when Vraba’s shadow roared through the crowd, bowling into him. The blackness smashed him into the wall, pouring up his neck in long drips. Alister made to scream, but the darkness slurped into his mouth, tugging at his lips.
“A mind reader,” growled Vraba, “reading my devotees. I should crush you.”
Jeannie froze. Nilah couldn’t help him, either. She was going to have to watch Alister be ground into nothingness.
The shadows withdrew from Alister’s mouth long enough for Vraba to ask, “You have one chance at redemption. What were you doing?”
Alister’s ragged breath carried flecks of spit, but panic must’ve stayed his tongue. The black web around him constricted, eliciting a pained squeal from him, then loosened.
“Answer me,” said Vraba.
“Advantage,” coughed Alister. “I must take every advantage I can … as a Child of the Singularity.”
A black hand reached out of the mass and pinned Alister’s head against the wall with a thunk. Nilah wanted to rush in, tattoos ablaze, but she would only die alongside him.
“Is that so?” asked Vraba. “And what did you think you’d learn?”
“The secrets of the ascension,” huffed Alister. “But—but I did find out that one”—he nodded at the first guard he’d touched—“is afraid you’d learn he was asleep during last night’s watch.”
Another arm grew from the black mask, its clawed finger pointed at Shaver. “Check the recordings.”
Nilah and Jeannie exchanged glan
ces, and Nilah understood the look on her face. If Alister had signed his death warrant, Jeannie would go down with him.
When Shaver returned, her face was grim. She nodded to the shadow.
“I see,” said Vraba.
It washed over the guard, pinning him to the ground, burrowing its tendrils into his flesh, his ears, his nose, his eyes. The man’s hands were free to claw and scratch, his legs free to kick, but nothing would pull Vraba’s spell from his skin. Only tiny droplets of blood emerged from the wounds, and his cries were choked out by the roots rushing down his throat. The shadow scooped his eyes from his head and peeled the muscles from his bones before snapping every joint in his body.
Then Vraba evaporated, and the hideous song vanished with him.
“Well played, little mind reader,” said Vraba. “You’ll do well in the ascension.”
Alister collapsed, panting, looking for all the world like he was choking back vomit.
“But don’t do it again,” said Vraba. “Clean up this mess.”
Once Nilah was clear, she transmitted a whispering, “I’m okay.” She wished she could hear Malik’s reply.
For the rest of the night, Alister had to carry the remains outside and scrub the blood free from the stone. No one would touch him, but they didn’t hate him. They seemed to Nilah as though they were in awe.
Alister, for his part, wasn’t upset at all.
Chapter Eight
Safecracking
Let’s go over this one more time,” said Armin before taking a swig out of his coffee mug.
Boots noticed the accumulated rings lining its interior and wondered if he ever washed it.
“We have the serial number of Durand’s box from the Special Branch investigation,” said Aisha. “We need the access code, or some way to drill the box out of the wall.”
The night cycle on Mercandatta was slowly warming to a sunrise. Boots, Orna, Aisha, Cordell, and Armin sat on the bridge, where they’d been calculating plans through the evening with the aid of some overpriced delivery food.
“We already went through it, sir,” Boots groaned. Her eyes were so dry that it was like rubbing two strips of leather together when she blinked. “It’s impenetrable.”