Star-Born Mage

by David Estes

  Yeah, no pressure, Dacre thought, watching as several Cir’u’non strapped the Grem weapon onto a cart. “Careful!” he snapped as they almost tipped it over onto its side.

  One of the Cir’u’non hissed at him, but they continued with more caution. Secured, they wheeled the weapon toward the rig’s exit.

  “You know what you’re doing, right?” Coffee whispered as they followed.

  “No, I thought you did?” Dacre said.

  “Hilarious. A real holo-comedian.”

  “That’s what they tell me.”

  Kukk’uk eyed them narrowly and Dacre gave her a wave. Let her worry about her investment. She should worry.

  Outside the rig was a bleak planet that Dacre wouldn’t force his worst enemy to inhabit. The wind howled across the gray-rock terrain. The landscape was dotted by dark pools that seemed to bubble along the surface. Impossible, Dacre thought. “Is that…”

  Pure liquid aura, Kukk’uk clicked. Do you see yet? Even the stats reported by the Alliance are a gross understatement as to our reserves. This is why they refuse to let us live in peace. They want what we have, and they will not rest until they’ve annihilated us and taken it. Do you think we are overreacting?

  Dacre didn’t. And he fully believed the Alliance would go to extreme measures to harvest such a hoard of aura. But that wasn’t why he was here. “No,” he said. “What I don’t understand is why you asked me to steal this rig and fill it with aura in Archimedes. What we brought is a drop in the bucket.”

  Kukk’uk grinned a toothy grin. A test, she clicked. To ensure you weren’t an Alliance spy. They will go to extreme measures, but they would never steal pure liquid aura from themselves.

  It was clever, Dacre had to admit. It was also rather annoying. “Take me to where I can put this aura to good use,” he growled.

  Patience, human, Kukk’uk said. No one wants to see this done more than the Cir’u’non.

  The sky was filled with beating wings as curious Cir’u’non came to see the strange two-headed vessel that had landed near their capital city of Rik’koon.

  Dacre stuck close to to the mag-weapon, unwilling to let it from his sight. Only the fate of the galaxy depended on it. No sweat, he thought. Like taking moon candy from a Corian infant.

  “You know they’re going to kill us as soon as this is over, right?” Coffee said.

  “Yep.”

  “So you’ve got a plan to prevent our demise?”

  “Nope.”

  “Good,” Coffee said, taking the news in stride. “My kind of mission. At least they haven’t comandeered our weapons yet.”

  “A hundred thousand guns to two aren’t very good odds.”

  “Yeah, but we’ve got that big-ass mag-cannon thingy.”

  “True. But I’ll be aiming that outwards.”

  “At whom is the question,” Coffee said, glancing at Kukk’uk, who was watching them.

  Dacre said, “At the Mage Academy, of course.”

  “Right. Because the Alliance has to be stopped.” He lowered his voice to a level only Dacre would be able to hear. “You know, if you tell them about the threat to the galaxy and all, they might be reasonable. Self-preservation.”

  Dacre had considered doing just that. It would certainly make everything easier. Then again, the Cir’u’non were a race with a long memory, their hatred of the Alliance burning over decades. When the entire house was on fire, it made it harder to notice the flames at one’s feet.

  “I’ll take your suggestion under advisement.”

  “Which means no.”

  “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

  Coffee shook his head but didn’t say anything else.

  They reached a ground transport vessel. Its long body was black and coated in a rough texture that resembled the reptilian skin of the locals. The vehicle was comprised of a dozen separate pods connected to each other like a giant centipede. They clambered aboard as it hovered a meter or so off the ground. Dacre glanced back as the other Jackals loaded the mag-weapon into the cargo hold. As it turned out, the entire segmented truck was one huge hold with no seats. It made sense, he supposed. Why would the locals ride in vehicles when they could fly? These hovercrafts must be usedfor transporting goods and supplies from the landing pad to the city.

  “Kukk’uk,” Dacre said. “Any status on the other ship?”

  The general shook her head. They’ve barricaded themselves inside. We are using blowtorches to breach the main doors. Explosives would be far more effective…

  “No. Remember, deal’s off if you harm any of them. I want to see them alive and well before I fire the weapon.”

  Kukk’uk looked less than happy but dipped her beak forward as she nodded. Fine.

  Coffee said, “Who is this girl to you?”

  “Who said it’s a girl?”

  Coffee smiled knowingly. “I’ve been there. Guys do a lot of crazy things, but all the craziest involve those of the fairer sex. Plus, I might’ve peeked back on Urkusk.”

  “An old fling,” Dacre said.

  “Some fling. She’s a real looker.”

  “Fine. She was my fiancé. I screwed things up, because of, well, you know…”

  “Being an alien spy.”

  Dacre glanced at Kukk’uk, but she gave no indication of having heard. “Yes. But she doesn’t know that. At least, she didn’t. Now she does.”

  “Complicated. Sounds like my last ten relationships.”

  Dacre laughed. “Glad you can relate.”

  The hovercruiser was on the move now, racing across the flat terrain toward a wall of gray rock that seemed to curve around and away at its outer edges. Like a crater.

  Before Dacre had contacted the Cir’u’non all those months ago, he’d done his research. He’d seen holo-images of this very place, taken over a decade ago, when the Alliance had forces occupying Jarnum. This was Rik’koon, their capital city. According to Cir’u’non lore, they believed millions of years ago the original godstar arrived in this place, touching the surface of the planet with a single finger, leaving an impression in the rock, which grew around the spot over centuries. To them, this city was more than a place to live. It was holy. Hallowed ground.

  “Um,” Coffee said, the multi-segmented skiff continuing to speed toward the rock wall without signs of turning or slowing down.

  Dacre had read about this, too, about the technology used to protect the city. The Cir’u’non enjoyed playing with holo-images, perfecting them until discerning reality from illusion was nearly impossible.

  Even knowing this, Dacre couldn’t detect a difference in the surface of the rock, which was a seamless tapestry coming up to greet them. He closed his eyes just before the collision, while Coffee flung himself back and shouted something.

  And then they were through, and Dacre opened his eyes. The tunnel rushed around them, lit by black lights that made Coffee’s light-colored shirt glow an eerie purple, his lips painted white.

  Kukk’uk grinned at them from across the cabin, her dozens of rows of needlelike teeth glittering. Ah, home, she said. It’s been too long.

  Dacre could relate, though, for him, home was a planet-sized ship traveling at thousands of lightyears per hour until it swallowed him like a bug.

  A light appeared at the end of the tunnel, growing larger until they met it, rocketing from the end of the shoot and into a silent city.

  Towers of black rock rose into the silence. Most contained open-air windows, most likely so the airborne Jackals could fly from one to the next easily. There were hundreds of hovertransports, but none were flying, littering the area as if grounded by an EMP. No Cir’u’non flew here. Instead, there were thousands of the winged creatures standing along the streets, watching, waiting. Their plans had been kept secret from the galaxy, but there were no secrets here.

  Instead, the citizens lifted their claws in the air, offering a silent salute as they passed. They were all shapes and sizes, and most of them didn’t look particularly vi
cious. In fact, few were the size of Kukk’uk and her soldiers. Some had smaller creatures strapped to their backs, their tiny wings not yet fully formed. Children. Babies.

  In a war, it was hard to remember that the enemy was more like you than not. Otherwise there might be fewer wars.

  Long memories, Dacre reminded himself. Whatever the Alliance had done to the Cir’u’non, they would not be satisfied until they had their retribution. It was an endless cycle, Dacre knew. But if they have a common enemy, he thought, maybe it will change things. Maybe they will unite.

  The hovercruiser whipped past it all, shooting down the broad corridors between the dark towers.

  “Kinda creepy,” Coffee said, watching the Cir’u’non-lined streets. “Like we’re part of a parade.”

  “A parade of coming destruction,” Dacre said grimly.

  “You’re not very fun at parties, are you?”

  “Not lately.”

  The road broadened further, and the spectators grew ten deep, then a hundred. Around the largest tower in the city, there were thousands, all eyes watching them pass, claws raised in the air amidst deafening silence.

  Like the crater wall, a portion of the tower wall was an illusion, and they flew right through it, drawing to a stop inside a garage-like area, where other hovervehicles were parked. They parked in kind, and several Cir’u’non strode forward to tend to the cruiser and unload the weapon.

  Dacre stepped out, his heart beating too fast. All the preparation. Not months, but years. It all came down to one moment, one decision.

  I’m sorry, Verity, he thought. But this is who—what—I am. What I’ve always been.

  A Centaurian.

  ~~~

  “Everyone ready?” Vee asked, watching the orange glow creep around the edges of the starship door. It grew brighter as the torches cut through.

  “I’d still rather keep my mag-rifle on hand,” Miranda said.

  “It won’t be far,” Vee said. “Stick to the plan. Agreed?”

  Grudgingly, Miranda nodded.

  Minnow said, “You owe me a new rocket launcher when this is over.”

  “I’ll buy you ten if you lose it,” Vee said. “Now stand back.”

  They moved away from the door, all except McGee, who moved closer, like a moth drawn to a flame. “McGee!” Vee said, but it was too late. The heavy door’s hinges melted in a spray of orange sparks and it collapsed inward. Just before it hit the bearded mage, however, it stopped in midair. He held up a hand, a single finger extended. With a quick flick, he shoved the door back and through the opening, where it landed with a crash. There were harsh clicks and then a dozen or more aura-tipped dart guns pointed in their direction. Beneath the fallen door Vee could see claws and wings poking out.

  Killing a bunch of Jackals was not part of the plan, but it wasn’t a bad touch.

  Although Vee had the urge to grab one of the guns and shoot herself with the aura darts, she managed to resist and throw her hands over her head. “We surrender!” she called out.

  A familiar voice replied. “They’re not going to shoot. Your ex-fiancé struck a deal with the devil.”

  “Terry?” Vee said, shocked.

  The Chameleot’s face appeared in the entrance. His wrists and ankles were shackled with glowing magium-plated chains. “I’m sorry, Verity,” he said. “I failed you.”

  She shook her head, deeply saddened by the sorrow in his tone. “You’ve failed no one.”

  He offered a thin smile as the Jackals crept forward, at least three guns pointed at each of them. McGee lifted a foot to stomp, but Vee said, “Magic, don’t.” The man looked back at her, tilting his head to one side. Then he nodded slowly and lowered his foot to the floor without incident, leaving Vee to wonder what magic he’d been conjuring.

  One by one, they were cuffed at the wrists and ankles, and Vee could feel the liquid aura in her blood recoil at the magium chains.

  She hoped she hadn’t made the biggest mistake of her life.

  ~~~

  Tramone hated hyperspace. The flash of the stars and the ever-present feeling of falling. The lack of control. If the ship’s autopilot malfunctioned, they would all die a fiery death in an instant.

  He almost chuckled at his own foolishness. The galaxy was being threatened by a force the likes of which they’d never seen, and he was worried about dying in a hyperspace accident?

  He swallowed. The weapon—his weapon, his design—was finished. It was a modified version, given their time constraints, but he was reasonably confident it would have the firepower to combat whatever it needed to.

  It was strange—he felt like the old him. Like when he was back in uni and knew before a tech competition that he would emerge the victor. He hadn’t felt like that in a long time, not in reality anyway. Playing galactosphere games was always different. He could be someone else. A better someone. But now the real someone was the better someone. The Archchancellor’s confidence in him was like a gift.

  She spoke to him now. “We’ll arrive in Godstar VII in eight minutes or so.” It was unnecessary information. Tramone’s eyes had been darting up to the countdown clock every few seconds. There were less than four hours now, assuming the revised estimates were close to accurate. “When we get there, you’ll climb the ladder to the mage seat. Sit beside the weapon. There will be a stool for you, just in case anything goes wrong.” Though she was basically calling him ‘Tech Support’, it felt like so much more than that. Non-mages were never permitted within the mage seat area.

  “How many mages do we have?” he asked.

  “Eight.”

  The answer took his breath away. Eight. He’d only ever seen one magical user in real life, and here he was being granted eight to fire his weapon. “It should be enough,” he said, trying to play it cool. Tramone hoped it would be, though it was impossible to be certain considering the weapon had never been tested, except using the VR sims he’d created back in uni. Until a spell was fired, no one truly knew how the weapon would react, which was one of the many reasons that developing mag-weapons was such a tedious business. Tramone had heard of mag-weapons that used two, or even three, mages, but never eight. And if eight wasn’t enough…godstars help us all.

  “Six minutes,” AC Martin said. She held Tramone’s hand, which made him feel important. She glanced over, biting her lip. “Sorry, I always get nervous exiting hyperspace.”

  Tramone glowed. The Alliance Archchancellor was relying on his courage to make her feel safe. He fought off the urge to pinch himself one more time. Then he remembered what this really was. A war.

  War, he thought. A war of worlds.

  “Four minutes,” he said, taking over the countdown as the Archchancellor had closed her eyes. She patted the top of his hand with her other one, a silent thank you.

  Tramone watched the clock. “Two minutes.”

  The AC spoke a moment later, her eyes still closed. “The Jackals don’t know what they’re doing. They are angry, so angry. The anger makes them blind to everything else. We’ve tried to establish peaceful negotiations with them, but they are…difficult.”

  Why was she telling him this? He was responsible for negating the threat to the galaxy. The rest of the Alliance fleet would be fighting the war on Jarnum. Right? That was what they had previously discussed.

  The AC continued. “I feel fortunate to have met you, Tramone.” She laughed lightly. “Of course, that much must be obvious. If not for your quick-thinking and courage, no one would’ve detected the threat until it was too late. Still…I’m sorry a man of genius like you ended up on that space station. One of the flaws of our educational system, I suppose. I know it must’ve been…hard.”

  It was. So hard. It had felt like a prison at the best of times. Each day as he walked from his tiny bunkroom to his workstation, Tramone stopped at one of the airlocks and wondered what it would feel like to be crushed by the weight of the universe while suffocating. He had wondered whether it was any worse than how he felt all t
he time.

  But now…

  The AC was speaking again. “No, I lied. I’m not sorry, because if you hadn’t been there the galaxy I’ve given my life to would’ve ceased to exist. I promise you, Tramone, once this is over, if we are successful, you will never be confined to such a place again. I will appoint you my Vice Chancellor of Technology. Would you like that?”

  Only in Tramone’s wildest dreams. It took every iota of his self-control to not scream YES! “Very much,” he said neutrally.

  “Good. Then it’s settled. Now to that other matter. Where we save the galaxy from certain destruction.” She leaned in, like they were co-conspirators, her eyes still closed. It made Tramone feel special. “Are you ready?”

  Tramone had forgotten to watch the hyperspace status clock, and now the onboard A.I. droned the countdown: Ten seconds to exit, nine, eight…

  “I was born ready,” Tramone said, because he thought it was what she wanted to hear, and he very much wanted to give this woman, his own personal savior, anything she wanted.

  “Good.” She squeezed his hand tighter and he squeezed back, the feeling of falling intensifying.

  Four, three, two, one…

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was still trying to understand what she’d said about the Jackal threat.

  The stars stopped streaming past, fixing themselves in the dark void of space.

  All except one, which was an odd shape, a miasma of alternating striations of light and dark. It was moving.

  ~~~

  Vee and the others were loaded onto a hovercraft that was barely suitable to transport cattle. Terry’s skin changed color to match the dark interior. “Miss me?” he said.

  “I wouldn’t go that far…” Vee said, though she had missed him more than she knew until this moment. “Tell me everything.”

  When he’d finished, she said, “You did everything you could. We wouldn’t have been able to follow them this far if you hadn’t.”

  “And you wouldn’t be prisoners of the Jackals on a strange planet,” Terry said.

  “He has a point…” Minnow noted.

  Miranda said, “You did well, Chameleot.”