So, hitting adulthood in a provincial orphanage without a fancy education, you’ve got a few choices: the temple, mining, or farm labor. Now, you might notice that I don’t exactly have the disposition to be guiding the faithful. I’ve seen enough old miners with the cough to know to stay the hell away from that kind of work, and I’m not good with plants. So, I said no to all that and enlisted. It’s fine, I guess. It could be crummier. I could be fighting Kraits, and having seen those up close, I’d rather not. The front lines are not for me. Besides, somebody’s got to keep the fliers working. Ships. Whatever. If you’re laughing, I can’t hear you, so I don’t care.
I thought with everybody here being from somewhere else, there’d be more . . . I dunno. Bonding. Camaraderie. And I guess there is—it just doesn’t include me. I don’t get why. I know I’m not the easiest person to get along with, but I mean, we’re dying out here. We’re all going to be dead in a decade or less. The Kraits are . . . they’re too much. They’re too big. Have you seen them?
Not on the news, I mean. I remember the day they came down out of the sky, swimming through the air like it was water. Every one of them bigger than the ship I’m in now. They don’t need ships. Atmospheric entry, vacuum of space, no problem, no problem. They’ve got armored skin and poison spit, and those big mouths that unhinge wide enough to swallow a building. And once they get started, buddy, they don’t quit. I remember our militia firing at them from the turrets. All those hours spent digging ore for the energy cannons, and they didn’t take down a single one. Just singed their scales a bit.
How do you fight something like that? You can’t, is the answer. We’re losing. The captain, she talks a lot of big talk about bravery and victory, but she knows we’re not getting out of this one. Everybody knows it. You’d think that’d make people care a little less about where you’re from or how much money your mommy and daddy had, but that’s people, I guess. Assholes to the last.
Wow, I am whining something fierce.
This was a dumb idea.
Log 16, 23/20/5296, 22:06
Man, I am done. I busted my ass today to help get the deck inspection ready—like double time, y’know? Really, really tried. I thought, okay, I can’t make friends here, but at least maybe I can stop being the dog everybody blames every screw-up on. Maybe if I work really hard, they’ll think I’m all right. But all Chief Mayweather said was “Not bad.” Twelve hours of work, and all I get is Not bad. Thanks a whole flaming lot, sir.
I know, I’m being childish. And I know guys like him have bigger things to worry about. Kraits wrecked the outpost on Solace last week, and everybody’s been twitchy over it. Plus, all the higher-ups have their knickers in a twist because there’s an Augur coming aboard tomorrow.
Sorry, not an Augur—the Augur. Big ol’ to-do. I mean, I admit, it’s kind of exciting. I’ve only seen an Augur once, and I’m pretty sure he was a fake. He had these thick dark glasses covering his eyes, so you couldn’t tell if he was actually sunblind, and he told Kat Eastwing that she’d have three children with a handsome dark-haired man, which was bullshit, because she married some magistrate’s daughter. But this Augur—the Augur—she’s the real deal. The highest of the high. And get this: they’re looking for the last descendant of Talia Achaeis.
Seriously! That is how desperate we’ve gotten. Talia Achaeis. And it gets better: Chief said the Augurs found the Nova Blade, and they’re looking for the person who can wield it. I didn’t mean to, but I snorted when he said that. Chief was pissed, but come on. The Nova Blade? Right. Let’s go looking for sugar comets next, as long as we’re chasing after kid stuff.
But then somebody said everybody thought the Kraits were a fairy tale too, until they came back, and I mean . . . I guess that’s fair. Who knows. The Augurs are serious about it, anyway. Word is they had some kind of vision or something. That’s why their boss is coming here. I’m fuzzy on the details, and I don’t care, honestly. If it’s for real, and there’s someone who can end this shitty war, then hooray. I want to be done.
Can you imagine making yourself sunblind, though? Just . . . stare into the bright center until your eyes burn over and your mind opens up? Eeesh. No thanks. Basic training was bad enough.
You should see the officers preening themselves. It’s hilarious. They’re all convinced it’s them, you know? That’s the only reason you sign up to be an officer, so you can be a big obnoxious hero. We get one announcement about this corny chosen-one fluff, and suddenly everyone with an academy stripe is seriously interested in the Thrice-Sung Texts. The priests must be stoked.
Ensign Cappelon would be an okay pick. He apologizes if his ship’s banged up, and he’s got a nice face. I hope it’s not Talmond. She’s a grade-A snob already. She never throws up in her cockpit, though, at least not that I’ve seen.
By the way, I’m still pissed at you about that, buddy. Don’t think for a second I’m not.
Anyway, the Augur’s going to go through the entire crew to figure out whose vibes are the spookiest, or whatever. I have no idea how—shit. I forgot to take my dress uniform down to the laundry. Ah, dammit.
Log 17, 23/21/5296, 21:26
It’s me. The Augur picked me.
Sorry. I—sorry.
Log 18, 23/21/5296, 22:14
Sorry, I hate people seeing me cry. I know I’m being stupid. I’m just really scared and nothing makes sense.
The Augur—who is about a million years old, from the look of her—had everybody hold this rock with all these carvings on it. Some genetic energy weirdness, I don’t know. She’d put the rock in somebody’s hands, watch them for a second, then do it again with someone else. I can’t begin to describe how boring it was. And we’re standing rank and file, so my feet were killing me. Anyway, she gets to me, and—sorry. Sorry, this is . . . it’s a lot.
I touched the rock, and it started glowing.
The rock started glowing, and now I’m leaving tomorrow. Just like that, just pack up and go. They’re taking me to the temple on Alumen, and—none of this makes sense. I don’t get it.
Shit.
I wish I could talk to my mom.
Log 24, 24/3/5296, 20:43
Nobody here likes me. At least that part hasn’t changed.
Oh, nobody’s been a dick to me or anything. Everybody bows when I walk by. That’s weird. I’ve got a room here that’s about half the size my parents’ house was. That’s weird too. But I know the priests don’t like me. I’m not an officer, or from the royal family, or anything that makes sense. I know how they see me. I’m a smartass, lowborn hick who barely knows which end of a plasma sword to hold. I grew up in a mining town, for gods’ sake. Back on the carrier, they let me know I didn’t belong. They told me to my face. The people here don’t think I belong either. They think I’m a lowborn hick too, but they won’t say it. It’s all smothered behind bows and tight smiles. I liked it better when people were honest.
Are you still here? I know my logs are tied to my ID chip, but does my babysitter come along for the ride? Or have I been assigned to someone else? Are you allowed to spy on the savior of the universe?
There’s also the possibility that I’m wrong about you existing, and I’m just talking to myself. Go me.
I guess you could be a program, too. Some kind of intelligent algorithm or something. Maybe you forward my logs along if you detect words like “get high” and “chapel.” Hmm? Did I just set off a red flag somewhere?
Well, assuming there is someone here, and assuming it’s the same rat who’s been spying on me all along, you already know what’s up. If you’re somebody else, my life is now all over the news. I’m sure you can figure it out.
Log 32, 24/28/5296, 17:06
Okay, hypothetical situation: Say there’s some kind of overwhelming outside force that’s going to destroy life as we know it. Maybe, oh, I don’t know, massive interdimensional creatures that find our universe’s bioenergy pretty tasty. For example. I’m just spitballing here.
The
only way to stop these things for good is to kill their queen, which is really tricky and hard to do, and involves a lot of mystic bullshit that makes no sense if you say it out loud. Which of these do you think is your best option: Pour all your resources into a single weapon that hones the super special life force of one individual—and, by extension, the descendant who resembles them most closely—into something powerful enough to kill the boss monster? Or would you make something that anyone can pick up, in case the monsters come back?
This is not a hard question.
The Nova Blade was the dumbest idea ever, and I don’t care if that’s blasphemy. Go ahead, tell on me. I’m the gods-damned chosen one; put that in your report.
Yes, I get that it’s cool to have a weapon only your very best hero can use, but it’s wildly impractical. Irresponsible. How many colonies have been lost since the Kraits came back, all because nobody could pick this thing up? This thing everybody forgot about? Not to mention you can’t pick your descendants. Sometimes, your descendants are total fuck-ups.
Case in point.
There are legions of good, tough officers who would love to be in my shoes right now, and I would happily hand this over. I don’t want this. I don’t like fighting. Why do you think I opted for deck work? I don’t like pain, I don’t like being scared, and I don’t like hurting people. And I also don’t like the training gauntlet the priests put me through every day. Sister Mora is a force of nature, and she is wrecking me. I pulled a calf muscle, something’s pinched in my back, and my arms are so sore, I can’t bring food to my face without shaking.
I suck, by the way. I am not good at this. And Brother Stratos, who’s in charge of getting me all spiritually attuned, or whatever? Yeah, he hates my guts. He’s like a perpetually disappointed father.
I’m going to fail, and they know it. Before, when there was no chance of pushing the Kraits back, it sucked, but you got used to it, y’know? Just like, okay, this is how we end. Might as well make them work for it. But now, there’s a chance of us surviving, and that chance is me, and I’m going to screw it up. That’s even worse.
Oh, and I think the scruffy guy in the armory has a crush on me. I do not have the time for this.
Log 40, 1/21/5297, 16:52
I’m getting better. A little, anyway. I didn’t fall on my ass during practice today, so that’s something. And I’ve got tiny baby arm muscles! Wanna see, buddy?
Ooh, yeah. Check out those fearsome nubs.
The Augur took me on a walk through the moss caves today, wanted to know how I was doing. She watches me train a lot but doesn’t talk to me much. I don’t think she talks to anybody much. She’s nice to me when she does, though. Honest nice. I think she gets it. Gets me, maybe.
She is weird as weird gets—says cryptic shit, drifts off in the middle of sentences, stares right at you even though her eyes don’t work—but everybody treats her like some kind of walking god. She’s just a person, up close. She’s got gnarly hands and a bald spot and hair coming out of her nose. She has to brush her teeth and wash her butt like everybody else. I asked her today if she ever wakes up and doesn’t want to be the Augur. She laughed a lot at that. Just laughed and laughed, and squeezed my hand. She didn’t say anything, but she nodded. She gets it.
She told me I was doing well. No fluffy stuff around it. “You’re doing well” is all she said. I can’t explain it, buddy, but that made me feel better about this than anything anybody else has said.
Log 56, 2/17/5297, 09:43
I’m sure you know this already, but the Kraits hit Alumen. It’s gone. The temple, the moss caves, the huge statues of the All-Sights in the cove. Just as dead and dusted as everywhere else.
Didn’t have much warning. There’s never much warning. Hard to track something that doesn’t live in the same universe as you.
I hadn’t seen one of them up close since . . . y’know—my family. I’ve never forgotten it. I think of the ones I saw as a kid every day. But I had forgotten some things, somehow. Like how big and endless they are. I thought my nightmares were bad, but those things are so much worse when they’re right in front of you.
Anyway.
I piloted one of the escape shuttles out and everybody’s making a big fuss over it. I don’t get why. Anybody who’s military knows how to fly a shuttle, in case of shit like this. I didn’t do anything special. I just flew around picking people up and didn’t die in the process. But everybody’s making out like I’m some kind of hero.
I really don’t understand these people.
Armory guy was in the last group I grabbed. He pulled this little girl—one of the initiates—aboard right as we were taking off, even though he had a broken arm. Never heard anybody yell like that. It must’ve hurt like hell.
Sister Mora is saying the attack was intentional. Must’ve been a Krait acolyte playing double agent. Maybe set up some kind of homing beacon.
So—intentional, because I was there, is what she’s saying. It happened because I was there.
You probably know this already, too, but the Augur’s dead.
Log 62, 2/30/5297, 22:11
Brother Stratos caught me smoking in the shuttle bay today. I was supposed to be training, so I thought he was going to go ballistic. But he didn’t get mad, which was new. He brought me into a comms room, sat me down in front of the viewer. He brings up this massive locked archive of messages. I’m like, “What’s this?” and he’s like, “Letters. For you.”
You’ve gotta picture this, buddy. There were hundreds of them.
Brother Stratos says he didn’t let them get delivered to me before, because he didn’t want to distract me from training. Didn’t want my head to get big and think I was hot shit.
He opens one, and . . . oof. Okay. It’s this woman. She’s pregnant. Hugely pregnant. And she’s sitting there, with her hand on her belly, and I swear you can see this outline of a tiny foot sticking through her shirt. Anyway, she tells me how unhappy she was when she found out she was knocked up, because she knew her baby wouldn’t have a future. But because of me, she’s . . . y’know. Got hope, or whatever.
Good hunting, she said. Kick some ass.
Every message was like that. I watched all of them. It took the whole afternoon.
I go back out, and I find Brother Stratos, and I say, “Why now? Why show me this now?” And he says, “Because you need to understand why you have to get up and keep going.”
Yesterday, I would’ve thought that was some corny bullshit, and also I’m pretty sure it’s a crime to keep somebody’s mail from them. But I had a weird thought when I was watching those letters. Back on Ridgetop, my best friend, Suli . . . This one time, she and I snuck out to go to the vids, and they were showing Ballad of the Void Knights. We were too young for it, but we knew they never lock the back exit, so we slipped in when the intro music started. After it was over, Suli and me, we were on fire. It was the best gods-damned thing we’d ever seen. We were completely obsessed. We snuck in to see it again and again. A dozen times over, probably. We talked about it constantly. We started calling each other Lady Carmine and Lady Onyx. I felt like that story understood me, like it knew exactly what I was about.
Thing is, Ballad of the Void Knights is kind of shit. I saw it again a couple years ago. It’s not a good vid. It’s cheap and silly, and you can see the pixel borders around the monsters. But I tell you what, it had something I needed when I was twelve, and damn if that something didn’t light right back on fire the minute the opening music started. I saw what I needed to see in that vid. And I guess maybe the same is true about how people are acting toward me. I’m cheap. I’m silly. I’m a hot, flaming mess. But people are seeing what they need, and I guess they’re seeing it in me. Or, more likely, they’re projecting it onto me. Two sides of the same coin.
So, okay. Okay. I’ll do this. I’ll do my best.
Log 81, 4/6/5297, 23:58
I’m not going to make it back. I know that. And knowing that has made me think about a
lot of things, so bear with me here, buddy. I’m all over the place today.
I feel like this is the part where I should say I’m not scared. There’s always that part in the vids, y’know? Where the hero is about to go do the thing, and she says, “I’m not scared”? Well, I’m scared. I am scared like I don’t even have words for. The Kraits are heading for capital space, and there’s no time for more training. We’ve got to do this now. We’re doing this tomorrow. This ship I’m on has stealth plating, as does the fleet following us. Totally invisible. We’re going to open up a hole into Krait space, and we’re going to slip in real quiet. Nobody’s been there since Talia Achaeis and her buddies, so all we’ve got to go off of are the old stories. They talk about something called the Nest. Nobody can agree on whether it’s a planet or some kind of ship, but it’s big, whatever it is, and the Queen hangs out at the center of it. So, once we’re in position, everybody will jump out of stealth mode except for me and a small squad, who will be on a striker headed in to find the Queen.
Assuming there’s something we can land on, we’ll have to fight our way to the Brood Chamber—that’s what the Texts call it—where then . . . I’ll have to kill her, I guess. Did you know the Texts are illustrated? Yeah, they make this little excursion we’re about to take look like buckets of fun. Whoever drew them really got the color of blood down pat.
I know I’m going to die tomorrow. A lot of people are going to die. Saying that out loud makes me want to throw up, but I haven’t been able to eat anything today, so there’s no point.
Everybody’s looking to me to make them feel better about this, and I have no idea what to offer. What should I do? Do I make a speech? Do I tell them all how great they’ve been? I don’t know what to do or say to people who are going to die alongside me. For me. I still don’t know how I got here.
Cosmic Powers Page 7