by J. N. Chaney
“Anyway, we’re going to rendezvous with the Stiletto in”—Tanner checked the time—“about twelve hours. I need you to get aboard a data terminal in the meantime, and document everything about your little jaunt into the unknown you can. Captain Densmore is going to debrief you personally.”
“Will do, sir, just as soon as Doctor Al-Nouri cuts me loose.”
Al-Nouri looked up from a data slate. “I’m just waiting for some test results. When they inevitably come back clean, we’ll be kicking you out of here,” she said, then shook her head. “I’m definitely not used to having patients die and then discharging them. You certainly keep things interesting around here, Lieutenant Stellers.”
“I try, ma’am.”
Tanner left, and Mol was at Thorn’s bedside.
“Guess you got your mojo back, huh?” Mol asked, her voice reedy. She might be alive, but she wasn’t herself.
“Guess I did. And you didn’t pop that reactor.”
“Guess not.”
Awkward silence followed. There was never awkward silence between him and Mol.
“Mol, what is it?” he asked. “What—?”
“It’s Trixie,” she said. “The Hecate’s Chief Systems Engineer has been in touch with Fleet, working the problem. They say there’s nothing they can do. That damned virus did too much damage. The only solution is to do a complete reset on her—restore her from her original source code.”
“Okay. Well, that’s good, at least—”
“No, it’s not!” Mol snapped. “They don’t do routine backup on AIs from anything that isn’t a capital ship. Not worth it, they say. So they’re just going to install a fresh copy of her. Everything she and I have been through, everything we’ve done together, all of it, will just be—” She bit back a sob. “It’ll just be gone!”
Thorn forced himself to sit up in bed. “Mol, look—”
“No!” she said, holding up a hand. “Don’t. In the greater scheme of things, it’s not a big deal, right? One AI on one Gyrfalcon has to be rebooted from scratch. She’ll be just as capable as she’s ever been.” Tears brimmed in her eyes. “She’ll be Trixie, but she won’t be my Trixie. She won’t be my friend. She’ll be something—shit, someone—else.”
Thorn knew better than to say something like you’ll be able to get to know her all over again, or anything just as insensitive. If a close friend died, you couldn’t make the pain go away just by going out and immediately making a new one.
“I’m so sorry, Mol.” Thorn leaned back. “She was my friend, too. I’m—”
He was going to say, I’m going to miss her. Before he could, though, a sudden flare of anger seared his mind.
No, not just anger. Fury. Rage.
The Nyctus took my family from me.
They took my daughter.
They’ve taken Trixie.
They’ve almost taken Kira, more than once.
Where does it end? When does it end?
Mol must have sensed his sudden anger. He saw it resonate with her, making her own eyes suddenly flash. “Thorn, when you say you’re going to see the squids obliterated, utterly destroyed—do you mean that?”
“You’re damned right I do.”
“Good. I’m ready to start, any time,” Mol said.
Thorn tried to smile, framing his new purpose in life.
“Yeah. So am I.”
19
The instant the Hecate’s shuttle finished docking with the Stiletto, Thorn strode through the airlock and aimed himself at his destination, a briefing room not far away. He found Densmore already there, waiting for him. He marched in and saluted.
“Ma’am, Lieutenant Stellers reporting as requested.”
Densmore looked up from a desk terminal. She raised an eyebrow at Thorn’s sharp formality, but gestured for him to sit across from her.
When he sat down, she nodded at the terminal. “I’ve just been reading your report. Looks like you and Wyant had quite the adventure.”
“Adventure’s one word for it, ma’am.”
Densmore looked up at his abrupt words, eyes narrowed at his brusque approach. She considered him for a moment, then flicked the terminal into sleep mode.
“When I was a newly ranked debriefing officer, I was told something important,” Densmore began.
“What’s that, ma’am?” Thorn asked, watching her carefully.
“Things that didn’t get put into official reports are as important as the things that do. Hell, they’re usually more important.” She placed her elbows on the table, then laced her fingers together and rested her chin on them, eyes bright with interest. “So, what didn’t you put in yours, Lieutenant? Aside from the fact you obviously still think I’m a squid spy.”
Thorn started to recoil, his natural instinct to downplay his suspicions and generally avoid coming across as a skeptical asshole. But he caught himself. He had no reason to spare this woman, or anyone else.
“Are you?” Thorn left courtesy out of the question, with reason. He could deal with discipline. He could not deal with a spy.
For the first time ever, Thorn saw Alys Densmore at a loss for words. After a long pause, she regained her composure with an effort.
“Do you genuinely believe I’m a Skin, Stellers? Or somehow otherwise in league with the squids? Really?”
“I wish I could answer that question without any doubt whatsoever, but no, and I have an excellent reason. I crossed paths with Bridmante and Justice—Brid and Dart. I sold myself on the idea that they were on our side, despite my instincts. I won’t make that mistake again.”
Densmore stared, then leaned back in her chair. It let out a single, brief creak. “You still think they were working for me.”
“I don’t know, and asking you doesn’t help. I sure as hell didn’t know they were Skins—at least, not at first, even with me prying at their minds. If they could cover it up that well, then there are two possibilities. One is that I’m a weak ’caster and prone to being confused by squid abilities.” He gave her a chilly smile, and Alys Densmore could feel the nature of their relationship changing in real time. “Since I just pulled a warship through the ether with my mind, I think we can rule that out. The second possibility is—troubling, let’s say.”
“Troubling?”
Thorn looked up from his hands, piercing Densmore with a stare. “Troubling, yes. It could be—could, mind you—that you’re a being of unusual gifts. A savant, among your kind, whatever that might be.” He leaned forward, his presence shifting into something less neutral.
“Stellers, I’ve planned and executed dozens of ops against the Nyctus—”
“Including the one that got Kira captured by the squids? Including the one Mol and I just flew, that had two people who’d worked for you turn out to be Skins? Do tell, Alys. We’re both professionals. So, soldier to soldier, go on. I’m listening. For now.”
Thorn knew the risk of such accusations, but he also understood what could happen if he didn’t get to the truth. Even if Densmore herself couldn’t get him booted from the ON—or maybe even worse—she no doubt had enough influence with Fleet that she could make it happen.
But it didn’t matter. The time had come to resolve this, one way or the other. He couldn’t keep taking part in missions that involved Densmore—not without knowing she was absolutely free of Nyctus influence.
Or loyalty.
“Stellers, I already told you, Bridmante and Justice only worked for me indirectly, and for a short time—”
“You did. You’ve told me lots of things.”
“You are way over the line here, Lieutenant.”
Thorn leaned further into her glare, his lips pulled back in a half-smile. “Oh, I know. I don’t give a shit. All you can take away from me is my career in the ON. But I’d rather go back to scooping up shit with my bare hands on some polluted sludge ball of a planet than keep working in a system that seems to worry more about how secure things look, than how secure they actually are.”
“I can do a lot more than just end your career, Stellers,” she snapped. “I can—”
“Send me to prison? Drain away my magic?” He snorted in perfect contempt. “That accomplishes the same thing, right? Besides, in prison, I’d get three squares a day. And if you take my magic away, then you don’t have any more use for me, and it's back to that mudball I mentioned.” He leaned back. “Of course, I guess you could arrange to have me killed. I’m sure someone like you has lots of options. People—or beings—who’d do pretty much anything for money. Bear in mind, of course, that I’ve already died twice. Your threats are—well, I’ll give you some credit. It’s the best you can do, given who you are, and what you’re used to doing. That’s what you do, isn’t it? You cajole, threaten, lie. And then, if you can’t get what you want, you kill.” He tilted his head as if something just occurred to him. “You know, you’re a lot more like them than I ever imagined, now that I think about it.”
Thorn saw fury flare in Densmore’s eyes, and watched her with care, even as he tapped his power. Just in case.
Still, he didn’t care. He’d lost his family. His daughter. Trixie. He had nothing left to lose—
Kira.
Thorn suppressed a twinge. He’d been so fixated on confronting Densmore, that he’d managed to overlook the fact he did have something left to lose. He did have a vulnerability. If Densmore threatened her, then he was exposed to a loss he wouldn’t survive.
And she could, even if she wasn’t a Skin. Kira was an ON officer, in a way that Thorn never really had been. It was something she’d been born to do. If he managed to get that taken away from her, then his betrayal of Kira would be complete, regardless of intent.
Densmore’s incandescent gaze kept playing across Thorn, but he returned it with a cool look, inured to her anger. He was past formalities, and Densmore knew it. He could see it in the way she held her body, rigid with conflict—and more than a little fear.
Then her gaze softened, and she was the one who leaned back, watching the undercurrents of emotion play across his features. “I would never do that to Kira, Stellers. I’m not a monster, even though we’re fighting them.” She knew what he was thinking, and not because of her ability. It was as simple as reading his face.
“I never was very good at cards, and you’re not that good at Joining. I’ll have to work on my facial expressions,” Thorn admitted.
“You actually think I’d somehow use her against you in all this?”
Thorn laughed, a sharp, metallic noise that made Densmore flinch. “Are you shitting me? You’re playing the morality card here?”
“I think that—”
Thorn waved her to silence. “You don’t get to use human qualities when you might be allied with my mortal enemy. Don’t waste my time. You’re only embarrassing yourself,” Thorn said.
Alys Densmore’s face flushed a shade of red Thorn had only seen at the beach. With steely will, she spread her hands on the desk, breathing deeply. “Whatever this is, Stellers—Thorn—it’s between you and me. Wixcombe will be judged on her own merits as an officer, but as her commander, I can tell you I know she was never a spy.”
“You threw her in the brig on the flimsiest—”
“And let her back out again when the evidence seemed to clear her. I’d be a damned fool if I hadn’t, for her sake and the good of the navy.”
Thorn tapped a finger on the table. “Agreed. Then consider this, ma’am. Someone highly-placed had to be involved in setting the Fleet up for that squid ambush three years ago, and you were the only one I talked to about it. Kira did get captured on an op you ran. Brid and Dart did work for you, even if it was only a short time.” He shook his head. “Put yourself in my shoes. Would you have been spaced right away, or would you at least get a trial?”
“Oh, believe me, Lieutenant, I’m well aware. I’ve spent most of my career working in a field where rampant paranoia is just another day at the office.” She leaned forward again. “But unless I’m somehow genuinely unaware of it—and, yes, I’ve considered that possibility—I’m not a Skin, or a spy. Clearly, someone is—someone highly placed in Fleet is leaking info to the squids, who must be found and stopped. But that someone isn’t me.”
It was Thorn’s turn to consider the person sitting across the table from him. He still wasn’t convinced. But he was no longer unconvinced, either. Maybe Densmore was just that good—maybe she was a powerful enough ’caster to be able to subtly influence him on a level he couldn’t even detect.
Or maybe she was innocent, and there was a bigger target. Someone above both of them.
He’d told Brid he intended to see every Nyctus dead, the race wiped out. He’d said much the same thing to Mol, right after he’d awoken in the Hecate’s infirmary.
“Ma’am,” he said, adding her honorific back again, and with purpose. “I have something I want to do. As a ‘caster. For the war, and now, I think I can do it.”
Densmore gave a paper-thin smile. “The best I will do is listen. For one minute, because I don’t have to prove myself to you. That’s not how the navy works.”
“I disagree. You need to prove yourself to me, because in spite of your power, I’m a walking bomb compared to you. That means that it’s in your best interest to listen, not just for your own sake, but for the navy, too.”
Densmore paused, working the muscles in her jaw. “Threaten me again, and find out.”
“I won’t do anything of the sort. Threats aren’t my style, and you know it. But if you’re serious, then I have a proposition,” Thorn said. He resolved to ask her the one thing a spy could not give him, and that would have to be good enough for now. As to the spy, Thorn knew that if Alys Densmore was out of the mix, he had far larger problems than the person before him, and so did the navy.
Densmore waved airily, fury still clouding her face. “Tell me.”
“I’m going to destroy that Nyctus hydro world. I want to do to it what the squids did to Cotswold, and to Nebo. Ashes. Fire. No—and I mean no—survivors. A message like no other. And I want your help making it happen.”
Densmore sat further back in her chair, a slow smile spreading on her lips. “Okay. Tell me how.”
“I’ve asked Captain Tanner to sit in on this,” Densmore said, “as a source of sober second thought. Now, Lieutenant, I’d like you to tell him what you told me.”
Thorn looked from Densmore to Tanner. They were back in the same briefing room aboard the Stiletto, where he’d confronted Densmore just a few hours before.
“Gather you have some sort of big plan, Stellers,” Tanner said. “Bit unorthodox listening to a pitch for strategic action from a junior officer—but you’re obviously not in the same career track, given your unusual history. I’ll play along. For now.”
Thorn gave a humorless smile. “I’ll take being called unusual as a compliment, sir.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“Good. Because I don’t need compliments, sir. I need dead enemy.”
Tanner smiled, and this time it was genuine. “You have my attention.”
“It’s simple, sir. I propose we take a Task Force—a big one—and strike at the Nyctus hydro planet we found. We burn the damned thing to its bedrock. We show the Nyctus that if they’re going to do that to our populated worlds, we’re going to do it right back to theirs. The reason why we don’t need subtlety is based on the enemy flaw—their arrogance. The target is so far into Nyctus space, they haven’t even considered a possible attack. I say we give them what they don’t expect. Ships, orbital pounding, and ’casters, raining hell until there aren’t any Nyctus left to fight back.”
Tanner slowly leaned back in his chair but said nothing.
“I’ve already raised the obvious objections,” Densmore said. “For one, we’d have to move a chunk of the Fleet right through Nyctus space, which is one thing for a long range fighter like the Gyrfalcon, but it's a different sort of problem when you’re taking dozens of vessels, many of them capital
ships.”
“They’ll be underway for weeks, too,” Tanner said, eyeing the star chart that had been projected onto the briefing room’s viewscreen. “A big chunk of the Fleet, tied up for that long, surrounded by enemy space—” He looked back at Thorn. “There’s ballsy, Stellers, and then there’s unsafe. Assume you have an answer for that, though, or you wouldn’t have suggested this in the first place.”
Thorn didn’t hesitate. “I’ll move the Fleet, the same way I moved the Gyrfalcon.”
The silence that followed was leaden. Tanner finally broke it.
“What?”
“I’ll move the Fleet, sir.”
“Move the Fleet—” Tanner said, shaking his head. “It’s one thing to move a single Gyrfalcon, Stellers. You really think you can scale that up to hundreds of thousands of tons of machinery and people?” He shook his head again in pure amazement. “I think you’ve started to believe your own legend, Lieutenant.”
“I can do it,” Thorn said flatly.
Tanner’s face was a study in skepticism, but he turned to Densmore. “Is that even possible? Moving an entire Task Force?”
“No, it’s not,” Densmore replied. “It would take—hell, I don’t even know how many Starcasters it would take, all somehow pooling their power. And we’ve only just started experimenting with rituals that let multiple ’casters join forces.” She bit off a curse, fingers drumming on the desk. “It’s not possible for a single ’caster to access that kind of power.”
“All due respect, ma’am, but it definitely is possible,” Thorn said, his tone quite different from their earlier confrontation. “I tapped into something I hadn’t known before and came to a conclusion. My magic isn’t restrained by physical laws—only by me. That’s how I was able to move us before, when we were on the brink of death, and it’s how I’ll move this fleet so that we can kill squid. To be blunt—I can do this, and we need it. The navy needs it, humanity needs it, and I want it. I know I’m a junior officer, but I am the point of this spear, and I can do this thing. Watch me.”