The bridge’s feverish activity reached a climax, and then—as the moment of engagement became imminent—a window of silence opened up. All those present seemed to pass into the eye of a hurricane, momentarily caught in a state of suspended animation, holding their breath for the destruction that was to come.
“Fire,” the Fleet Admiral said.
From atop the bridge, the Black Labyrinth appeared to vomit a wide stream of light toward the enemy ship. The deck shuddered as quad cannons flung blaster bolts in rapid sequence toward the target ship. Torpedoes tore free of their launch bays and drove forward with the unrelenting will of flood waters.
Moldark watched as the wave of munitions streamed toward the singular target on the enemy ship. The sight was beautiful—a highly focused lethal expression that was impossible to arrest. How fitting, he mused, feeling a certain camaraderie with the violent assault. Of course, with so much energy diverted from the rest of the ship to power the weapons for this attack, the Labyrinth was vulnerable to incoming fire. But as his ship was not at the forefront of the battle lines, Moldark could afford to take the momentary risk. It was like stepping from the shadows to make a kill, only to recede into the cover of darkness once the murder was complete.
The energy weapons broke upon the Jujari ship’s shields first, beating the defensive capacitors into submission. Within seconds, the unrelenting barrage of blaster fire bored a hole in the force field that caused the enemy ship’s generators to give out. The remaining blaster energy not spent on the shields continued toward the ship’s stern where it struck a section of deck plating on the port side.
Like a swarm of mad firewasps trying to penetrate a Boresian taursar’s thick hide, the blaster bolts pooled on the armor until the metal glowed beneath the withering assault. Just when the plate seemed it would liquefy, the first wave of torpedoes arrived. The guided ordinance came at oblique angles, careful to stay clear of the blaster fire and avoid premature detonation. But when they did detonate, the explosion blew out large chunks of the enemy ship. Deck plates and long sections of trussing tore free, glowing red-hot as they spun into the void. Amputated tubes spewed water, sewage, and hydraulic fluid like blood from severed arteries, and electrical arcs snapped across the debris field, searching for any path willing to connect its endless desire to continuity.
More blaster fire burrowed into the new opening, digging deeper and deeper into the beast’s hide. Likewise, more torpedoes arrived, gouging out more flesh with every devastating explosion. Despite the fact that the Jujari vessel maintained its attitude, trajectory, and speed, the hemorrhage it suffered would be fatal in a few more seconds.
Moldark’s lips pulled back in a wicked grin as the enemy vessel spewed fire and debris from the gaping hole in its stern. He could practically taste the fear of the Jujari crew on his tongue as they realized what was happening. The ship returned fire and attempted to roll away in an effort to hide its wounded flank from the enemy’s assault. But their weapons fire did minimal damage to the Labyrinth. If anything, the lashes goaded Moldark on, increasing his lust for the pending kill.
“More,” he said to Brighton, imagining a thrashing animal caught in death throes. “I want more.”
“But sir, we’re already at—”
“Tell the fighters to fire.”
Brighton turned and gave the order, his voice strained but in control. At once, all Talons in the vicinity came about and lent their NR330 and T-100 blaster cannons to the relentless stream of blaster fire. Several star fighters released torpedoes and bombs, adding to the continuous eruption that chewed into the monster’s bones.
Moldark threw a hand over his eyes as a piercing white light drilled through the bridge’s observation window and flooded the room. It took a split second for the ship to lower the windowplex opacity from the detonation. As soon as it did, Moldark willed himself to see through the spot in his vision and watch the Jujari vessel tear itself apart.
A quantum ring formed at the epicenter of the explosion and raced away from the collapsed core. The blast wave overtook the Labyrinth with a jolt, rattling workstations on the bridge as if the terminals might rip from the floor. Moldark grabbed a seat back and steadied himself, sneering with wicked glee. He watched as the ball of white light split the enemy ship in two, pushing the halves apart like fresh fillets cut from a fish’s flanks. The ball of light continued to expand, overtaking the remains in a cataclysmic inferno.
Over the next minute, the Labyrinth’s quad cannons spun wildly, taking out pieces of the dead ship that threatened to collide with it. Additional torpedoes were spent attempting to push away the largest sections, forcing them off into space. When at last the explosion subsided, the bridge crew took a collective sigh and resumed their duties.
“Ship’s status,” Brighton said, demanding reports from his officers throughout the bridge.
“Shields at 67% and holding, admiral.”
“All weapons systems normal.”
“Capacitors depleted by 71%. Recharging initiated. Torpedo reduction 44%. Replenishment underway.”
Propulsion, life support, and communications all reported satisfactory levels as well.
“Enemy ship destroyed. No life signs detected,” said the sensors officer. “However, several Talons are damaged or missing, and the Dawn of Trudeau is reporting failures in life-support and engines, with heavy damage to decks seven, ten, and twelve through fifteen. They’re requesting immediate assistance.”
“Relay the message and monitor for traffic,” Brighton said.
“Aye aye, admiral.”
Brighton turned to Moldark and spoke in a low voice. “Mission success, my lord.”
“No, admiral. The mission is just beginning. That was a taste of what’s to come. I want all ships pressing in.”
“My lord?”
“Push them forward,” Moldark replied, stressing each word. “We just set precedent. This is no longer a routine naval battle. It is an annihilation. No quarter, no reprieve. Pursue all retreating enemy ships.”
“But Lord Moldark, I must—”
Moldark’s hand snapped out and clutched Brighton by the throat. The admiral gasped, his veins bulging from his head’s reddening skin. “Do I need to find another officer to do my bidding, Fleet Admiral Brighton?”
Brighton’s feet hovered a few centimeters off the ground. He clawed at Moldark’s gloved hand, but nothing relieved the pressure around the man’s neck. Saliva sprayed through pursed lips as Brighton replied, “No, my lord.”
“Excellent.” Moldark released Brighton. The admiral collapsed on the floor, both hands holding his neck. “I will be in my quarters.”
10
Awen felt panic rise in her chest as she looked at Magnus’s broken throat. The skin was already bruising, and an unnatural divot indicated where the trachea had been shattered. His face was also turning a deep shade of red as he strained for breath.
Strangely, however, Magnus seemed to be at peace. He looked up at her with passive eyes.
“Magnus, you’re going to be okay.” That’s all she could think to say. But it was a lie. And she suspected Magnus thought that too. He winced, then struggled for a short rattling breath. “Azelon,” Awen shouted again.
“The team is twenty-six seconds from your position, Awen,” the AI said. “However, I regret to inform you that, based on my scans of Magnus, I do not expect that there is anything we can—”
“Quiet,” Awen ordered. The prognosis Azelon was about to give was all Awen needed to do something she’d never done before. If medicine couldn’t save Magnus, then she would. “Hold on, Magnus. I’ve got you.”
Still in the Unity and holding Nos Kil against the wall, Awen spent the rest of her energy to focus on Magnus’s neck. Everything resonated discordantly, signifying that the harmony of his physiology had been disrupted. The vibrant colors that normally filled all sentient beings were dull and muted. There amidst the conflicting tones, she could see the components of his broken throat
. Pieces of cartilage stabbed the esophagus and trachea, while burst blood vessels bathed the larynx in fluid.
Awen could clearly make out every piece of cartilage and bone, every ruptured blood vessel, and every layer of tissue. She concentrated more forcefully and found that she could see nerves and cells, even down to the neuro-electric transmission of information telling Magnus’s brain that systems were failing.
Without her knowledge of the Foundation and the Nexus, Awen would have been unable to do anything with what she observed in Magnus. It was, in fact, a common skill among the master Luma to see nature in such vivid detail. But once she’d discovered the Novia Minoosh’s training in the Unity, she was able to manipulate the forces of the universe in ways previously unimaginable. At least she’d been able to back on Neith Tearness. This… this was going to be something brand new. And something she’d never forgive herself for if she didn’t at least attempt it.
Awen kept Magnus’s injuries in front of her, much like holding an object in her hand. Meanwhile, she forced her spirit down through the Foundation and into the Nexus, plunging her essence into the interconnectedness of all things. Instantly, Awen felt a surge of power that rivaled anything in the galaxy. No star, no supernova, and no black hole could compare to the awesome power that flowed through the Nexus.
Radiant magenta light streaked through a horizon devoid of time, gravity, or mass, colliding in dazzling arrays of oranges, reds, yellows, and purples. There, like a system of roots beneath a forest, the light coalesced into streams that fed more universes than she could imagine. Understanding this level of existence would take the rest of her lifetime—will take untold lifetimes, she realized. But she wasn’t here for the secrets of the cosmos, she was just here for the blueprint. Magnus’s blueprint.
Awen stretched her spirit out and found what she was looking for faster than she’d expected. It was Magnus. His life force, the very essence of all that he was and may ever be. And there, ensconced within it, was the model of his neck. It appeared to her as easily as a doctor might display a bio scan on a holo feed. She reached out and grabbed it—not with her hand so much as with her heart—and carried it aloft.
She rose through the Foundation and returned to the failing apparatus of his flesh, careful to keep his body suspended from movement. Then Awen brought the image of Magnus’s neck to bear on the reality of his body, overlaying them in perfect alignment. When she was satisfied, Awen drew from the tether she still had in the Nexus, allowing its energy to flow up from the deep like marine vibrations through an anchor line. The current surged through her soul and filled Magnus’s neck with such power that she was tempted to look away. But there was nowhere to turn.
Instead, Awen watched as the energy began to express itself, first touching the quarks and atoms of every molecular bond in Magnus’s throat. The power swirled and grew, collecting and spreading until it had dominion over every elemental construct. It sounded to Awen like a conductor who arrested an out of order symphony and brought it back in tune and back in time.
Now fully formed into a loud chorus, the song placed unrelenting pressure on the structure of Magnus’s cells, reordering them according to a magnificent dance. Awen caught her breath as the objects reformed by the millions, the hundreds of millions, and even billions, reshaping the injuries so as to align tissue and bone with the perfect image she’d plundered from the deep. Blood was pulled away from passages reserved for air and refilled the newly pressurized vessels in which it belonged. Cartilage retook its form, muscle tears healed, and nerves rejoined.
With her natural ears, Awen heard small pops and cracks as Magnus’s neck reformed under her care. He groaned, trying to fight her, but she held him in place, just as she maintained control over Nos Kil, who was still pressed against the wall overhead. Awen also watched as Magnus’s neck retook its shape. She marveled at the otherworldly manipulation, watching as even the bruising diminished. At last, the neck was reformed, and the blueprint she’d brought up from the Nexus fused with Magnus’s body, locking the work in place.
Adrenaline surged through Awen’s body, keeping her conscious. The entire process of trying to heal Magnus had exhausted her, and were she asked to do it again, she knew she’d fail. At least until she got some rest. The effort had required her undivided attention and all the virtue she could muster. Hopefully, she thought, it’s enough. Her limbs trembled as she searched his eyes for signs of life.
Suddenly, Magnus gasped, taking his first deep breath in over a minute. As the color returned to his face, Awen felt a wave of relief wash over her. He blinked at her, touching his throat, and then his armored chest plate. She watched his chest rise and fall, then was startled when Magnus touched her face.
“Awen,” he said, cradling her cheek in his rough palm. “Was that… did you just—”
“Shut up and kiss me,” she said, then leaned down to press her lips against his. The emotion of almost losing him caught up with her and filled her eyes with hot tears of gratitude. Life was fragile—the thread of its essence so tender that even the simplest breeze might break it. As Awen savored the heat of Magnus’s face, holding it with both her hands, she was amazed at just how many times they’d come close to plummeting over death’s edge. But here, as before, they rested on the shores of the living for just a little longer. And perhaps, she wondered, we may yet live long enough for us to grow old together.
When she pulled away, Magnus looked into her eyes and said, “That was beautiful.”
“You’re not such a bad kisser yourself,” she said, though—arguably—she didn’t have much experience in the practice.
“No.” Magnus shook his head ever so slightly. “I mean, what you just said, about growing old together.”
Did he hear me say that? In his own head?
“What about this, by the way?” Magnus held up his broken digit. “You can save a guy’s life but not his finger? What gives?”
Awen gave him a sarcastic grin. “That’s what you get for not listening to me.”
Suddenly, the cell block filled with people.
“We’re here,” Titus yelled, taking in the scene. “What’s going… holy mystics.”
Awen looked over her shoulder to see Titus carrying what she assumed was some sort of crash cart. Ezo, Sootriman, Abimbola, and several others had also filed in, each carrying various medical devices. All except Saladin.
“What is that?” Awen asked, pointing at the Jujari.
“I believe it is the Novia Minoosh’s equivalent of a mop,” she replied. “I was in the galley, and TO-96 informed me that we had a mess to clean up.”
Awen laughed and then helped Magnus sit up.
“I did say that,” TO-96 replied. “However, I was attempting to utilize—”
“Never mind, Ninety-Six,” Awen said as she gave Magnus a once over. “You okay?”
He nodded. “Thanks to you. Just feeling a little shaky.”
“It will wear off.”
“Is… is everything okay here?” Ezo asked. “Because Ezo can’t figure out what’s going on with…” He gestured at the couple on the floor and the prisoner still pinned against the wall. “You know, with all this.”
“It’s fine,” Awen said. “We’re all good now.”
“I had a little run in with the prisoner,” Magnus said, waving Abimbola toward him. “Things got out of hand and Awen took care of it.” The giant Miblimbian pulled him to his feet, then Magnus turned to face Awen and noticed Nos Kil still stuck on the wall, grimacing in pain. “And apparently she’s still taking care of it. Come on, everyone back away from the cell.”
When the group of gladia stood in the cellblock and Awen was satisfied, she said, “Azelon, raise the containment wall.”
“As you wish, Awen,” the AI said over the cell block’s speakers. The translucent force field popped back to life once again, casting a pale blue light over those gathered in the anteroom—as well as on the prisoner within.
Still awake inside the Unity, Aw
en released Nos Kil and watched his body fall to the glossy black floor, now marred with his congealing blood. The man gasped and whimpered as he pawed for something to hold onto, much like a newborn baby emerging from the womb.
Dutch walked up beside Magnus. “Are we good here, LT?”
“Yeah,” Magnus replied. “Awen has it under control.”
“But, about the prisoners, I thought you said no—”
“I know what I said,” Magnus said. “I lost control. But Awen stepped in to account for my…”
“You don’t have to finish that.”
“Either way,” Magnus replied, “she saved the day.”
Dutch eyed Awen up and down. “Damn, woman. You are one tough—”
“And don’t finish that one either,” Awen said, raising a hand. “I got it. And, thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Well,” Magnus said, wiping some blood off his chest plate. “Looks like we have another prisoner to interrogate. Might as well do this one together. Who wants to talk first?”
* * *
Her mom was asleep. And she looked so beautiful that Piper dared not wake her up. Everyone knew how cranky people got when they were woken up too soon. Plus, her mom had just been through a lot. It had been a long day, and her mom deserved some sleep.
Of course, for her part, Piper couldn’t sleep. She was too excited from the day’s events. And now that they were back on the Azelon Spire, it meant they were probably going home… wherever their new home was going to be.
As much as Piper wanted to stay in Neith Tearness, Awen had explained that some sort of time dialotamation wouldn’t allow for it—or something like that. The whole thing was kinda complicated. Like a lot of adult things were. But Awen always knew what she was talking about, so Piper just accepted the fact that they had to go back to their regular universe. At least for now, anyway.
Piper was hungry, so she slipped out of their room, asked Azelon to light directions on the glossy white floor, and started walking toward the ship’s galley. That was when she felt something shift in the Unity.
Ruins of the Galaxy Box Set: Books 1-6 Page 108