by J. S. Fields
Yorden nodded and dug his fingers into the thick velvet cover of the chair. “Did we leave someone behind?” Yorden asked, thinking of the fungus Atalant had loosed on the ship. “Representative Hepatica? I didn’t see them get back onboard.”
Atalant pointed to her lap, where a smear of white seethed. “They’re here with me,” Atalant said, staying focused on the main viewscreen. “They are also on the Ttynn and, very shortly, will be on every ship that tries to help the Ttynn. There’s enough hemicellulose in the Ttynn for Representative Hepatica to induce massive sporulation. We’ll pick them up after they’ve completed reproduction. Right now, we sit here as bait.”
Yorden hated being bait, and he hated the choppy movements of the Lucidity as Atalant wove through the thick field of disassembled ships, putting distance between them and the fleet and drawing some of the pods away. Yorden rubbed his eyes and then squinted at the screen. The Ttynn still shone with bits of green light around its circumference. He could see blobs of black around it, likely the large and small Mmnnuggl pods still buzzing around like bees to a hive.
“Since you can’t see well: we’re surrounded now by small pods and a bunch of tramps. They keep breaking off to avoid impact with the debris of the Ttynn, but they’re staying close. Not firing though, which is unexpected. We did just blast through their lead frigate.” She looked back at Yorden. He couldn’t make out her expression, but caught a shake of her head.
“I’m fine, Atalant,” he huffed. “Medics can take care of this later. Just fly the ship.”
Salice patted Yorden’s shoulder and made a gesture with her other hand that Yorden couldn’t make out.
“Good idea,” Atalant said. She adjusted the viewscreen, magnifying the area near the Ttynn. Yorden leaned in, squinting against the haze. The debris cloud distorted his vision even more, and it was impossible to make out any fine detail. What was unexpected, however, was the color. Yorden didn’t remember the flotsam being so white. In fact, he was certain it had not been white at all. Now, however, the debris closest to the pod had a hazy brightness to it—a brightness that seemed to be propelling itself towards other ships. Propelling, or being pushed. He couldn’t tell. Mycelium, then, or spores. Space spores. Disgusting.
“Atalant, what is going on out there?” he asked.
She made a sound he couldn’t decipher. “Just fungi…I think. I don’t really know. It’s working. That’s what matters. Now isn’t the time for esoteric questions. The spores are getting to the armada. That’s what we wanted.”
Yorden chortled. Once they were out of this fun little situation, and most of the way through a bottle of whiskey, this would be an excellent conversation.
Atalant tapped her pocket. “Remember, just the ones without cellulose,” she said to Hepatica.
Her pocket jiggled, and a squeaky “we remember” sounded from inside. “Connections made to fifty non-cellulosic ships currently. We are very pleased to have found so many ships. The propulsion was not our own.”
Atalant did not reply to that comment and instead looked up at Yorden. “You ready for this? Only nineteen more to go.”
“Complete.” Three thin, braided strands of hyphae peeked from Atalant’s pocket. “The clones are forming.”
“Right.” Atalant slammed her fingers back into the console depressions. There was a telltale click of an audio feed. Everything sped up.
“Atalant to the Heaven Guard. It’s time.” The audio clicked off. “Emn, you ready?” Atalant asked under her breath. Yorden heard no response, which was probably normal. A quick glance to Salice confirmed this.
“Everything is set, then. Brace yourself, Captain.” The pilot entered another string of commands, turning the Lucidity a tight one hundred and eighty degrees so that it once again faced the Ttynn, and fired.
The laser never connected. A thick piece of biometal flew between the laser and the hull of the Ttynn just before impact and broke apart. The pieces bounced harmlessly off the Ttynn’s hull.
“Atalant, what—” Yorden didn’t get a chance to finish. Retaliatory shots came from the surrounding pods, all firing simultaneously. Atalant didn’t try to avoid, nor did Emn protect the ship with any debris. The Lucidity beeped in warning first, shrieked, and then flopped about like a fish at market as the pods peppered its already-damaged hull with laser fire. Yorden fell heavily against Salice, and both hit the carpeted floor.
“Sorry!” Atalant said. The Lucidity steadied, and Yorden brought his weeping eyes back to the viewscreen as he stood.
The lasers stopped.
Emergency foam hissed into the fissures in the hull. The air cleaners quickly removed the smoke. Yorden barely noticed. He couldn’t take his eyes from the viewscreen and the fuzzy image he saw there. His vision was slowly recovering, but everything looked like it was painted with watercolors rather than acrylics.
The battle had stalled around them. The encircling pods moved away from the Lucidity. Ships drifted on momentum or stopped altogether as the Mmnnuggl flagship morphed. A deep brown color spread across the Ttynn’s surface, beginning from the hanger bay and traveling with incredible speed across the surface of the ship. In its wake, the ship began to crack. Cubic lines spread across the surface, fracturing the hull. Debris spilled out along with thousands of little, round bodies. The small pods tried to catch them, as they had the others, but there were too many, too fast. Mmnnuggls and spores choked the black of space.
Then, the settees appeared. They flew above the Lucidity in a perfect parabola, engines flaming blue behind them—which wasn’t normal, Yorden was certain, but now wasn’t the time to ask.
The settees rammed the Ttynn. The fractured pod offered little resistance. It crumbled apart on impact, the browned bits of metal debris arcing widely into the surrounding fleet. The settees emerged from the other side unscathed and returned to their guard formation around the Lucidity. As if nothing unusual had happened. As if pods crumbled apart every day.
The surrounding ships jolted into action. Lasers began to streak through space, aimed at the settees and the Lucidity. This time, however, nothing connected. The debris from the Ttynn began to move in a coordinated manner. Chunks flew between lasers and ships. Deflecting. Blocking. Somehow, somewhere on the Kelm, Emn had to be standing in a pool of her own blood. That was the only way Yorden could see her pulling off something like this.
The settees continued to fly in formation, unmolested by laser fire. Atalant tracked the Guard with the Lucidity, keeping them on the viewscreen. Yorden caught the telltale cubic cracking on a Risalian cutter a moment before the settees hit it. The cutter crumbled to dust as the settees flew through it before arcing back towards four skiffs that had been following them.
Yorden was at a loss for words. They’d planned it. Discussed it. He knew it had been coming…
The tailing skiffs were the next to disintegrate, followed by three more of the large pods. The Heaven Guard manually targeted every hemicellulose ship and picked them off, one by one. Not firing, as they had no weapons, but straight ramming. Ten ships down. Then twenty. Then fifty.
A settee flew through three Risalian skiffs right in a row, crumbling them to dust. Those skiffs were on autopilot, he knew, but that didn’t make it any less horrifying. Lights flashed on the viewscreen, and the Lucidity rocked again, but this time, Yorden’s grip on the chair was strong enough to hold him. He couldn’t stomach watching much more. If he played his hand too early, the plan would fail. But every second he delayed, more Mmnnuggls died.
“Enough, Atalant,” Yorden said. He moved to the front of the chair and sat. His hips pushed into the sides of the plush fabric, and the seams groaned under his weight. “Open the comm.”
“But—”
Yorden shook his head. “Enough. It’s time for the Conqueror to bow to Ardulum.”
Chapter 23: Scarlet Lucidity
Realizing this is kind of a crisis moment and all, but I was thinking about the irony of your life and finding Emn, and that you
’ve died and come back about as many times as Jesus and still have the balls to think you’re just a regular Neek. Friend, it might—might—be time to start pulling back that curtain. Not in public—you’re already doing that. But in private. To yourself. For yourself.
—Personal message from the Ttynn to the Scarlet Lucidity, January 27th, 2061 CE
JANUARY 27TH, 2061 CE
This is Yorden, er, Conqueror Yorden Kuebrich of Earth, addressing the Mmnnuggls and the dissident fleet above Neek.
The Ardulans… I don’t know what happened. The Risalians captured the flare woman, the one they made. Markin Pihn’s image of her in captivity accompanies this transmission. This is not her doing, nor is it the doing of the Ardulan who travels with me. How could it be, when ships completely devoid of cellulose have disintegrated with such explosive force? Ardulans can only manipulate cellulose. Who, then, has destroyed our work? Who protects the Ardulans?
I can offer only my own conjecture. A scan of the Neek homeworld reveals that the burned forests are gone. The andal we destroyed, that we burned alive and left to suffer, vanished. What remains? The old growth that surrounds the home of the exiled Neek who ascended to Ardulan Eld sits untouched in a sea of bald land. Other small tracts remain as well—all of the oldest andal, and all at sites important to this Neek eld.
Then, Mmnnuggls and those who ally with them, I offer you a different vision—a different take on your old religion. I sit here, on a Keft ship, with the Neek eld who speaks of the andal as if it has a mind. She tells me how it whispers to her and cries in pain. How she must ask its permission to travel, how it commands her thoughts, and how it has shaped her dreams since she was a small child.
The Ardulans are not gods, but they do touch something bigger than themselves. Perhaps it is this entity to which we should turn our minds—an entity that protects even those who deny its existence. An entity that cares for those who work in its name. An entity unconcerned with titles or rank or species, one that seeks to forward the desires and fortune of its followers.
Consider, Mmnnuggls and others, who you confront when you attack the chosen representative of the andal. If there is one thing we know from the history of Ardulum, it is that Ardulum protects its people. The Neek are of Ardulum and represent Ardulum’s interests here. And I, Conqueror Yorden Kuebrich of Earth, am on my knees, asking Ardulum to count me as one of its own.
THE BATTLE FELL apart after the transmission. Not in a bang, as Atalant had hoped, but in a ripple.
First came the planned defections, broadcast across the fleets. “This is Markin Pihn, leading the Risalian fleet. We surrender to the Neek forces. They have proven their superiority and reinforced their desire to work with Ardulum. As sheriffs of the Charted Systems, we respect their choices and, with their help, would like the opportunity to further investigate our own role within Ardulum and the andal.”
“I think pigs just flew,” Yorden muttered beside her. Atalant didn’t bother to ask for clarification. More voices crashed against one another on the open feed.
“The Minoran ships yield to the Neek.”
“The Oorin fleet returns to its home.”
“We Alusians reaffirm the sovereign planet of Neek.”
Then, there was a break. Atalant waited, straining her ears against the silence. The Charted Systems ships were bowing out. Just one Alliance member could start the cascade for the others. She didn’t expect the Mmnnuggls to yield, not yet, but perhaps the Keft…
An Astorian frigate moved towards the Lucidity, slowly, but with a direct heading. In response, four Heaven Guard settees moved to intercept and defend the Lucidity. Whatever the frigate’s intentions had been, it immediately powered down its laser. A priority message beeped on the Lucidity’s console. The first Alliance defector?
Atalant paraphrased the message out loud. “They’re proclaiming a cease-fire and asking if they’re spaceworthy enough to engage a tesseract. They don’t trust their hemicellulose biometals now, and quite rightly so.” Atalant smiled, relieved, and tapped a message in response. “Nicholas will have to answer that one. I’m sending them down to the surface. He can meet them when he lands.”
“Before you do that—” Yorden tapped the comm, changing it back to the open channel. Atalant hadn’t noticed the blinking lights on the console, indicating that more messages were going through the feed.
“—of the Keft and Yishin people request an audience with the Neek eld. We would also discuss our role in the history and future of the planet Ardulum. Specifically, its future locations.”
“An audience?” Atalant tried to work her mind around just what that would entail. While she did so, she watched the fourteen remaining Wen ships group into formation and engage their tesseract generators. In a blink of white, they were gone from Neek space.
Other ships followed suit. The visible star field emptied as Charted Systems ships moved to the entrance of the Neek wormhole or engaged drives or generators of their own. The Risalians lingered, holding their dispersed positions. The Mmnnuggl pods clumped together, first in lines as they converged on the Lucidity, and then in a cloud. Their weapons remained powered, but they rotated just outside of the bubble of debris protecting the Lucidity and the settees. These new pieces of debris were hemicellulose though, which meant Emn couldn’t touch them—but if Atalant flew poorly, they would most certainly become a problem.
Atalant sent messages and landing coordinates to the inquiring ships and then sent a warning to Ekimet and her uncle below. There was plenty of space in the Ardulan Temple to hold all of the crews until Atalant got back to the surface. If she got back to the surface.
The computer beeped. A small Mmnnuggl pod that had strayed from the forming group flew into the debris field towards the Lucidity. It was one of the cellulose-based ones, which confused Atalant until she realized that its weapons weren’t powered. She wasn’t the only one, then, to have noticed how fragile her ship had become. The protective plating had completely disintegrated. There were microfractures from bow to stern, her emergency life-support systems had activated, and she was leaking fuel. Any impact, even a graze, might tear her ship apart. The pod wouldn’t even need to use its lasers to destroy her. At this point, a chunk of hemicellulose debris could compromise her hull.
Atalant engaged the engines and pushed the Lucidity farther into the debris. The ship was sluggish and barely responsive, which made avoiding the flotsam that much harder. Atalant cursed. If the pod hit the Lucidity, or flotsam hit the ship, and it broke apart, everything would be over. The pretense of divinity would be broken.
A heavy hand fell on her shoulder as Atalant attempted a barrel roll, the Lucidity groaning in protest. “The settees, Atalant. Look.”
She pinged the scanners. The pod was nearly upon her, but the settees were between them. They surrounded the pod on all sides, in as much as they could in the debris, but the pod pushed at its crimson cage, powered its lasers, and fired.
The shot caught the aft of one of the settees. The ship exploded.
“No!” Atalant yelled. “We’re too close!” Atalant ran a scan of the wreckage. She couldn’t stop herself. She knew all the Heaven Guard pilots by name. Had gone to school with them. It could have been the girl who mentored her on Atalant’s first flight. The boy who’d shown her how to engage the stuk interface. The one who had looked at her like a friend after the firefighting. Damn it, it could have been Nicholas!
Using its genetic database, the computer identified the remains. Neek. Atalant took a short breath in relief. Then, the settee’s identifier registered.
“Tabit!” Atalant screamed. Yorden sprang forward, pushing her away just enough so that he could read the screen himself. “Damn it, why her?” Why the one friend I actually had on this fucking planet!?
“Tabit?” Yorden asked, his voice heavy as he pulled at his beard. “I’m so sorry, Atalant.”
When is it going to be enough!?
Atalant didn’t expect an answer, but one did come.
I’ve got it, Atalant. Emn’s voice was a wisp, and Atalant felt her stomach drop. Emn was alive, thank Ardulum, but she didn’t need to get caught up in this. She was stretched too thin, and Tabit was beyond even Ardulum’s reach. If Emn had anything left in her, it needed to go towards the battle. Already, the other pods were starting to move towards the settee barrier in cautious bursts, emboldened by the unexpected success.
Emn, focus on the battle, if you can. Don’t press yourself. You’re worth more than any of this, and I cannot lose you!
Emn didn’t respond, and a hauntingly familiar emptiness washed across Atalant’s mind. What followed—before she could scream—Atalant couldn’t explain. In a bizarre and simultaneous act, the encircled pod broke apart into metal flakes, which contracted into a tight ring. Meanwhile, the chunks of biometal from the exploded settee clustered and then pieced together one after another, like a giant jigsaw puzzle.
Emn! Atalant yelled into her empty mind. The Ardulan’s presence slammed back into her mind, bringing with it the double vision. Atalant could see the strands of crystalline cellulose push past the settees, hit the fragments of the destroyed ship, and begin to sew it back together.
“You think Tabit got put back together, too?” Yorden asked in a whisper.
“Doubt it,” Atalant managed to say. “I can’t imagine…” She couldn’t imagine any of it, really. Emn had limits. She had to have limits. What had the Risalians done, with their alterations and tinkering, to enable this?
A redoubling of their connection. A surge of energy so thick that Atalant’s skin burned. Then, she was with Emn on the Risalian cutter. Atalant felt her own desperation mirrored back at her through their link. She felt the lack of cellulose, the used-up forests. She felt Emn’s resolution, her memories of Arik and how he’d burned through his own flare for that final gasp of energy. She felt Emn reach into her reserves—those so unique to a flare that carried enough power to move a planet—and tap them.
Atalant cried out—at least, she thought she cried out—but the voice that suddenly rang through her head and Emn’s wasn’t hers. This voice was woven out of many, but not tangling into dissonance. It was low, which at first made the speaker sound old, but Atalant could find no additional clues to back up that assertion. It knew Emn, although Emn was certain she did not know it. The voice didn’t seem concerned with that, however. Atalant watched, through Emn’s amazement, as the voice laid out a glittering field of loose cellulose for Emn to use—in her mind or imagination or wherever the voice resided.