“I mean that the imminent immolation of Ahknaton will serve as a blazing beacon across the galaxy,” the man in black declared, his body now seeming somehow taller, bigger, more luminous than before. “It will act as herald of the news that I have returned from my long exile, and that I bring with me a gift—a gift for all creation.” He raised his hands and they seemed to stretch right up through the domed roof and into orbit, where a thousand starships now waited, their arsenals directed at the planet below. “I bring,” Goraddon cried, “the sweet embrace of chaos and death!”
18
“It’s a snowflake,” breathed Lt. Harker.
“A bloody big one,” Obomanu amended.
“No denying that,” Harker agreed.
It hovered there before them, filling half the sky. It was bright and it was huge and it nearly made the members of General Arnem Agrippa’s Bravo Squad forget about everything else. Considering everything they’d just been through, that was saying something.
They had followed the Dyonari hovercraft through a shimmering circle of light, and in the process had left the scarred surface of Eingrad-6—and the horrific alien Phaedrons—behind. For a timeless time they had seemingly fallen through darkness. And then they had emerged here—wherever here was.
Agrippa himself recovered first. He had to will his eyes to close and force himself to turn away, facing in the opposite direction from the vast crystal snowflake that blazed so brightly in the dark. The rest of his troops continued to gawk. There had to be something psychic at work, he understood then; something that impelled his soldiers to focus monomaniacally on the thing in the sky.
Having succeeded in breaking the attraction, he found himself gazing across the deck of what seemed to be a gigantic space station. Towers and columns of slender crystalline beauty extended upward into the darkness. At their bases, hundreds—perhaps thousands—of tall, spindly Dyonari stood watching them, seemingly as fascinated by the humans as the humans were by the object that floated out in space.
Agrippa swallowed and instinctively reached for his quad-rifle, only then realizing he’d set it on the tank before they had so rapidly exited from Eingrad-6.
And there was no doubting that they were no longer on Eingrad-6. In fact, they were probably nowhere in the Eingrad star system. The stars far up above seemed wrong, or at least different. Very different.
Settling for the blast pistol he’d left in its holster all this time, he climbed fully out of the tank and hopped down onto the surface of—of whatever they were on.
The others were still staring at the gigantic glowing snowflake-like object in the sky. He cleared his throat. “Ladies, gentlemen—I believe the more immediate concern is this way.”
Slowly, reluctantly, the other Bravos turned to face the way Agrippa was looking. They recognized the situation instantly.
“Uh oh,” Harker breathed. “We’ve followed the boogers right into their lair.”
Indeed, in addition to the large number of Dyonari now staring back at them, the crystal hovertank-like vehicle they had followed from Eingrad was now parked just in front of them, its crew standing outside it. Several of them started toward the humans. They carried objects that could only be weapons—exotic pistols and rifles in addition to the long, curved, glasslike swords they favored.
Agrippa raised one hand in as peaceful a gesture as someone wearing heavy combat plate armor could reasonably manage. “I apologize for the intrusion,” he said. “I was under the impression that we were being invited to follow you through the portal. If I was in error, I apologize.”
Behind Agrippa, the turret of Major Torgon’s tank whined as it turned, directing the heavy energy-beam cannon toward the aliens. Agrippa called back to Torgon sharply. “Stand down, Major. We’re all friends here. I imagine that just needs to be clarified a bit.” He smiled at the approaching aliens. “Do you concur?”
The four that had approached the closest to the human position stopped in their tracks. They seemed distracted, as if someone was speaking to them inaudibly—or over a sort of Aether link. Then they bowed quickly and turned, moving back to their vehicle. A second later, a lone Dyonari strode out, moving in very deliberate fashion towards the humans.
Agrippa studied him. “Glossis?” he asked.
The alien drew near, then nodded once. “I am happy that you and your soldiers survived the Phaedron incursion,” he stated in silence, his voice entirely within Agrippa’s head. “Unfortunately, your presence here is... problematic.”
Agrippa nodded. “I was afraid that might be the case.”
“Yes. No human has ever set foot on one of our glo’chas before. There are some among us who consider this an act of great blasphemy—the final straw that will inevitably result in a destructive war among our two peoples.”
Agrippa almost recoiled. He gathered himself and met the alien’s eyes; while a very tall human at over two meters, he still had to look up to see Glossis’s face. “That was not my intention. Far from it.”
“I understand,” the Dyonari replied. “And I cannot deny that I was glad to provide an avenue of escape for you.” He looked back at the crowd of his fellow aliens standing in the distance, appearing for all the world now like a lynch mob. “Nonetheless,” he went on, “if that view prevails, you will likely all be executed.”
Agrippa’s expression soured but he said nothing for the moment.
“I have countered,” the alien went on, “that humans would not send so tiny a force here if their objective was to attack us.”
“That’s the truth.”
“I have put forth a competing narrative. I have suggested that your team coming here is the opening move of a new era of potential cooperation between our two species.”
“That suits me fine,” Agrippa said. “My people already have about as much conflict as we could ever ask for. We aren’t looking for new enemies.”
“Yes,” the Dyonari commander agreed. “We have been observing your empire and its conflicts for nearly a... year, as you measure time. We have evaluated them carefully. You are losing.”
“Losing?” Agrippa snapped.
“Your ultimate defeat is inevitable. You cannot hope to prevail against so many foes at once.”
“Time will tell,” Agrippa growled. “We aren’t done yet.” He paused. “Tell me this. Have you put any thought into why so many different forces have chosen to attack us all at once?”
Glossis was silent for a few seconds. “We have assumed they are all behaving in an opportunistic manner,” he said at length. “To use your vernacular, which I hope you will not mind that I have borrowed from your mind—they smell blood in the water, and they each wish to strike you while the opportunity is there—while you are distracted with other enemies and with your internal leadership crisis.”
“Leadership crisis?” Agrippa frowned at that. He raised an eyebrow and almost smiled at Glossis. “You may have better access to inside information than I do,” he snorted.
The Dyonari said nothing in reply.
Agrippa looked from Glossis to the multitude of aliens arrayed behind him. “So,” he rumbled. “When will a decision be made? When will we learn if your people wish to execute us, or welcome us as ambassadors, or whatever?”
Glossis made a sound—an actual, physical sound, rather than a psychic projection—that Agrippa quickly decided must be a kind of laughter. “Oh,” the alien said once he had recovered his composure, “your fate was decided nearly twenty seconds ago.”
Agrippa let his hand slide slowly down to the grip of his pistol. “And?”
“And you are welcome here,” the alien concluded.
Agrippa released the grip and smiled. “Thank you.”
“Of course.”
The crowd of Dyonari moved in, waving and greeting the humans. Their guns and swords were now nowhere to be seen. Agrippa motioned for his troops to put their own weapons away and climb out of the tanks.
Glossis turned back to Agrippa and started
to say something, then hesitated.
“Yes?” asked the big human commander.
“The fact that you had to ask about the verdict is telling as to your lack of knowledge about my people,” the alien told him. He nodded toward his pistol in its holster. “Your little gun would not have saved you. Had the deliberations resulted in a different decision, you and your soldiers would already be dead.”
Whatever had caused the distortion that had prevented communication via the Aether link on Eingrad, coming to the Dyonari space station seemed to have remedied it—and somehow even boosted the signal. Agrippa closed his eyes and reached out, accessing his Aether implant and triggering it, tapping it into the bottom-most layer of hyperspace—of the Above, to use the religious terminology of the Ecclesiarchy—in order to achieve near-instantaneous communications. He selected the link for General Marcus Ezekial Tamerlane and made the connection.
“Arnem,” came Tamerlane’s exclamation as he accepted the link. “Thank the gods. I was beginning to worry you had run into something out on the battlefield that you couldn’t handle.” His voice carried a tone of humor tinged with relief.
Agrippa started to answer in a flip manner, then hesitated and rethought his reply. “That may well have been the case, actually, General,” he stated reluctantly.
Tamerlane sobered at this. “You?” he asked, incredulous. “Something you couldn’t handle?”
“It was definitely something unexpected, and quite formidable,” the big blond man said over the link. “And troubling.” He thought back to the leering metal skull-face in the crater and had to suppress a shudder. “It’s a new race—one we haven’t encountered before. The Dyonari call them ‘Phaedrons.’”
“Another hostile race. I see,” Tamerlane said, and Agrippa noted to himself that he had never heard the man sound more weary or frustrated. “I’m very anxious to hear your report on what you found out there, and how it connects to the comets. But before you go into detail about that—where are you now? And why couldn’t we contact you for the past three hours?”
“Jamming, sir,” Agrippa reported.
“Jamming? Of the Aether?”
“Yes, sir.” Agrippa gazed out across the deck of the station, seeing his troops shedding their heavy plate armor and enjoying a bit of time outside of their hard shells. The Dyonari were moving among them, providing ornately curved pitchers of water and trays of food. Agrippa didn’t trust the aliens at all—not yet, at any rate—but so far they were behaving perfectly hospitably, and he was grateful for a bit of down time before his squad inevitably was ordered back into the action.
“By whom?” Tamerlane was asking.
“At first I believed the Riyahadi forces or the Dyonari were jamming us, General,” Agrippa said, “but I now suspect that it may have been psychic interference caused by the Phaedrons themselves.”
“Psychic interference?” Tamerlane sounded puzzled. “Is that even possible?” He was quiet for a moment, as if thinking it through. “Can mental power alone block our access to the Aether link?”
“I have no way of being certain,” Agrippa replied. “But, given its critical importance to us, and the absolute denial of access we experienced back on Eingrad-6, I believe it is a possibility we should be aware of, and should get the eggheads in the Science Ministry looking into.”
“So noted, General,” Tamerlane said. “Thank you for the information. I am of course pleased you and your squad survived.”
Agrippa nodded. “It was entirely thanks to the Dyonari, sir,” he said.
“The Dyonari? They helped you?”
Agrippa laughed. “They saved us. Provided us a way offworld just when the Phaedrons were about to—” He trailed off, frowning.
“About to what, General?” Tamerlane asked.
Agrippa struggled to sort through his thoughts and feelings. “I—I don’t know, actually, sir,” he managed. “At the time, I was certain these new aliens were going to wipe us out—that we stood no chance at all. That death was inevitable. Now, though—looking back on it all—I’m not entirely certain why I believed that.” Agrippa reddened. “I’m concerned now that I may have...panicked, sir. It’s not like me, but—”
“It’s not you at all, Arnem,” Tamerlane shot back at him. “Think, man. You said these Phaedron aliens were psychic—possibly powerful enough to block access to the Aether itself.”
“Yes, but—”
“So just imagine what they must have been able to do to your head—to the heads of all your troops. What if they projected intense feelings of fear, of hopelessness...?”
Agrippa considered this. He nodded slowly. His fingers bunched into fists and he reddened further. “I think you’re right, General,” he grumbled. “I think they got into my head and made me think they were invincible and horrific and deadly, but—”
“Oh, they sound pretty deadly to me, Arnem,” Tamerlane said. “I do not for a second think you acted improperly by getting out of there. We needed this information, and we needed you and your squad alive. Everything else is secondary.”
“Yes, sir,” Agrippa replied quietly, still very angry at himself for being taken in by a bunch of telepathic aliens. That thought caused him to start, and he looked around. The Dyonari—telepathic aliens themselves, though nothing like the things they’d encountered on Eingrad—were still mingling with his troops. Agrippa tried to think it through rationally—to be sure he wasn’t being mentally manipulated again. The commander, Glossis, had been straightforward with him. The Dyonari had honor, there was no question about that. And now they were showing great generosity in welcoming this element of III Legion to their private space station. Even so, every fiber of Agrippa’s being told him it was time to get out of there, before something else unexpected occurred.
“I have a bit of information to share about the Dyonari,” Agrippa said over the link. “But I’d prefer to wait until I’m no longer on one of their spacecraft before I go into it.”
“Understood,” Tamerlane replied. “As it happens, I have a new assignment for you anyway—if you’re able to travel across interstellar distances at this time.”
“I’m...not entirely certain about that, General,” Agrippa said. “Our route to our present location was...unorthodox, to say the least. How we will depart this place is something of a mystery to me at the moment.”
“I trust you will find a way,” Tamerlane said. “I need you on Ahknaton, and as soon as possible.”
“Ahknaton?”
“I’m on my way there now myself, and I would appreciate your help. Your orders—and a brief about the situation—should be coming through on the sub-channel now.” Tamerlane paused. “I look forward to speaking with you in greater detail very soon, Arnem, and in person. Best of luck.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The link closed. Agrippa checked that the file Tamerlane had mentioned had indeed downloaded into his memory, and then turned back to face his troops.
“Alright, Bravos,” he shouted. “Time to get your suits back on. We have new orders.”
A particularly tall, slender Dyonari strode toward Agrippa, stopped and bowed slightly. He recognized Glossis.
“You will be wanting to take your leave of us now, I suspect,” the alien said, speaking as usual via mental projection.
Agrippa nodded. “Your hospitality has been much appreciated, Commander,” he said, returning the bow. “I hope this will be the beginning of a new and warmer relationship between our two peoples.” He glanced at his men; they were grumbling and not happy, but they were obeying his orders. Most of them were already halfway back into their white and green Deising-Arry Model 5 heavy plate armor. “But, for now, I would settle for a way back into Imperial space.”
Glossis made the noise again that Agrippa had decided must be laughter. “Oh, General,” he said, “that is a very simple request to grant.” He gestured off to his right with one impossibly long, slender arm. Instantly a circle of light appeared, standing on its edg
e like the mouth of a cave. As the seconds ticked by, it grew brighter and brighter. Within twenty seconds, the outer ring of the circle had taken on an appearance of solidity, while the inside of it swam with lights and shimmering out-of-focus images.
“Where would you like to go?”
Agrippa simply stared at the alien. “Where?” he managed to say after a few seconds of silence. “You mean—”
“I mean I can direct this pathway to any location you desire—with certain limitations,” Glossis replied. “After all, the walls between the worlds are of varying thickness, and even we Dyonari cannot pierce all of them. Your Candis, for example...”
Agrippa nodded, still practically gawking at Glossis and then at the ring of light. Behind him, the two hovertanks fired to life again, their fusion engines purring as they lifted up off the deck.
“All aboard, General!” shouted Obomanu, his driver, from the turret opening.
“Am I to understand,” Agrippa asked the alien commander, “that your people can simply...walk...anywhere? Just like the gods?”
“The gods?” Puzzlement crept into Glossis’s telepathic “voice.” “Ah—you are referring to those of your people who, ever since the incident, can tap into the elemental—into the Sourcefire. The Power.”
Agrippa was now staring directly at the Dyonari. He wasn’t sure what to say.
“Ah,” Glossis said again. “You think of those individuals as supernatural. I see.” He made a gesture that might have been a shrug. “Perhaps they are. Certainly they are above and beyond the ‘nature’ of your people’s normal state.”
“They’re—they’re not gods?” Agrippa whispered, leaning in toward the alien.
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