by J. N. Chaney
“Good shot, buckethead!”
“Good driving!” Magnus could get used to these new eyes. They freaked him out, of course. But they were… awesome.
Despite the skiff covering a lot of ground, the convoy was definitely getting deeper into enemy territory. Magnus was having serious doubts about this course of action. He knew it was the only way to avoid the booby-trapped streets. But he didn’t think they’d have better luck with twice as many Jujari.
Make that three times as many. Negative, make that ten times as many. Mystics! They are everywhere.
Jujari were in every window, on rooftops, and even starting to crowd the streets, growing bolder with every hundred meters. Where were they coming from? There must have been hundreds. Maybe thousands. His vision was full of red forms listed as Target: hostile.
“Getting a little cramped in here, don’t you think, Bimby?” Magnus fired at target after target, his MAR30 growing hot in the late-afternoon sun. His eyes were now placing percentages beside each target. Magnus couldn’t tell if the numbers designated the likelihood of them attacking him, their threat level, or his chances of missing—it was all happening so fast. Either way, his bioteknia had some sort of AI that interfaced with his brain. Freaky.
A new indicator flashed. MAR30: Energy low.
How did my eyes know the status of my weapon’s energy mag? He fished for a mag, Abimbola handing him a fresh one from the glove box and another from under the seat. He went through mag after mag, sure that he was running low.
In such a target-rich environment, it was hard to know if he was having any measurable impact even with the elevated kill count. With the number of targets his eyes kept identifying, making an assessment was a losing battle.
“Does this end anytime soon?”
“It does,” Abimbola said, looking unfazed. “Soon enough.”
Magnus dropped three more Jujari. “Can you define soon?”
He had hardly gotten the question out of his mouth when a Jujari landed on top of him. One paw gripped the hatch while the other grabbed Magnus around the back. He looked up in time to see the beast’s maw, filled with razor-sharp teeth, open wide over his head. His MAR30 was pointed up and half-swallowed in the combatant’s mouth when he pulled the trigger. Blaster fire blew open the soft back of the creature’s head, blossoming in a gout of spine, bones, and blood. The carcass slumped on him.
“Mystics, these things stink!”
“Very much, yes,” Abimbola replied.
Magnus shoved the body off him and resumed fire, taking aim at ones that he guessed might try to leap onto their skiffs like the last one had. Sure enough, what looked to be a skinny young male stood leaning over the street, one paw wrapped around a pipe. Magnus aimed and snapped his arm at the elbow. The creature flailed and fell, landing a few meters ahead. The Jujari couldn’t move in time, and Abimbola’s battering ram devoured another victim.
“How much longer?” Magnus asked.
“We are almost there.”
“Where’s there?” Magnus struck several more Selskrit who seemed interested in mounting their skiff.
“There…”
Magnus looked to where the warlord pointed. Up ahead stood a gate the likes of which Magnus had never seen before. It made the one on the eastern side of the city—where they’d first entered—look like a toy door on a dollhouse. This port of entry was easily one hundred meters tall and just as wide. It boasted long fulcrums along the tops of each of the two outward-turning door panels. Giant metal straps held the stone doors to massive hinges, while a stone rampart above gave lookout to the plain beyond and mechanical access to the port’s opening and closing.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Magnus noted, “but your gate… it’s closed. And judging by the looks of the Selskrit operating it, I don’t think they plan on opening it for us.” At least one hundred of them stood along the ramparts, blasters aimed down at the approaching convoy. Magnus dropped in his seat and pulled the hatch shut.
“You are correct, those Jujari will not open the door.” Abimbola pointed to two columns of Tawnhack running along the top of the wall on either side of the gate. “But these Jujari will.”
25
Awen and Ezo followed close behind TO-96 as he carried Sootriman over his shoulder. The bot ran down the tunnel until it intersected a large underground corridor. Then the lights came on.
Unlike all their previous scouting trips, in which the building interiors had been dark, this passageway was bright—at least where Awen and the others stepped into it. TO-96 turned right and began to jog again. Giant Novia script lined the walls, adorning entrances to side tunnels and what looked like storage compartments. Frosted banks of lights ran along each wall and filled the ceiling, turning on as the humans approached and dimming after they’d passed. Even the floor, a glossy white beneath Awen’s feet, was illuminated.
Seeing the lights turn on made Awen realize why the city’s walls had looked alive when she’d first observed them within the Unity—because they were, at least in the sense that the Novia’s singularity allowed them to exist anywhere there was a conduit, cable, sensor, camera, or superconductor. It was eerie having an invisible personal escort lead them to their destination, but if it meant escaping from their enemy and getting back home, she was all for it.
The only regret Awen had, of course, was not getting to spend more time with the QTG. They’d only just discovered it; to leave it so soon seemed like a travesty. She wondered if she’d ever be able to come back and convene with the Novia over days and weeks. Might I spend years here? Perhaps the Novia Minoosh—instead of the Jujari—would become her life’s work…
“It is a little farther,” TO-96 said, his voice smooth and calm.
“How much is a little, ’Six?” Ezo gasped for air, his lungs no doubt burning like Awen’s.
“Point seven nine seven four one of a kilometer.”
“And there’s a ship waiting for us?” Awen asked.
“Affirmative.”
The tunnel curved slowly to the left as if the team was running along the perimeter of a wide circle. Eventually, the loop bisected a central hall with high ceilings. Lights flickered to life as the four entered the terminal. The main tunnel continued on the opposite side, and a few smaller ones opened on the right. But to their left lay a large bay door. While Novia script emblazoned the walls and sat above the tunnel openings, it was writ large across the bay door, denoting it as something significant.
“What’ve we got, ’Six?” Ezo asked.
“It’s a flight hangar, sir. Please stand by. The Novia are opening it now.”
The four of them stood facing the door as it loomed overhead. They waited, lungs heaving, hands wringing. Nothing happened.
“’Six? Is there a problem?”
“Still waiting, sir.”
Ezo nodded then looked back at the bay door, waiting for it to open. More seconds slipped by.
“’Six… I don’t mean to be impatient here…”
“Yes, I do understand. The Novia tell me that it has been over a thousand years since this door was used. It is, as you might say, a little rusty.”
“Fair enough. If I don’t use my doors for a thousand years, yeah, they’re gonna be rusty. I get it.”
“Any second now, sir.”
A sound like giant sledgehammers dropping on hollow tanker drums boomed from somewhere beneath. Then the lights went out. Awen flinched. In place of the overhead lights came alternating blinking red lights on either side of the door and a spotlight on the door’s center.
“There we are,” the bot said with a satisfied air.
A crack of light appeared under the door as the metal began creeping upward, pulled by the sound of a long-dormant motor drive. Awen found herself reaching for Sootriman’s hand as they looked for whatever awaited them.
The door, at waist height, revealed a well-worn black floor. Scuff marks and directional paint designated it as a utilitarian space, one meant
for engineers and mechanics. Then, as the door reached shoulder height, Awen saw her first glimpse of a ship.
Higher and higher, the door revealed more. Awen gasped, holding her hands to her mouth. They were the first beings from the protoverse to see a Novia Minoosh starship. For a fleeting moment, she forgot about the past several months here on Ithnor Ithelia—forgot about Worru and the Luma and the Jujari and the horrors that had transpired on Oorajee. The beauty of what lay before her captivated her.
Glimmering like a massive diamond in the light of a thousand suns stood a majestic starship aimed skyward. Its mirrored finish was elegantly curved, undulating in the shape of a Leviathanian tanic shark. Hundreds of irregular iridescent windows lay across the ship, accenting its mirrored surface with purples, pinks, and blues. Minimalist side and tail wings rose from the hull like fins, while a honeycomb of angled engine ports hovered fifteen meters over the hangar floor.
Awen felt that the ship was lithe, almost seductive, its lines forming curves more akin to a beautiful woman’s body than the rigid designs of the Republic. Gantry cranes held the ship in place, feeding it like medical lines on a patient, though at any moment, it seemed as if the ship would tear free and break through whatever canopy kept it from its destiny among the stars. This ship was meant to fly.
“I give you the Azelon Spire,” TO-96 said with a sweep of his hand.
Ezo let out a long whistle. “Would you look at that…”
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Awen added.
“Nor have I, Star Queen.” Ezo placed a hand on Sootriman’s head then looked at his bot. “How soon before we can get Sootriman taken care of?”
“The Novia have readied the ship. We will need to get Sootriman secured for launch. Then, as soon as we are in orbit, you can move her to sick bay. I would say no more than twenty minutes.”
Ezo stroked Sootriman’s hair; it was the most affectionate Awen had ever seen him with his semi-former wife. Perhaps he really did care about her. “Hear that, baby? Twenty minutes, and we’ll get you taken care of.”
“In the meantime, I will make sure to provide her with some pain relief just as soon as we board.”
“Thank you, ’Six.”
“It is my pleasure, sir.”
Awen caught sight of something moving around the ship’s launchpad. The motion startled her, and she let out a gasp. “What is that?” She pointed, and Ezo raised his SUPER 945. “Is… is that a cleaning bot?”
“It is a sweeper bot, to be exact,” TO-96 said. “One of the many automated machines that keep Itheliana and her inner workings from deteriorating entirely.”
“Wait, wait,” Ezo said, waving his pistol. “You mean to tell me that there are more of these?”
“Of course, sir. How else do you think that so much of the city has remained intact over all these centuries?”
“But we never saw them.”
“By design, sir. One aspect of their prime directive is to remain anonymous and out of sight. They joke amongst themselves, you know. ‘We do our best work in the dark,’ they like to say.”
“Ouch. That’s an old one,” Awen said. “Though, somehow, it’s funnier when bots say it.”
“And they are rather old, Awen. You might say that they have been recycling the same material for years.” The bot paused, blinked at her, and nodded in anticipation.
“Funny, Ninety-Six.” She chuckled. “You’re getting there.”
Ezo was still gaping in awe at the ship and the little sweeper bot. “An entire fleet of maintenance bots… incredible. I suppose that explains why so many places we explored weren’t completely overrun.”
TO-96 looked back at the sweeper bot. “Affirmative. They are responsible for far more than you probably realize.”
“The temple library?” Awen asked.
“One of their main responsibilities, yes.”
Ezo motioned to the Azelon Spire. “And they’ve kept this ship ready all this time?”
“It was not hard to do, sir. The Azelon Spire has never been flown before.”
“What?” Ezo looked astonished. “You’re telling me that we’re taking her on her maiden voyage?”
“I am.” The bot nodded.
Ezo looked at Awen, a gleam in his eye like a small child would get when about to unwrap a giant birthday present. “Is she safe, though? I mean, are they sure she can fly? I didn’t realize something this large could escape planetary gravity.”
“The Novia assure me that the Azelon Spire is one-hundred-percent flight ready, able to support biological life, and able to achieve the necessary velocity to attain orbit. All she needs is a crew.”
“Then let’s get on board.” Ezo had no sooner uttered the words than a giant explosion reverberated through the tunnels behind them. “Splick, that doesn’t sound good.”
TO-96’s head twitched. “It seems the enemy has found our secret entrance. They are coming.”
* * *
Awen helped Ezo buckle Sootriman into an acceleration couch. The woman moaned, her eyes closed and head lolling. “We’re almost out of here,” Awen said. “Just a few more minutes. Hang in there, okay?”
The four of them had gained access to the ship through a generous entry door near the stern. Once inside, it was a short walk to a central elevator that ran along the spine. Almost every surface was finished in white pearl, while purple-and-gray carbon fiber weave connected joints and filled seems. Soft light emanated from ceilings, walls, and floors, and translucent Novia script embossed various points of interest.
“Come on, Awen.” Ezo climbed to another acceleration couch on the bridge and began strapping himself in. The room was pitched vertically with recessed rungs running along the walls for access to the gimbaled seats. Directly overhead, stretching the width of the room, was a large window that looked up toward the hangar bay’s ceiling.
Awen had just finished closing the last buckle on the oversized harness when TO-96 spoke up from his own acceleration couch. “It seems the intruders have gained access to the central hall.”
Suddenly, the window was filled with a security-camera image from outside in the hangar bay. Awen felt dizzy, a result of lying on her back and looking up and the camera’s off-center angle. No fewer than ten dark-clad troopers worked along the central hall’s massive cargo-bay door. They wore black Repub-style armor with three black stripes on the shoulder plate and bicep. Their helmets looked like something skiff racers would use, and their weapons looked intimidating, much like Magnus’s. These were the same type of troopers she’d encountered when she’d first met Kane at the temple’s entrance.
A new voice filled the control room: “Drive core at maximum efficiency.” The voice was smooth and feminine. “Shields, hull integrity, life support, navigation, and weapons systems, one hundred percent. Prepare for main engine start. TO-96, would you like to proceed?”
“I would,” the bot replied.
“It speaks Galactic common?” Ezo asked.
“For your benefit, I uploaded my lexicon to the ship’s AI moments ago.”
“That’s cool. But can’t you speak to it in your head or something, ’Six?” Ezo asked. “The bot-on-bot communication is a little weird.”
“Of course. However, I thought you would find a more a humanesque communication format desirable. Having the ship operate in silence might be disconcerting to you, would it not?”
“Now that you mention it, I do appreciate knowing what’s happening. Thanks, ’Six.”
“You are most welcome, sir.”
The main bridge display flashed white then went black. The view of the troopers was gone. A beat later, a new camera view appeared, this one looking down on the bay doors from inside the hanger. As far as Awen could tell, the camera was located somewhere on the Azelon Spire.
The door had a gaping hole in the center, filled with smoke. Bits of flaming shrapnel littered the floor. Troopers stepped through it, weapons at the ready. Once in the bay, they reacted, lowering their
weapons and tipping their heads back. Someone in charge waved a hand, and the troopers brought their weapons back up and fanned out.
“Warning, hangar bay breached,” the ship’s voice said.
“Acknowledged,” TO-96 replied.
Awen saw muzzle flashes as the troopers opened fire on the ship. “They’re shooting at us!”
“How we doing on those engines, ’Six?”
As if emphasizing his question, a shock wave blasted across the hangar floor. Awen felt it before she saw it. The camera view trembled as her acceleration couch absorbed the engine’s vibrations. The troopers were thrown backward, swept aside like ants in a midsummer Dustoovian cyclone.
Ezo let out a victory cry, his voice shaking from the engines. “Take that, you bastards!”
“Confirm launch request,” the ship said.
“Request confirmed,” TO-96 said.
“Hell, yes!” Ezo said. “Let’s blow this place!”
Blue streams of hyper ionized air filled the hangar just as the image of the troopers vanished, replaced by a widening star shape of direct sunlight overhead. Awen winced then noticed the bridge window adjust to the sudden light change. The canopy above them was opening. The ship shook enough to rattle Awen’s teeth. She was pressed into her couch, and she grunted as gravity multiplied, compressing every cell in her body.
“Here we go!” Ezo yelled.
The star shape had expanded to a perfect circle of purple sky with several puffy clouds—though everything appeared to waver as if underwater. Dust and debris shot toward the hangar’s mouth as the Azelon Spire crept upward. Second, third, and fourth images appeared in the bridge, hovering to the sides of the main window like holo-displays, though without any apparent projection source. At first, Awen was confused. All she saw was the city’s southern coastline and two close-ups of empty water. But then she watched the Spire burst from the ocean on three different cameras. The starship glistened in the sun like it was on fire, a spray of water exploding as the ocean heaved the vessel from its depths.
A fifth image appeared even farther away. Awen saw the ship as a small creature, climbing away from the southern part of the city. She noticed the library temple up the hill and in the city’s heart, surrounded by buildings. Within seconds, the Spire was even with the temple, and a few seconds after that, she’d doubled the distance.