Tech Mage: The Magitech Chronicles Book 1

by Chris Fox

  “Uh, maybe. Hold on.”

  Aran spiraled around a swipe from the dragon’s foreclaw, but was too slow to dodge the tail. It curled around his leg, slamming him into the metal floor with bone-breaking force.

  His paper doll went mostly red, but it was himself he was worried about. He could only take shallow breaths. Something was broken in his chest. He couldn’t move.

  Black spots swam through his vision, but dimly he remembered to trigger the next healing potion. Relief flooded his chest, and he started climbing to his feet.

  The dragon landed several meters away, sending up a wave of wind from its titanic wings that knocked Aran backward. He rolled across the floor and struggled to his feet, diving over another cone of dragon breath.

  “Any time, Nara,” he yelled, ducking under a claw swipe.

  “If this kills you, it isn’t my fault,” she yelled.

  From the corner of his eye, Aran saw a flash of blue. The magic washed over him, sinking into his armor. The armor responded by drinking it up. It grew larger, and Aran grew with it.

  He flipped back to his feet. Four meters tall, then five. He wasn’t as large as the dragon, but he was close enough. Aran triggered the last potion—the magic resistance one. Then he poured every remaining bit of power into thrust.

  His suit shot upward, catching the dragon in the chest. Together they flew up, picking up speed as they neared the dome.

  Aran smiled through his cracked faceplate, laughing at the binder. “Have fun surviving the Ternus navy.”

  “Have fun trying to breathe,” the binder roared back.

  Then they slammed into the glass, and outward into space. A spray of atmosphere and glass increased their momentum, and they spun away from the station.

  Aran’s hand shot to his face to cover the crack spreading across his helmet. Tiny puffs of white oxygen leaked out between his fingers.

  “It’s all right,” the dragon crooned, wrapping her thick limbs around him. “You’ll be dead long before you have a chance to suffocate.”

  “No, he won’t,” came Nara’s laughing voice. She appeared next to Aran, seizing him with both hands. There was a moment of vertigo, then they were above and behind the dragon as the displacement spell completed. “Go, go! That was the last of my spells.”

  She shot toward the station at full speed, and Aran fell in behind her. He laid his arms flat against his body, willing the armor to greater speed. Air continued to pour from the crack in the faceplate, but all he could do was try to reach safety before it ran out.

  Aran glanced down, and relaxed slightly when he saw the dragon moving away from the station. Her form was silhouetted against the planet, moving toward the cloud covered continent below. He turned back to the station, zipping through the hole they’d created in the observation dome.

  That hole was already closing as the station’s repair drones rebuilt the damaged section. Aran landed in a crouch, putting his hand over his faceplate again.

  Nara landed a moment later. “That hole should be sealed in about sixty seconds. Sit tight, and try not to breathe. Much.”

  Aran waited patiently, taking slow, even breaths. He tried not to focus on the air hissing out of his faceplate, and tried even harder not to watch the drones work above. They’d maneuvered a flexible green patch into place, and were bolting it over the hole.

  Spots danced across his vision, and his breathing became quick and shallow. “Nara.”

  “Don’t talk,” she snapped. “You’ll be fine. Just a few more seconds.”

  The drones completed their work, and the air processors kicked on again. Air began to refill the mezzanine, though not quickly enough for Aran’s tastes. He popped off his helmet, gulping at the too-thin air.

  Finally, he was able to breath normally. He leaned against the wall behind him, slumping to the ground. “I can’t believe we pulled that off. We just beat a Void Wyrm. Well kind of.”

  “We also blew the entire mezzanine into space,” Nara pointed out.

  Aran looked around, surveying the destruction. “Huh. I hope we don’t have to pay for that.”

  35

  Consequences

  “…and I hope you are prepared to pay for that station,” Governor Avitus roared from his half of the scry-screen. “Your people destroyed a multi-billion-credit observation dome, and vented the entire mezzanine into space—including my office, which contained an irreplaceable library.”

  “You’re welcome, Governor,” Voria said coldly. She narrowed her eyes, glaring up at the governor’s image. “Yesterday at this time you’d lost the entire station. Your world is already under assault, your citizens in danger. Yet you’re chastising me for collateral damage? Need I remind you that my people drove a fully grown Void Wyrm off your station?” She wove around the command matrix, closer to the scry-screen. If the governor had been here in person, she’d have used one of several choice spells to show him exactly how she felt about the matter.

  “Please, Governor,” Admiral Kerr quickly interjected, from the other half of the scry-screen. “Major Voria arrived in system and immediately killed Kheftut. Then she risked the Wyrm Hunter, pulling off a maneuver that slew three Wyrms and forced the rest to the surface. Thanks to the major, we now have orbital superiority against the Krox. No one has orbital superiority against the Krox. Not ever.”

  “Point taken, Admiral,” the governor replied, as coldly as Voria. “You have our thanks, Major. While I may question your methods, I cannot argue with your results. Now, if I could suggest a strategy going forward, I think you should bring your troops down to reinforce the capital. It’s the densest population center, and the one the Krox are most likely to assault.”

  “Until we know what the Krox are after, I’m hesitant to commit to a strategy,” Voria ventured, speaking more to the admiral than the governor. “This invasion isn’t like the others. In those cases, the Krox’s goal was carnage. They slaughtered everyone, even those who fled.”

  “And you don’t think they’re doing the same here?” The admiral’s image flickered, then stabilized. He opened the top button of his uniform and rubbed at the back of his neck. “I’ll admit I’ve never directly fought the Krox before, so I’ll defer to your opinion, Major.”

  “Each time the Krox have hit a world, they’ve been systematic. They begin by establishing orbital superiority, crushing all resistance in space. This ensures no one can flee.” In her mind’s eye, Voria replayed the battle of Starn, saw the Shayan ships raining down into the atmosphere like burning embers. “Then they’ll ground their enforcers near the densest population center. They’ll raze the city with dragons, then flood it with whatever minions they’ve bound. Corpses are common, but so are local megafauna. Only then will the Krox engage directly, usually to surgically destroy a target. The longer the battle goes on, the more troops they can create from the bodies of dead opponents. Time is always on their side.”

  “The Krox grounded eleven hours ago.” The admiral folded his arms, leaning back in his chair. She could see how tired he was, even through the screen. “I begin to see your point. They could have mobilized far more quickly. Why haven’t they?”

  “I don’t know,” Voria admitted. She walked back around the matrix, still within view of the scry-screen. “I agree with the governor that the capital is a likely target, though I don’t understand why they haven’t already hit it.”

  “All the more reason to get your troops down here immediately, Major.”

  “You’re already down there?” Voria asked, blinking.

  “I can’t desert my people,” Avitus snapped. “They need to see me, see that I am not afraid. Now if you will excuse me, I have preparations to make.”

  The governor faded from the scry-screen and was replaced by the admiral as his image took over the whole screen. “I’m sorry, Major. I don’t understand how you’ve accomplished what you have with the resources you’ve been given.”

  “We fight with what we have, Admiral. You’re a direc
t man, which is one of your better qualities. What is it you want to say, exactly?” Voria respected this man, the finest of the Ternus commanders in her view, but time was pressing in on her. It always did.

  “Your government sent me another missive. They’ve insisted again that you be removed from command, and I work with Captain Thalas.” The admiral sighed. “I’m not really sure how to handle this, Major. Putting him in charge is madness, to borrow one of his words. You are our only hope of resisting the Krox, even if it isn’t much of a hope.”

  “I see your dilemma. If you work with me, you strain the relations between Shaya and Ternus. Given how recently Ternus joined the Confederacy, that’s likely to make your government nervous.” Voria shook her head sadly. Fighting the Krox while standing in political quicksand was a recipe for defeat.

  “You have my full support, but there will be a reckoning when this is all done. I can’t stop that.” The admiral leaned in closer to the screen, giant now. “Major, give it to me straight. What can you bring to the field? What kind of numbers are we working with? And do you have ammunition and supplies? We don’t have enough to share.”

  “I realize the Confederate Marines have a reputation for being beggars, but I’ve secured my own supplies and material. I’ll be fielding a company of Inuran tanks, supported by three hundred of your own Marines. Backed by a company of tech mages, of course.”

  “So nearly a full battalion, then.” The admiral wore his relief openly. “That’s good news. Very well, Major. I’ll let you get some rest before you get down to the surface. I apologize for the governor’s behavior. He isn’t normally this…odious. I think the stress is bringing out the worst in him. He’s been erratic since the Krox arrived.”

  “I see.” Voria cocked her head thoughtfully. That could mean nothing—or it could be a sign of a binder. She didn’t want to voice her suspicions. Not yet, not until she had evidence. Or proof she was wrong. “Thank you, Admiral, I’ll see you shortly. Major Voria out.”

  The scry-screen went dark. Voria stretched. She wished she had time to sleep, but her mother had already arrived; she didn’t even have time to clean up, a fact she was positive her mother would make mention of.

  Voria sighed and trudged from the battle bridge, forcing herself to head to the officer’s mess.

  36

  One More Condition

  Voria scanned the officer’s mess, cataloging her mother’s entourage. Jolene had brought only a few people, all pale-skinned Inurans—and all nobility, judging by their elaborate robes and stiff hair. Each wore the colors of their house, with a neutral black trim to signify their loyalty to the Consortium above all.

  “Hello, Matron Jolene.” Voria nodded respectfully, moving to sit in the chair opposite her mother. She ignored the looks of disdain from the attendants, having long since stopped caring how they felt about half-breeds. “Hello, Kazon.”

  Her brother sat next to their mother, looking awkwardly around him as if for a way to flee. He merely nodded at Voria in response. Kazon also wore a set of robes, the azure and black perfectly matching their mother’s.

  Jolene answered just as Kazon opened his mouth to speak. “Let’s dispense with the pleasantries, Voria. We’ll conclude our transaction, and I will be on my way. I know you have a war to die in, after all.”

  “Very well.” Voria closed her eyes for a moment. Dealing with her father bore its own share of headaches, but she still preferred it to dealing with her mother. She opened her eyes. “I’m assuming you’ve brought everything I’ve asked for?”

  “Of course.” Jolene slid a scry-pad across the table. “See for yourself. Everything you’ve requested, and a bit more.”

  “More?” Voria snorted. “You’ve never given anyone anything you didn’t have to. Even your own children.”

  “Yes, well, I wasn’t given a choice.” Jolene glared at Kazon. “Your brother insisted. He said he’d enlist in the Marines and refuse to return home, if I didn’t provide…additional resources. I’ve included some of our newest weaponry, in addition to the ammunition.”

  “Don’t forget my other condition,” Kazon said, speaking for the first time. Voria had a hard time finding her brother under the unruly beard, but his eyes were the same—blue and steady.

  “Other condition?” Voria asked.

  “Kazon would like to reward the man who saved him,” Jolene explained. “He wants this…Arack?—Aran?—whatever his name is…to be honorably discharged, with full pay.” She shrugged apologetically. “It’s only one soldier. Even losing a tech mage won’t noticeably affect your chances of victory. Give Kazon his little concession, and we can go our separate ways.”

  “Why do you want him discharged?” Voria demanded, meeting Kazon’s gaze.

  “Everyone I’ve met so far has sought to use me,” Kazon shot back, eyes blazing. “First that treacherous snake Nara, then you, and now a woman claiming to be my mother.” He leaned over the table, his tone sinking to a low growl. “Aran saved my life at the Skull of Xal. If he hadn’t, that place would be my tomb. Instead, he picked me up and carried me to safety. He didn’t do it because he knew I’d reward him; he was being a good person. And how was he rewarded? After being kidnapped and forced to a Catalyst, he was enslaved and forced to fight in your war. It isn’t fair, and I have a chance to fix it. So I am. Let Aran go, or I’m withdrawing my support for this deal. As I understand it, Jolene can’t do this without me. No Aran, no weapons.”

  Voria gave a deep sigh, slowly massaging her temples. She looked up at Kazon. “I can see the mind-wipe hasn’t changed you, brother. You’ve always championed those who can’t defend themselves. Please reconsider. Aran isn’t just any tech mage. I don’t know who he was before, but he’s vital to my confrontation with the Krox. He’s the only reason we took back that station. Aran can save countless lives on the surface, maybe help me put down Nebiat once and for all.”

  “He didn’t ask to be part of your war,” Kazon countered. “I know what it’s like to be enslaved and mind-wiped. I know your war is important, and that’s why we’re giving you the extra weapons. Let my friend go.”

  “Fine,” Voria snapped. “I’ll have him sent for immediately.”

  37

  The Penalty is Death

  Aran flopped down on his bunk, groaning in relief as his back settled against the cool metal wall. It was the first time he’d stopped moving in what felt like weeks.

  “Thank gods for healing potions,” he muttered. “Every part of me aches, but at least all my pieces are in the right place.”

  Nara sat down on the bunk next to him. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I can think of a few parts that probably aren’t sore.” Nara’s eyes twinkled mischievously.

  Aran was brainstorming a witty comeback when Kez came flouncing over, her short hair as wild as ever. “Bord, get over here. Two big, bad heroes joost walked into our barracks. You’re going to want to tell your grandkids about this.”

  Nara burst out laughing, and Aran found himself grinning.

  Bord trotted over, his usual animosity a bit softer. He extended a hand to Aran and offered a half-smile. “I hear you fought hard. A lot of people owe you their lives. They’re probably grateful enough to overlook how ugly you are.”

  “That’s why I kept the helmet on.” Aran grinned as he accepted his handshake. “We can’t all be blessed with your amazing charms.”

  “I know. Natural beauty is a curse, but its my burden to bear.” Bord released Aran’s hand and gave him a mocking smile. “I didn’t realize you actually had a sense of humor. In fact, I had a bet going that you were one of them Ternus robots that can pass for people.”

  Kez reached up and punched Bord in the side. She was barely able to manage it, despite how short Bord was. “How you remain so confident, I will never know.”

  “Joking aside we do have news,” Aran said, lowering his voice. He looked at the doorway, but there was no sign of any officers. “I, uh, sort of disobeyed a direct order. So did N
ara. And Crewes.”

  “You guys defied Thalas?” Bord said, blinking. His smile vanished.

  Nara shifted uncomfortably. “Aran tackled him and I may have used a sleep spell on him.”

  Kez gave a low whistle. “There’s no way Thalas will stand for that. That fooker’s probably already gone to the major. As if she didn’t have enough to deal with.”

  Everyone fell quiet as familiar booming footsteps approached. Crewes poked his head through the doorway of the barracks. His armor was still dented and scored, but he’d taken the time to wipe the soot from his face.

  “Sarge, is that blood all over your chest?” Kez asked.

  “What?” the sergeant looked down. “Yeah, it’s blood. It ain’t mine. Aran, Nara. Front and center.”

  Aran rose with a reluctant groan. “Sarge, is there any chance we can get a nap before whatever torture you’ve got planned?”

  “Nope. Davidson just sent word that Thalas headed for the officer’s mess, where the major is meeting with the Consortium.” Crewes’s dark skin was paler than usual, but he hid his exhaustion well. “We need to get up there and defend ourselves. You don’t know Thalas like I do. He’ll call for our execution, and he’ll bring in his father if the major refuses.”

  “Is there a form I have to fill out to get a day off?” Aran muttered, following Crewes out of the barracks.

  “Yeah it’s called form shut the depths up and follow orders. You can file it in the latrine, under I don’t give a shit.” Crewes glared at Aran. “Now move, mage.”

  Aran snapped to, quickening his step. He followed Crewes, and Nara fell into step beside him.

  “Aran,” Nara whispered quietly, putting a hand on his arm. “We haven’t really talked about…before. I mean, I know I brought it up before the station, but we didn’t really get a chance to chat.”