Starcaster Complete Series Boxed Set

by J. N. Chaney

  Streya coughed, crimson arterial blood leaving her mouth in a red mist, but there was a pause in the rounds flying by. Not silence, but…an interruption.

  Thorn touched his book, brushing fingers over the pages as Streya grew lighter still. “Show me,” he commanded. When nothing happened, he released his spell, adding, “Show me the truth.”

  Silence.

  Without opening his eyes, Thorn felt sunlight and a breeze. No hint of char or blood or war in the air. He opened his eyes, already beginning to sense what was waiting.

  Captain Leblanc smiled knowingly, though her eyes remained shrouded by a glowing orange light. Thorn released his remaining energy, the spell sublimating with a soft crackle.

  “I knew that your induction would need to be multi-leveled when I saw the depths of your…pain, Stellers. From what happened.” Her voice resonated with power. This was not the same woman from moments earlier.

  Thorn looked around to see the dazed faces of the other recruits. They stood, swaying, in her thrall. Some cried. Some raged in silence, and some were merely still, their bodies a mockery of what they’d been at the start of the test.

  He was the first to be released from her telepathic hold.

  “Keep that talisman close to your side, Stellers.” Leblanc’s face was eerily still. “No trainee has ever pulled themselves from dimensional training that fast.” She searched his face, then gave a small nod. “Or with such clarity.”

  Thorn looked down at the book in his hands. Talisman. Yes. That was the word. The book was more than a memory made real. It was a steady point—an anchor for his power. For his sanity.

  He sidestepped through the hypnotized troops and made his way to a fallen tree at the edge of the forest, it’s roots a cathedral of gnarled fingers. Narvez appeared at his side without a sound. He barely twitched.

  “Your performance was impressive,” Narvez said.

  “I—thank you, Lieutenant,” Thorn mustered. This sight of Narvez left him wary, and her neutral look did nothing to disabuse him of that.

  “I know a fighter when I see one,” she said, walking away to join the captain without another word. He could see that Leblanc appeared drained, her face a wan circle of pale flesh. The enormity of her telepathic control came with a high cost, which told Thorn that she was built of far tougher stuff than her laconic bearing suggested. He found himself wondering what the recovery from such a task would entail, and was glad he didn’t need to find out. As to his own power, it was still there—brooding, vast, and unscathed, even after releasing a spell large enough to crack the false reality of Leblanc’s immersive magic.

  Dismissed, Thorn began the slow walk to his bunk. By the time he made it, every cell in his body felt heavy—or light, as if hollowed out by the force of his own will. He staggered inside, only to hear Rodie’s light snoring.

  “Damned good idea,” Thorn said, and in seconds he collapsed, but not before checking the sky once more for bright silver things, falling on his head for eternity.

  11

  The routine was becoming easier, and Thorn’s confidence was building with each wake up. Instead of fearing his magic, he was learning to live with it—to shape it in ways that made power seem like a natural extension of his own will. A part of him that belonged, not something to be hidden from the other kids at the home.

  He kept The Hungry Trout on him at all times, and began to excel in areas that had been out of reach mere weeks before. Now, Clearance and Material Sciences came easier to him, as he finally concluded that making war would be the hardest thing he’d ever do. Not just using magic, because it was a given that his power was dangerous and costly.

  But war against the Nyctus was going to be unlike anything else in his world. Humans weren’t built to kill. They could kill, given training, and there was even the odd enthusiast among his peers, but in truth, killing another sentient being wasn’t a default setting. Thorn considered this as his power grew, learning that inside himself he found a core shut off from the rest of the world. It was a secret place—a combat awareness—that he could invoke, given the time to tap into it.

  But even the delay between thoughts and spells was fading, just as his need to physically touch his book. Now, he could merely sense the book, and his well of power would yawn open, a roiling mass of unformed energy waiting for his command.

  Captain Leblanc had called him to her jump plane once more before moving on to whatever her next assignment was, and she was not the same person he’d met on the field that first day. Leblanc’s face was sallow, her eyes sunken over hollow cheeks and a look that fell between haunted and raw exhaustion. Thorn was sure now that recovery was far worse for her than it had been for the trainees.

  “Stellers.” She spoke as if her throat was swollen, the words dusty.

  “Captain, ma’am?” He stood at attention, eyes clocking her office. It was sparse, with odd things—like a brass plate, candles slumped in the middle, and the skull of a small animal, its jaw in an open leer.

  She smiled, and even that gesture was an echo. “Have a seat, soldier.”

  He dropped into a chair, noting the cushion. It smelled of dust and sunshine. “You lead a life of comfort, ma’am,” he said.

  Her laugh was brighter than her smile. “Some things travel with me. I need the familiarity in order to…remain focused. And to recover, which I’m sure you’re seeing now. Think of me as a shepherd. I can only control so many in my flock before I need rest. Power—real power, like what you have—is at the utter edge of our control. It’s like a science so new that you’re as likely to die as you are to triumph in pursuit of its application. So, you get this,” she said, waving at her creased uniform. With a dismissive flick, she sent a crumb of energy bar falling to the floor.

  “You didn’t call me here just to bask in this richness, did you, ma’am?” He sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees, leaning into the conversation.

  Leblanc exhaled slowly. “No. I did not.” She fell silent, measuring him again.

  “I’m unsure—” Thorn began, but she waved him silent. With an effort, he could see her push the exhaustion back. Thorn knew that look. He’d seen it on his own face, mucking oil day after day, trying to find a reason to get up. To go on.

  “Your talent is rare. It might even be unique. Hell, I’m almost sure it is, but I haven’t seen every Starcaster yet, although one scenario will ensure that I do.”

  “You mean if we lose, ma’am?” Thorn asked.

  Her brows lifted in surprise. “How do you figure?”

  Thorn gave a small shrug but spoke, heedless of what he had to say. She outranked him, but soon they’d be in the same war, together. “If we lose, we all die, and there won’t be any more Starcasters. So you’ll have seen us all.”

  “Quite right. Ugly, but true.” Leblanc turned more toward him, her eyes brightening. “Show me something. Form a light in your palm. Your right hand, please.”

  Thorn said nothing but turned his hand upward and willed a small globe of light into being. The light stayed still, only varying slightly from white to blue.

  “Excellent. Now extend the light into a column, quickly, but when it becomes, oh, a meter long, turn it at a right angle, then stop.”

  Thorn did as requested without any effort. The beam shot up and bent at a perfect ninety degrees, ending in a hard point between him and the captain. “Like this, ma’am?”

  She nodded, smiling. “Congratulations. You’ve just figured out space combat with magic.”

  He looked at the light, head tilted in an effort to fully understand. “We’re fighting around corners? Ah, ma’am?”

  Leblanc shook her head, standing to point at the glowing end of Thorn’s magical projection of will. “In a sense, but more importantly, we’re fighting in four dimensions. The fourth being time.”

  “I’m…not sure—”

  “Missiles and lasers. Ships and magic. All at different speeds. All in the battle space, making raw chaos out of what beg
ins as an orderly fleet. Do you see?” Leblanc asked.

  “Oh.” One word from Thorn as the concept unfolded in his understanding. “Oh. But, Captain, why can I—not sure how to say it, but why can I feel the math, so to speak? I don’t have to think about it. I can just direct my spells and know where they’ll go, and what they’ll hit.”

  Captain Leblanc pointed at him, smiling. “End your spell—ah, good. A silent, clean conclusion. And now you grasp why your ability is unique. Not everyone can do this, and not with any degree of speed. You have multiple forms of magic, and a near instantaneous implantation of them without fear of a wild shot—no, don’t interrupt me. You’re not the same ’caster you were, and when you leave, you’ll be even more different. You can have an enormous effect on this war if you do what I tell you.”

  “I’m listening, I think. Ma’am.”

  “You think?”

  “I don’t know what my limitations are. At some point in my life, I was immortal, or at least I thought so, ma’am. I know I’m not, so if you tell me something I can’t do, well, I’m not going to bullshit you.”

  “Good. Then listen, and hear every word. There are three things that you must do in the next few weeks before you graduate training if you have any hope of bringing us closer to victory. One, let go of the negativity and self-doubt that plagues you. Your past does not define you, but it can control you if you allow it. Leave it.” She held up two fingers. “Two, keep the use of your talisman pure. It is meant to clarify your power for control, not to enhance its force. And three, stop fighting the flow of energy. Controlling the craft is like coexisting with an avalanche. You have to swim with the flow if you expect to keep your head above the snow.”

  “That’s not what I expected, ma’am.”

  “Nor are you what I expected. But here we are, and in a short while you’ll be in a witchport staring down the barrel of a Nyctus fleet, wondering why that feel-good bullshit your Captain told you isn’t helping to kill the enemy. Let me assure you—it will,” Leblanc said.

  “Then I believe you, ma’am, because I don’t want to die or get my people killed, and I sure as hell don’t want to lose,” Thorn said.

  “Lose the war or lose at all?”

  Thorn grinned. “At anything, ma’am. I’ve had a lifetime’s worth of being at the bottom of the pile.”

  “Then you know what to do. Don’t be at the bottom. Be in front.” Leblanc stood, smoothing her uniform, and she looked more animated than earlier. “Dismissed. Stay pure, Thorn, but get ready for violence. It’s coming.”

  “I’m counting on it, ma’am.”

  Thorn left the captain’s quarters with questions—and more purpose.

  Drigo returned to training that day with a positivity that was contagious. The synthskin of his bionic arm was indistinguishable from his other arm, save for an odd smoothness that looked at odds with his rugged exterior. The only visible scar from his accident was the scourge of black spider veins across his chest. Drigo claimed he liked the natural tattoo, but Thorn was still coming to terms with the daily reminder of his mistake.

  Leave it, Thorn told himself. So he did, for the moment.

  While Burnitz had tempered, Narvez’s methods seemed only to intensify in the weeks since the dimensional exercise. Thorn felt her eyes on him all the time. If he stepped sideways, she was there. If he relaxed, she was there. Narvez carried an air of natural suspicion toward Thorn that made them both uneasy, as if a magical catastrophe was always seconds away. It wasn’t, but there was no way in hell Thorn was going to tell Narvez the good news. If he was in misery, then a little uncertainty couldn’t hurt the tall martinet as she drove the recruits closer to graduation.

  Thorn found himself taking greater risks in training exercises and trusting in his ability to perform—in part, because of his talisman. That’s how he thought of it now, as calling it a book was too simple; too bland. In the charred pages, he found a point of focus his magic could rotate around, creating a kind of inner power that separated him from the other recruits even more. With his continued success, he found that his comrades were also trusting in his abilities at a higher rate. The team was starting to become just that: a team. They began to lose the need for speaking, moving as a single unit, their spells going from a disjointed wall of magic into something more surgical.

  They were more than just powerful. Now, they were lethal.

  Instructor Hiroshi led the troop to the simulation chamber, their collective steps heavy. It had been a hard day already, and the antiquated hangar didn’t bode well for whatever came next. The building had been updated with blast shields and fire-retardant materials to provide some amount of safety, even in the presence of Scorches who were still learning the difference between spellcasting and wanton destruction.

  A state-of-the-art digital immersion platform had been integrated into every cell of the wall. It was capable of projecting an infinite number of battle sequences. Thorn presumed that the reason they hadn’t been permitted to use the simulator previously was the ON’s concern for money, plain and simple. New ’casters broke things, and the screens looked expensive.

  Naturally, they were, so unleashing fire around costly tech was a sure sign that the end of training was in sight.

  “Think we can melt this place?” Drigo asked, voice low.

  Hiroshi, who had been pointing out potential scenarios, heard him. Without breaking stride, the instructor said in a cheerful tone, “You can pay for the building with your ass. Given the size, feel free to melt this place to the foundation. We’ll have money left over. Are you ready to join us, or do you need more PT to properly ready your mind, Drigo?”

  “No, sir. There will be no melting, sir,” Drigo snapped out.

  Hiroshi clapped his calloused hands together, smiling. “Excellent. Then listen to your assignments and let’s go—and one small detail. If you detect a hum, or—”

  “A hum, sir?” Rodie asked, his voice rising in concern.

  Hiroshi gave him an oddly patient smile. “Yes, a hum. You’ll sense something between machine and mental invading your senses, but you’re not to fight it or concern yourselves. That’s the neural bath working to translate your magic into simulations that look and feel real. You can use telepathy, and the navy can use technology. Between the two, we get…this. It’s real in every way. Understood?”

  “Aye,” came the ragged agreement. The recruits looked around, with Val’s sharp eyes picking out one, then two, and then several small projectors positioned around the space. The neural bath—or net, or whatever it was—covered every angle.

  Hiroshi went on, comfortable in his role. “You’ve all been aboard a ship. You’ve all been schooled in how a ship works, and what to do. But this is different. This is about command and control. Not just the parts, and mechanics of a warship. This is—it’s a kind of magic unto itself. That’s what it means to use your familiarity aboard the ship. You know the space. So show us that you understand how to use it. I’m tagging you with your ranks and assignments. We begin now.”

  Thorn was assigned Captain for their first simulated battle—held aboard a simulated battleship, no less. Val was his first Lieutenant, Rodie his second. Drigo was their designated weapons detail, and Streya sat to interpret the nav screen. A number of recruits from other bunks were given maintenance duties. While all functions of the battleship worked in theory, the ship wouldn’t actually move, but the immersion platform used realistic responses to any hits the ship may take. Each hit would add yet another level of authenticity to the overall experience, as well as a psychological impact on the crew.

  The mission was simple enough: locate and defend the civilian planet. But most importantly, survive. Points would be given according to defensive efficiency, but a passing score would be granted to any surviving squadron.

  Thorn felt surprisingly comfortable as he stood at the helm of the ship. He directed Val to initiate engines, then turned to Rodie.

  “Lieutenant Rodie.” Thorn was
in full character now, his commands and tone crisp. “Determine the proper course to Varroc 2 with Lieutenant Streya, and input the course parameters.”

  “Sir, yes, sir.” Rodie’s response was serious to the point of being clipped. Even though it was a simulation, the battle already felt real.

  “Troop 2A.” Thorn said, tugging idly at a sleeve. “Prepare for liftoff.”

  The engine flared to life as Rodie called to Streya, “Lieutenant Streya, any obstacles in our projected course?”

  “Lieutenant Rodie, I’m clocking a meteor shower at the following location—sending coordinates now,” Streya said, sharing the data with a flick of her finger. Recommend avoiding light speed travel in this region, though I maintain it will be passable at coasting speeds.” Streya kept her eyes on the displays in front of her as she spoke into the comms. Her fingers dashed across the virtual screens, occasionally pausing to touch an actual point on the angled console before her.

  Thorn turned, noting the location. “Lieutenant Streya, keep in mind that there are people on Varroc 2 who are relying on our protection. Find a faster way. They need us.”

  “Aye, Captain.” Streya’s eyes narrowed as she studied the screens. She initiated a command sequence to compare multiple routes and dialed the calculations rapidly into the system.

  Thorn leaned against the override controls. “We’re losing valuable time and fuel, Lieutenant.”

  “Aye, sir. I maintain the given route as the most time-efficient course.” Streya spoke with confidence.

  “You sold me. Lieutenant Rodie, input the course command.” Thorn straightened, relying on his navigation officer. Then he made his actual decision. “But keep us above light speed.” The team froze for a moment, then turned as one to regard him.

  “Sir?” Streya asked, the question carrying far more meaning than one word.