Zero Star

by Chad Huskins

  “Thrallyin!” shouted Artemis. Lyokh could see through the plasteel window of his Tamer’s house, and saw Artemis’s fingers dancing over the controls. “Ybisht’ra kaifut! Ibben yawt!” Speaking dracun wasn’t strictly necessary, but it sometimes helped the wyrms understand better the requests that were being fed into them by electrical impulse.

  All of the wyrms let out full-throated roars as they took flight. Two Novas picked up the warhulks, and two others scooped up the Ravagers and the Mantises, while starscreamers provided cover fire.

  Everyone found an armored scale to grab on to, then knelt so that their center of gravity was lower, making it easier to follow Thrallyin’s maneuvers. They dialed up the strength settings of their STACsuits to increase their grip, and when the hatchling hove its wings, it took everything Lyokh had to hold on.

  They rose above the world-city’s skyline, Novas and wyrms coordinating the tactical takeoff with skyrakes racing around them in a giant, mile-wide circle to keep the clawcraft at bay. To Lyokh, it looked like they were at the epicenter of a swirling tornado. Above them was the transparent dome, still showing the battle of Crusade Fleet and its alien allies. Another Isoshi ship had joined the battle, and the Watchtower was taking punishing heat from three new broodlings, as well as the worldship’s particle beams. The Watchtower continued to bloom in fast-forward, stretching out in different directions, like a droplet of water crystalizing into a snowflake, pieces of it being blown off and the stumps repairing themselves like a lizard regrowing a limb.

  Once above the skyline, Lyokh was reminded once again of the impossibly large world contained inside this giant cylindrical bottle. The platform they had been fighting on for the past couple of hours was just one of thousands rippling below them, extending outward on stages built for a colossus, with random bulbous, cancerous-looking growths.

  The world was laid out beneath him, rising slowly at a slight curve at each dim and distant end. Tongues of lightning shot up from the streets and building tops, here and there licking tree-like growths that pulsed with broiling blue energy. The smog clouds pulsed, too, swirling fast overhead, sometimes blocking Lyokh’s view of Crusade Fleet’s battle, sometimes clearing; it was a weather system with no purpose he could see.

  The wyrm flocks and Novas engaged where they had to, but let the skyrakes do a lot of the wrangling of the clawcraft, keeping them away from the troop carriers at the nucleus of their mobile group. One Nova was shot out of the sky, and crashed below, all souls lost. They lost two Ravagers and three warhulks in that crash. Other than that, they traveled on for the better part of an hour without a casualty or injury, just doing regular check-ins and scoping for incoming. They moved mostly unhampered at a hundred miles an hour, exhaust vanes screaming.

  Then…

  “Tamer Command to Sol Actual,” a voice in his ear said.

  “Actual here. Go ahead, Artemis.”

  “Got something far ahead, Grid two-three-seven, Sector five-A,” Artemis said, using the coordinate system the computer had come up with.

  Lyokh’s HUD brought up three new screens, all displaying infrared and sonar readings. That doesn’t look good.

  Looking far, far ahead, Lyokh saw a cloud moving fast, looking like it had clear intentions towards them. The closer it got, the more he saw individual dots, like locusts coming at them. With mounting horror, he realized what it was he was seeing: a whole host of new aircraft.

  Using the EyeSpys to zoom in, Lyokh checked his HUD screen, and saw that it was more than just clawcraft, there were huge winged things, like wasps, accompanied by squid-like creatures that pushed through the air, leaving no exhaust behind, propelled by unknown mechanics.

  “If we’re going into that,” one of the soldiers said over the open channel, “we’re going to die.”

  Thrallyin dipped and swam, leisurely, so as not to buck his passengers. All his massive scales undulated in anticipation of the incoming enemy. All around him were eighteen other wyrms, each one carrying up to thirty soldiers.

  “Launchers!” Lyokh called. “Pick your targets! All battalions, prepare coordination fire! Tsuyoshi, prepare a grid!”

  “Done, doyen!” said his Knight Companion.

  And it was. Every STACsuit’s computer coordinated instantly, as per Tsuyoshi’s command. Lyokh saw on his HUD as the priority targets were displayed, gridded out for reference, with suggestions for certain soldiers to snag enemies in a crossfiring solution.

  The first to take their shots, though, were not the soldiers, but the wyrms themselves. Thrallyin’s dorsal guns belched fire, as its over- and under-wing missile hubs let loose with a rippling salvo. The enemy sent energy beams their way, most of them deflected by low-level plasma shields being emanated from each wyrm’s Tamer House. But the millions of rounds that came their way were only deflected by the wyrms fanning their mid and rear wings to protect their soldiers, and by the Novas moving ahead to take the brunt of the assault and issue their own missiles.

  “Weapons-free! Fire at will!” Lyokh cried.

  The immense sky came alive with vibrating salvos of missiles and air-pounding explosions. Lyokh’s people held on by one hand, and fired whatever weapons they had with their free hand. The worldship chose that moment to tilt, just slightly, which hove the sun Veronica into view, counterfeiting a dawn that splashed across half the world-city and gave them fresh light.

  Lyokh selected a target, catching it in a crossfire with soldiers firing from the wyrms Rabastiik and Torfindel. It was a clawcraft, which went out in a blaze, careening towards the ground in trailing flames. He fired short, controlled bursts into the fuselage of another clawcraft that streaked by, then joined in another crossfire solution with his brothers to tear one of the flying squids to pieces. Red, blue, and yellow blood filled the air, splashing across Thrallyin and all the soldiers riding him.

  The sky soon filled with enemy craft of every kind, nearly blotting out the sun.

  Lyokh saw a flash-warning on his screen, and knew that Artemis was about to take Thrallyin through an evasive action. He stopped firing at once and held on tight to a scale, as suddenly the hatchling banked sharply to port, its scales rippling and its wings flanning to catch more air for the turn, its upper and lower exhaust vanes whining as it cut to half speed to make the turn. Thrallyin dipped just below the swarm of foes, let them fly over, then jerked hard upwards, rising up at them at a ninety-degree angle, coming at them from below.

  Thrallyin, and the soldiers on its back, lit up the swarm’s underbelly. Other wyrms followed this lead. It seemed a good tactic for about ten seconds, until enough of the enemy drones peeled away and came down in menacing funnels, again spitting energy beams and acidic rounds that bit into the hatchling’s armor. Compristeel was tough, but it was nothing like the armor the Watchtowers were made out of, nothing so impregnable as Stranger or Worshipper tech, and so it began to fail.

  Thrallyin got clipped hard by one attack, tucked his mid-portside wing in a defensive curl, turned hard to evade the next attack, and one of Lyokh’s people was slung off, and went plummeting into the misty darkness below.

  Above them, one of the Novas was obliterated in a terrifying salvo.

  Below them, two starscreamers were ripped to pieces in a vicious fusillade.

  The sky was filling up with more of the clawcraft and squids and wasps, almost blotting out entirely the view of the dome above. Lightning lanced out from that dome, and cut through the clouds of flying killers. The air was alive with the constant din of battle. And thunder. And screams. Lyokh chose what targets he could, and fired in coordination with his brothers, and with Thrallyin’s dorsal guns. It seemed impossible. The world was becoming darkness, they were being overwhelmed, even Veronica was being blacked out…

  …and then an explosion illuminated the darkness, one far larger and more powerful than any others yet seen. It took Lyokh a second to realize it wasn’t just one explosion, but many, happening all at once. He saw gigantic waves of clawcraft being sp
lit in half, doused in flames, parting like the hand of some fiery god was coming through.

  And through the churning clouds of destruction came a familiar object, a starship, dagger-shaped and jagged on its sides, with scar marks purposely ripped across its hull. Defiled.

  A voice came in over a staticky channel. A woman’s voice. “This is Captain Ta of the Prophet! To all allies and enemies listening, I come bearing the rightful Voice of Lord Mahl, Thessa Zane den Uta, High Priestess of Mahl, Prophet of Phanes, Venerator of the Void, Arch-sorceress Supreme of the Faith, Arch-duchess of Vastill, Scrivener of Souls, Wardeness of Widden and Governor of Phanes! Weep for your souls and venerate her!”

  THE TAKA-RENAULT SYSTEM was filling up quickly. These days, Kalder was having trouble keeping track of it all, for the war changed on a daily basis. For the last three months, more broodlings had been popping up, mostly hanging around the outskirts, and the more broodlings that showed up, the more Faedyans and Isoshi. Kalder had been forced to assign individual captains to oversee each engagement, every brushfire battle.

  The moons around the gas giants were being torn to pieces, as Desh had advised the captains of Task Force Three to utilize hit-and-run tactics, using the moons as cover whenever they could, and drawing the fire of the broodlings while the new Faedyan ships took aim. The operation over Vesterpul had been successful, and twenty Knights had died infiltrating the hole in the broodling there, and detonating their nukes, leaving wounds large enough for an Isoshi ship to finish it off.

  Three victories that would have been enormous under any other circumstances, thought Kalder, sitting in the captain’s seat while Desh got some sleep.

  The viewscreen showed the battle just outside Lord Ishimoto, which had pulled back last month due to damages to her starboard orbital-maneuvering systems, as well a breakdown in her Pacifier due to overheating. Now Lord Ishimoto sat back, commanding from afar.

  A report came in from the inner planets, Thustra and Torrence. The Isoshi were having trouble with the broodlings in that area, but could not manage to finish them off. Two broodlings had moved away from Veronica and were beginning to destroy whole swaths of Taka-Renault’s Dyson swarm, cutting off the energy reserves that all of Crusade Fleet had been using. For the last three months, regular runs had been made to that swarm by Graham H.B. Piper and Greater Redemption, who collected the solar cells and brought them to the rest of the task forces, distributing them like rations to dying soldiers.

  Now we’ll have to find some other means, or else take a few ships away from defending Deirdra and send them to harass the broodlings there, which is, of course, exactly what they want us to do. Spread us thin, so we cannot concentrate our fire, a tactic that’s had been working for our coalition force pretty well so far.

  There was one way to get the help they needed, but it could undermine his whole reason for having the stellarpath Besandra investigate this place in secret, and his whole reason for coming here in the first place. Kalder had been holding back on it for a while, but now figured there might be no other option.

  “Conn, Comms One,” said Hartsfield, a woman he had gotten to know well over the last few weeks as they conversed rapidly over relayed messages. “I’ve got word from Navastophoeles, the operation at the three moons of Cleopatra is a failure, they’re having to abort. They cite too many clawcraft as their reason, and they’re dry on torpedoes. They’re also low on fuel, and suffered damage, and a serious coolant leak. They need energy resupply of some kind.”

  Navastophoeles was a Brotherhood ship from Task Force Three, they had gone off to conduct a brave mission, one with slim chance of success. Kalder had approved it, against Desh’s wishes. Looks like you were right again, Captain.

  “Understood, Comms One. Tell them to figure a route back to Vesterpul’s moons, mine for helium-3, then get back to the Safe Zone and huddle here until we get resupply.”

  Kalder sighed heavily, and stroked his long beard, which now reached almost to his stomach, his claw-like fingernails running through them. How long had it been since he’d bathed? How long since anyone on the conn had had the time?

  A chime brought him out of the reverie. A call from Julian. He answered it. “Sir, hate to bother you, but the Duke of Helmsworth’Lok has finally agreed to an audience later today.”

  Kalder nodded. That was good. The Duke had something he needed, and controlled a sizable portion of Deirdra’s Tangena continent. Isolationists, his country had been secretly hoarding massive amounts of WMDs, some nukes and plasma-tipped missiles and fast-attack satellites, this according to UCP, and other sources Kalder had cultivated.

  We could really use those right now. Every little bit. “Please send him my thanks, Julian, and arrange a time that’s best for him.”

  Julian signed off quickly.

  He looked out the viewscreen at Deirdra. He saw countless pieces of debris flashing through atmosphere, turning incandescent upon entry, huge pieces of slag that would smash into the surface and cause ungodly conflagration and tidal waves that would annihilate whole cities. The Faedyans had been on cleanup duty after each broodling or Republican ship was destroyed, trying to explode it all into small enough pieces that it did not endanger the world. But they couldn’t go too far away from the Safe Zone, or else they would be passing beyond the Watchtower’s invisible shield and be easy pickings for either the worldship or any new broodlings that showed up. So far, there had been two city-buster-sized lumps of slag that had impacted Deirdra, killing millions.

  We’ve brought Armageddon to all of them. Then, on the heels of that, It’s time.

  Kalder used his holotab to get a private audience with Julian, who answered on the first chime. “Yes, sir?”

  “It’s time,” Kalder said. “Open our eyes and ears.”

  Julian nodded. “Yes, sir.” He signed off. Within a few minutes, his apprentice would have already gone to Trix, and told the bot to make his usual rounds—people aboard Lord Ishimoto had gotten used to seeing the bot, figuring he was just one of those added by the Brotherhood, and with all that was going on, no one had inspected the TRX. Trix would do his usual patrol through the many comms rooms, and undo the damage he had secretly done to the QEC transceiver/receiver.

  They would soon have to make contact with the rest of the Republic. They would have help, perhaps. If that happened, though, Kalder would need to be prepared. He had to maintain control over the theater of war, no matter who showed up, for if he allowed power to be wrested from him, all of this secrecy and manipulation would have been for naught.

  “Conn, Comms One,” said Hartsfield.

  “Go ahead, Comms One.”

  “Sir, we’ve just received word. Silas D. Reginald has been destroyed while en route to Torrence, sir.”

  The conn went silent.

  Kalder sighed heavily, his rank breath pushing through unwashed teeth, his weary eyes looking over the tac display as the Reginald’s light winked out of existence on the system resources map.

  Eight months of this. Could they make it eight more? Would the Faedyans eventually give up? Would the Isoshi finally see how futile it was? Would any Republican fleet be close enough to help them in time? Would enough of the UCP even exist to negotiate with?

  His eyes ranged across the tac display, and he saw that it was almost time for Ecclesiastes to return with Task Force Two and take over the battle against the three broodlings now orbiting around the Watchtower and battering it. “Prepare for staged withdrawal, and leave room for Task Force Two to make safe entry into the Safe Zone.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” said Helmsman Cortez.

  Kalder looked at the worldship, floating there in blasphemous protest against what was real and logical, and he wondered what the hell was going on inside there.

  THESSA HAD FELT herself brought low by the words of Holace Kalder, but now she saw their true purpose. Those words had been Mahl’s test. They had defiled not only mind, but her soul, made her feel contempt at her own weakness. That was good.
Debasement and shame either broke a person or made them struggle to prove the universe wrong about them.

  Now, she stood in front of the forward viewscreen. Prophet’s CIC was not so fancy as the one on Lord Ishimoto, but its array of holopanes showed her all the angles of the battle, and as they plunged into the field of enemies, she gathered the power of Mahl in her fingertips, then extended herself. Orgasms radiated throughout her body in concentric waves, felt in every fiber and cell of her existence. Righteous indignation swelled within her, a piece of the emotional connection that she required in order to tap the Item’s greatest potential. Blood leaked from all orifices, even her eyes. She wept those crimson tears as she raised her hands higher, feeling each of the clawcraft as though she could touch them with her own hands, and one by one, they became twisted, turned inside-out, the organic tissues inside turning against the inorganic alloys. A few of the Republic’s skyrakes were caught in the wave of Mahl’s wrath, but enough of them parted out of Prophet’s wake in time to avoid the next major wave.

  Thessa vomited inside the Face of Mahl, and laughed through each heaving as the orgasmic joy reached a crescendo. Her bowels emptied. Her mind spun and rejoiced in agonizing pain. Such splendor! The secrets of Mahl’s final justice was revealed to her as the air around the ship trembled.

  The sea of enemies parted and exploded at the coming of Prophet, with Zanus den Uta and Malphos close behind. Let this story be told to them, Thessa thought, as Myelic knelt by her lady’s side and hugged her thigh. Let Myelic and Captain Ta and all the others see and record this, and tell this to the thanes that would overthrow me! Let them hear of Mahl’s righteous wrath!

  All across the bridge, and all throughout the ship, crew and passengers knelt and wept, defiled their flesh with blades, gouged their eyes to resist the beauty of the moment, or pierced their tongues in screams to her glory.