Ascension

by Nicholas Woode-Smith

  ‘Let’s start with some basic telekineticism. Aim your hand at that broken chair,’ Krag-Zot ordered. ‘The gesture of aiming your conduit isn’t strictly necessary but it helps. It makes it easier to draw neural pathways. Easier for your minds to tell your powers what to do. The very skilled can figure out how to do it without gestures, but I find that unnecessary most of the time.’

  Re’lien aimed her left-arm, with the conduit, at the broken chair that Krag-Zot had indicated. She focused.

  ‘Imagine your powers. Grasp the tendrils. Possess them. Make them extensions of yourself and then control them.’

  What tendrils? What powers?

  Re’lien saw nothing. Felt nothing. No intense power. No giddiness. The only thing she felt was an intense unease at standing with her arm outstretched at a broken chair. She frowned. Everyone was silent. Nothing moved. Not even a twitch.

  She turned back to Krag-Zot and James.

  ‘I don’t think…’

  A zap and a hiss. Bang.

  They all turned. The chair had been incinerated, leaving a charred dent in the geradite below. She smelt the burning plastic smell of the fake metal. And she felt vibrations emanate from her arm and pierce her mind.

  And she was back on Xerl. But this time, she remembered what she had forgotten. The Enforcers and Imperial troops fled from her. They screamed. Some ripped at their own eyes. The scene changed, and she was on Mars, in a blood splattered room as she crushed a Gan’s head with her bare hands.

  She remembered when she had been overcome by the fear. When she had become Fear Itself. This was the aura that Sola had told her about. When she was apparently the spirit of justice for the ancient edal. Re’lien had thought her sister just being emotional, but these memories flooding back to her told her that her sister may not be speaking complete mystical gibberish. Re’lien was a spectre. A being that brought fear.

  Re’lien awoke from her brief reverie with a gasp. She was lying on the floor. James was just above her.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  Re’lien rubbed her head. She didn’t feel any pain. Or a numbness, for that matter. She felt normal. Even a bit healthy. Content.

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  She accepted James’ hand and he helped her up.

  ‘I haven’t felt an aura of fear like that from anyone other than my ex-lover, Krag-Zolith.’ Krag-Zot’s voice seemed…excited.

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did.’

  ‘It’s fine. For a brief second, you emanated an aura that made us consider skiting ourselves. Must be your innate warpmancy,’ James said. He still had that look of concern. It irritated Re’lien. She told herself because it was patronising, but that wasn’t it. It reminded Re’lien too much of Kei’s concern. Kei’s look upon her as she lay scarred on the gravel streets of Xerl.

  ‘You have power, Re’lien,’ Krag-Zot explained, arms crossed. ‘But you need training to control it. I’d like you to train with me, and sometimes James, every day now.’

  ‘I have an assignment…’

  Krag-Zot silenced her with a show of his black-clad palm.

  ‘The Defiant and the Troopers will be on good terms. Right, Defiant?’

  James raised his eyebrow and then nodded.

  ‘Sure. Re’lien, Krag-Zot isn’t going to take no for an answer. Trust me. And training as a warpmancer won’t hurt. There’s only so much diplomatising we can do.’

  Re’lien finally conceded. They trained for the next while, until Re’lien’s crystal depleted. James, as was to be expected, was much more adept. His teleketicism was precise, and he had already mastered precision warp-shards – the most basic of the kinetic warpmancy projectiles. Re’lien couldn’t help but be impressed.

  But by the time night came and she was escorted to her room, she was relieved to embrace the comfort of a warm bed. She didn’t even turn on her wrist-tab or reach for her MindBand to watch a v-flick. She only embraced sleep and wondered if she would see James in her visions again.

  

  ‘She’s powerful, boy-mancer.’

  Krag-Zot did not sound as enthusiastic as he had during training.

  ‘If you’re afraid, why train her?’

  ‘To ensure she remains on our side. You sharpen the sword you intend to keep. And it’s not just that – I feel a connection between the two of you. A similar wavelength between your warp-energies. She has a part to play in this impending crusade. A very important part.’

  James didn’t respond but couldn’t help but know that Krag-Zot was right. Re’lien was to play an important role in the times to come. And an even more important role in James’ life going forward.

  James struggled to fall asleep that night. When sleep finally came, he did not dream. The warp had nothing to show him this night.

  “Purpose is not merely what makes life worth living. Purpose is what allows us to live.” – Yunka, Ten’quor Philosopher.

  Chapter 5.

  Demons

  James spent a lot of time thinking about Re’lien. She was an enigma to him. Not that she was hiding anything. She definitely was. All people were. And despite what some xenophobes may want to believe, Re’lien was a person. Coupled with that, she was an Imperial defector and an Order-Diplomat. That brought a lot of secrets. A lot of experience. A lot of things underneath the surface. James knew that all people had their demons, but Re’lien’s particularly interested him.

  But at the same time, James was frightened.

  Re’lien’s raw warp-power was magnificent, and her aura was truly terrifying. It had been brief, so James was able to cope, but in those moments, he was faced with his memory of Andrew’s death, his feeling of inadequacy, his fear that no matter what he did, it would never be good enough. Krag-Zot later told him, in a rare fit of emotional honesty, that he had seen Resh burn once again. That he saw his family incinerated by the Martyr’s beams of death. Krag-Zot had said this matter of factly. No tears. James suspected that the old areq had wept enough already.

  James would need to watch Re’lien. Closely. For the most part, he trusted her intentions. She was a professional. She was here to do a job and James couldn’t see how that job threatened the Defiant – for now. As much as he was not interested in re-joining the tin-men, he knew that friendly relations couldn’t hurt. Humanity, and the free races that Re’lien referred to, needed to be united against the rising threat of the Imperial Council and the still ever presents threats of the Xank and Squogg Black Fleet.

  Above his fear and curiosity, however, was an inexperience. James had noticed girls in the past. Any hotblooded male would. Back in Galis, James had attempted multiple relationships, but the thrill of the heist and the obligations of the Marzio Mafia always pulled him away from the primal functions of his species. On Zona Nox, girls were not nearly as pressing or interesting as survival or warfare. Since the siege of Galis and the frenetic year that followed, James had not had any time to consider anything approaching intimacy. But was he now? And how could he be contemplating any sort of intimacy with Re’lien. Sure, she was a girl. But a xeno. James knew he should be keeping Re’lien at a distance. No matter her pleasantness, she was still from the species that destroyed his homeworld. She could still be an enemy. And James had to think about his people. What would it look like to have their leader hanging around an alien?

  It is strictly professional, and they will need to realise that.

  But James knew that the public could never understand. The mob was carnal. Thoughtless. It assumed the worst. It never rationalised. James would have to not give them any fuel for their protests.

  But can I distance myself from Re’lien?

  James was sure he could. But what he thought, not explicitly, was: if he really wanted to distance himself from Re’lien. And that inner discourse confused him even more.

  James, sitting in his now cleaned and redecorated office, was awoken from his reverie by a buzz on the door. He breathed deeply. The scent of mint air-freshener. He had cleaned the
office and removed the gaudy decorations just after meeting Re’lien. James summoned a holo-screen with a wave across a sensor. The surveillance screen showed Nathan and Urg’a, Marshal’s vacaraptor companion, standing outside his door.

  Nathan seldom met with James. His duties training the Defiant Forces kept him busy. Urg’a never met with him and James did not know what the lizard had been doing this past while.

  James frowned. Marshal’s incapacitation after the death of his family must’ve been getting to the vacaraptor.

  James buzzed them in. Nathan entered first, wearing the dark ash and black coloured armour of the Defiant. Thermal underlining with anti-kinetic weave with a layer of plating. Emblazoned on the right-breast were two blue stripes, intersecting at the top. The symbol of the Defiant. Below it was three silver stars. General.

  While Nathan would not near qualify for becoming a general in the Trooper Order, he was one of the most experienced military leaders on Nova Zarxa – and a trusted friend. When it came to the Troopers who had joined the Defiant, James had extended some favouritism and appointed them as high ranking military officials. To be fair, it wasn’t like they had much competition.

  Yobu had been appointed commander of the Nexus guard. Effectively, chief of police. Lieutenant Frank McGraff was now a colonel, leading a division of veterans from the insurrection and the Imperial invasion. Others were given other ranks, befitting their skill level and previous ranks. Above them was Nathan, general of the Defiant Forces – Nova Zarxa’s national guard. The Defiant were still in the process of stabilising their control over Nova Zarxa – which was still on the brink of rebellion as the Zarxans realised that the Zonians weren’t only here to stay, they were here to rule. As such, James’ fledgling kingdom, state or theocracy did not have an offensive military. Only infantry and a ragtag defensive air force.

  Nathan saluted. A Trooper salute – flat hand to the forehead and then bringing it to a fist by the breast. Urg’a came up to just above Nathan’s waist. The crimson and green dinosaur-creature was wearing a custom-made Defiant anti-kinetic weave. He wasn’t wearing plating at the moment but there were slots to attach the armour.

  ‘James, how are you?’ Nathan asked. James was thankful that his friend used his name and not his title. At least some people remembered he was human.

  ‘Thankful to have some pleasant company to distract me from these reports.’ James smiled.

  Nathan’s eyes darted towards the desk. His frown suggested that he saw the content of the reports.

  ‘Captain Jasper is attempting to bring the riots under control.’

  ‘They’re being unreasonable,’ James responded. They were both referring to the crystal miners. Native and migrant Zarxans who made a living manning the mech-suit mining equipment needed to harvest the essential but dangerous minerals that powered FTL and warpmancy. After Zona Nox fell, Extos III became a no-fly zone. This severely hampered trade, leaving many miners destitute. Traders were beginning to return, slowly, but many miners had already lost their livelihoods. And as any frustrated and desperate person was want to do – they lashed out. Unfortunately, James could not and did not want to appease them. So, the riots were contained. Those who took things too far were executed. Luckily, no one had taken it too far yet.

  ‘It’s more than just the lack of demand for warp crystals. The Zarxans are afraid. They know now what Dedelux had done to the Zonians and they’re afraid we’re going to do the same to them.’

  ‘You a Zonian now, Nathan?’

  Nathan smiled, sadly. ‘Might as well be. Helped make your people a nation, I’d sure hope for citizenship.’

  ‘And I’m sure no real Zonian would decline. Now, I doubt this is just a friendly visit. How can I help you two?’

  ‘It’s about Marshal…’ Nathan began.

  ‘He’s a shell, James,’ Urg’a continued, in a combination of a Red Sand drawl and a reptilian hiss. ‘Breathing. Warm. Still kicking. But only just. He’s a husk of the man I fought with on Ganymede.’

  ‘His family died.’

  ‘They were my family too. And I mourn for them. But mourning shouldn’t be despair. It is the process where we must get used to them being gone. Where we learn to live with the hole in our chest. The empty seats at the table. But Marshal isn’t mourning. He’s resigned himself to die, slowly. Ingloriously.’

  James frowned, deeply. It felt easy to frown these days. He wasn’t looking forward to glimpsing his own reflection. His frown lines must have aged him quite a bit.

  ‘Marshal…’ James replied, sullenly. ‘Is his own man. He will need to come to terms with this on his own. I wish I could help. But we must all walk our own path down the road of despair.’

  ‘Mozar-skite, James, and you know it.’

  Nathan rarely swore, and the act shook James. Nathan continued, professional in tone but his scarred face growing red.

  ‘Marshal was your – our - mentor and friend. He took on all our burdens. Helped us along. Made us better men. Just because the final decision lies with us doesn’t mean we should just leave each other alone to suffer. We owe it to him to give him a leg up. To remind him that life is worth living. To give him purpose.’

  ‘Purpose?’

  ‘Marshal’s a soldier,’ Urg’a hissed, with a hint of sadness. James noted that Urg’a must have been taking the despondence of his friend particularly hard. ‘He has never walked his own path. He walks the path set forth by generals. He storms the bunker he’s ordered to storm.’

  James stared blankly at the motley two in front of him. Urg’a continued.

  ‘You are his general now. You give the orders. Marshal can’t start his own wars. But he can fight wars. And he can win them. Marshal needs a war – literal or figurative. As his friend, as his commanding officer, please give him something to aim at.’

  Urg’a walked forward and clasped James’ hands. His scaly fingers were rough. Dry. Urg’a looked James in the eyes. Yellow. Predatory.

  ‘Please, James. Go to Marshal. Make him see the light. Give him something. For all he’s done for us. For all he’s done for you. And for all it’s worth – for all I’ve done for you.’

  James looked Urg’a firmly in his cat-like, yellow eyes, and despite not knowing if he truly could save Marshal, he nodded. Urg’a let go, nodded back and left. Nathan saluted and left afterwards.

  James sighed. He didn’t know how he could save his friend. But Urg’a was right. He needed to try. He stood up from his black mozar-leather spinning chair and stretched. He picked up his jacket from the back of the chair and put it on. It was a black pseudo-leather bomber jacket, with the Defiant symbol emblazoned on the back. It was the same type of jacket all Defiant non-combat personnel wore. James was still fit for combat, however. Underneath the jacket, he wore an anti-kinetic weave and an Aegis .45 holstered by his side. James un-holstered the pistol and inspected it. It was the same gun from Zona Nox. The white-finish had been refurbished but faded metal on the trigger revealed repeated use. Aegis firearms almost never jammed, but James checked it all the same.

  Finally, he exited his office. A guard at an intersection in the silver-white corridor saluted him and he saluted back. He rounded the corner. His heart skipped a beat. Re’lien seemed to jump too.

  ‘James,’ she said. ‘Morning, or is it afternoon?’

  James hastily checked his wrist-tab, thankful for the excuse not to respond immediately.

  ‘Afternoon. Almost lunch. How are you, Re’lien? Feeling better?’

  Re’lien smiled, slightly. She was clutching a secure data tab in both her arms. The devices stored information without using the network and were necessary for privacy and security.

  ‘I’m feeling better, thanks. Are you…busy?’

  ‘I’m headed to the Command block to meet a colleague.’

  Re’lien frowned. ‘I was meant to be meeting with Commander Yobu to discuss his perspective on Defiant-Trooper relations, but that can wait. The liege trumps the vassals, after all. Can
I accompany you?’

  James knew he should say no. That he should come up with some excuse. That he shouldn’t be seen in public with a xeno.

  ‘Sure, this way.’

  They proceeded down the corridor. James smiled at Re’lien’s smile but all he could think was: Vok.

  ‘There’s a man I’ve seen around the lobby areas,’ Re’lien said. ‘Wears a black robe. Bald. Olive skin. Looks a bit deranged. Do you know him?’

  ‘Sounds like Gretswald.’ James scowled. Re’lien noticed and grinned, amusedly.

  ‘What’s up with him? He gawks at me like I’m a fresh trout. Pleased he caught it but disgusted by the flopping about.’

  ‘You fish?’ James was surprised. He thought Re’lien had defected to Mars. It wasn’t known for its fishing locales.

  ‘Never in real life. But I played a virtual game where I fished a lot.’ Re’lien’s expression darkened. She looked down.

  Bad memories. James thought. No, sad memories.

  ‘Anyway,’ James said, moving the topic away from uncomfortable subjects. ‘Gretswald is from Glaris Imperia. Human Imperial preacher that tagged along with me on Zona Nox. After he saw what the Imperials did to the planet, he renounced his faith…’

  ‘And now?’

  James sighed. ‘And now sees me as a god.’

  ‘Is he the guy that you said meddled in your affairs?’

  ‘He played a part but is not the mastermind. Maybe you can meet the notorious Aven Smith, one day. He may pester you for info though.’

  ‘And I’ll be glad to give it. And interested in meeting him. I’ve heard of kingmakers, but not god-makers.’

  Re’lien seemed to stifle a laugh at James’ discomfort. She continued.

  ‘Interesting about Gretswald though. When I was living on Xerl, we never knew that there were Imperial Humans. We were taught that humans were demons and that no decent life can survive past the Fringe.’