Tyche's Crown

by Richard Parry

  MAKE IT STOP!

  Blackness.

  • • •

  A cold cavern. Her head, a ring of agony. Cold, cold air.

  She was so thirsty. Red light touched everything, the slumped frame of a dead man across from her. She could feel something crawling on her head. Touching her. Invading her. She wanted to scream, but she had done that so much. She wanted this to end.

  She wanted the death she had chosen for herself, and this was not it.

  • • •

  When she awoke, it was to the sound of waves. She didn’t come awake lying down, shaking off the comforting down of sleep. Again, she was awake all at once, standing up, feet braced on the sand of a foreign shore. Behind her, a sea, jagged stones jutting out of foam. It was a violent ocean, currents promising a quick death smashed against rocks for any foolish enough to try for a swim.

  Up from the shore was a slope, more hill than mountain. She feared it, because she had a memory of—

  Bright, burning fire. Lava, reaching for her.

  —bad things that happened on hills, but she was sure that made no sense. She touched her face, feeling lips, and on opening them, teeth underneath. Her face wasn’t blistered or burned, and her hair was straight and fine as her fingers found it.

  She felt like she’d woken from a terrible nightmare.

  She felt like she was still asleep.

  Harlow stood next to her, hands on hips, no longer covered in ash. Although … had he ever been covered in ash? “You’ve passed the first, simplest test. You have still to become. What you were meant to be.”

  What is this test? she asked.

  “You must move the material world. Use your will to control it, or it will control you.” He pointed up the slope. Up the top, amidst the small rocks and scrub, centaur shapes gathered. The Ezeroc, a few at first, then many more. Drones, gathering above. Waiting.

  What are they waiting for?

  “They want you to become. What you were meant to be.” Harlow shrugged, a human motion made false by the jerky action of his body. She almost felt like she should check for strings attached to his limbs. He turned, and pointed out across the water. She could see an island out there, a small rock safe from the battering of the waves. “There. There are no Ezeroc on that stone. You’ll be safe there.”

  I can’t get there, she said. There is no boat. The sea is too dangerous.

  “Only foolish meat tries to swim when there are better ways,” said Harlow. “Take me with you. Then we won’t be eaten by our family.”

  She wasn’t sure whose family, as a general rule, ate each other, but she took the point. The Ezeroc above them had started descending the slope. She felt cold as the wind bit at her, her ship suit not doing enough to keep its teeth at bay. Which seemed odd, because her suit was designed for the hard black, where she belonged. With someone else. She had … wanted to be together. With him. Forever.

  He wasn’t here. Just Harlow, and hungry insects.

  How do I get across? She felt confused.

  “Use your power,” he said. “Part the waves.”

  She laughed, the sound of her voice causing her to stop. It was loud, and ugly, unlike the perfect beauty of the words she made with her mind. No one can do that. There is no one ever who has done that. She shrugged. You know this.

  “Moses did it,” said Harlow.

  Moses was a myth. A story told as an allegory. She frowned. The Intelligencers have never had the gift you speak of.

  “Where did the story come from? Humans have so many stories. So many truths. If you don’t make the story real, you will die. Our family has never had this gift. But humans had it, once.” He didn’t seem unhappy about the insects not having telekinesis. He didn’t seem anything. Not scared/run/fear, just the murmur of many voices, talking to each other. She picked up potential she potential and forged or broken and push harder push push and a hundred other things. So many Ezeroc Queens, all talking across the void, but one greater than the rest. Old, and ancient, and close. That one said, We have made her better. So she can become. What she is meant to be.

  What was she meant to be? What had they done to her?

  She felt the tremor of many bladed feet on the ground, and turned to the marching horde of the Ezeroc. Hungry for her flesh, to turn her body into fuel. To house their larvae in her body, in her brain—

  Her skull, opened like a gourd. Her brain, exposed to long, thin needle legs of a spider.

  She shivered, touching her head. It was whole, her hair and skull firm under her fingers.

  Harlow walked towards the waves, then looked back. “I’ll go first. If you don’t move the water, I’ll die. If you don’t follow, you’ll die.” He frowned, like there was something else he wanted to say but didn’t know how. “If you part the waves, you’ll be safe. They can’t part the waves, and will die as I’m about to.”

  She watched with dawning horror as Harlow walked into the water, surf breaking over his feet, then his legs, his own ship suit getting drenched. He went in up to his waist, the water tugging at him, unbalancing his frame. She wanted to pull him back out, but the drones were coming for them. She wanted to run towards him, but the waves would dash her life out against the rocks. She felt torn, like there was no good answer. Stop! she said, but Harlow didn’t turn.

  When the water reached his chest, it picked him up, dragging him around. His head went under. It broke above the waves for a moment before she saw him slammed against rocks, their sharp edges causing bone to splinter, breaking the skin. His eyes were wide, unseeing as the waves dragged him from view.

  She looked back at the Ezeroc horde coming for her. It was death by insect, or death by the sea. At least the sea would deprive them of what they wanted from her. She put a foot into the ocean, feeling the water lap around her boots. She took another step out, and then another, slugging her way through the tide.

  When it reached her hips, a wave broke against her, tossing her up and sideways. She went under, sucking a lungful of what she hoped would be air but turned out to be water. She tried to cough, her chest spasming with the fluid inside her, and felt a rock hit her shoulder as the current hurled her about.

  Her collarbone broke with a snap she could feel rather than hear, and she felt sick, and dazed, and confused. She was drowning, and she would die here.

  It was not the death she had chosen for herself. She was sure of it.

  The waves pulled her around, light and dark swirling around her. She wasn’t sure which way was up, which way was out. She wanted to feel light and air, and the touch of his hand against her skin one more time. A huge shadow ran at her, and she knew it was a rock coming for her head. She held out her good arm, warding off the blow, partially succeeding. She slammed against the rock, her arm taking the worst of it, the two bones in her forearm snapping like twigs, breaking the skin in a flash of white and red. The pain made her want to scream. She needed to push away, to stop hitting the rocks, but her arms were useless, broken things that the waves pulled around her, causing agony with each tug of the currents.

  The next rock she saw coming, her vision blurry under the water, but enough to see the looming shadow. She knew this was it, the end of the line.

  But his touch, just one more time.

  NO MORE.

  She reached out with the force of her need, and … held. She stopped her erratic motions, the waves still tearing at her. And because she was tired of that, she made the water back away. It fell around her as she pushed it back, and she was left in the middle of a shaft of air. She coughed and retched water onto the ground, her useless arms shaking around her. She looked up at the water, seeing the fury of the currents held at bay as water surged behind the wall of her will.

  There was an island out there, and safety. She walked towards it, the shaft of air following her movements. She climbed up the wet rocky hill leading up and above the surface of the waves. As she cleared it, she looked back at the line of Ezeroc on the shore. They were rearing back, cl
aws raking the sky. They were singing. A hundred thousand million Ezeroc voices, each a part of a greater whole, were singing in joy.

  At what she had become. At what she was meant to be.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  NATE TRAMPED DOWN the metal deck toward Engineering. His fingers itched to do something, metal and flesh alike. Hold a blaster, swing a sword, that kind of thing. There was some … housekeeping in order first.

  The airlock to Engineering was open, the rest of them there already. Hope was reclining on her acceleration couch, her holo lit and showing a schematic of the Tyche. Certain areas were marked with orange dots, one of those being Nate’s own cabin, which gave him some unease mixed with confirmation. The fuckers. The fucking fuckers. On her console rested a few metal devices, and Nate’s sword, the black blade sheathed. Next to the sword were five thin metal rings, about the diameter of a coffee cup.

  El was sitting atop a drive cowling, legs crossed, arms behind her. She looked tired, but not Hope-levels of tired. Just plain ol’ tired. Her ship suit was clean, seals intact, like he’d expect from anyone who’d sailed in the Navy. The odd component was the sidearm on her hip. She rarely wore it on the Tyche. But Nate figured, well, assholes have been everywhere, so maybe she needed a more robust security blanket.

  Kohl, now there was a sight to behold. He was standing tall and big, leaning against the reactor. Who’d have thought he’d be standing at all? He looked at Nate, nodded, and said, “Cap.”

  “Kohl.” Nate looked at El, then Hope. “Helm. Engineer.”

  “How come I don’t get a fancy title?” said Kohl.

  “Hired Gun?” suggested El. “Dial-an-Asshole?”

  “Lifter of Heavy Things,” said Hope.

  “Fuckers,” said Kohl, but without any kind of rancor. Just like it was a thing that needed saying. Almost in a friendly way, which Nate figured for the honest truth. He’d seen Kohl deck people with his fists for less. The crew was coming along … just fine. And just in time too, for what was to come.

  “Hope,” he said. “What did you find?”

  “As you figured, Cap,” she said, tossing small metal devices on to the deck, one after the other, each landing with a small plink. “What we’ve got here is seven standard listening devices. By ‘standard’ I mean tech you have not seen in your life. Small, lean, mean, and military.”

  “They bugged us,” said Nate.

  “Sure did. You’re wondering what good a bug is without an Endless Drive.”

  “Thought had crossed my mind,” agreed Nate.

  Hope curled out of her couch, leaning under her console, and dragged out a metal rectangle about the size of a cat. “Found this in the reactor.”

  “In?” said Kohl, taking an uneasy glance behind him.

  “Easy, big guy,” she said. “I’m just messing with you. I found it on the hull.”

  “That’s a relief,” said Kohl.

  “If it was in the reactor we’d all die if it launched,” said Hope, as if that explained everything.

  “What, specifically, is that?” said El. “What’s it going to launch?”

  “This is the universe’s smallest Endless Drive,” said Hope. She gave a bright smile. “I’ll take it apart to see how it works. Shouldn’t be possible to make a negative space field with something this small, on account of the energy needed, but they did it. It’s giving off a signature that says, ‘Hey, pull my string and I’ll head on home.’”

  “Figures,” said Nate.

  “How does it figure?” said Kohl, eyes narrowing.

  “Let’s bring you up to speed,” said Nate. “You were sleeping for most of the hard work.”

  “I need my beauty sleep, it’s true.” Kohl shifted from foot to foot. “Still can’t believe my legs work.”

  Nate paced in the confines of Engineering, realized he’d run out of room ten paces in any direction, and stopped. “The whole you-are-the-new-Emperor thing? Might be true. Could be true.”

  “It’s true,” said Hope. “I got their files.”

  “Fuck,” said Nate. “Let’s worry about that later. Anyway. Best guess? They wanted me under lock and key, but if I escaped—”

  “On account of your brilliant crew,” said El.

  “Your smart crew,” said Hope.

  “Your good-looking crew,” rumbled Kohl.

  “Let’s not get carried away,” said Nate. “If I escaped, they wanted to know where their prize bull went. So they bugged the ship.”

  “And you expected that?” said Kohl.

  “I expected it,” said El. “Cap’s just a bit too trusting.”

  “I found the listening devices,” said Hope, nudging the smaller metal devices on the floor next to the box. “I’ve turned ‘em off. And the Endless Drive in this thing, too. Nothing’s working.”

  “Great,” said Nate. “Now, about that other project I gave you.”

  She brushed a strand of pink hair out of her eyes. “Which one? The Kohl-might-die one, or the don’t-break-my-sword one?”

  “Sword,” said Nate. “Kohl’s here.”

  “Right. Right. Sorry.” Hope hefted Nate’s sword. “It’s cool, you know? It generates a … let’s call it an inversion wave based on electroencephalography—”

  “What?” said El.

  “Brainwaves,” said Hope. “It takes brainwaves. EEG.”

  “What does that mean?” said Kohl.

  Hope eyed the big man. “Different things for different people.” Then she offered a smile to him, and Kohl chuckled. “Anyway. It’s powered by the body’s electrical field. It’s why you need to hold it with your skin for it to work best. It’ll pick up your EEG and create an inversion field. No one can read your brain activity.”

  “I use it to cut things,” said Nate.

  “And it’s good at that too,” she said. “But the big point here is that it’ll stop anyone reading your mind. And the cool thing? If someone tries to influence your brainwaves?” She eyed Kohl. “Such as they are? Well, it’s able to detect the internal brainwaves, versus the external influence, and generate an inversion field for that too.”

  “Stops people reading your mind,” said El. “Stops people changing your mind.”

  “That’s what I said,” said Hope. “And if an Intelligencer used it? It wouldn’t do anything to stop their powers, because those are internally generated brainwaves. I think. It is a gift fit for a prince.”

  “Yeah,” said Nate, feeling uncomfortable. “Let’s pretend the you-are-the-Emperor thing didn’t happen for now. Did you do what I asked?”

  “Make more swords?” said Hope. “No. I can’t do that here.”

  Nate’s gut fell. “We’re screwed.”

  “No,” said Hope. “I can’t make swords because this metal is difficult to fab. The electronics inside are easy enough. Would have been hard to engineer … reverse engineering was just a copy and paste. Still. I hate using other people’s code.” She picked up one of the metal rings, tossing it to El, then snared another and threw it to Kohl.

  “What’s this?” said Kohl. “Looks like jewelry.”

  “It is,” said Hope.

  “I ain’t wearing no bracelet,” said Kohl.

  “It’ll stop the insects from invading your mind,” said El.

  Kohl slipped the bracelet over his wrist, an internal mechanism tightening it. “No problem. Nice bracelet. I’ll wear it forever.”

  Hope put on her own bracelet, then threw one of the two remaining ones to Nate. He put it on, eyeing up the remaining bracelet. “For Grace?”

  “Yes,” said Hope. “Because she’s coming back. We’ll not lose her like we lost … we’re not going to lose anyone else.”

  “Too fucken right,” said Kohl. “Let’s go punch something.”

  “That’s the plan,” said Nate. “Helm, prepare the ship for jump. We’re going in hot. There’ll be another station, maybe some defenses. Kohl, I want you suited up and ready to board.” Nate took his sword from Hope. “Someone w
ill pay for taking our Grace.”

  • • •

  There was relative silence on the flight deck. Sure, sure, there was the thrumming of the Tyche, the respiration of the air cyclers, the almost subliminal hum of the ship they could feel through the decking. But as for human speech? None of that going on.

  Nate figured it was because they were surprised. They in this instance was El, in her acceleration couch across from him, but also Kohl behind them, leaning in through the hatch. There was no in-ship comm chatter, Hope back in Engineering, was also struck dumb with nothing to say.

  Outside the Tyche, a thousand dead ships floated around a brown-gray world. They had jumped in, PDCs hot, the ship’s energy weapons primed and ready to go, and found a lot of things to shoot at but no particular action going on. Nate had visions in his head about white-knighting the Tyche in to drag Grace out from some situation similar to Station Echo 9. Maybe a little gunplay, the idea of which had Kohl excited. Nestle the Tyche up against an enemy airlock, and board whatever vessel was holding their crew like pirates of old.

  Instead: this. A thousand dead ships, around a world that also looked very dead.

  “Well, shit,” said El.

  “Fucken A,” said Kohl.

  The comm chirped. “This is unexpected,” said Hope. “I’m getting a lot of transponder codes. A lot. Like a whole bunch. Thousands. Those ships are … still alive. Kinda. I mean, they’re dead, but they’re alive.”

  “What they are is fucked,” said El.

  Nate tried to think of something clever and captain-y to say, but all he managed was, “The shuttle.”

  “You what?” said El. “Oh, right. The shuttle. Well.” She spread an arm out, as if encompassing all they surveyed. “She’s out there somewhere. This is where the trail ends, Nate. Our girl is out there, but it’s a … needle in a haystack.”