by Ben Hale
Kensen twisted and called back down the corridor, “Everyone hang on! It’s going to get rough!”
The hyperlight bubble flickered, the normally invisible shield absorbing some of the graviton and flashing it into the visible spectrum. The Kildor began to list sideways as the ship’s flight destabilized.
With the bomber pointed towards the stern of the Kildor, Ero had a front row seat to six gravity drives squeezing their way through the warship’s gut. Spouts of purple graviton exploded in a line across the hull, bursting into space as the gravity drives failed. The line extended around its waist from the back to the belly, growing brighter and brighter until…
BOOM.
The six gravity drives ruptured in stuttering sequence. The charged graviton flooded through the midsection of the ship, seizing bulkheads, beams, decking, and even the air molecules. Everything collapsed into itself as the graviton expelled its contained energy. The last bulkheads broke free, leaving a giant chasm of empty space between the stern and the bow. Six chunks of metal shrank into balls of high-density matter, the molecules collapsing and compressing until they formed misshapen lumps.
Their bomber was on the edge of the breach, and sparking energy conduits extended in both directions. Across the canyon, emergency shields shimmered, keeping the air on the stern side of the ship. An eerie silence settled on the Kildor.
“An entire cross-section is gone,” Kensen breathed. “There’s nothing connecting the bow to the stern.”
“The only thing keeping us moving now is momentum,” Ero said.
Kensen tapped the controls, where orange lights were rapidly turning red. “The two sides of the Kildor are drifting apart. We’re going to hit hyper-deceleration at different times.”
“Kensen,” Ero said, his voice rising in warning, “boost the internal gravity dampeners to twenty percent above maximum. Reroute engine power if you have to.”
“Why?” His eyes were wide as he stared at the shields shimmering across the two halves of the Kildor.
The ship began to tremble again, a faint shudder that was just a hint of the coming tumult. Ero reached for the combat harness and locked it into place. Kensen stared at him, and then fumbled for his own restraints. Ero flicked the communication cortex so everyone onboard could hear his voice.
“Find somewhere to lock in,” Ero said, his voice distorted as the nose of the Kildor began to roll, “and hang on for the ride of your life.”
Then came the sounds of emergency straps being hastily locked in place. Kensen flicked the internal grav dampeners and ticked them up. The emitters whined, and Ero felt like a thousand kilos of cotton were being pressed against his entire body. He hoped it was enough.
“Is this going to hurt?” Kensen asked plaintively.
Ero burst into a laugh.
“Are we going to die?”
Ero laughed again.
The boy cursed, and Ero fleetingly wondered if his father and brother had escaped. Last he’d seen, the two had been dragging themselves off the bridge, so it was anyone’s guess if they’d managed to get to an escape pod.
As the seconds passed, the diverging flight between the bow and the stern became more and more pronounced, and both pressed against opposing sides of the hyperlight shield bubble. More cracks in the hyperlight appeared and remained visible. Ero tightened his grip, his fingers interlacing around the combat straps. It was already hard to breathe with the gravity dampeners so high, but he wished they would go higher. Then a crack appeared in the Kildor’s forward shield.
“This is it!” he shouted.
The crack burst, and the bow flipped forward. It hurtled into an off-axis spin that rocked Ero back and forth so violently his vision turned black. Even with the dampeners, the chair itself groaned, and he pictured himself splattering against the bulkhead if it wrenched free. He couldn’t speak or think; the spin was so intense he felt sick. Someone vomited, and he hoped it didn’t hit the control panel. Or him.
The nose of the Kildor hurtled into empty space, slowing from a thousand times the speed of light to sublight in a matter of minutes. The hull of the bomber warped, but the Kildor endured the brunt of the stress. Its outer bulkheads were ripped away, scattering in every direction in a trail of debris. A particle of dust hit close to the bomber, cratering into the warship’s hull and exploding through the interior.
The emergency deceleration repulsors on the bow of the Kildor finally activated, and ever so gradually, the half-ship began to slow its spin. Inch by inch, its rotation and speed were reversed. Everyone on the bomber was thrown into their restraints as their momentum bled away until, with a final spurt, the repulsors lost power and they drifted.
Chapter Forty-Five
Ero knew he should be grateful to be alive, but it hurt enough that he didn’t care. His head throbbed, and he guessed a number of blood vessels had burst. His thoughts were thick and hazy, and he kept his eyes firmly shut. It still felt like the world was spinning at hyperlight speeds.
He slid his hand down the side of the chair, taking comfort in the cold seracrete, and found a small latch next to his hip. Folding it open, he slid his fingers into the cavity and painstakingly collected the needle. You could always count on the military to be prepared for a crash.
Grasping the needle, he lifted it and jammed it into his thigh. A tap on the end sent synthetic cells into his bloodstream, a clump of micro-mechs that would flood his system and latch onto torn cells. He breathed a sigh of relief as the subdermal cell regenerator began to repair damaged tissue, and finally cracked an eye open.
They were drifting. Some of the repulsors were still intermittently firing, and they were in a lazy spin. Chunks of the Kildor’s bow were now craters, some dangerously close to the bomber. Probably natural debris in space that had hit them during the deceleration. All of it was visible through a giant crack down the bomber’s forward window. An emergency shield covered the rent, keeping their air from venting.
“Anyone awake?” Ero slurred his speech.
Kensen mumbled an answer, and Ero twisted to see him. Blood came from a wound on the boy’s head, and his eyes were glazed. The volume of blood would probably be fatal, so Ero carefully unlatched the straps and stumbled to his feet. He caught the edge of Kensen’s chair and pressed the needle into his shoulder. Kensen groaned.
“Don’t complain,” Ero said. “It will keep you alive so you can kiss Siena again.”
The boy relaxed and closed his eyes as the synths rendered him unconscious to make repairs. He probably had internal bleeding. Ero collected the cell regenerator from the boy’s seat and made his way to the back of the ship. One by one, he went from dakorian to human augment, injecting each. All were in seats except Tana, who lay crumpled in the center of the floor. Ero knelt over her body, but it was clear she was dead.
“She said she needed to be in the center,” Reklin said, rising from his bent seat with a grimace.
“Why?”
“She used her gravity augment to cushion us,” Lavana said. Her voice was somber as she joined Reklin and looked down at the small body.
“She saved us all,” Reklin said softly.
Ero looked at the girl, surprised by the sudden wrench on his heart. Once again, a human augment had saved his life. And there was no question she’d done it deliberately. Especially with her augment, she would have felt the gravity waves, and known that to be out of a seat would be fatal.
Ero reached down and gently closed the girl’s eyes. Why did his fingers tremble? And why did tears press against his eyes? He was a krey noble, and krey nobles did not shed tears for a slave. A heavy hand settled on his shoulder, and he looked up to find Reklin equally as moved.
“One who dies with honor deserves to be mourned,” the dakorian said.
The humans came forward, some with tears, others with solemn expressions. Ero moved away and allowed them to wrap Tana in a blanket, folding her in and covering her eyes. The silence was painful.
“Ero?” Kensen
asked with a sluggish voice.
Ero returned to the cockpit, pleased to find Kensen blinking his eyes. “Good. I didn’t want to explain to Siena that I let you die.”
“Where are we?” he mumbled.
Ero returned to the pilot’s seat and carefully brought up the drive, but it failed its activation sequence. He eased back on the gravity dampeners, sighing in relief as his breaths came easier. It seemed some debris had grazed them, giving them the gash down the nose of the bomber. He checked the navigation panel.
“We’re in delta quadrant, deep space.”
He then checked the power levels and activated a long-range scan for the tags Kensen had placed. Like floating drops, the scattered beacons appeared in holos over the controls. One by one they appeared, and Kensen released a long breath.
“They’re alive,” he said.
“Not that we can help them,” Ero said. “Our engines and communications are destroyed, and life support is on the verge of failing.”
“Help is almost here,” Kensen said.
“From whom?”
Kensen grimaced. “Remember the Crescent? We stashed it at Lumineia’s moon.”
“I knew Siena lied to me,” Ero said.
“Sorry.”
“So where is it?”
“I wasn’t sure what was going to happen, so when we Gated to the Kildor’s cargo bay I remote connected and set it to follow me.” Kensen checked the holo and pointed out the window. “It’s . . . right there.”
Ero spotted the sleek ship gliding towards them. “Since it saved our lives, I’ll forgive the deception.” The boy smiled weakly, and Ero added, “Don’t make it a habit.”
The boy nodded. “I think there’s just enough power to link the bomber’s Gate to the Crescent.”
“Do it.”
Ero exited the cockpit and went to the Gate at the side of the ship. The arch sputtered and sparked, but it made the connection. He ushered the augments and dakorians through, and he and Kensen went last. He exited onto the Crescent, and immediately smiled. The ship was beautiful, even if it was in disarray from a recent repair.
Lavana ensured the others were settled while he joined Kensen at the cockpit. When the gravity drive spun up, he could feel its power through the controls. A quick check ensured that although they only had one functioning engine and no weapons, at least they could fly.
“Open a beamcast to Lumineia,” he said.
Kensen nodded and tapped the holo, bringing up the beamcast. Ero expected Travin or Alderok, the two krey engineers that typically worked in the main Lumineia communication hub. But instead, the beamcast was automatically rerouted to a different destination, the Blue Iris, with a blue-eyed krey in the cockpit.
“Skorn,” Ero said, shocked, “I’m glad you made it. We’re going to go after the escape pods, and then we’ll—”
“I’m surprised you care,” Skorn said acidly.
“Of course I care,” Ero said. “You’re my—”
“I’m sorry.” Skorn’s lips curled back into a sneer. “But I don’t believe you. After all the leeway I gave, you proved once again that you are no longer my ally. When the moment came, you chose your little augments over me and our House.”
“Our augments saved us,” Ero said, getting angry.
“It doesn’t matter,” Skorn growled. “You made your choice, and I’ve made mine.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Father and I will reach Lumineia soon. When we do, the codes to the Gate will be changed.”
Ero stared at his brother in disbelief. “You’re ending our alliance?”
“You ended our alliance the moment you told them how to get to Lumineia. To save a dakorian whelp.”
Ero recoiled from the vehemence in his voice. “But we’re brothers.”
Skorn looked at him with pity. “We’re krey, not human. We don’t have families. Only allies and enemies. And you’ve chosen the other side.”
Ero stared at his brother, the one he’d trusted for thousands of years, the one who’d salvaged their House after its fall, the one who’d saved his life. After all the betrayals and deception and conflict, Ero suddenly saw him for what he was. Skorn was cruel and manipulative, and willing to kill billions for the sake of power. He was the very thing Ero had come to loathe about his own race.
The moment seemed to stretch, and Ero understood his choice. In the Crescent he could make it back to Lumineia first, and claim House Bright’Lor before his brother. But it would mean abandoning the escape pods. It would mean sacrificing the augments that had come to save him.
For any other krey, the choice was obvious. After all, what was the life of a few humans? Slaves were easily replaceable. They were animals, beasts, things to be bought and sold, objects to be used and discarded. It was what all krey believed.
But not Ero.
Not anymore.
Since the day he’d met Siena, she’d shown him the truth. The krey schemed and plotted and killed while she fought for family and friendship. Even enslaved and forced to work under the constant threat of sale, torture, or death, she’d demonstrated genuine nobility. And in just the span of months, Siena, Kensen, Tana, Quis, Rahnora, Lyn, and all the others were better friends than his brother ever could be.
“You want House Bright’Lor?” Ero asked. “You can have it.”
“You won’t even fight for it?” Skorn demanded.
Ero looked at his brother with pity. “I’m sorry, Skorn. I know you don’t understand, but House Bright’Lor was never worth saving.”
Skorn was incredulous. “You’d rather be an outlaw than the head of a powerful House?”
Ero glanced at Kensen and shrugged. “Without question.”
“Then you’re just like them.” Skorn made a savage cutting motion and the beamcast ended.
“Are you really giving up your House?” Kensen asked.
Ero shrugged and reached for the controls. “Did you really expect me to leave the escape pods behind?”
Kensen’s expression was apologetic. “Maybe?”
Of course the boy understood Ero’s choice. But oddly, instead of anger or regret, Ero felt a sense of relief. Skorn was right. Ero had chosen the augments long before he’d been strapped into a T-Straint on the bridge of the Kildor. There was no time to consider the ramifications of his choice, but in that moment, Ero sensed an immutable shift in his soul.
“The only thing that matters is finding the others,” he said.
“What about all the augments on Lumineia?”
Ero set the navigation to ping the escape pods. “There’s nothing we can do for them right now. We get our friends, regroup, and then find a way to retake Lumineia.”
“Are you saying you’re my friend?”
Ero rolled his eyes. “Yes, Kensen, you are. Now shut your mouth and find the first pod.”
Kensen cast him an uncertain look as he dropped beacons onto the nav holo. Ero didn’t explain further, not that he even could. He was choosing to abandon House Bright’Lor, to save the lives of his friends. And he had never been more certain.
Banking them back towards the bow of the Kildor, Ero surveyed the ruined ship. The damage was extensive, with puncture holes on the exterior that led to gaping holes exploded out the opposite side. He did a quick scan and found no life signs, so he locked in the coordinates to the nearest escape pod on the nav holo and pulsed the Crescent’s engines. They sped away, leaving the wreckage behind. It was time to find Siena.
Chapter Forty-Six
Reklin helped the two human augments out of the pod, then reached for the hand of the dakorian. All were injured, and he carefully extricated them from the pod before guiding them to an empty section of floor. The Crescent was getting crowded, with more than eighty in the tight space. He palmed the airlock, and the escape pod detached. As soon as it floated away, he called up to Ero, “That’s it. Go to the next one.”
As the Crescent accelerated for the next escape pod, Reklin scann
ed the survivors, noting the blanket-covered bodies of the dead. They’d all come because they believed in Siena, and died to save him and Ero.
Kensen stepped away from a control panel and joined him. “How many pods are left?”
“Three.”
“Any sign of her?”
There was blood on Kensen’s clothes and arms from where he’d been helping the wounded, and some from his own wounds. He didn’t have to say her name for Reklin to know who he was referring to. There were just three pods left that had been tagged as friendlies. Those of the Kildor’s crew that had escaped had sped away, and Reklin estimated less than twenty of Malikin’s soldiers had escaped the doomed ship.
Ero had followed the line of escape pods for the last six hours, tracking it further and further back along the Kildor’s trajectory. The augment and dakorian survivors were spread across the floor of the Crescent and sitting in the upper compartments. All of them looked up with hope each time a pod attached to the airlock.
“Maybe her beamcast failed?” Kensen asked.
“Run another scan,” Reklin suggested.
The boy returned to the panel, dodging groaning bodies on the floor. Reklin leaned against a bulkhead, the worry burgeoning up his chest. They’d already scanned several times, and even if the beamcast signal had been nonfunctional, they would have still found the pod. Escape pods had retractable fins that acted as scan reflectors. They had the sensor reading of a ship ten times the size, and would be nearly impossible to miss. Of the fourteen damaged escape pods they’d located, none had contained Siena and Mora.
Inary tightened a bandage on Hew’s leg and then stepped to Reklin’s side. “Any sign of them?”
“Not yet,” Reklin said.
Inary’s features twisted with worry, a reminder that her daughter was also missing. There was a chance they had been separated, but Reklin knew Siena enough to know she would not abandon Mora for anything.