by Isaac Hooke
Tane swallowed nervously, uncertain if he should tell his parents the next bit. He wasn’t sure he wanted them to think of their son as the man who could destroy an entire fleet with his mind. But they deserved to know what he was capable of. And if they disowned him for it, out of fear or shame or whatever the case, then it was probably for the best.
“Also, I’ve been in the news. A few reporters leaked footage of an event in the Anteres system. I’m sure you’ve seen it by now, since it’s been all over the stream nets, according to someone I know.” He could have checked for himself, he supposed, but he trusted Gia’s words. He didn’t really want to watch himself destroying a fleet anyway.
“I’m talking about the video of a man in a spacesuit, sandwiched between the hull of a starship, and a dark lens, relatively small in comparison to that hull. A man who creates massive missiles forged of light and shadow, and hurls them at a fleet of dweller starships, destroying them all in turn. At least I think that’s what you’ll see—I admit I haven’t actually watched the leaked video myself. Because you see, that man is me.”
There, it was done.
“So. You understand now why you can’t come here. I’m still hunted by the TSN, and the dwellers. I’ll be on the run for the rest of my life probably. I miss you, too. And I love you both. But stay with those robots. There’s a reason Lyra left them to guard you. If the TSN finds you, they’ll put you under their complete control. And I mean complete. It’s very important that you remain in hiding.”
He didn’t want to say much more, because the TSN would likely pry into the message at some point as it was transmitted across the many delay-tolerant nodes of the Galnet.
“Well, guess I’ll go now. Again, I love you. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. For raising me into the man I’ve become. Tane, out.”
His eyes hovered hesitantly near the send button, then he focused on it and dispatched the message.
He dismissed the interface and sat back.
Well, that was a weight off his shoulders.
But unfortunately only one of many.
30
Nelson sat across from Xescartes in his private wardroom. Spread out upon the table before them was a meal one would expect to find on a luxury liner, not a military warship: filet mignon served with sautéed garlic mushrooms; slices of veal layered in caramelized onions; halibut topped with figs and apples; chicken penne in a cabernet sauce. It was far better than the fare most of the crew ate. Nelson wouldn’t be able to finish it all, nor did he have any intention of doing so. He hated wasting food, but it was necessary when dining with the likes of Xescartes. He wanted to ensure the man understood who was in power here. Something that was especially important with a Volur. The moment you showed weakness in any sense of the word was the moment you gave a Volur the upper hand. And you never wanted a Volur to have the upper hand, especially when your working relationship with him was as fragile as it was here.
The dark blue shades and blurring of the Umbra were long gone. It was good to be back in his own universe. The dwellers had put up a weak fight in their attempt to cut off the task unit from the rift, but in the end the admiral led the fleet through without issue. He was a reliable man, Admiral Pashto. Did everything that Nelson told him to, at least when it came to non-tactical matters. Of course he did. He feared the Paramount Leader.
As did Nelson. Everyone did.
Nelson had been demoted for his failure. He no longer reported directly to the Paramount Leader, but rather to another the leader had placed above him. A synthetic named Brizan. As the Paramount Leader’s representative, Nelson was still treated as a VIP aboard this vessel, of course. Given his own stateroom to relax in as he pleased. Given a private wardroom, with a robot chef assigned to prepare whatever meal he desired. But he was no longer directly in charge of the operation to capture the World Bender.
He supposed it could have been worse. Before he was demoted, there had actually been talk of replacing Nelson entirely, but his friends at High Command had argued for his position. They knew he was good at what he did. However, he wasn’t sure how long they would continue to fight for him, not if he failed again. And since Brizan had given him relative autonomy so far, any failure would be placed squarely within his lap. Which was probably why Brizan had given him so much leeway in the first place.
Yes, everyone feared the Paramount Leader. Except perhaps Xescartes. He served different masters.
Speaking of the Volur, Xescartes was staring at him. Nelson realized the Volur had just said something, but he’d missed it.
“Come again?” Nelson asked him.
“I said, we will find him soon,” Xescartes replied. “A man such as he cannot remain hidden long in this universe.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Nelson said. “Sure, eventually we’ll learn what system he jumped to, but after that? If he’s smart, he’ll disembark at a crowded planet, preferably somewhere outside the dominion of the TSN. Given some good facial blurring tech and some ID spoofing, it could be a long time before we pick up his trail again. Especially if he decides to hide out for a few years.”
“He won’t hide in one place,” Xescartes said. “He wants to unlock the dark powers those artifacts give him. He will seek them out, one by one. When he returns to the Umbra, you will know. The ships your TSN has placed at rifts throughout the galaxy will assure that.”
“Maybe,” Nelson said. “But we’ve only deployed ships at the known rifts. It’s very likely other rifts exist out there, in systems we haven’t yet explored.”
“The World Bender won’t waste time exploring uncharted systems until he finds a rift,” Xescartes said. “He wants to attain mastery of the Dark Essence as quickly as possible. I know that’s what I would want.”
“You assume he’s like you,” Nelson said.
“All who can Siphon as much Essence as me are like this…” Xescartes said.
“Maybe there are specific rules imposed by the artifacts that we don’t know about,” Nelson said. “Maybe the World Bender has to be a certain age before he can attain the abilities offered by different artifacts. Maybe he has to have a certain level in Dark Siphoning.”
Xescartes merely stared at him, saying nothing.
“Fine,” Nelson said. “Let’s say he makes it through a known rift, and any ships we have guarding it follow him inside, once he reaches a planet and makes a jump, we’ll lose him again.”
“Which is why I’ve been arguing that the TSN needs to deploy more ships to protect each rift,” Xescartes said. “As many as can be spared. If you had a fleet of twenty ships capable of multiple jumps placed in front of every rift, first of all the World Bender would never pass through. And if he did, and managed to reach a planet, all nearby systems within multiple jump ranges could be searched if the World Bender jumped again.”
“The TSN simply doesn’t have the ships for such a task,” Nelson said. “We’re already spread too thin, especially given the numbers we lost defending the Anteres Rift.” Technically they had won that battle thanks to the World Bender, but the TSN had lost a quarter of its fleet in the process. “You have to look at the asterpolitics. We have to be ready for an attack not just from the dwellers, but from the colonies. Those under our rule know the size of our fleet has been reduced. They know we’ve deployed ships to rifts in their territories. Many have their own navies. They could very well revolt, if they deem the time right. Plus there are the threats from other galactic governments, like the Mautauraen. No, there will be no more ships.” Nelson folded his hands across his chest and leaned forward to stare Xescartes down. “Our best bet is to threaten the lives of the prisoners.”
“Have you received an answer from the World Bender’s associate regarding your previous offer?” Xescartes asked. “Jed Stax?” He said the name with distaste. Likely because Jed was a Volur as well, but had crossed their precious Triumvirate.
“No,” Nelson said. “So we’ll try setting an execution date inste
ad. See if that spurs him into action. If the World Bender doesn’t come in, or this Jed Stax doesn’t betray him, we’ll kill the smuggler and live stream it over the Galnet. We’ll wait a week, and then do the same to the woman Volur.”
“You assume Jed Stax values those two more than the World Bender,” Xescartes said. “Or that Tane Ganeth himself cares for them. You already offered to trade the pair for the World Bender, but received no answer. Lyra told us she lied to him when she stole him away from his homeworld. And that he knows of the lie. That’s certainly not going to earn her any love. And the smuggler? He’s merely the captain of the ship that transported the World Bender. He shared maybe four or five words with him. I don’t think the World Bender cares what we do with either of them.”
“We’ll see,” Nelson said. “You haven’t looked at his brain scans as closely as I have. He has a large supramarginal gyrus, especially on the right side, the portion responsible for empathy.”
“That means nothing,” Xescartes said. “He knows what you’ll do to him. The survival instinct eclipses empathy every time. If you don’t believe me, place two otherwise ordinary individuals in a cage together, deny them food and water for a few days, and watch what happens when you drop a pail of water into the cage.”
Nelson shrugged, and bit into his filet mignon. While chewing, he added a spoonful of sautéed mushrooms and relished in the added flavor.
After he swallowed, a call came in. Ordinarily he would have dismissed it, but the priority level was high.
Nelson dabbed his lips with his table napkin and accepted.
“Go ahead,” Nelson said with his mouth full.
The disembodied head of Brizan appeared, visible to his eyes only. Her features were unnaturally flawless, her cheekbones too high, her brow too manicured. Yes, far too beautiful to be human.
When the hologram finished speaking, Nelson thanked Brizan and disconnected.
He looked at Xescartes, who was scowling at him for his perceived rudeness.
Oh, I can’t wait to see the expression on his face when he hears this.
“We’ve just received word,” Nelson said, unable to suppress a grin. “The World Bender wants to trade himself for the two prisoners.”
Yes, the expression on the Volur’s face was priceless.
Lyra played with Dobbie while her little sister Gwenyth watched. Dobbie was a good cat. The best. So playful and fluffy and lovely. Lyra loved Dobbie more than anything in the galaxy, even Gwenyth. Well, maybe about the same as her sister. But she loved Dobbie lots and lots.
Lyra tugged at the long thread, but Dobbie had the end gripped securely in his little paws. He was lying flat on his side, and wrapped his toothy mouth around the tip and pulled.
“Stop it, you’re flossing him!” Gwenyth said with a giggle.
“He needs to be flossed!” Lyra said, tugging hard on the thread, sliding it through Dobbie’s little teeth.
“Look at this,” Gwenyth said, producing a small glass jar with an unlit candle inside. “Mari gave it to me.” She held it underneath Lyra’s nose.
“Mmm, smells good!” Lyra said. The scent was a pleasant mixture of cinnamon and lavender.
Gwenyth took the candle away. “You think it smells good now? Just wait.”
Gwenyth placed the candle on the table, and left. She returned a moment later with a small plasma sparker, no doubt borrowed from Father’s tools, and held the tip to the wick, lighting the candle.
Gwenyth set the sparker down on the table, and picked up the candle. She held it to her nostrils.
“Now it smells!” Gwenyth said.
Lyra could smell the candle even though she was a meter away. Yes, it was very good, though the cinnamon-lavender scent was shot through with a hint of burn that spoiled it somewhat.
Gwenyth held the candle toward her so she could get a better whiff, but Lyra didn’t like how she was holding her arm almost directly above Dobbie.
“Careful!” Lyra said.
Gwenyth shrugged, and withdrew her arm to sniff the candle more.
Lyra wasn’t really sure what happened next. The memories were somewhat of a blur. Dobbie could be very protective of Lyra, and for some reason, those instincts had been triggered. Whether it was because of the burning candle, or because Lyra had admonished her sister for holding the flame too close for comfort, she would never know. But somehow, Dobbie ended up on the floor underneath Gwenyth. He’d scratched her ankle. And she’d dropped the candle.
On him.
Now, Dobbie was a Fandorran, a breed known to produce very fluffy cats. Fluffy, and extremely flammable.
Dobbie’s entire right side flared up.
Lyra threw herself onto the cat, not caring if she would burn herself. She pinned the poor thing, and it squealed and hissed wildly underneath her, trying to break free.
“Mom! Mom!” Gwenyth said. “Dobbie!”
Her mother hurried in from the next room. Before Lyra knew what was happening, her mother had grabbed one of the pillows from the couch and leaped down beside Lyra. She smothered the pillow over Dobbie’s burning tail, and reached underneath Lyra to swat at the cat’s exposed side. In moments the fire was gone. At least, Lyra thought so; she was having trouble seeing through the tears. The air had a terrible smell. Burnt fur, and skin. A smell she would never forget.
The candle sat burning within its glass base on the floor. Her mother lifted it up and blew out the flame. Lyra couldn’t see what she did with it next.
“Lyra, get up sweetie,” her mother said. “Lyra, let Dobbie go. Lyra?”
Still in a state of shock, Lyra pushed her upper body upright and Dobbie ran to a corner of the room.
Her mother examined Lyra’s clothing, which had scorch marks, but none of the flames had burned through to her skin.
“Mom!” Gwenyth said. She pointed at Lyra’s arm.
It was bleeding, covered in bite wounds and claw marks. Lyra hadn’t even noticed that poor little Dobbie had been attacking her.
Her father came inside. “What happened?”
“They were playing with a candle,” her mother said.
Her father glanced at the cat in the corner, and then at Lyra’s arm. “I’ll get the kit.” He left the room.
“Stay calm, baby.” Mother was hugging Lyra, who remained in a daze.
Her father returned and began to wrap Lyra’s arm in a white bandage.
Lyra glanced at Dobbie, who cowered in the corner of the room. For some reason his burns seemed relatively minor, at least to her young eyes. The skin was a bright red, not the black she had been expecting. Her mother explained it had something to do with the thick fur, which insulated Dobbie’s little skin from most of the heat during the fire. Still, Dobbie was in obvious pain, and mewled constantly. It tore at Lyra’s heartstrings.
I couldn’t protect him in time.
“I’m sorry for letting you down, daddy,” Lyra said.
Her father paused to look her in the eyes. Anger momentarily flashed there, and she didn’t know why. But then his features softened. “Honey, you can’t play with fire when the cat is around.”
“Is Dobbie going to be all right?” Lyra asked.
“Yes,” her father said. “But I’m more worried about you at the moment. We’re taking you to emergency. Those are some nasty cuts.” He glanced at her mother. “You’d never think a family pet could be capable of inflicting such vicious wounds.”
“Dobbie didn’t know what he was doing…” her mother said. “He was in pain. Afraid.”
Her father stood. “I’ll meet you in the flyer.”
“Wait, what about Dobbie?” Lyra said.
“I’ll get one of the robots to take the cat to the vet,” her father said. “He’ll be fine.”
“Dobbie comes with us!” Lyra said.
Her father glanced at her mother, and then sighed. “Sweetie, the hospital doesn’t treat cats. He’ll be better off if we let him go to the vet.”
“Okay,” Lyra finally agr
eed, the tears brimming.
Lyra only spent an hour at the hospital: by then the surgical robots had reduced her ugly cuts to small pink scars. Afterward, her parents took her straightaway to the veterinarian’s office.
Dobbie was all right. Half the fur was still missing from his body, and the bare skin there was light pink now rather than bright red. The robot veterinarian promised he’d grow back his hair soon enough. Dobbie was mewling constantly, just wanting to go home.
On the way back, Lyra knew what she wanted to do with her life.
She would become a veterinarian, and protect all animals.
Seated on her bunk, Lyra stared at the bulkhead of the cramped quarters before her. She hadn’t thought of her old cat in a long time. That particular memory had to be at least thirty years old.
Memories. Those were all she really had these days. She still had some limited access to virtual reality, but virtual experiences had never really interested her. Some people became addicted to the falsehood, living their lives in the virtual world. Not Lyra.
Yes, memories: they were the only true part of her the TSN couldn’t take away. Then again, she sometimes wondered if her memories were even real, and not part of some backstory implanted by the TSN to make her more malleable to their will. What a horrible thought. It didn’t seem likely, in her opinion, because if that was true, everything she had fought for, everything she had believed in, would have been a lie.
Still, it did seem odd that she would recall that particular memory at this moment. What bearing, what relevance did it have to her current situation?
None. It served only to remind her of the germinating event that had started her down the long, winding path that led her to where she was today. The path that terminated with her here, a prisoner inside her own body, a puppet so thoroughly under the control of the TSN that she would betray the man she had sworn to protect with her life.
Yes, her quarters were essentially a prison, her body, the cell. Oh sure, she could walk right up to the cramped compartment’s hatch and it would automatically open, but for the life of her she couldn’t step outside into the passageway beyond. When she reached that point her body simply refused to obey. It was the ultimate torture.