by J. N. Chaney
“Yes, sir.” Thorn cleared his throat. “Reporting for duty, or just reporting. I’m unsure at this point.”
The captain looked up at him with a raised brow. “It’s duty, make no mistake. You’re a lot more gifted than our first ’caster, so I have some questions.”
“First, sir? You had another Starcaster?”
“We did. Briefly. Didn’t take. You’re different, though—all of you are, compared to the first few years. Then, we didn’t know what we needed out here, against the Nyctus. Thought we could turn rocks and throw them back.” He sighed, and it was a long sound of frustration. “The Nyctus are a heluva lot more devious than that, even if brute force is their preferred technique. Let me show you something.”
“Yes, sir.” Thorn stood quietly, watching the captain’s fingers dance over a virtual keyset. Samuels waved him forward to look at the images that were now hovering on a screen too small for anyone to see except them.
Thorn moved to the control panel and saw that the captain had been reviewing enemy fleet locations. Samuels swiped the flat panel forward to project a 3D hologram of the three separate maps, their borders twined together across distance and the galactic plane.
Samuel pointed to the map farthest to the left. “This was documented two months ago.” His finger moved to the right, indicating the static image in the middle. “Three weeks ago.” He zoomed in on the live radar furthest to the right. “And this is what we’re seeing now.”
Thorn’s heart sank. The alien battle fleet in the third live feed had increased from a couple of scout vehicles two months ago—to three immense carriers, battleships, more than twenty smaller craft, and at least five bulky shield ships, their distinct outline needed due to the cargo they carried. Each of the shield craft would be packed with defensive armor of varying types. As he watched, the vehicles remained chillingly inert. He could have taken the image to be a still had he not seen the jump planes zipping between the two planets.
The fleet still sat a good distance from the twin planets, so Thorn didn’t think that an attack was imminent. However, the sudden change in convoy structure told him that an attack wasn’t just forming up, it was close to launching. He’d seen enough sat recordings of battlefields where the ON had been scoured to dust, and this was no different. Someone was about to get hit. Hard.
“Where is this, sir?” Thorn asked. It was apparent these planets were well populated, given the amount of system traffic.
“Too far for response by the Apollo.” The captain shook his head. “But within our jurisdiction. We’ll have to deploy the closest units capable of withstanding a battle of this magnitude.”
Thorn resisted the urge to reach out and enlarge the screen. “And what units are those, sir?”
“That’s not the largest of my concerns, Stellers.” The captain nodded toward the enemy fleet as he spoke. “They’re not in battle formation. They’re just hanging there. Waiting.”
“What do you mean it’s not a concern? Can we—rather, can I have an effect on this fight, sir?”
The captain turned to face him, leaning back against his chair. “I didn’t say it’s not a concern, Stellers.” He gave Thorn a neutral look. “I said it’s not the largest of my concerns.”
“What is the largest of your concerns, sir?” Thorn was bewildered that the captain was so calm. The people on these planets were going to die if they didn’t play defense with the fleet—and soon.
The captain pressed a button on the panel behind him without turning to look at the changes it caused. He crossed his arms as the two stagnant images blipped into nonexistence, and twelve new live feeds populated in a semi-circle across the front of the helm. Each feed showed the same presence, alarmingly still, in twelve new locations. Each solar system was populated with active civilizations.
Thorn could say nothing. The enemy wasn’t attacking a system. They were attacking across a front.
“This, Stellers.” The captain’s jaw rippled in frustration. “This is the largest of my concerns.”
Thorn reacted at the cellular level, every old hurt in his life flaring into the here and now. “Are these all within our jurisdiction, sir?”
“Yes, they are.” Captain Samuel’s eyes narrowed, but he let the newcomer run with his thoughts, for the moment.
“Have there been reports of similar activity in other jurisdictions, sir?”
“Short answer—no.” The captain turned to survey the holographic monitors once more, saying nothing, cupping his chin in one hand.
“That’s what they’re waiting for, then,” Thorn said. “We can’t—I mean, I can’t pry open a Nyctus mind at this distance, and I’m not sure I’d want to, but I think we’re looking at something different.”
“Clarify, Stellers.”
“They’re expecting us to react to the immense presence in this jurisdiction by calling for aid from others. It’s the logical reaction.” Thorn tapped on each of the feeds, zooming in and inspecting the fleets before moving on to the next. “Are there any outliers, sir?”
“Outliers how?”
“Nyctus ships within the jurisdiction that are not positioned for imminent attack?” Thorn posed the statement as a question, though he had more than a suspicion. The captain sensed it as well. “The enemy doesn’t just park. At least, not that we saw in training materials. I yield to your experience here, it’s just that—
Samuels leaned over the control panel, holding up a hand. “Here.” He cleared the live feeds and enlarged an image of fifteen small attack ships with one carrier sitting in deep space, their formation preparing for lightspeed.
Thorn asked, “That trajectory. Can you plot it?” He looked around for the nav officer.
Slaughterbach sat at the nav chair, his fingers nearly a blur. He imported the static image of the outlying fleet and demarcated the sharp angles of the Nyctus ships, then added an overlay based on any anomalies between the two points.
The air in the command deck felt sticky with angst. The crew fought the urge to gather around Slaughterbach as the system calculated the outcome. If there was a clock in the room, Thorn would have heard it ticking, even though the data compiled in the span of two breaths.
The navigation screen flashed green around the edges, and a simulation displayed the calculated course in exponential speed. The end of the route was a small, mottled brown and green planet directly in the path of the fleet’s trajectory.
Thorn studied the planet and those surrounding it. “Enlarge that image, sir?”
“Sleuth,” Samuels said. The seated nav officer turned his bi-colored eyes up toward him with an expectant glance. “Throw it on the big wall.”
“Sleuth, sir?” Thorn asked softly.
“A lot shorter than Slaughterbach, and the kid has a nose for the Nyctus,” Samuels said, lips curled slightly.
For the second time that morning, Thorn’s gut clenched.
“Corporal, can you tell me what I’m looking at?”
Sleuth displayed the planetary details with a flick of his wrist.
No. Thorn read the words. It can’t be.
Code Nebula.
His blood roared, feet moving of their own accord to the comms, where he tapped an open channel to find Kira—somehow, some way, he had to tell her—
They’re going to attack Code Nebula.
“Stellers!” He heard Captain Samuel’s command on the third attempt. “What are you doing?”
“That’s my base camp, Captain.” Thorn let his hand drift away, then stared at it. “My—all of my people. The officers and crew I know, or knew. It’s where the Starcasters are made.”
“I know that, Stellers.” Samuel grabbed him by the shoulders and sat him down forcefully. “You’re not going to warn them. Do you know why?” The question was generous. Samuel didn’t owe Thorn a thing. Not yet.
Thorn felt his shoulders fall. “Because the Nyctus would know. Sir.”
Samuel gave a slow, deliberate nod. “In about a minute. They’l
l punch through our codes, or just brush the edges, and they’re not stupid. They’ll know. And more importantly, they can go early, before we could even get in orbit to defend your base.”
“So what do we do, sir? I know what it takes to make a ’caster. I was there. The classes are small, and—well, I was told that you needed me to have a shot at winning. So if I’m a glorified weapon, that makes Code Nebula an armory that has to be protected.”
“I don’t know what the best answer is…yet.” He took a chair, spun toward Thorn, and leaned forward as the entire bridge watched their exchange in tense silence. “But they’re not going to make the move until they know we’ve mobilized against their façade of infantry units. You sold me on that. It’s a feint, and it’s designed to siphon off our fleet, to get us out of position.”
“Sir, I can reach them. At Code Nebula,” Thorn said into the silence. There were audible snorts of derision, but Samuel quelled them with a look.
“Tell me,” the captain ordered.
Thorn spread his hands out, fingers splayed on his legs. “My telepathic range is—well, we don’t know what it is. But it’s deep, and I don’t get tired. I have a, I guess you’d call it a reserve. I might be able to reach someone on Code Nebula, but only if I’m utterly focused.”
Samuel cut his eyes to the bow. “The witchport is waiting, then. You came here to use your power, and we know the Nyctus are fighting outside our usual methods. Go, and ready yourself. You’ll need a suit for the hard vac in case you lose control of the bubble. There’s one waiting in your quarters. Gear up, get in the ’port, and clear your mind. If you want to save the base, and maybe us—go. Direct order, Stellers. I can’t claim to understand what you do, but I sure as hell know how I’m going to use it.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be ready,” Thorn said, saluting and retreating even as his mind began to fill with the oncoming task. Telepathy was one thing. Telepathy beyond the stars was another.
The captain was true to his word. A battlesuit of dark fabric hung, waiting in his locker. He took his talisman, dressed, and began to leave, turning for the lead part of the ship where only a Starcaster could go. One of his skills wasn’t just magic, but the creation of a wall—invisible, unbreakable, and filling the open witchport so he could be present at the leading edge of his ship as it attacked.
Or defended.
As he opened the door to leave, an icon blinked on his wallscreen. A message.
“Play message,” he said. Instantly, an image fizzed into existence and he saw Val’s square head, a smile ear to ear, and Rodie pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. They sat shoulder to shoulder, leaning into the center of the screen.
“Hey, Stellers!” Val waved. “Would you believe I got stuck with this guy for the rest of…oh, I don’t know, eternity?”
Rodie shoved his shoulder into hers and snorted. “I got the goods. She ain’t leaving. She’s hooked on coffee, chocolate, and clean socks. I got her right where I want her.”
Val laughed and shoved Rodie out of the screen. “We just wanted to check in on you and see how you’re doin’?” She looked worried, which was new, but she was also more—real. There was less bluster, and more actual human. It was a good look.
Rodie appeared again, leaning in so his oversized head took up a majority of the screen. “Yeah, man, miss you! Let us know you’re okay.” Rodie leaned in even closer, covering the side of his face with his hand to block Val’s view of his moving lips and whispered, “And tell me about all the babes on Tuscolum. I gotta know if the hype is real!”
Val smacked the skinny man on the shoulder. “We got booted to Vega 7, hardly a hop away from Code Nebula. Rodie’s disappointed he still won’t be using his rank insignia to bring the girls to the bunk any time soon.”
Rodie nodded, his eyebrows arching upward with no disagreement. They both laughed before the recording cut out and Thorn was left to silence once again.
The pieces fell into place, and Thorn left his quarters in a near run. If Val and Rodie were in the Vega system, then they were close enough that Thorn could reach them before the Nyctus could pound Code Nebula into memory. That left the problem of telepathy over enormous distances—it was unlikely to work, and the stakes were too high. Before he could continue his thoughts, Thorn burst onto the deck, black witcharmor rippling under the soft lights.
The commotion in the room stopped. Everybody turned to him expectantly.
“Quite an entrance, Stellers,” Captain Samuel said. “I take it you have news?”
“Two Starcasters are stationed at Vega 7. I trained with them. I can get a warning to them.” He drew a diagram on the holopad in front of him. “But we need to sell the Nyctus on us mobilizing to defend their attacks, without giving away what we know. It’s a fine line, I know, but I can do it, and I don’t need telepathy. At least, not at this range. I’ve got something a little more traditional.”
“Coded message,” the captain said, tilting his head. “Correct?”
“Exactly, sir. I know the Nyctus don’t have a full command of our language, at least not the nuances. They sure as hell won’t get an open code between squaddies who are fresh out of training.”
Captain Samuel looked around the bridge, noting the open faces. Thorn had them listening. “Go on.”
“We mobilize, sir.” Thorn projected his diagram to the center holograph and spun it as he explained. “I’ll send code to my old squad with directives. Specialist Rodie is there. I have no doubts he’ll decode my intention.”
“That part of your plan is clear. Tell me about the mechanics of it.”
“What we’ll tell them is to take a civilian jump plane to Code Nebula.” Thorn zoomed in on the jump plane traffic between planets in the system. “The Nyctus will assume this is a routine recruit plane, dumping a load of newbie ’casters.”
The captain pulled at his chin. “Again, a plausible move. And then?”
“From there, Rodie and Val can discreetly inform Commander Schrader of the attack, and they can plan an evacuation.”
The captain scoffed. “As soon as they evacuate that camp, these thirteen planets will be obliterated.” He gestured to the feeds behind him.
“Not if the evacuation is handled with precision, sir.”
“How precise? Bear in mind, we’re arriving late to the party, or not at all if the Nyctus attack across a broad front. If they do, our presence won’t matter to Code Nebula or the target systems. We’ll be overmatched, and I won’t put my ship in that position.”
Thorn pulled a chair, then sat and began to sketch on the holopad in wide, dynamic strokes. “Captain Leblanc can shade the planet for just long enough that we can get the evacuating ships to a nearby planet—in system. Since we know the Nyctus will be, ahh—”
“Raking her mind for information. Call it what it is, Stellers. The Nyctus can crack any of us, given enough time and effort. That’s why we’re losing this war. One of the reasons, anyway. No info security.”
“They can and they will, sir. I’m counting on it. And Captain Leblanc is incredibly powerful. I’ll ask her to sell the Nyctus a lie—a battleship fleet squadron so powerful that not even the Nyctus planetbusters could take them out. That projection will fry regular scans, too, so the Nyctus will see two ghosts, not just one. They’ll buy it, sir, and we can evacuate while they call for help. Or bug out.”
“And how do you plan to notify Captain Leblanc of this?”
“Easy.” Thorn leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “She’s been inside my head. Now I just need to get into hers.”
“And what about the defensive action here, in this jurisdiction?” Captain Samuel remained unsatisfied about that small detail, though his face betrayed a plan. He was a seasoned officer who’d just been given a weapon he’d never fired before. It was time to take Thorn out for a spin.
“Well, we mobilize, sir.”
Captain Samuel stared at him. “How, and from where?”
Thorn saw the dilemma, but
he was so used to thinking in situational terms, he’d limited his own vision. The answer hove into sight, a mirage that became real as he approached it.
“Everywhere, sir.” He set his jaw. “This is no longer a battle. This is the war.”
14
Thorn stood before the walls between him and open space. He paused, his exposed hand on the control panel. It was keyed only to his identity, with an override for the captain.
Beyond were the stars. And the Nyctus, somewhere out there, waiting. Moving. Burning and crushing worlds as they advanced, their reasons known only to themselves.
The door opened. Thorn stepped into the small airlock and heard it cycle, followed by a soft chime. The second control pulsed green, waiting for his touch. He re-gloved, took a hissing breath from his suit, and opened the witchport to the endless black.
It was a circle, with rounded walls so dark they drank light. The floor was textured—not soft, but not too firm. He sat down, eyes glued in open awe at the yawning chasm of stretching away. Few stars were visible, and even they were moving steaks of muted light, with the occasional brief flare of a white or blue giant, still young and hot.
Thorn had to know if he could reach Captain Leblanc telepathically before any of his plan could be initiated, so he let the nothingness wash over him, drawing inward like a blanket of dark. As the universe closed in, his mind pushed out, gaining traction with each distant heartbeat in the corner of his senses that still identified him as human.
For the moment, he was a pure being of magic, his power unfolding, exploring, and finding the possibilities to its liking. Thorn smiled. This was what it meant to be a Starcaster. Not the mud and the sweat, the fear and exhaustion. He was—home.
Close bubble, he commanded the witchport system, sensing but not seeing the protective shield lock in place. Thorn removed a glove, felt nothing except cool air, and then took off his second glove. With hands that shook, if slightly, he removed his helmet, exposing himself to the killing cold of open space.