by Reiter
Kryltane turned to look at Dungias and smiled. “One day you’re going to fall short of outdoing yourself. I get the feeling the rest of us are going to miss it. We’ll be too busy looking at your latest miracle!”
“Mr. Z,” Jocasta called out, “… did I hear you say ten engines? How fast will that make her?”
“In atmosphere… she should handle like a fighter,” Dungias replied, folding his arms. He could feel Jocasta’s eyes upon him, the weight of her stare as she stood there with her mouth open. “Of course, passengers and crew would have to be strapped in to keep from flying about… but, yes, very much like a fighter is how she should handle.”
“And outside the mo-sphere?” Siekor inquired.
“Theoretically,” Dungias said, rubbing his chin as he squinted his eyes. “We will be racing Corridors!”
“Oh for crying out loud!” Siekor led the many statements of disbelief that Captain and First Mate ignored as she made her way over to his side. “This ship can Gate?!”
“So this is what no holding back means?!” Jocasta asked, pointing her thumb at the Freedom Road.
“I promised to make you a ship, Captain,” Dungias said before tapping his index finger against his lips.
“Where did you get the tech?”
“Various trips to and through the InterVoid,” he said softly.
“To and through?! Are you saying this is beyond…”
“Simply put, Captain, in many cases of the technology on board this ship… I have come to grasp the theory of how they function. Even the systems for the collection and use of water is something I have never put into practice before. That is why it has taken so long for me and the thirty-five drones to assemble her.”
“Thirty-five drones?!”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Working around the clock?”
“These thirty-five here, yes,” Dungias replied. “When this section was still aboard the Xara-Mansura I could count on seven to twelve more.”
“Z… my friend… how… uh, how long… you know, after you put up the wall–”
“The basic design was completed three months before I put up the walls,” he advised. “Construction began thirteen seconds after the walls were secured. And the answer to one of your potential next questions is roughly eighty-seven percent of this ship is new technology to me.”
“Eighty-seven,” Jocasta whispered. “That’s a lot of new territory.”
“Indeed it is, Captain.”
“And we can expect a lot of new-ship bugs,” Jocasta added.
“We may also want to come up with a new term for that,” Dungias replied. “I fear that ‘bug’ will be woefully insufficient.”
“Roger that,” Jocasta said before swallowing hard. She then turned to Nexia and embraced the Queen of the Slip Shrikes once more, and once more the gesture was warmly returned.
“I know, blazer of the Stars, I know,” Nexia whispered, stroking Jocasta’s hair. “I know how you find long farewells distasteful,” Nexia smiled.
“See, that’s why you’re a Queen,” Jocasta returned as her face came away from Nexia’s chest. “You made it sound pretty.”
“I made it sound like a part of you. If that is what you call pretty, know we think the same of our newest Sister. Fly well, JoJo Starblazer.”
“Long as I fly free,” Jocasta replied, waving at her crew. “Z, see about getting the Pinion people back to their ships.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Alright, people,” Jocasta shouted. “Enough slacking. Let’s get everything loaded.” The pirate looked up at her ship once more and noticed that only two of the finished plates were in place. She pointed at them and started to ask Dungias why only two had been secured.
“Hello, Captain,” a voice called and everyone stopped at the sound of it. Jocasta was quick to lift her hand up to signal everyone to stop.
“Everyone just be quiet,” she whispered.
“Would that include me, Captain?” the voice asked and Jocasta, recognizing the sound of the voice, turned to look at Dungias.
“Satithe will no longer be the main computer for the ship,” he explained. “She will remain my assistant and an engineer for the ship. The operations of the ship and any crew deployments will be handled by the system Satithe composed for you. Like this ship, she too is very new. The same cannot be said for the voice the system has been given. It comes from the same source from where Satithe formatted the mind of the operating system.”
“Annsura,” Jocasta thought. “It sounds like Annsura! Satithe wants to give my girl back to me!
“Shall I strike our colors, Captain?” the ship’s computer asked, and Jocasta covered her mouth with her hand as she nodded ‘yes’. The two installed plates emitted an image: a golden Sikh Khanda on a white background. Dungias looked over to Olkin who could not keep the emotions from registering on his face. He dropped to his knees and wept openly. Llaz squatted down and wrapped his arm around the archer’s shoulders. Olkin was quick to reach across his body and take Llaz’s hand in a hard and fast grip.
Jocasta laughed and cried at the same time. She closed her eyes and put her hand on the ship. At first it was just a means to keep standing, but Jocasta opened her mind to take in her new spacecraft – her new home. It was surprisingly easy to feel her… almost as if the attempt had been expected, anticipated, and Jocasta could feel something reaching out for her. Nothing could take the place of the Xara-Mansura, but Jocasta Endigun made a silent promise to give it one hell of a try.
“Yes, you are the Freedom Road,” Jocasta whispered. “But in my book, you’re a member of this crew. It might be cheating… it may even be offensive to those of her culture… but right now, I don’t give a damn. Welcome aboard, crewman. Your pirate name is also your rank. Hello, Cutter.”
The question isn’t who’s going to let me; it’s who’s going to stop me.
Ayn Rand
(XIV)
(Rims Time: XII-4204.30)
It was a simple task to discern that the Delman War Pathman was returning to both form and strength. The worst, with regards to the matter of his remaining outside the Grey Realm, was over. A second set of worst was about to begin, as was signified with the difficulty Hurdran had in feeding his friend. It was fortunate that Zyzo had not yet gained the strength to dismiss the riddle of the held nose. He lay there with his breath held until he could not hold it any longer. Then, when he gasped for air, the Olasson Duke was very quick and precise with the large spoon.
“It’s good,” Zyzo muttered.
“I know,” Hurdran Vyllynthe said, stirring up another spoonful. “That’s why you don’t spit it out. Even in your hatred of me, your appreciation for good food is burned into every fiber of your being.”
“So long as you know I still hate you!” Zyzo barked before coughing and getting dizzy. “What did that damn woman do to me?!”
“Apparently she had studied the two of us quite thoroughly,” Hurdran stated. “For me it was a blade of pure silver at the end of a Tonka-whip. And for you, a dagger of MoGo. No regenerator could repair such a wound, and the elixir she coated the blade with served to reflect unsecured MannA.”
“Hope you didn’t lose any Healers,” Zyzo muttered.
“The old woman knew the stench of the poison before she even entered the chamber,” Hurdran replied. “It’s going to take much more than Ukara’s plotting to undo that creature.
“And I cannot argue your rage, my friend,” Hurdran quickly added. “I was grossly wrong, and it has led us to the brink of our undoing. The MannA Keys… you have to understand…”
“Do I?” Hillgray asked, and Hurdran stammered as he gesticulated almost violently.
“Zyzo! I don’t think you… it’s just that they… they…” The InvokeR slowly settled down, realizing something. “No. Not them. Me. Me! May the stars shatter and cut me from my name and blood! What a fool I have been!” Hurdran dropped the bowl of soup and started to rise as tears welled up in hi
s eyes. His wrist was caught in an iron grip, and the Olasson Duke winced in pain. He looked back to see that Zyzo had taken hold of him, looking incredibly agitated as he breathed deeply through his mouth. He stammered several attempts before he managed to speak.
“Hurdran Vyllynthe… you wasted good food!” A single tear rolled down Hurdran’s face before he broke into laughter. Zyzo laughed for a bit before he started coughing again. Hurdran rushed to give some comfort to his brother, but his body failed him and he collapsed. Weak and dizzy, Zyzo’s hand did not miss, nor did his strength wane. “Hurdran! Brother, I have you now! I have you!” Taking one hand away from his efforts, the heirloom of the Hillgray Line flew to Zyzo’s hand and imbued him with strength. It was a power he shared with Hurdran as he pulled the Olasson Duke close. “Easy now. Easy. I swear on the beard of my father, when I find that woman, she will–”
“You will do nothing, my friend,” Vyllynthe said calmly, reflecting over a heavy truth. “Not unless you wish to take up the matter… in the Grey Realm!”
“Thank you for your… contribution, my dear,” Fyorgunn hissed as he walked away from the steaming mass of flesh that had once been Ukara Curzakiov. His steps were direct but labored. It had been so very long since he had last walked. “We are always in a position to accept such ambitiously given gifts!” A tall, slender, and handsome gray-skinned creature, it took little concentration for him to enact the conjuration to assemble suitable attire about his naked body. He brushed back his long, thick purple hair before running his hands over the long, black coat with no collar or lapels, tapping a brooch holding the coat closed. Platinum was fashioned in a diamond shape that was wider than it was tall. In the center was a pearl with white and gray swirls forever moving, as it was directed to feed. The last facets of the man who had called himself Tempest had been consumed, and Fyorgunn closed his yellow eyes, smiling in triumph.
“Close, Tempest,” he thought. “You came so very close. There aren’t many who could engage one of the Vythe and hope to walk away with their lives, let alone a victory. To think you challenged three, and I am the only survivor. You should be proud of your incredible accomplishment.
“But I must reacquaint myself with this place,” the Master InvokeR whispered. “Already I can feel the differences. It is just as we hoped: we have been forgotten.” Walking to the edge of the makeshift platform, Fyorgunn did not stop and his next stride fell to the same level as the floor panels had been, with only air under his boot. The next stride was received by light, and Fyorgunn approached the epicenter of the spell Ukara had been working. With barely a gesture from his hand, all that power shot into the swirling pearl, leaving only the dead fragments that had been there for ages unknown.
“Hmmm, Olasson Light,” Fyorgunn estimated as he licked his lips. “It would seem that things have changed in their blood as well. There is so much deviation and fallacy here; like a child just learning how to walk. The muscle is there, but little coordination and even less awareness of the lack of control.” The Vythe Marquis smiled at the revelation. “Can it be that in our absence even Olasson MajiK has suffered?!” Fyorgunn chuckled at the possibilities and continued to walk. He could see a familiar system of planets in the distance. He would walk for a while, but he would achieve it before he began to tire.
Left without power, the engines of Ukara’s ship lost their fire and with them, other devices tied to their function also failed, including the veil the Mech-Mage had conjured. It was a spell she had taken from the Olasson, tinkering with a few points to improve its strength. When the field dropped, Freund appeared with agitated ThoughtWill swirling around his body and staff. He was ready to do battle, as orbs of white light burned in his barren eye sockets, but there was no target to engage. There was no life-force to speak of, but the ambient ThoughtWill carried with it the recent events and Freund reviewed it, drawing closer to unhinged rage with the passing of every moment.
“Unwitting fools!” he shouted, thinking for a moment that he could devote a sizeable amount of his summoned power to bring the woman and her ancestor from their deaths so that he could vent his anger upon them. “Fate has blessed you both! You are not alive to receive my gratitude for your inane actions, and your souls will not bear the guilt of what you have done. It is not as if there was enough to contend with at the moment; you two had to go and make it interesting!
“The Vythe!” Freund breathed, recalling the most popular characteristic of fear that parents had used to keep their children in line… a characteristic that had haunted Rendell Harrison when he was child… a characteristic that had motivated the young man to become an InvokeR and one of the principals in their eventual downfall and mysterious disappearance.
“But what are you saying, old man?” Freund muttered as the gathered energy flowed into his staff. “Would you rather have them return after you are gone? At least you remember them… but I am not the only one. Perhaps the time has come after all.” Freund turned to face a particular region of space. In common terms it was called the Frontier, and it was the home of the Tribes of Olasson Blood. There were few Humans who were welcome there and Freund was not one of them; but in his experience, the Olasson seldom insisted for him to leave before he was done with his business.
** b *** t *** o *** r **
Her tears fell in time with several of the bodies her bolts of coherent light had struck and eviscerated. The Queen of the Mal-Vin regretted using her power in such a fashion, but she had been left with little choice. The attack on her castle had been well-orchestrated. The ones who had perished under her tremendous power were not the only targets with which the monarch had to contend.
Extending her left hand, BaKedia directed the five bolts to tear into the set of statues that had been received an orbi-term past. Statues the Queen had come to regard favorably… statues that had been well-constructed traps. As the last one fell, the waves of energy set to keep those engaging with ThoughtWill in dire straits finally dissipated.
Danatra’s knees fell to the water and she panted in relief, kneeling in the center of the wading pool where water mixed with Vinthur and Malgovi blood… some of it hers. She looked up at her Queen, seeing the torment tearing into what was normally such a beautiful face. “My Queen,” the Mistress of The Campus whispered.
Sadness quickly became rage as BaKedia took a step backward, balling up her hands as she touched her wrists to her ribs and her chin to her chest. She did not close her eyes, and light began to shine from them as it did from several of the stones in her hair. Her head snapped back as she threw her arms out from her sides and shattered the sky with her war-cry. The remaining three bolts became fifty-one; tripling in size, speed, and power yield. They flew out from the Queen’s courtyard and covered the entire castle grounds, destroying each item she had received in the last year. Danatra was awestruck by the display of control she was witnessing. She watched as the bolts went about their assigned tasks. The Malgovi woman centered herself and stood up.
“The frames of the paintings were shielded,” Danatra observed. “How could that have been missed?”
“Oh, student,” a voice projected to her mind and the young woman spun around with her weapon ready to strike, a soft yelp escaping from between her lips as she recognized the voice, the power that had touched upon her thoughts. “… I see you are still given to presumption. That is quite disconcerting.”
“My Master,” she whispered, making a full circle without seeing the man who had trained her in the Mental Arts.
“Well, at least you remember your place! That is good!”
“You’re dead!” Danatra claimed. “You’re dead! I killed you!”
“Alas, you did not! You did manage, however, to kill the fool to whom I left you in the care of. It was time to sleep, you see. A time when the Savanté increase their strength and ability. I have returned to my people and find that my recruit has abandoned our ways. I think it is safe to say that you will not be invited to join the Savanté.”
; “Your Majesty!” Danatra said through clenched teeth, “…Savanté!” BaKedia heard the young woman as her minions of energy completed their run over the grounds. “Hear me, skull reaper! What my Vu-Prin so ably started, I will see to its completion! I swear it!”
“We shall see, Z’Gunok Viora Danatra,” the Savanté that Danatra had only ever called Master projected, though it felt as if he was moving away. “For the moment, I have achieved all is required of me. You have your Traveler… and now we have our own!”
“Your own Trav– No!” Danatra exclaimed in realization. “Your Majesty–”
“Go, Campus Mistress,” BaKedia commanded, closing her eyes for a moment. “Tend to what you must. I will see to this matter.”
Opening her mind, The Campus took hold of her form and teleported its Mistress to its grounds.
“Your Majesty!” a guard called as she ran out onto the grounds. “The Queen has been attacked!” the female Malgovi cried.
“By my own guard,” BaKedia added, looking up at the young female Malgovi. “What makes you believe that your approach will be allowed to draw close enough to be of any effect?”
“I am already close enough!” the guard cried before her body exploded with enough force to level the courtyard and the eastern wall of the palace. Alarms sounded and more guards were dispatched into the area.
“My love!” Danatra cried after teleporting to the holding chambers of The Campus. The hallway was clear, save for the body of Chaysor Zel Felrus, a warrior, a graduate of The Campus, and the beloved mate of the Mistress of The Campus. He sat on the floor, his back against a wall that was smeared with his blood in a streak down to his seated position. His hand held on to the neck of a spear that had been run through his chest. He tried to speak his wife’s name, but no words would come out.
“No, don’t speak!” she said, rushing to his side and taking hold of his head. “Scream instead!”