Cassiel Winters 1: Sky's End

by Lesley Young

  “What?”

  They all looked at me in turn after reading the news, as though I’d had something to do with it.

  “Is it the test? What?”

  I didn’t care much, but on principle, I tried another strategy. “You said things would be different. How do you ever expect me to be a proper member of your, our, Horde, when you don’t include me?”

  Or’ic glared at me intensely. Well, technically, I couldn’t exactly meet his gaze after last night, but I could feel those eyes watching me.

  “Very well. Since you claim to be one of us, this news would mean nothing to you. ESE has broken through our holds around the sift on Taxata and set up its own perimeter.”

  WHAT?

  Of course I didn’t even try to hide my elation.

  “I told you!” I shouted. “Alms. We’ll never be your lesser. So, what, are we working together now?” My hope was building acceleration . . . surely they could rescue me or barter for me or something now I thought.

  “No! Thell’eons fight alone,” said Or’ic angrily. “And your people have no sift anyway. If they don’t understand this, they soon would.” He stood up, cutting off my next comment with an icy stare.

  “You have shown where your true loyalty resides. Do not pretend otherwise again.”

  “I would punish her,” said Kell’an, addressing Or’ic.

  I’m going to hurt Kell’an someday, real good.

  “No. She would choose her fate. And she would choose right. In time,” said Or’ic, meeting my eyes with earnestness reminiscent of last night . . . blocking!

  He gestured for silence when Pers’eus began to speak, and, frustrated, I spun around so he couldn’t see my blush but I’m seriously over the moon with excitement over the news.

  All is not lost! ESE can hold its own! I just need to get to Taxata now and to my people. They must know of Aeons now, surely, and the danger?

  Hope’s a slippery thing.

  Focus on the now, Cassiel.

  The test!

  The crowd’s quite worked up today, probably because the sift’s competing. Pers’eus told me this morning that most pledges are against me. But he got a smile out of me when he added that he was one of the few who pledged his entire reputation on me.

  Nerves are gurgling up now, which is normal for me. Think about how much you love flying. I do it for me. No one else. There, nerves gone.

  Today, my ability to gain momentum rapidly, stop quickly, and steer incredibly well are my strengths. Basically I’m nimble. These macho goons move with a fraction of my speed, having opted for ships that clearly represent the size of their egos.

  “You will perform satisfactory,” murmurs Or’ic into my ear, having crept up close behind me.

  “Is that supposed to be a pep talk?” I ask snidely, staring straight ahead.

  “Piloting is the one area you do not need confidence.”

  How dare he compliment me and put me down at the same time! A pretty mixed bag of sharp-edged emotions boggle my mind. “Get away from me.”

  “I distract you,” he adds, leaning closer instead of backing up.

  Is he gloating? Unbelievable. I flash back to last night, him pressed up behind me and the back of my neck tingles where he kissed and licked my sensitive flesh. I step forward out of his body heat.

  Thankfully my name’s announced, and before they finish “Winters” I stride out and away from Or’ic. The crowd’s reaction is a pleasant greeting. Why does this surprise me? They wouldn’t boo a sifter. Still, they don’t cheer like they did for their favorites, Kir Nymenes and Kir Cherie, two of my biggest threats. I pissed off Cherie when we were introduced this morning and I pointed out he had a human girl’s name. Well, he’s from Prime Aardon’s Horde.

  Blocking out the crowd’s relentless attention, I review my game plan, which I recently changed, without discussing it with my Kirs. If I know Thell’eons, the strongest competitors will go neck and neck right away, and leave the weaker ones to knock each other out. And that’s why my initial strategy was to lag. To look really weak.

  But this morning I got to thinking how I may be underestimating them (my reluctance to admit this to Or’ic, or talk to him, is why I skipped filling him in). Frankly, even if I blow away the lesser competitors, leaving the hardest till last could be a huge mistake. By then, I’ll have given away all my maneuvers and they’ll probably be closer to the finish. That’s why I’m opting for the opposite approach. This will mean I give away how good I am right away, but using the element of surprise, I’ll take out the three, maybe more, biggest threats. After that, I just need to fly like light. None of them will ever be able to catch me.

  When everyone’s finally announced, there must be 50 or more, I climb into my Kittra and feel her out. I jump in place, moving left to right. A voice comes over the system, “Sifter Winters. You would remain still.”

  “Oh sure. Sorry.”

  We are lined up in a ‘U’ formation and I focus on my main targets using what I assume is similar to earth’s Gaz-based radar technology. This ship’s metatabulous, especially its image enhancement and proximity sensing. I can pick up on a nearby pilot farting.

  Imagine if I could get this ship back to Earth! I smack both my cheeks lightly to make sure I’m alert. I love this feeling of supreme being I get just before racing.

  The Bon’mi will begin with a short beep and I wait for it, back rigid, otherwise relaxed, on the edge of my seat. My hands grip the handhold, more for looks than effect. I steer with my mind. I shoot with my mind. I check my laser supply and sighting tool. I aim it at my first target. Come on. Come on.

  Before the beep even finishes, I launch out of my position. I dart up, down, around, all the while spinning out of control, essentially blocking the exit. All that the audience and other pilots perceive is a frenzied blur but I’m actually in total control. It’s called Winters’ Kamikaze, a move that Daz invented and I perfected. My death spin, erratically at top speed, is working. Almost all of the competitors remain stationed where they are, confused, and probably assuming something’s wrong with my Kittra. I bet the crowd’s shitting bricks. They’ve never been so close to a potential disaster. I line up my sight and between three rapid, calculated jerks and rotations, aim, fire, aim, fire, aim, fire, and jet out of the gate. One of them has caught on but a second too late. I sense fire just missing my tail.

  I get to enjoy the sensation of extreme propulsion without 100% dampeners about a split second—magnificent—before I pick up on the strobing flash of a pulsar, straight ahead, about the same split second too late.

  The impact’s incredible. I may as well have been in a head-on collision, I think, spinning wildly out of control. I panic slightly, until I check myself.

  Panic will not help you get control of the ship.

  I find my center, and begin the arduous task of gaining control of the spinning by mentally slowing it down.

  Assholes! Placed a pulsar right in the course entrance.

  Should have anticipated that, Cassiel.

  Once I’m certain the ship is back under my control, I check the radar and confirm what I already know has happened: I’ve been thrown light years off course.

  Well, turn around!

  I focus intently on fighting the momentum and after an eternity of mind-bending concentration against intense pressure, something akin to trying run in one of those deep Thell’eon pools, I manage to turn around. Okay. Now I just need to catch back up with the pack. My eyeballs feel like they are throwing back into my head as I start to build momentum.

  Uh-oh, Obstacle No. 2 oncoming. The good news, other ships were caught in the pulsar. The bad news, they’re coming straight for me. It’s going to be popcorn out here.

  Oh well. No choice. Others might pull back, or take a wide loop but I
can’t afford the time. In fact, I’m not even sure that at top speed I can catch up with the leaders now.

  Steady on the acceleration. Whoa! I veer slightly right. Just missed that spinner!

  The oncoming ships are careening wildly out of control. You could say I’m taking an uncalculated risk because there’s no way to predict just how these ships will spin at any moment. But sometimes in flying you just have to trust in your own skills.

  Then again . . . screw this!

  I begin lining up my sights as much as possible while juggling my proximity sensors. I fire on as many as I can even though they’re virtually defenseless. Accomplishing this is like rubbing your head, patting your tummy, repeating a tongue twister, and facing a crash all at the same time. I wonder if the Order attenuated the ships for that possibility—crashing. Oh, and add time-perception distortion. I quickly realize that the neural interface doesn’t compensate fully for the time change of this top speed travel. It means I need to delay my firing by about One Kiss My Ass.

  By the time I get through the mess, sweating profusely and fairly worn out, I tally 20 ships out. Not bad. Only two have managed to turn around but they’ll never catch up.

  I should feel bad for firing on helpless contenders but after spending two days watching these warriors, they wouldn’t think that’s dirty at all. It’s a new game out here, with new rules.

  I keep up my momentum, focused on catching up with the dozen or more ships that passed the pulsar safely and are already halfway to finish.

  Frankly, my chances aren’t good. I could finish now at this ranking, 14th or so, and not damage our Horde’s overall ranking. But, I don’t want to.

  Why is that? Why do I care what these Thell’eons think? I don’t have something to prove. But, I represent my species. Plus, I’m embarrassed about missing that pulsar. If I hadn’t been so cocky out of the gate, I would have easily gotten around it.

  On my sensors, I watch four break off into what looks like a skirmish. Hopefully they will take each other out. Nearby’s a solar system.

  All at once I have a real chance to get back with the pack. There’s no decision to act. I just do.

  I loop around. I plan to use a magnetic field to deflect me right into the main pack. This is an illegal maneuver in ESE and one of the first moves I ever tried when Daz let me fly on my own, so he would never doubt me. It didn’t work out the way I’d hope, and he’d banned me from flying another year. Done right, it works like an old-fashioned extreme catapult. Done wrong, you’re sucked into a course you can’t change that might pop you directly into a moon or a planet’s atmosphere where you’ll vaporize instantly.

  I can just imagine my Kirs’ confusion at this moment, watching me veer off-course toward the solar system.

  I accelerate, digging deep. The entire ship’s vibrating and for a second I wonder if it is meant to fly this fast. Then I block that out. The key’s believing anything’s possible. I’ve never felt this kind of tangible physical exertion on my brain. I’m literally flexing brain cells.

  I head straight for the center of force between the magnetic currents that I just calculated would throw me in the right direction. I take a deep breath just as I touch the current’s ‘equator’ and experience weightlessness. Yes! That means I hit the right spot. Now I just need to make sure the math was right.

  I check my sensors but they’ve blanked out. What the fuck?

  Okay. Don’t panic. You’re just going too fast. The ship can’t read the situation quick enough.

  Uh, yeah, but at any moment you’re going to land right in the pack at top speed with no visibility! That is, if this ship doesn’t blow to pieces first. I only hope my sensors comes on as soon as arrive.

  Here. I. Come. I grit my teeth.

  The force of breaking deflection is like nothing I’ve felt yet. I no longer have a neck. And, yup, bit my tongue. Actually, I think I bit a piece right off. I spit the jagged piece of flesh out and gag on a flood of blood.

  Sensors.

  I’m in a slight state of shock. But if I know that, how bad can it be? I sense someone firing on me, I mean they probably are, I would, but still no sensors.

  Fuck.

  I switch to The Stitch. Numbly, I make rapid up-and-down movements with flips at each peak that force other ships to move out of the way, at least if they aren’t quick enough to lock on with their firing.

  Sensors pop back on. Thank the stars!

  Holy shit. The eight or so remaining pilots are teaming together to mimic my pattern. That’s hardly fair! As soon as they synchronize with me, they will be able to fire on me. Wait, no, this is actually a good thing!

  Just before they attain perfect alignment, mid-stitch, I dart directly back until I am just behind them. Ka-pow! The two ships end up firing on each other. I do this another two times, before the remaining two ships cotton on and break out of the pattern.

  We three remaining competitors race to the finish. Now that I could actually win this thing, I focus fully on the task. We are flying side-by-side, none of us interested in being disqualified by being fired on at this point. Frankly, I’m not sure I can stop in time in the docking bay at this speed, but the only way to know for sure is to find out, right?

  The ship to my left pulls back.

  Oh, hell, I better slow down too. Second place would be just fine.

  I make to do that just outside the docking bay when I sense the bastard on my right moving closer to me. Either he plans to hit me, risking killing thousands of innocent Thell’eons when I careen into the side of the docking bay stadium, or the more likely possibility, he’s lost control of his ship at this speed.

  Idiot!

  I sense he’s trying to stop, so I do the only thing I can do, speed up.

  I pop ahead and out of crashing vicinity with energy I didn’t think I had, and then switch modes entirely thinking fired on with my mind. My hope’s that I trick the controls into thinking I was being fired upon and stop in time. It all happens so fast, and my eyes are squeezed shut—maybe for the first time in my flying career ever that it takes me a full heartbeat to realize I’m stopped.

  I pop up, on shaky legs, and open the hatch, fearing the worst.

  Dead body parts. Carnage.

  Instead, I emerge to a deep, unified inhalation. No blood. No death. Just paralysis. The crowd’s frozen, panic marring everyone’s features. Of course, with the slight time difference, I’m seeing their reaction in real-time, a second or two behind the events. And they clearly don’t believe I’ll stop in time.

  I glance over at my Kirs waiting on the side. They, too, are preparing for the worst. Oh, nice. A little faith, please.

  A beat later, the crowds begin screaming in real horror, but that only lasts a second, as time synchronizes and they realize I did stop in time. It ends up sounding like a short, symphonic yelp. My rival, who turns out to be Cherie (must have missed him at the start of the race), is flipped upside-down, but otherwise, in one piece. The crowd’s silent, probably uncertain as to how to feel. I would be angry at the pilots for scaring me. I brace for mayhem, booing, and wish my Kirs would get over to me, like now. I think they might be mad but, no, their heads are held high. They look . . . smug. Only Or’ic seems tormented. Nothing new there.

  I swallow another mouthful of blood and gag. Gee, blood’s everywhere. The ground moves beneath my feet and I struggle to stand up straight.

  The Order voice comes on, and before I make out anything, I prepare to protest my innocence over breaking any rules. But they simply announce me as the winner and Kir Three Cherie as second place. Everyone else receives a ‘disqualified,’ something that has never happened in the history of the Candidacies before.

  Wow. That’s cool, I think, delirious, just as the audience begins cheering. Yup, I’m going down, but Or’ic and Kell’an reach
my side in time, and hold me up with their bodies, trying not to be too obvious.

  That’s the first time I’ve seen Kell’an smile fully and I try to smile back, but the blood’s making me sick. My tongue has swollen to the size of an orange. He grabs my arm and pumps it with his, shouting something loudly. The crowd responds in kind.

  This is most enthusiastic I’ve seen the women!

  As my Kirs usher me back behind the partition, I watch a few of the other competitors I knocked out arrive back in the docking bay as we leave. The crowd responds kindly to their return. Maybe they don’t believe in booing.

  The one I actually see emerge from his vessel glares at me with rage you could weaponize. Hey, may the best human win, sucker!

  Just as we get behind the partition, I think, I’m going to sit down on the floor for a few minutes, when Or’ic scoops me up into his arms and carries me. I assume we’re going back to our space, where I hope he’ll sneak me some medical aid. I look up at him and experience an oozy spillage of shared triumph.

  “I won,” I say quietly to him, but I’m not sure anything coherent comes out since my tongue is no longer functional.

  He smiles down at me with dismay. Where have I seen that expression before? Then he focuses ahead, looking as cocksure as ever.

  I hear my Kirs bragging to each other as we walk, and soon other Hordes are lining the halls stomping their feet, eyeing me with admiration and Or’ic with envy. This occurs all the way back to our space.

  Looks like you just established that ‘worth’ you were seeking. Wait to go, Cassiel. Real good.

  Chapter 27

  “Hurry up, Kell’an,” I hear Onegin say. I’m pretending to still be asleep. After I received medical attention (my tongue is no longer painful and, I’m assured, will be fully repaired with future treatments), I had a nap, well, zonked out is more like it.