Black Moon Rising

by Frankie Rose

  “I’m investigating intel. This man’s mind revealed a terrorist cell located close by. I’m going to use him to gain access to the group.” This is almost true. If there are seers out there on Pirius, they would be considered terrorists of the most highest order by the Construct. I would be sent to flush them out anyway. Stryker doesn’t sound convinced by my explanation, though.

  “There are procedures in place for this kind of thing. You do not go off on your own, hunting down ghosts, without my explicit command. We need to send a team to handle this cell. Power down your raptor and join me in the control tower immediately.”

  I should probably do as he says. It will be really hard for me to return to the ship if I leave under these circumstances. At the same time, though, what does that matter? I’m sick of being the Construct’s plaything. I am sick of being barked at and ordered around like a common serf. Maybe coming back wouldn’t be the best idea, anyway. “I’m sorry. I think this situation is better handled on my own. Sending a large team down onto the planet will only alert the cell. They’ll run as soon as they see Construct cruisers in the sky. I’m just one man. I’ll be able to infiltrate them and destroy them from the inside.”

  “Unacceptable, Beylar. Power down your craft immediately. I won’t tell you aga—”

  I hit the button above the radio, silencing it before Stryker can finish his sentence. I already know what he’ll say: threats, threats, and more threats. The man’s fond of the sound of his own voice, and nothing is more satisfying to him than promising to make my existence cripplingly difficult.

  “I thought you’d be better at lying,” Col says, punching the coordinates for Pirius into the raptor. I run the information through a scrambler so neither Regis or Stryker can have the data pulled from the ship’s record. The raptor rises incrementally from the ground, spinning on its axis so it’s facing the launch port on the starboard side of the ship. A little loft. A little more.

  I tilt the Raptor’s nose down and push the throttle forward, sending the fighter class craft surging out toward open space. I hit at least three of the other grounded fighters sitting on the flight deck, damaging them beyond repair. Stryker’s so damn proud of his fighter fleet; the fact that I’ve destroyed some of his most prized possessions isn’t going to temper his anger any. I’ve disobeyed him. I’ve disregarded his direct orders. I’ve taken a prisoner, and I’m breaking free of The Nexus. All treasonous offences worthy of execution. In the space of less than an hour, I’ve alienated the Construct, abandoned my post, and essentially gone rogue.

  Up ahead, the launch port’s doors have been activated and they’re beginning to slide closed. It takes momentum to get doors like that opened and closed, though. They’re huge—the entire width and height of The Nexus. That’s a hell of a lot of metal. They’re not even half closed by the time I navigate the raptor through them. A series of high pitched squeals and squawks blast out of the radio’s speakers on the dash board, making Col nearly jump out of his skin. I’ve been expecting the abrasive sounds, though—notifications from the ship’s on-board computer that someone’s trying to hack into the raptor’s controls. Standard Construct procedure: disable and destroy. Governor Regis will be screaming at his men on in the control tower right now, demanding they paralyze my ship, to stop me, cut me off from my engines, so I’m floating free out there in space. They won’t be able to do it, though.

  I haven’t prepared for this. I had no idea I’d react this way upon hearing news of the girl. I’m a smart guy, though. I knew there would come a time when I’d have to make a sharp exit from The Nexus. I took precautions. I made sure I’d be able to forge a clear exit for myself. The raptor’s loaded with tech advances Regis never authorized. I’m sure he told his engineers to pull my ship apart piece by tiny piece, to check up on my activities, but those guys knew better than to walk within fifteen feet of the machine. They knew all too well what I’d do to them if I found them interfering with my ride.

  We clear the launch port, and I don’t waste any time. I pull the ship’s nose up, and I gun it. I won’t have much of a head start. Construct fighters are faster than most ships in the galaxy. I helped design them myself. I know what they’re capable of, and I know their flaws. If I can put a click or two between the raptor and the fighters who come after us, I’ll be able to enter the Darax asteroid belt and it will all be over from there. The raptor can turn and pivot on command, instantaneously changing direction at the touch of a control. The fighters aren’t that nimble. Their engines aren’t capable of an immediate stop, which makes dancing through an unpredictable asteroid belt a suicide mission. Regis would never risk losing ships inside the vast, rocky stretch of debris. No way.

  I make the raptor’s thrusters scream. Beside me, Col Pakka turns a ghostly shade of white, his knuckles blanched and bloodless as he grips at the harness holding him in his seat. “Holy shit. You’re a maniac,” he gasps.

  I ignore him. I’m waiting, straining to hear the telltale pitch and whine of Construct fighters on my comm as they come roaring out of the base’s launch port. Any second now…

  Regis’ top men run drills and train endlessly for situations like this. In fact, it’s all they really do. They’re finely tuned, well-honed weapons, and they know the consequences that will befall them should they displease Regis. They can make it into their crafts and are deployed and out in open space in no more than a minute—quite a feat for upwards of thirty vessels, all taking off at once. I don’t hear anything on the comm, though. I grind my teeth together as I push the raptor even harder, my heart thundering out of control behind my ribcage.

  Any second now...

  Any second now…

  Any…second…now...

  But there’s no sound from my dash’s radio at all. No pitch and whine. No excited chatter, distorted through full-face helmets. There is only the endless, black, bottomless silence of space.

  I almost hit the first piece of debris we encounter—a fist-sized chunk of material, probably a combination of iron and nickel. I’m not paying attention, and I don’t see it until the raptor’s alarms urgently warning me of the imminent danger. I roll the raptor, scrubbing off a little speed, and Col starts screaming. He grips hold of the control panel with one hand, clutching at his broken ribs with the other. “You’re insane! I never should have listened to that seer. I should have stayed at home this morning. I never should have gotten out of bed.”

  If I had the time, I’d probably hit the passenger eject button and dispose of him, but I don’t. I suddenly find myself spiraling through a sea of debris, dodging this way and that, my hands moving of their own accord across the raptor’s controls. I shut my mind down. I shut it down, and yet I open it up at the same time. I release the tight control I maintain over myself, and I allow the inquisitive fingers that form in my head to expand and stretch, reaching out, exploring the space around us. My mind processes the debris field, locating each and every piece of rock, asteroid, and space dust, noting its position, trajectory, and potential for damage to the ship. Once it’s done all of that—in barely more than a tenth of a second—I adjust the Raptor’s course with lightning precision. Just as Regis’ soldiers have trained and trained under the master’s watchful eye, I have been training for this, too. Regis would never have sanctioned my obsessive, relentless training. His paranoia and general distrust of me has always made him cautious of arming me with skills beyond what he considered reasonable. If he knew I could do this? If he knew my mind was capable of such feats, he would have ejected me out of a space lock without a moment’s hesitation a long time ago.

  Col rounds on me, his eyes wide, his knuckles only getting whiter as he holds onto the control panel for dear life. “What the hell?” he gasps. “This…this is not possible.”

  He’s referring to the agile, nimble movements of the raptor as I pick and twist our way through the asteroid field at high speed. He’s never seen anything like this before. Neither a vessel capable of such complex aerial displays,
nor a man capable of controlling it. The galaxy is a broad, seemingly endless place, and yet the same laws of physics apply no matter where your ship is docked. Unless you can learn to bend those laws a little, of course. As far as I’m aware, I’m the only person, living or dead, who’s been able to accomplish such a thing.

  Col balks as I spin the raptor into another a roll, successfully avoiding two large chunks of ice that are locked on a collision course. I hear the nervous hiss of breath escape him as the monolithic, jagged blue projectiles impact with one another, shattering into a million pieces, bombarding the raptor with spears of frozen nitrogen.

  “Outer hull compromised. Outer hull breach detected.” The on-board computer calmly announces the significant danger with little to no urgency. Col shrieks at the top of his lungs, his skin ashen and drawn. So annoying. Do I have time to knock him out? This situation is developing fast. If I don’t focus all of my attention on avoiding further damage to the ship, we’ll both be floating around out there in the void, suitless, bloodless, lifeless, and his over-the-top reactions won’t matter any more. So no. I don’t have time to knock him out. I perform some rapid mental calculations, searching for the quickest, safest way out of the asteroid field. I hunt for the route that provides the highest probability of survival. Fifteen percent. Twelve percent. Thirty-nine percent. Twenty-seven percent. Fifty-one percent.

  There. Fifty-one percent? Better than a coin toss, by a hair’s breadth. I’ll take it. Spinning the raptor to the right, I point its nose down and I flip it, causing Col to screech again. “You’d better know what you’re doing,” he yells. “Because right now, it really feels like you don’t know what you’re doing!”

  I know exactly what I’m doing. The raptor rockets through the asteroid field, shaking with the effort of maneuvering so quickly at such high speeds. I allow myself a small smile as I jerk the craft to the left and then to the right, avoiding another two large asteroids, each a hundred feet across. I haven’t fully anticipated the roll of the one on the right, though. The gap between the two masses closes unexpectedly; I have to punch it to make it through on time.

  Col hollers, screwing his eyes shut. I can’t afford the luxury of closing mine and hoping for the best. I grit my teeth, willing the two asteroids to remain separated. Using my mind to pick up a person or a small object is one thing. The asteroids, thousands of tons of solid rock, are another entirely. A bead of sweat trickles down my forehead as I strain to maintain the gap. I manage it, barely, but the strain takes its toll. I’m panting as the raptor tears through the gap, barely a few feet on either side of its wingspan.

  And then…

  We’re clear.

  Free, open space. Stars stretching on and on, uninterrupted, for an eternity.

  The raptor ceases to rattle so violently, settling onto a smooth flight path. It takes a second or two for Col to realize we aren’t dead. When he does, he whoops, almost bouncing out of his chair, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Holy shit! Holy shit! I can’t believe…” He shakes his head, as if the action will somehow help him make sense of what just happened. “How? How did you do that?”

  I stare grimly straight ahead, my jaw still locked, my eyes fixed on the uncertain darkness ahead. “Better you ask how the stars keep burning,” I whisper. “Better you ask how the universe keeps expanding. The answers are easier to comprehend.”

  FOUR

  REZA

  BLACK MOON / PALE MOON

  I can’t sit still. The very cells that make up my body won’t stop vibrating, creating complete and utter chaos inside my body. I’ve always felt this uneasy discord within myself, never finding a true moment’s peace, but now with every passing second, it feels as if my body is revolting against me, trying to warn me. Urging me to run. The seers’ sub city is much like the rest of the settlements on Pirius: a network of underground tunnels and passageways that all twist and turn, interconnecting and diverging over many miles, protected from the persistent sand storms that buffer the planet’s surface. I’m one of only a few who choose to live above ground, taking my chances against the erratic, unpredictable weather patterns. My home has been swept away countless times, my lungs burnt from the hot desert particles that snake their way up my nose and down my throat every time I take a breath. I’d rather that than the feeling of being trapped and buried in the claustrophobic maze the seers and Commonwealth fighters have sought safety within for centuries, though. And when I have ventured down into the sub city, I’ve always made the people restless and uncomfortable. Living apart from them seemed like a kindness.

  Darius lumbers slowly through the passageway ahead of me, seemingly unfazed by the close quarters. He was born down here, and he’ll undoubtedly die down here, too. Every few feet, a small light flares in the dark, throwing off a dim circle of white light—enough to navigate by, but not enough to dispel the shadows that fester in every corner. The seers aren’t used to bright light, hence the mesh mask they wear whenever they come topside. Down here, Darius has removed his mask, revealing the series of spiny ridges that mark his high forehead. Beside his overly long fingers, and his dark, deep-set eyes, those ridges are the only things that mark him as non-human. Other Pirians have a shock of silvery hair, but for as long as I’ve known him Darius has kept his head closely shaved.

  “Your quarters are comfortable, Reza. Closer to the surface than most. I believe there’s a window that can be opened and closed when required. I’d ask you that you don’t try and leave the sub city through it, however. Danger’s approaching. You won’t be safe out there. It was seen a long time ago, before we lost our abilities.”

  I’ve never asked too many questions of Darius. Never asked how the seers’ visions of the future work. I only know that the glimpses of the future they normally catch are nearly always one hundred percent correct, with very little room for deviation. In fact, I believe a seer has only been wrong on a handful of occasions, and each time has been a major cause of unrest amongst their people. To find out that none of them have received any visions at all since I crashed here…well, it’s rather troubling.

  I lift my bag higher on my shoulder, swallowing down my discomfort. It feels like the walls are breathing down here, drawing closer. “I won’t try and leave. If what you’re saying is true and Jass Beylar is on his way to Pirius, I don’t want to be out there on my own.” I shudder at the mere thought of it. My last encounter with the man left me traumatized for weeks. Months, even. I still wake up at night, sweating, riddled with fear, feeling as though he was just looking inside my head. That he was just with me somehow.

  “The days ahead are uncertain,” Darius muses quietly. “Chancellor Pakka received many visions of this time before we lost our sight completely, but there are many who don’t trust in visions that are so old. The Construct will try and end us all. You are like a lens, Reza. A black, polished lens we can neither see through or around. You conceal the timeline of our future and shield it from us.”

  “Could it be that Jass isn’t coming here anymore, then?”

  Darius makes a repetitive clicking sound at the back of his throat. Odd. Erie. “Someone’s with him right now. We sent Col to retrieve him and guide him here, so we will meet him on our own terms. Plus, Chancellor Pakka can still see Jass. The merest suggestion of him. His life flickers in and out of view, distorted by your lens. It is like staring into deep water, child. When the water is calm, the bottom of the ocean floor may be seen. The sand. The creatures living within the water. But when the water is no longer calm, stirred up by a ferocious whirlpool, the sand clouds the water. The depths of the waters are lost to us, and nothing can be made out amongst the turmoil. There are troubled times approaching. Very troubled times indeed. The power that explodes forth into the universe when you and Jass Beylar meet in the same location, at the same time, could be catastrophic. For you. For him. For every living creature in this galaxy.”

  A wave of nausea twists in the pit of my stomach. I’ve felt like I’m in the middle of horr
ific waking dream ever since Darius told me I was to accompany him to the sub city, and that feeling is only growing worse by the second.

  “I don’t need to be able to read your mind to know what you’re thinking, child,” Darius says. “Any fool would be thinking the same, and you are no fool. You’re wondering why we would have our man bring Jass here, when we could choose to try and redirect the fate of the galaxy.” He pauses, humming softly under his breath, as if he’s reconsidering this entire course of action himself. Then he says, “It is not our place to try and redirect a stone once it has started rolling down a hill. Even in such dire situations as these. Terrible things can only come of it. And there is a chance…” He trails off. The swishing of his long robes against the bare dirt floor fills the narrow, tight corridor—the only sound to stem the silence, bar the hammer and thrum of my crazed heartbeat slamming in my own ears. My pulse must surely be loud enough for Darius to hear it, too. I try to tamp down the fear rising upward from my boots, but it’s impossible.

  “There is a chance of what?”

  He doesn’t reply for a second. And then a second longer. Then, “There’s a chance, always a chance, that the surge in power that arises from the strange connection between you and Jass could be used for good. To prevent the devastation that will spread across our system, and every other system, within the next hundred cycles. Jass Beylar is a black moon hovering over the horizon, Reza. You are a pale moon, stark and silver. There is a chance you will eclipse his shadow. There is a chance he will eclipse your light. We must see which one of you will rise.”

  FIVE