Max reached the airspace above the industrial sector. A vast crater lay where a chemical testing facility for rocket fuel once stood. Max descended into the blast-zone. Her golden company escorted her silently through touchdown. Once their feet were planted on solid ground, the aliens sank to one knee, those that had them, dropping their heads in respect, placing their fists, tentacles, whatever, over their hearts. A wave of strength and a sense of loyalty washed over Max. Without words being exchanged, she knew that these beings were offering her their lives, their honor, their hearts in sacred service. A communion of heroes.
It appalled her. I can barely handle being responsible for me, and now, I have an entourage.
The big guy rose to his feet and advanced until he loomed over Max like a prison wall.
“They sure grow ‘em big where you come from,” Max said.
The alien offered her a metal button with a lace-like fringe of wire along its edge. Max took it to be polite. The alien held a similar button in his other hand. He raised his button to his temple and pressed it there so it stuck. He gestured for Max to copy his example.
Hesitantly, she complied. A series of images complete with off-world text scrolled through her thoughts. A thin whine hung in the back of her skull as transferred sounds arrived. She began to get a headache and told it to go away. It obeyed.
“Can you understand me?” he said.
“‘Course I can,” Max answered. “Hey! You’re not speaking English and I can understand you.”
“I’m speaking Galactic, the interstellar language adopted by the League worlds. So are you.”
“That disk thing, it taught me a whole language in seconds!”
“That is its function, my lady.”
“Who are you people?” Max asked but she pretty much knew.
“We are the Light Born. We follow the Star, serving its owner. We pledge ourselves to you—now and forever. Command us, if we meet with your approval.”
Max sensed a small tremor at the core of the smiling giant, as if he feared rejection. She couldn’t help responding to his insecurity, a perfect mirror to her own. She reached out and gathered his mammoth paws into her own hands. “I don’t need servants, but I do need friends.”
The Star flared into incandescence. Its light filled the space between Max and the giant, and then swelled outward to include the others. The alien faces became etched with an indescribable joy as dizziness surged through Max. She caught her head in one hand as her vision dimmed. Her strength drained away. She felt herself falling. A cold wind seemed to pull her thoughts toward a yawning darkness. She had a vague sensation of being caught by large hands, and then there was nothing.
ELEVEN
Slowly, Max returned to consciousness. At first, all she knew was warmth, washing languidly through her body. The fresh infusion of power expelled her lethargy, lifting her mind out of a dark abyss. Outside thoughts and feelings mingled with her own, forming a new alloy in the crucible of her heart. Open channels in her mind—like brand new nerves—now led to the Light Born around her.
And they were no longer strange. There was a sense of family, of devotion, duty, and a commitment to…her! She was the source, the center that held these bright souls in orbit. They were instantly ready to lay their lives at her feet. As the necklace had become her touchstone, she was theirs. She sensed no resentment from them over this. In fact, somewhere among this alien cohort, she’d found a chunk of peace for her guilt-ravaged spirit.
Max grew aware of a purely physical heat, of the pressure of arms beneath her, cradling her with both strength and gentleness, qualities co-existing without contradiction. She smelled leather. Her eyelids fluttered open. Max rolled her head, and gained an upward perspective of blunt, wide features. The face tilted down. The eyes still hid behind blue lenses, but the smile was cheerful enough.
“Excuse me,” Max said, “I think you can put me down now.”
He tilted her carefully and set her on her feet. Max gained the impression that not only was she fragile to him, but so was most of the known universe. He stepped back, and bowed formally. “We’ve shared Communion, but not our names. I am Commander Hardrune, first among the Light Born.”
“I’m Max, Maxine really, but nobody calls me that—and lives.”
She noticed that the rest of the Light Born were crowding close to her. Scaled, furred, feathered, sludgy even; their physical forms were half-familiar. It was as though some mad wizard had half-morphed common wildlife into human form. One by one, they reached out, and touched her with hesitant reverence, trying not to startle her. As each touched her, a word bloomed in her thoughts, a name with images and sensations unique to that Light Born. With each contact, the channels in her mind burned with images of worlds inconceivable—until now.
I’m their dream, she realized. They know I’m real, but they still have to assure themselves of it.
When the gentle mobbing ended, the Light Born drew back, forming ranks. They knelt to her with sharp precision, heads down, fists, paws, tentacles, whatever, held over hearts in a kind of salute. The movements were synchronized, smooth, as if rehearsed.
A pleased sensation shot through Max. Why is it that the only adults who take me seriously come from outer space?
Kneeling at the head of the group, Commander Hardrune said, “We are yours to command, Guardian.”
“Look at what is being done to my world. Help me stop it.”
Commander Hardrune rose to his feet. He barked orders. The Light Born ignited, becoming the center of pyres that did not harm them. They rose on golden wings of flame and spread out into the sky. Several of them produced obscure hand-held devices they consulted. Max had seen enough Star Trek episodes to know they were scanning the area.
One of the Light Born had a female form, three breasts, yellow-green feathers cresting her head, and large black eyes. She chirped a sliding note that became a high-pitched trill. The rest of the Light Born enclosed her position. They ringed a piece of masonry where twisted steel girders had fallen, scattered by the alien’s blast.
For a moment, Max thought her new friends had totally lost it. They pointed their hands like weapons, drawing down on the debris. Commander Hardrune spoke to the girders, his voice edged with menace.
Mystified, Max picked her way across the crater floor, moving closer. Standing behind her new friends, she started to speak. Her words caught in her throat. Her eyes widened in disbelief ass the intertwined girders began to sweat. In moments, they were melting like butter in a skillet. They lost their clean lines, slagging into a big lump of liquefied metal.
Max was about to ask what it was she was looking at when Commander Hardrune identified it. “Mechamorph.” He spat the term to rid himself of its taste. “It’s one of Ashere’s people. No one fire until fired upon,” he called out. The queen still has support in the League. We can’t do anything to make ourselves look like the aggressor here. It would play into her claws.”
Throbbing, the pile jerked itself fitfully erect, taking on a generally human shape. Its metallic cast dimmed. It acquired smooth white flesh over a tall sparse frame, wearing a cross between raw silk pajamas and a coverall. Max noticed its right arm was immobile, just hanging at its side. The right hand lacked fingers. It was unusually cylindrical.
Like a canon.
The mechamorph brought the limb up, pointing at her. Max was stared down the barrel.
“Get down!” Commander Hardrune yelled.
Max’s moved, but knew she’d be too slow.
White-hot fire flowered in the arm’s gaping muzzle. Her own hands splayed out before her, an instinctive defensive posture. Her eyes squeezed shut. She heard a deep grunt as a heavy weight fell on her. She opened her eyes as her back slammed against the rubble-strewn ground. It was difficult to breathe. The air had an acrid bite to it.
Commander Hardrune lay on top of her, a crushing weight. His face was slack, his eyes shut—as if he’d defeated pain by throwing a mental switch, going somewhere far away. His gl
asses were missing, and the leathers across his massive back were burned away. His flesh smoking.
His eyes opened, and he rolled to the side.
Max sat up, gasping, coughing. Hardrune fought to sit up beside her. Together, they watched the rest of the Light Born open fire with a fierce expressions. Their hands and what-not were lost at the core of photon spheres that dazzled the eye as torrents of raw energy poured out. The Light Born bombarded the mechamorph, pounding him relentlessly, pulverizing the debris around him.
Max discovered that the light had no effect on her vision. I bet I can look into the sun now and count its spots. She turned to Commander Hardrune. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. It was only a class-five nova blast. My flesh is only scorched.” He pulled out a set of glasses from a pocket, and stared at their shattered blue lenses. Sighing, he threw them away. “Oh, well. I don’t need them any more anyway.”
Max continued to stare. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“I’m not human, Max. Don’t judge my strength by your fragility.”
That sounded rude, but Max didn’t believe he meant it that way. She shrugged, letting her gaze slide back to the fight. The mechamorph was rapidly dwindling to nothing. Finally, the energy flares stopped. The wind was seared, burnt to ozone.
Max coughed, climbing to her feet. Commander Hardrune joined her. “We got it?” she asked.
“Not completely,” he said. “Much of the inorganic liquefied and seeped into the earth.” He called to the other Light Born. “Scanners!” Blazing in the heart of golden fire, they all drew the devices and fanning out.
Max felt the returning impact of Commander Hardrune’s full attention. He loomed, staring down. “You can’t stay here. Your position is compromised and you’re still new to your power. Your body’s not yet adjusted to the Star’s demands. Forging links with the Light Born, recharging us, has drained your reserves. You wouldn’t even be walking around except that we’ve been able to return some of your energy back to you through Communion.”
“So what am I supposed to do; jump in a hole, cover it with a rock, and hope too many people don’t die while I get stronger?”
“The indiscriminate attacks should cease. Their purpose was to flush you out. That purpose is achieved, but in drawing you out, Ashere has exposed herself as well. Now, she can be dealt with. Hopefully, the fleet and the rest of the Light Born can keep her too busy to play further games with your world.”
“So you’re saying it’s over?
“The universe is seldom that kind, but it’s over for now. If you would like to join me on my ship—”
“Maybe later. I need to go home and chill out my mom before she freaks beyond recovery.”
“We’ll go with you. The search here has grown futile. The surviving mechamorphs have probably ‘ported back to Ashere by now. I wish Ashere didn’t have exclusive control of that particular technology, but what can you do? Anyway, there’s no need for us to remain here. We’ll take you home.”
“Oh, boy,” Max said. “Guests! Mom will love that.”
“Then it’s settled. Do you have strength to ignite a power- field, or should I carry you?”
“If I can do it, I should. I need to push myself, and get my game to an all new level.”
“You are wise for one so young.”
“Tell my brother that. He thinks I’m a brain-dead reject from a failed science experiment.”
“On my honor, he will show you respect if I have to beat it into him.”
“That, uh…shouldn’t be necessary, but thanks for the offer.”
Max closed her eyes. Her brow creased in concentration. Her hands rolled into fists, pointing down to either side. Max remembered how it felt before when the golden light first came. She visualized the moment, trying to trigger a repeat occurrence. A tingle surged through her as she drew a deep breath. Then came a flush of warmth, a tingle. She opened her eyes. The world was caught in a golden haze.
No, I’m the one caught. I’ve ignited again. I guess I’m beginning to get the hang of this.
She bent her knees and launched herself skyward on a golden wind that obeyed her will. The Light Born followed, drawing up to her like a friendly swarm of comets. Max continued to gain altitude, her power slinging her above the roofs of houses and businesses, over the grids of streets. She moved at extreme speed, nearly shooting past her house.
Max managed to stop herself by arcing down and battering through a willow. Her boots dug up a stretch of lawn, and only the cushioning energy of the Star kept her from breaking her neck.
One of the Light Born, an amphibian male with bulbous eyes, frill-edged gill slits, and iridescent blue scales, climbed into the ditch Max occupied and levered her to her feet. He brushed the dirt off her in a brisk professional manner, then assisted her in climbing out.
Usually terrible with names, Max discovered that the links she’d forged to the Light Born gave her immediate access to whatever they knew, that she wanted to know—though a lot of it was in such alien contexts, it made little sense. The name of the amphibian came to her. “Thanks, Gullup.”
“My…pleah…sure…it hath bhen…to serve,” he spoke in a halting, whispery version of Galactic.
Max sensed that the language wasn’t the problem. His vocal apparatus simply wasn’t as flexible as that of other races. Still, communication wasn’t that difficult. Even with no words at all, she’d still have understood the essence of his emotional energy. In the link, his mind was bright pink coral with a hot oil scent. He was pleased.
Max passed through the ranks of the Light Born, thrown off balance still by the adamant attention. It would take a while to get used to the mantle of adoration and devotion which surged in the link. It was flattering, nice, but she was so high atop their pedestal, she was afraid of getting a nosebleed. Max entered her yard and made her way to the front door.
“You guys wait here,” Max instructed. “This is going to take a little explaining.”
“Uh, Max…” Commander Hardrune said.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t you think you should power down before going in?
Your words might be more quickly received without the distraction of your current splendor.”
“Oh! Right.” Max closed her eyes and imagined a candle with a flickering golden flame. A great wind battered it. The flame went out, leaving a tattered curl of smoke. Max opened her eyes, gazing down at her hands. The golden light and her armor were gone. Her original clothing was back in place.
Neat trick.
She opened the door and went inside. Alone. “Mom! I’m back.” The house was quiet, too quiet. Max continued down the hall to the living room—and froze. Fear, horror, explosive rage, and desperation all struggled for simultaneous expression.
Max saw a mechamorph in her living room, holding her mother by the throat, lifting her with one hand so that her feet kicked with furious impotence in the air. And hanging on his arm, struggling to save the woman, was Twila, the weird kid from school.
It was not the reception she’d expected.
The mechamorph snarled something at Twila, letting Mrs. Bright fall to the carpet. His hand closed into a fist. He swung in a short arc that sent Twila sprawling as well.
Max didn’t remember summoning the golden fire, but it was suddenly around her as she hurled herself forward, lost in avenging fury.
The mechamorph’s hand and arm blurred, reforming as a cylinder with a gaping muzzle. The weapon swung toward Max, but she was past caring. On top of the mechamorph, the nova cannon exploded in her face. A blazing stream of energy plasma wrapped around her golden sheath, blinding her for a moment.
Max poured her faith into her energy shield. Somehow, she knew it was only as strong as her force of will. Her golden light sopped up the plasma, clearing the air.
The mechamorph, however, wasn’t waiting. A red half-shell of light swirled around him. He vanished.
Max plunged through the space he vacated, t
ackling the couch with force enough to flip it over on top of her.
“Rats,” she cursed.
“Maxine!” Her mother’s voice was hoarse. “Are you all right?”
“Dandy.”
The front door blew off its hinges, shattering into smoking shards that littered the entranceway. There came a drumming of feet and Light Born filled the living room with their bright presence. Commander Hardrune found Max under the sofa. He lifted it easily and set it aside. He offered her a helping hand up to her feet.
“Thanks,” she said.
“We felt your need over the link,” he answered the unspoken question he saw in her eyes. “Sorry about the door. I was in a hurry.”
“Never mind that,” Max said. “That Mecha-thing was just here in my house! How can they know where I live?”
Commander Hardrune shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll get him next time.”
She frowned at his nonchalance, but hurried over to her mother without further word. Max’s mom massaged her throat, staring with mounting discomfort at a room full of extra- terrestrial critters. “I can’t be seeing what I’m seeing. Max, dear, are you…glowing…along with these…uh, friends of yours, or am I completely deranged?”
Max called over her shoulder. “Get me a chair.”
Casually snatching up the closest piece of furniture, Commander Hardrune set a recliner down next to Max. Max helped her mother to the chair. She sat down slowly, carefully, as though the chair might explode.
The Light Born inspected the woman with solicitous interest. Hardrune turned a grave face to Max. “I recommend hard liquor at this stage of things.”
“Mom doesn’t drink,” Max answered.
“I meant for me.”
TWELVE
Twila hadn’t realized at first that the attack on Mrs. Bright was staged for effect. Now, with a little perspective, it became obvious. The mother wasn’t the target. Her death would achieved nothing, an illogical act. A human might have done it for fun, but her brother Mitron wasn’t human. The appearance of an attack had two benefits; it unbalanced Max and gave Twila an opportunity to infiltrate the Guardian’s inner circle.
Galactic Storm Page 10