by David Estes
Her voice dropped away and the A.I. said, It is done.
“Change our frequency so she can’t reconnect.”
Already done.
“I appreciate the initiative. Where are the trackers located?”
Frank said, “There are seventeen. Al can pull them up on the schematics.”
“No need. Al, send your bots to remove and destroy them. All of them. Wait. On second thought…destroy sixteen and shoot the last one out of one of the cannons. Send it toward Polaris.” Polaris was an uninhabited ice planet located on the edge of the system, furthest from the local godstar.
“McGee…” Vee turned toward the man sitting on the floor. “I need you to do something for me.”
He cocked his head to the side.
“Can you destroy my tracker? It’s implanted in the base of my skull.”
“Vee,” Minnow said. “That tracker is no joke. It’s going to knock you out for a long time.”
McGee was on his feet, one eyebrow arched.
“I know what I’m doing,” Vee said. “It’s a risk I’ll have to take. McGee—the tracker is designed to hurt me if it’s removed or disabled. Can you make sure it doesn’t?”
The man chewed his lips, which were cracked and dry. Then he nodded. “Magic.” He placed a single finger on the back of her head, threading it through her hair until it settled on her skull. Vee closed her eyes, trying not to flinch. She felt a bit of pressure and then warmth flowed through her skin.
“Magic,” McGee said, and she opened her eyes.
“It’s done?”
He nodded. The man might be even more powerful than I thought. Unstable, but powerful.
It all seemed too easy, but then again, Miranda hadn’t taken into consideration that one of her crew members would be a mage more powerful than either of them. “Thank you. Do you know who I am?”
Another nod. Said only, “Harmony,” the name of her mother making her chest feel tight.
“My mother. My name is Verity—Vee for short. Is that why you agreed to come with me, because of my mother?”
He shook his head.
“Then why?”
“Magic.”
“I don’t understand.”
There was something in his gaze, something steely and determined. He didn’t have the blank or delirious eyes of a madman. But then he blinked and his eyes changed, flickering like bulbs about to burn out.
“Captain,” Frank said from the control module. “Miranda’s transport ship is approaching. She looks like she’s going to try to dock. Orders?”
Godstars, how Vee would’ve loved to go full defense systems on the warrior mage’s sorry ass. But Captain Tucker was still on board, along with a bunch of soldiers Vee had nothing against. “Make the jump into hyperspace. Everyone, strap in. Al, have the trackers been located?”
And destroyed, Captain.
“Good.” Vee settled into her own chair and stared through the glass dome. She’d never been to Godstar IV. Today was as good a day as any.
The starship accelerated.
Chapter 14
Pep talks and company
“All right, boys and girls,” Dacre said loudly, slapping his hands together as he reentered the control room. The Jackals turned to stare at him, their dark eyes narrowing, and Dacre got the distinct impression they would relish gnawing off a few of his fingers. It didn’t faze him, however. “I want to thank you all for a job well done. We pulled that heist off with professionalism and flair. Flair, I say. Never…I say never…have I served with a more impressive group of men and, uh, well, women, or, uh, scaly Jackal creature things…but anyway!” He stuck a finger in the air. “I want you all to rest up for the next mission, may it continue to ensure we are Alliance public enemy number one!”
The Jackal still piloting the vessel tugged two of the glowing ropes together and clicked some command to her co-pilot. She stepped off the command platform, her co-pilot taking her place, grabbing the willowy tendrils and maintaining course through hyperspace.
The pilot flew toward Dacre, her clawed feet scraping the floor. She landed before him and he flinched. “Uhh,” he said, willing himself not to take a step backward. Her mouth opened to reveal glistening fangs. Instinctively, he reached for his well of aura, but it didn’t respond. That’s when he remembered the tanker was made of magium, and would prevent the use of magic, even from a Class 5+ mage like him.
A series of clicks of varying tones and decibels arose from the back of the pilot’s throat. Dacre quickly switched on the translator built into his Academy implant. It was able to instantly detect and convert more than seven hundred alien languages and dialects into the common tongue.
Amongst your people, you are amusing, no? They find you funny? she said.
“The life of the party,” Dacre muttered, remembering the good old days back at the Academy, when there were parties.
Here, you are a tool to be used. We suffer your presence only out of necessity. Not skewering you between our claws is a gift. Don’t make us regret it.
Godstars, these creatures really don’t have a sense of humor, Dacre thought. “I won’t, Your…Jackalness,” he said, bowing deeply, hiding the slice of fear he’d felt in his chest at the thought of being skewered by one of these huge creatures. He’d heard of other races—including humans—that had Jackal fetishes, but…why? The thought of the touch of their scaly hides against his made his skin crawl.
A click from the command platform drew the Jackal’s attention away from Dacre. General Kukk’uk? We are approaching our exit from hyperspace.
Good, she clicked back, firing another dark-eyed stare behind her at Dacre before reassuming her position between the glowing ropes.
What have I gotten myself into? Dacre wondered, plopping back down into his jumpseat and strapping in. His temporary alliance with the Jackals was a necessary evil. Or, at least, he thought it was.
The co-pilot began counting down as the stars streaming past them began to slow, taking on individual shapes. Somewhere to the right, Dacre spotted a large, red planet. Urkusk, he knew. They were in Gremolin territory.
The Gremolins had never been friendly to the other races, preferring to keep to themselves most of the time, digging their tunnels, ever in search of unlocking the greater mysteries of magic, a noble goal Dacre could relate to. They were wizards, all of them, each born with the right DNA to process aura with great efficiency.
The star-rig slowed further, and then there was a single jolt as they exited hyperspace, everything clarifying in an instant, like wiping the frost off a glass window to discover a serene, peaceful world beyond. Although Dacre knew logically they continued to rocket through space at a speed of many thousands of kilometers per hour, it felt almost as if they were floating. The red planet reared up to the right, while dead ahead was a field of enormous, sharp-edged rocks.
We have company, the co-pilot clicked, snapping Dacre from that feeling of peace in an instant.
Dacre swept his gaze from right to left, searching, but seeing only empty space. The radar screen, however, showed a blip moving toward them at great speed. “Gremolins?” Dacre asked, already unclasping his straps.
The pilot ignored him, twisting the ropes in such a way that the tanker leapt forward, accelerating. The other Jackals flew into position, manning a variety of defensive stations, turrets that extended from the skin of the star-rig, outfitted with heavy anti-starship guns mounted on seats that could rotate through the airlock energy field.
Dacre fought to his feet and snatched a helmet from a hook. The Jackals might not need to breathe, but they needed him, and were kind enough to provide him with a plentiful supply of space gear. If the fight went against them, he might find himself in the zero-O blackness of space drifting for who knew how long—until someone picked him up or his tank ran out of air. He pulled the helmet over his head and locked it into his pressurized suit before attaching an oxygen tank, which he strapped to his back, and then started the flow of a
ir.
The blip on the screen was closer now, and the Jackals were already firing pulse cannons into the void, lights flashing beyond the large energy domes of each station.
There was one station unmanned, one only he could use: the mage seat. Most starships, star-rigs, and other vessels carrying valuable payloads employed a mage to protect against attacks from space pirates and other unsavory characters who considered the Godstar Galaxy to be their own personal playground.
Dacre clambered up the short ladder and slid into the seat, his hands grasping the handles and pulling the mag-cannon in the direction he’d last seen the blip on the radar. The energy membrane, a fluid bubble of sorts that kept the air in and the void of space out, rippled as the tritonium shaft disturbed its fluid edge.
Though no magic could be used within the magium-reinforced star-rig, that didn’t mean aura couldn’t be processed and directed outside of the ship’s bounds. And Dacre had an almost limitless supply, the mage seat connected to the tank of aura by a tube that extended from the armrest. He grabbed the end with one hand and clamped it between his lips. He sucked in, at first tasting nothing but copper tubing, but then—
A swell of complete pleasure as the purest of pure liquid aura rushed over his tongue. He was careful not to swallow too much, although the temptation to guzzle the stuff was strong. Drinking aura was generally less addictive than having it shot directly into one’s veins, but it was better to be safe. He used his tongue to stop the flow and then removed the tube, holding a small reserve in his mouth.
The pursuing starship approached, its weapons already flashing as beams of light strafed toward them. The electromagnetic pulses of energy were meant to incapacitate rather than destroy, which meant their enemy was intent on capturing rather than killing.
Which, in a way, would almost be worse.
Not on my watch, Dacre thought, beginning to trace a glyph on the mag-cannon’s spellscreen just as the Jackals manning the other, non-magical weapons opened fire in earnest, the booms of anti-starship cannons echoing through the control room. In the space in front of the starship there were a series of explosions, and the enemy vessel was forced to change direction three times to avoid the worst of it, using a series of evasive maneuvers that highlighted the skill of the ship’s pilot.
Dacre finished the glyph, clamped his hands around the dual triggers, drew in a deep breath through his nose as he took aim, and then fired.
At first, nothing happened, though the glyph vanished from the spellscreen, its outline still burning icy blue in Dacre’s eyes. Wave. And then—
A wall of ice erupted from his weapon, racing across space, a mountain compared to the starship, which now appeared as tiny as a life raft about to be capsized by a tsunami. It was a Class 5 spell, and Dacre immediately felt drained, allowing a small measure of additional aura to slip down his throat to refuel him.
He watched the wave of ice begin to crumble, crashing onto his enemy.
~~~
“You bastard,” Vee muttered, gritting her teeth as she traced a spell on the cannon, watching the wave of ice crumble toward their starship. Aura flowed through her, replenished as she sipped from the tube attached to the mage seat.
The trip through hyperspace had been pleasant enough, though their feline pilot, Frank Stallone, had talked nonstop.
Even more surprising than a chatterbox cat, however, was what had happened when they’d emerged from hyperspace. At first, they’d coasted for several thousand kilometers, taking in the sights of a godstar system known for its bright red godstar, extensive black market asteroid field and inhospitable locals.
But then time and space had broken open and a large star-rig had emerged into the system, its bulbous tail and bulkhead sheathed in magium armor. Vee had known right away it was him and that her guess had been right, but she hadn’t had time to pat herself on the back, the rig falling into defensive posture as soon as they were spotted.
“Magic! Magic! Magic!” McGee shouted from where he sat cross-legged on the floor. His fingers glowed white, pulsing. Vee ignored him—now wasn’t the time to worry about his ravings, not when they were about to be cut into a million pieces by spears of ice.
She checked her spell once more before pulling the cannon’s trigger.
Fire erupted from its barrel.
~~~
It’s done, Dacre thought, preparing to spit the rest of the liquid aura back into the tube from which he’d drawn it. He hesitated when a flash of orange split the wall down the center, growing larger, flaring from bottom to top and then running from side to side.
Stars, Dacre thought. They have a mage. A powerful one, too, Class 5 for sure given the way the counterspell had torn through his wall of ice. Not just any mage—one based in fire, those usually groomed at the Academy to be warrior mages. He refused to allow himself to think of her, for it couldn’t be her, she was only Class 3 and had been expelled from the Academy, just like he had. Which meant one of two things:
They were being pursued by a Gremolin ship—unlikely, given the Gremolins’ strong preference to stay on their home planet—or the Alliance had found them.
More anti-starship explosions plumed through the space between the ships, but once again the enemy pilot was up to the challenge, expertly threading through the mine field. Dacre spat the aura out into a cup.
“Is there enough in the hyperdrive to get us the Hole out of here?” Dacre shouted back at General Kukk’uk.
No, the creature clicked. And even if there was, we would not flee. The Gremolins have what we need.
It was true, Dacre knew. They had not come to Urkusk by random design, which was probably why the Alliance had been waiting for them. They understand now. They will do everything in their power to stop us.
Dacre turned back to the energy field, watching as the starship closed the gap kilometer by kilometer.
Behind him, General Kukk’uk said, Hold them off for another two minutes. I’ll do the rest.
Dacre wasn’t certain what that meant, but he nodded to himself, took another sip of aura, and began to form another symbol on the spellscreen. “Pierce,” he said when he finished, the exact spell the fire mage had used, but the ice version, which was offensive rather than defensive in nature. He squeezed the trigger. A spear-like icicle shot out from the cannon’s barrel. Dacre’s aim was true, which the Alliance pilot seemed to realize at the last moment, trying futilely to change the starship’s trajectory.
It wasn’t enough.
The icicle scraped against the ship’s side, creating a rend in the metal. It was a glancing blow, and yet more than sufficient to halt the starship’s progress as it was forced to initiate repairs.
General Kukk’uk clicked her approval, and the other Jackals ceased their fire.
Dacre, however, frowned as he noticed a flash of orange from the side of the starship. What in the galaxies? he thought, leaning forward. His attack wasn’t enough to cause any damage that would result in an explosion. Oh crap. “Incoming!” he shouted, though he knew it was already too late. Before the tip of his finger had drawn the first curving line of his counterspell, there was a flash of fire and another explosion, this one seeming to appear out of the nothingness of space, surrounding them in jets of flame.
The tanker shuddered, and Dacre was forced to clutch his cannon’s dual arms to avoid being thrown from his seat. And then the fire was gone, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.
For a moment there was silence, their rig continuing to rocket forward, the distance between them and the starship widening once more. They were safe. They’d taken the best knockout punch the firemage had to offer and were still on their feet. Dacre exhaled, a small laugh slipping from his lips.
Warning sirens erupted throughout the ship.
Chapter 15
Lost moonrocks
Fuming, Vee descended the ladder to the floor of the control room. Magic McGee was no longer shouting, his eyes closed in what appeared to be sleep or quiet meditatio
n. The main control screen showed a diagnostic of the starship, one side flashing red.
“Al, what’s the damage?” she asked, trying to control the urge to punch something.
Several engines are down, Cap’n, the A.I. said.
“Can they be repaired?”
Aye aye! Repairs be started, though one of ye lazy lubbers will need ta help.
Vee breathed out. This was good news. “Terry, work with Al to get us back up and running. How long, Al?”
Two-point-three-five days, give or take point-oh-one.
Vee gritted her teeth as Terry departed to get to work. So much for good news. By then Dacre and his Jackal friends might’ve jumped three systems away.
Godstars-damn Dacre Avvalon, she thought. More than anything it hurt that his magic had won the day, giving him enough time to limp into the asteroid field. She could only hope the damage her parting spell had inflicted was enough to cripple his rig for the two-point-whatever days it took to fix her own.
Well, there was no point in feeling sorry for herself. “Is there any way to pilot into the asteroid field?” she asked.
Frank Stallone continued to grip the control ropes, but he wasn’t moving them. “It’s possible, but I wouldn’t advise it. Once within the field our ship will be crushed. We are too big. Even a pilot of my skill with a fully functioning starfighter would struggle to navigate through. That’s one reason the Alliance has never tried to shutter the black market. It’s not worth the risk or effort.”
Vee had suspected as much, but it didn’t stop the information from stinging her to the core. They’d been so close…if she had only been faster or smarter with her spells…
She knew what she was doing:
Mourning. Taking shots at herself to push away the thoughts that had pummeled her from the moment she realized she’d been played by Miranda Petros. Again. The woman had offered to revive a dream Vee had thought was dead, only to turn off the life support.
I will never reenter the Academy, Vee thought, repeating it in her mind several times to ensure her stubborn brain got the message. So what now? If the Academy was off the table, was there any reason to continue chasing Dacre Avvalon? What was in it for her?