by J. N. Chaney
“I don’t know.”
“Where is she?” Thorn yelled.
“I don’t know! She didn’t want me to know so I couldn’t let it slip out, because she doesn’t want you to know where she is!”
Thorn locked his gaze onto Bertilak’s. He would have driven himself into the alien’s mind like a sharpened spike, ripped it open, and found out what he knew. If he could. But he couldn’t, because from a magical perspective, Bertilak still didn’t exist.
But the alien also wasn’t lying. Through the misery on his face, Thorn could see that Bertilak was telling the truth. He did know about Morgan, but he didn’t know where she was.
Thorn hung on the edge of hyperventilating. Of hitting Bertilak—or hitting something. Instead, he took a deep breath, then let it out. At the same time, he let his awareness sink partway into his center, touching his focus and using it to find some calmness amid the stormy swirl of emotions that suddenly gripped him.
He let go of Bertilak and stepped back. “You had better start talking, Bertilak. Now. And you’d better not leave anything out.”
Thorn could hear the flat menace in his own voice. So could Bertilak. The big alien winced, then nodded.
“Fine. She was very clear that I wasn’t supposed to tell you anything. But something’s wrong. She’s in some sort of danger. So I’ll tell you.” He took a deep breath.
“Morgan is alive. She survived her confrontation with you. But she fled because you tried to change her. You tried to make her into something she wasn’t.”
Thorn eased out a breath. “Go on.”
“She found refuge . . . somewhere. I honestly don’t know where. She thought that if I didn’t know where she was, I couldn’t give it away.”
Thorn stared. “Wait. I don’t understand. How could you have talked to her if you don’t know where she is? Did she have access to some sort of comms?”
“No. Like I said, I commune with her.”
“What the hell does that even mean?”
“I speak to her mind-to-mind.”
“So you’re a Starcaster? You can use magic?”
Bertilak shook his head. “No. It’s just in my nature.”
“Damn it, Bertilak, what the hell is that supposed to mean?”
The big alien stood and started to pace. “You don’t get it, do you? I can commune with her because she made it work that way.” He spun and faced Thorn. “She created me, Thorn. From scratch. I didn’t exist until shortly before the Nyctus attacked the Hecate.”
“She . . . made you?” Thorn just stared again. “Why?”
“To test you. She’s obsessed with you, Thorn. Ever since she learned that you’re actually her father, she’s been fixated on you. But she doesn’t understand why you tried to change her.”
Thorn sat down. “I was trying to do what I thought was best for her. If she wasn’t able to use magic, if she was just an ordinary little girl growing up on Nebo—” He ended on a desolate shrug. “I was trying to help her.”
“So you were playing at being a god? Trying to reshape this girl into something that suited you?”
“Says the guy who was apparently created out of thin air.”
“She’s a child, Thorn. You’re not. She doesn’t really understand the consequences of what she does. You do. Or, at least, you’re supposed to.”
Thorn had been staring at the deck between his feet. Now he looked up. “Wait. She created you.” He swept a hand around the bridge. “All of this—a ship full of tech, an alien who understands and can talk about space flight, and smuggling, and arms dealing.” He sat up, suspicion tightening his face. “Why am I having a hard time believing that?”
Bertilak smiled, but it lacked any of his usual humor. “Look around you, Thorn. Look at these controls and displays. They’re meaningless, just nonsense.”
“So?”
“So, I’m made to reflect who and whatever I interact with, especially you. Some of this is taken from your own memories and experiences, which then get filtered through the perceptions of a child.” He pointed at the pilot’s station. “That looks like a control system of some sort, but what it really is, is what Morgan thinks you think a control station looks like. You understand something about some of the Hecate’s control stations, but deep inside, you find them intimidating, even a little incomprehensible. Now, pass that through the mind of a little girl, and you get this.” He sniffed. “It looks very sophisticated and technical, but it doesn’t really do anything.”
“So how the hell do you control this ship?”
Bertilak sat down, facing Thorn. “I just do. It works because it does. Because, just like me, Morgan made it that way. I am the operating system.”
Thorn sighed. On one level, he wondered why any of this surprised him. If Morgan was powerful enough to alter reality, then changing it into one where Bertilak and his ship existed was easy to understand. It was also a horrifying use of magic, one that could have cataclysmic consequences. But, like Bertilak said, she was a child.
On a more fundamental level, Thorn found it all so unbelievable. He was a Starcaster, he’d changed reality himself, but he still found this hard to accept. Maybe it was that the idea of actually creating life from scratch such a soul-shaking thing that he just couldn’t accept it.
Except wasn’t that what he had done? He’d created—okay, recreated—Morgan from scratch. And he’d tried to change her into something she wasn’t while doing it. That didn’t exactly give him the moral high ground here, did it?
It did explain a lot, though. For instance, why Bertilak and his ship seemed utterly immune to magic. It must have something to do with the fact that they were magical creations themselves. And why this improbable ship was able to exist and operate at all. Again, it was because it was a magical construct, which worked simply because it did. Morgan had made it that way.
Thorn finally shook his head. The ethics and implications of all this were massive, but they’d have to wait. “So if you can commune with her, Bertilak, then do that. Find out where she is, so we can go and help her.”
“I can’t.”
“Damn it, you said she was in danger!”
Misery darkened Bertilak’s face. “I didn’t say I won’t. I said I can’t. As in, I’m not able to. She stopped communing with me. I’ve tried to reach her, but she just won’t respond.”
Thorn’s head dropped, his gaze falling to the deck again. If what Bertilak said was true, then she may very well be dead again. And that meant that, for the second time, Thorn had come close to saving his daughter, but fallen short. The realization made his throat hurt, his eyes sting.
“She’s not dead, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Bertilak said.
Thorn’s head snapped back up. “How do you know? You said she’s gone.”
“Again, you’re not hearing me. I said she won’t answer me. She’s still there, she just won’t respond. It’s like trying to talk to someone through a closed door. I speak, but they don’t answer. I don’t know if it’s because she can’t hear me for some reason, or she’s just decided to not answer.”
So she wasn’t dead. Or so Bertilak said, anyway. But if that was true, then it gave Thorn a slender lifeline of hope, one he now used to haul himself back from the brink of complete despair.
“Okay. Okay. So she’s still alive, was in danger, and probably still is. You don’t know where she is, and she won’t talk to you.” Thorn rubbed his eyes. “Did she say anything about what sort of danger she was in?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Shit. If we knew even that much, maybe we could—”
Thorn stopped, struck by a sudden suspicion. “Hang on. You said that she created you and sent you to test me. So the Nyctus attack on the Hecate, the damaged Nyctus ship, the smugglers on Fringe—was any of it real?”
“The first attack by the Nyctus against the Hecate was. I was looking for a convincing way to announce myself to you. Saving you and your ship from the Nyctus seemed like
the perfect opportunity. The rest of it though?” Bertilak gave another humorless smile. “That was all fabricated.”
“Does Fringe even exist?”
“It does now.”
Thorn hissed in anger, then shook his head at the enormity of Morgan’s ability. The damage Morgan might be doing to reality was already beyond understanding, but she had no way of knowing that. Like Bertilak said, she was a child. But she was also a child with Thorn’s capacity for magic. She was a Conduit and might be an even more powerful conduit than he was.
She hadn’t ended the universe yet. But she might.
Thorn yanked his attention back from the possible end of creation and put it back on Bertilak. “So how do I know this is real? How do I know this isn’t another test?”
Bertilak rested his hands on his knees. “I wish it were, Thorn. I really do. But it’s not. This was never meant to happen. I have no idea what to do now.” He looked squarely into Thorn’s eyes. “I’m lost. I have no purpose beyond testing you.”
“So what were you going to do when the testing was done? When Morgan was satisfied that she’d learned what she wanted to know about me?”
Bertilak’s face became as cold and empty as the starscape on the viewscreen.
“I don’t know, Thorn. I really have no idea. I don’t think she did, either.”
Thorn paced the bridge. He couldn’t sit down. He needed to keep moving because it was the only way he could keep his racing thoughts in some semblance of order.
Bertilak sat at the pilot’s station, saying nothing. Thorn wasn’t sure what the big alien was thinking. At the moment, he didn’t care. Or he did, because he felt profoundly sorry for Bertilak, a person created for a specific purpose, but with no history, no memories, no family or friends, nothing. But he couldn’t dwell on that right now.
What Thorn needed was—
“Kira,” he said.
Bertilak looked at him. “What about her?”
“I need to talk to her.”
“Oh. She’s actually been trying to talk to you.”
Thorn slammed to a halt. “What?”
“She’s been trying to talk to you. Or, actually, commune with you, I guess.”
“And you’ve been stopping her?”
Bertilak nodded.
“Why?”
“Because it was what Morgan wanted. She wanted you to be alone with me and never talk to anyone else, except when you were being tested.”
“And you just went along with that?”
Bertilak stood. “You still don’t get it, do you? I did it because I had to. It’s my basic nature to obey Morgan, because she made me that way.”
Thorn had come to accept that everything Bertilak had told him was true. So why doubt this?
“Can you let me talk to her, or commune with her, now?”
Bertilak sighed. “I shouldn’t, because my last instruction from her was to not let you. But she gave me enough free will to do things independently, so yes. Yes, you can talk to Kira now.”
Thorn forced himself back into the seat he’d occupied. “Okay. This is going to take some time and effort. I’m still not back up to my full magical potential.”
Thorn, please answer me!
Thorn reeled under the impact of what amounted to a psychic shout.
Kira?
Thorn?
Believe it or not, I was literally just going to contact you.
A vast flood of relief washed over him. Thorn! Holy shit, finally! Where are you? What the hell’s going on?
Thoughts tumbled through Thorn’s mind. It took him a moment to get them all to line up in something even resembling a coherent order.
Okay. This is going to take some explaining. I need you to be patient and not interrupt until I’m done. Okay?
This doesn’t sound good.
It isn’t, Thorn replied, then took a deep mental breath and went on. I’m on a ship with an alien named Bertilak, sort of—on loan. He is not an actual alien. He’s a construct, wholly made from magical energy and willed into reality by our daughter.
What?!
It’s Morgan. She exists, she has a deep anger directed at me, and she’s in danger. Right now. She created a watcher, and now she needs me. She needs us, Kira, and any anger you harbor will have to wait. I can’t make you forgive me, but I can ask you to see this as what it is—our daughter needs us, and right now.
Silence. Thorn waited.
And kept waiting. He knew Kira was still there, but she was saying nothing. Maybe she had nothing to say. Or maybe she just didn’t want to talk to Thorn anymore.
I—
It was all Kira managed before she went quiet again. Thorn just kept waiting.
I don’t know what to say, Thorn. I honestly don’t know what to say. This is going to take me time to digest.
I know. Of course it is.
I don’t even feel anything about it. Not yet. I mean, I think I should probably be heartbroken, or furious, or terrified, or wallowing in sympathy for you, but I don’t feel any of that. I’m just numb, she said.
Again, I get it. Kira, take all the time you need—
I can’t. We can’t. I’ve been a toy for the Danzur, who are working with the Nyctus. Everyone is our enemy, Thorn, and for now, I want to put anything from the past—
Can we set it aside, Kira?
Yes. And we will. She matters more. We matter more, and the ON, and humanity. Thorn, we can’t afford a second front. But if Fleet moves its reserves to attack the Nyctus, and they get bogged down, there’ll be nothing to stop the Danzur. On the other hand, if they keep the reserves where they are, then there’s just not enough force available to give us a realistic chance of defeating the Nyctus at all, never mind quickly. And we could still end up fighting the Danzur.
Thorn had to work at not howling in rage at their options, but he calmed himself, if only for a second, and found his voice. So we’re screwed.
Unless we can think of a way of swaying the Danzur. The trouble is, we have no leverage over them. The Nyctus have a hell of a lot more influence here than we do, mainly because the Danzur are awed, even frightened, of their magic.
Thorn started to agree but stopped.
Something tickled the back of his thoughts. There was something there. He couldn’t quite see it, couldn’t quite get a mental grip on it, but it was there, dancing at the edge of his cognizance, a bright solution to their mortal dilemma.
Kira, do you think if we could prove to the Danzur that our magic is stronger than that of the Nyctus, it might change their minds?
Um. She paused. Maybe? I don’t know. How would we do that, though? I’m the only Starcaster here, and there’s no time to get another one here before Fleet’s deadline. I’m good at what I do, sure, but it’s not exactly the stuff of shock and awe. That’s more your department.
I know. Look, Kira, I’m going to sign off here. I have an idea, but I need some time to process how to proceed. It’s—I need clarity and a small window of time, and I swear to you, we can do this. Are you with me?.
Yes, came her instant answer. But I have to ask. What about our daughter? She’s out there somewhere, alone and in danger. That will not stand, Thorn. We both know it. I can feel your connection to her. It’s more powerful than anything the Danzur or Nyctus can grasp.
Thorn shook his head, sick with simmering rage.
We don’t know where she is and have no way of finding her. Meanwhile, the Danzur situation’s on a very short, very fast clock. So we’re going to concentrate on that, because that threatens the whole ON. Hell, it threatens the whole of the Allied Stars. As for Morgan, we’re just going to stay the course we’ve been on since she was born, and trust that her ability is well beyond any current threat. I know this in my bones, Kira, and our only concern is something far bigger than even her.
Bigger than Morgan? Kira asked, tone ripe with derision.
Yes. We have to trust in her control, for now, because if we’re wrong, she can end the uni
verse as we know it.
Thorn?
Yes?
Find an answer. Then, let’s go get our daughter.
“Why green?” Thorn asked as he settled himself into his seat beside Bertilak.
“What do you mean?”
“Why did Morgan make you green? And big?”
A hint of the big alien’s familiar, infectious grin returned. “I guess she thought aliens are supposed to be green. As for the big part, well, I guess she wanted me to be impressive.” Bertilak gave Thorn a sidelong look. “Did it work? Am I impressive, Thorn?”
“Oh, yeah, sure. I’m impressed all to hell, believe me, and I’ve moved a fleet with my mind. You are . . . more than impressive, friend.”
Bertilak laughed. It actually made Thorn smile. Since learning about the alien’s true nature, Thorn found himself sympathetic toward him. Bertilak’s story resonated with him. He was someone with no past, only a present and, one hoped, a future. It made him see Bertilak in an entirely different way, through a lens of possibility made whole by the power of a young girl.
“Well, then. You said you had an idea. Might I ask what it is?” Bertilak asked. “Because I assume it’s doing more than just floating here in the middle of nothing.”
“It is. At least, I hope so.”
“Hope so?”
Thorn sighed. “I know what I want to do, but I don’t know if I can do it. I need access to my full magical potential, but I’m still not there. The reservoir is still way too shallow. I need to figure out how to refill it.” He leaned back in the seat. “And I’ve got to do it pretty damned fast.”
Bertilak stared at the viewscreen for a moment, then turned to face Thorn.
“I don’t think this is about how much you exerted yourself, my friend. I don’t think your magic is depleted, and you’re just stuck waiting for it to recover, or recharge, or whatever you would call it.”
Thorn’s gut reaction was to brush off Bertilak’s words and get on with figuring out what he had to do, but he bit back his retort. The alien was effectively made of magic. He may very well have insights that might elude even another Starcaster, even if he didn’t know why. So he just nodded. “Okay. Go on.”