Supernova

by C. Gockel

  The LCSs and the Skimmers would need to free-gate into one of the gaps, and then blow a hole in the defenses for the Uriel.

  The holo flickered. Captain Darmadi’s voice echoed through its speaker. “The time gate has retreated below the line of singularity weapons. It’s too close to the planet to be usable.”

  “They won’t be able to call in reinforcements,” said a Luddeccean LCS captain, his tone one of relief.

  Noa responded, “Perhaps because they don’t need any.”

  “Or don’t think they need any,” the Luddeccean Captain answered optimistically.

  Curled on Volka’s lap, seemingly asleep, Carl hissed. His necklace crackled. “Five Dark ships have arrived in the Luddeccean System. One above Atlantea, two above Libertas, two above Luddeccea.”

  There was a beat of silence that translated into static through the holo. And then Kenji said, “We must trust our countrymen and our Galactican volunteers to defend us.” There was static again.

  Carl hissed. “Not just the Galactican volunteers and Luddecceans!”

  His body shook, and Volka’s eyes bolted open. She looked down at the werfle in her lap and up at Sixty. “Carl’s no longer in his body; this is just a werfle.”

  6T9’s lips parted. He picked up the creature, and it didn’t bite … this time. To one of the System 11 weere, he said, “Get a suitable werfle bed. He bites and shouldn’t be on Volka’s lap.”

  The weere nodded. 6T9 looked down at the sleeping creature. “Where did you go, Carl?”

  At that moment, Sundancer made one of her rare verbal pronouncements. “Staff meeting!”

  24

  Carl’s Pride

  Luddeccea : New Prime

  Silently recriminating himself for not putting Mr. Pickles—the werfle he inhabited with Volka and 6T9—in a position where he couldn’t do damage, Carl clung to the chain link fence with two hindmost pairs of claws. He heaved against a bolt with his foremost paws. Pterys laughed at him from the trees, and his single ear—this new borrowed body had lost one in a fight with a particularly ornery rat—flicked in annoyance. The Luddeccean moon shone in the night sky, its milky surface marred by the silhouettes of battleships. New stars shone too brightly in the sky, winking in and out of existence as the Dark’s ships evaded the Luddecceans and their cyborg allies. Now and then, a shooting star would careen toward the planet before exploding into a bloom of flame. They were pods sent from the ships above, filled with Infected; their purpose wasn’t destruction, but Infection.

  It was just a matter of time before one slipped through.

  “Could you hurry it up?” Shissh grumbled. Her breath against Carl’s whiskers made him shiver, even though it was very hot. Her breath, not the night. It was a night for curling in a ball by a fire.

  “I’m trying!” Carl protested. “This body is old, and—”

  “You should jump directly to a member of this species,” Isssh said. “We can use the waves to open the gate.”

  Carl stopped and glared at the two of them through the chain link. They were currently occupying lionesses in the New Prime zoo, and their eyes glowed in the moonlight. Beyond them, other members of the pride, empty of The One, peered curiously, but sleepily, from beneath a tree.

  Carl’s borrowed body wanted to shriek in terror. Stifling the urge, Carl put his claws on his hips and hissed at Isssh. “You told me to take the form of a werfle and open the gate manually so we wouldn’t be expending the energy in the waves!”

  Licking her shoulder, Isssh said, “I’ve reconsidered. It’s even lighter than the lock at the Dire Wolf—”

  “Don’t distract him!” Shissh all but roared. “Get back to work, Carl, but hurry.”

  Carl’s whiskers twitched, but he resumed his struggle. He managed to lift the iron bar, and with a huff, pushed off his rear paws to slide it sideways. There was a clang. Shissh lost no time in pushing the gate open with a paw, even though Carl was still dangling from the lock.

  Turning her glowing gaze upon him, Shissh chuffed. “Oh, look, a snack.”

  Letting go of the werfle form, Carl leaped into the waves and into a new host. His ears were instantly filled with the shrieking of a terrified werfle. Carl opened his new body’s eyes. Isssh and Shissh were batting at the werfle he’d just occupied, playing with it before they killed it, and Snowball, in the body of a third lioness, had joined them. He narrowed his eyes and felt the waves in his new whiskers. With a roar, he launched himself at the lionesses, extended claws digging into the earth, leaving a trail of dust behind him.

  Snarling and backing up, the three turned to face him. He was male, the head lion. Individually, he was more than a match for any of them. Together they were more than his equal, but he didn’t care and didn’t give them any ground. “Leave it alone,” Carl roared.

  Swishing her tail, Shissh chuffed and lifted her muzzle. “Carl, always getting attached to old werfles.”

  Snowball edged sideways in the werfle’s direction, and Carl charged again. His whiskers brushed her hide, and he opened his jaws, prepared to snap down on her neck, but the waves wrinkled, and there was a roar behind them. “That is enough of that!”

  “Aw, Mom!” Shissh protested. “We were just having some fun.”

  Loping from the shadow of the trees came an older lioness, occupied by Solomon. “You’re wasting precious time for calories that won’t be worth the energy expenditure anyway.”

  Shissh grumbled, “It would only take a second. It’s right—”

  She blinked at the gate. The werfle had thankfully dropped from the lock and was skittering off along the edge of the fence.

  “Never mind that,” said Isssh. “Carl, why are you wearing the male? We agreed that its excessive size was impractical for a long lope.”

  “Did we?” Carl replied, pinning his ears back. “I forgot.”

  “Never mind,” Solomon said. “It’s time to go. The other lionesses are already claimed.”

  Carl looked over his once-mom’s shoulder. Three more lionesses, and the pride’s second male, Carl’s body’s brother. His whiskers twitched. It was Vera Rubin. Rising, Vera shook her mane and whined. “I don’t like leaving my pets alone at Kanakah.”

  Carl shivered, thinking of Volka, 6T9, James, and Noa.

  “Many of us have left pets behind,” Solomon said philosophically. Carl and the lionesses stepped aside as she loped through the gate.

  “Let’s release the wolves,” said Shissh, ears flicking.

  The pride of lions, twenty-nine in all, fell into line and slipped through the gate. They headed to the wolves, passing a few other felines as they did. They didn’t attempt to occupy those few beasts. Lions were revered in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam—the core religions of The Three Books. That was why there were twenty-nine lions in New Prime to begin with. They weren’t native to Luddeccea, obviously, but the Luddeccean Church had gone to a great deal of trouble to keep their population strong, genetically and physically. The lion enclosure occupied several miles, viewing was done by a train, and live lizzar were set loose within it. Carl flexed his claws in the stone of the walkway and felt his mass’s increased power in the waves. His new body’s instincts and claws were sharp.

  At the wolf enclosure, they released another bolt easily with massive feline claws. As The One-inhabited Timber wolves approached, Carl felt his new body’s lip curl and forced it to smooth. The lions were natural enemies of the wolves.

  Solomon said to the leader, “If you are seen—”

  “Pretend to be a dog,” the oldest male said.

  An older female shook herself. “The mere thought is humiliating to this body.” She blinked at Carl. “They know what dogs are and know their domesticated cousins are inferior. So interesting.”

  Carl thought of Volka. She was definitely part wolf, not part dog. The wind rose, and in the sky, another shooting star exploded in flame. Wolves and lions watched it, silently, and then, suppressing their inherent natural animosity, they loped to th
e zoo entrance. With intelligence beyond their hosts, they were soon out and parting ways.

  The wolves headed toward the most populated section of New Prime, to aid cats and werfles there in the event of a landing. The lions headed toward a wealthy, more sparsely populated district. There was a curfew and a blackout order, and they saw no one. Isssh whispered in the waves. “One hopes if we are seen we’ll be mistaken for Aslan if we just suppress our instincts.”

  Carl nodded at mention of the children’s books almost every Luddeccean read as part of “Christianity Studies.”

  “Or maybe they’ll mistake themselves for Daniel,” Solomon opined.

  Shissh chuffed. “Or Allah’s chosen warriors.”

  And then they fell silent, roving over grass and pavement as quietly as fog rolling through the pines. No thoughts were exchanged until they approached Silas Darmadi’s back gate. “The guard at the gate is missing,” Solomon exclaimed.

  Snowball’s tail whipped side to side. “They were there when I left my previous body.”

  Raising his muzzle, Carl sniffed and flexed his whiskers. He had amazing control over his whiskers in any feline form. “I don’t sense the Dark.”

  Crouching low, Solomon slunk to the gate, pausing occasionally with one paw raised, nose to the wind. With a huff of despair, she rushed into the property, charging through the trees. After only a second of hesitation, the others followed. Carl was larger than the others, but stronger, and he caught up to her first—just in time for the lioness to skid to a stop. He barely avoided barreling into her. “They’re gone!” Solomon exclaimed. “All gone.”

  Carl raised his whiskers to the wave and nose to the wind. “Silas is still there.”

  Beginning to pace, Solomon said, “But Alexis is who the Dark will be chasing.”

  Shissh licked their once-mother’s shoulder. “Be calm, be calm.”

  Solomon replied in the waves, and in the real world in a low moan. “We must get to her. Protect her. She knows too much.”

  Carl reached through the waves, touching the mind of Silas, Volka’s once-difficult-employer and almost-parent, and Alexis’s friend. He almost roared but kept his exclamation silent. “He knows! He knows they will come for Alexis. That is why he stays!”

  Halting her pacing, Solomon raised her own muzzle to the wind. The other One did likewise.

  “Such deceit,” murmured Shissh, the waves humming with her admiration.

  “Deserves our help,” said Snowball.

  Solomon’s ears perked toward the house. “We can’t let the Dark know she’s left.”

  Isssh protested, “If we help, it might be mistaken for divine intervention.”

  All the other One glared at him.

  Crouching into a defensive position, Isssh bowed his—or rather, her—head. “And I told Kenji we would never try to impersonate divine beings.”

  Solomon’s lip lifted in a snarl.

  Sinking lower, Isssh flicked her tail anxiously. “I don’t like to interfere with their evolution.”

  Carl rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, Aslan.”

  The other lions chuffed—except for Solomon, who growled.

  Isssh licked her shoulder. “Of course, perhaps we are tools of their God, and if we are, certainly we are obliged to use all our blades, mental and physical—” He glanced down at an enormous set of claws. “—to the utmost of our abilities. If that is confused for divine intervention, it is hardly our fault.”

  “Spoken like a true theologian,” Shissh chuffed.

  In the sky, another falling star streaked toward earth.

  The One parted, slinking into the trees, melting into the shadows with the sort of deadly efficiency only millions of years of evolution could manage. Carl made his own post in the forest just beyond the back door, lowering himself into a crouch his feline body could maintain for hours. They were prepared to protect Silas’s and Alexis’s secret with fire, force, tooth, and claw. But he lifted his muzzle heavenward and peered over his shoulder at a spot in the sky empty of the Luddeccean’s or Dark’s forces. “Ah, pets, I wish I could protect you now.”

  25

  Battlefield Zero

  6T9 set Carl—or, the werfle that usually was Carl—into a padded box that had held extra phaser charges. He set it in a corner of the bridge. He turned back to Volka.

  Sitting on the floor in front of the holomat, hands on her knees, Volka’s eyes were closed. The holo was for her benefit. Everyone else aboard could see the holo scene in the ether. But she didn’t need her eyes. She was seeing what she needed through the ships and through other humans. Logically he understood why the Republic was wary of telepaths, but it might be what saved them from the jamming technology the Dark had stolen from Fleet. He thought of the fusion bomb aboard the Uriel … and that weapon might be the only thing that saved the galaxy from the Dark. Was salvation always terrifying?

  In a trance-like tone, Volka said, “System 11 is under attack. Four ships above Odessa. One above the second planet.”

  One of the System 11 crew members groaned.

  6T9 closed his eyes and sighed. System 11 needed the second planet for food if they were to be self-sufficient. It was a water world. Even if they won the battle of System Zero, if that planet was Infected, Volka and he might lose another home.

  Volka’s hands tightened into fists on her knees. “Skimmers above Odessa are engaging … now.”

  Volka was sucked into the battle. Or, more accurately, sucked into Stratos’s mind. His mind, augmented and linked to the ether, but human and controlled by feelings too, was like being in a dream and a holo all at once.

  Volka could see his ship and the two other Skimmers as though in a schematic from above, courtesy of Time Gate 11, who was piping the visual into Stratos’s mind. Stratos could also see what his ship saw, though the ship’s walls were opaque. He was holding onto the trigger of a phaser cannon that was embedded in the keel, but he was also mentally linked to the weapon with a hardlink. He could switch from the ship’s view to the phaser cannon’s sights with ease and did so several times. His heart was racing, and each beat drew Volka deeper into his consciousness. Stratos tasted metal on his tongue. Prior to joining Fleet, and becoming a vegan, he’d grown up on the far side of S10O2 and had hunted fotra—small, venom-spraying reptiles there. They were good eating when their venom sacks were cut out, and he’d been so poor that no kill meant no eating. “Just like that, just like hunting fotra,” he said.

  His ship disagreed, and Stratos laughed. “Just you see, just you see.” With each word he made himself more confident.

  Gate 11 spoke into his mind over the ether. “They will soon jam communications.”

  “Understood,” Stratos replied.

  Gate 11 had a sexy voice. Stratos appreciated that.

  His ship did not know how he could notice things like that at a time like this.

  “It’s the little things that make life worth living,” Stratos thought, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt. But his apps snapped him back into hunter mode. The Dark’s ships weren’t close enough to the planet that warheads would be a serious threat. They might send them—but they were far enough away they’d most likely be deflected. The Dark was worried about planetside defenses getting their still-precious faster-than-light ships. It was being careful. Stratos wouldn’t be. Being too careful hunting fotra meant going hungry.

  In his schematic view, he saw more ships coming up from the clouds. Twenty-one friendly fighters from System 11’s Local Guard. Slower than the Skimmers, but they could fire on those warheads if they emerged.

  “The Dark’s vessels are splitting up,” Gate 11 said. In the schematic, the red ships winked away.

  “Time and gravitational disruptions are occurring on Odessa’s far side,” Gate 11 said. “Out of range of my weapons.”

  Stratos gritted his teeth and began raising his weapon from the hull soup. Crew members rushed to help him.

  He barely saw; his mind was in the ether. “Eleven,
alert those local squadrons. Eberhardt,” he called to one of the other Skimmer captains, “you take bogie numbers two and three, Eleven, let them know he’s coming. Montgomery, you’ve got this guy, use this squadron as your missile cover.”

  The phaser cannon was fully within the ship, and it already knew Stratos’s intentions. They were light. They were solid. The ether hummed for a second, and he saw the Dark’s ships through the schematics of Odessa’s satellites. The damnable things were too close to the planet; the local squadron was too far away.

  Stratos snarled and wanted. That want was felt by his ship. It turned to light again and emerged just meters below one of the enemy vessels. In less than a heartbeat, Stratos rammed his Skimmer directly into its keel. The ether was dead, but Stratos was roaring. The blow would have knocked the impacted Dark ship into the other if that ship hadn’t suddenly not been there. Stratos swore, and suddenly the other ship was behind and above.

  A missile connected with Stratos’s hull, right above the bridge, and gray veins began spreading across the ceiling. “Drop the cannon through the soup!” Stratos ordered, and the cannon sank through the floor. Stratos was firing as soon as the cannon’s barrel was clear—you had to hit fotra fast—too slow and you had venom in your eyes. At the same time, he rolled the Skimmer over so her injured side was closer to the atmosphere. Stratos’s phaser fire missed—and then hit. The first Dark vessel, the one his Skimmer had rammed, exploded, but another missile ripped from the other ship and Stratos screamed, “Dive!”