Bad to Worse
“The first time I remember waking up, I thought: These lights are too damn bright. I tried to reach out and block the light, but nothing happened. That’s when I looked down. At my arm.” “I passed out again.”
***
“The second time went a little better. An attendant was in the room when I came to. I still ended up screaming, but at least someone was there to tell me what in the Pit was going on.” “That’s all very interesting, Lance Corporal —“ “Corporal,” I interrupt the man in the dark suit. “I was field promoted to Corporal.” “My apologies, Corporal Mest.” He wasn’t military - looked more like a businessperson to me. And he was definitely all business. “But my job here is to gather what info you can provide about the events leading up to your injury. The entire incident was… disastrous.” “Yeah. Sorry. That makes sense. I’m still kind of processing it, ya’ know? Waking up without an arm.” The hospital room was gleaming, a sterile white from wall to wall. I had gotten them to dim the lights a touch, enough to take some of the edge off. It helped. A little. The worst part was mealtime. A tray of something or other would be brought in - that was no big deal, you get used to eating some real sketchy slop in the field. The main problem was I kept reaching out; to grab a utensil, take a swig of water, to scratch my nose - and nothing happens. Because there’s no damn arm there. So, I switch. Which sounds comically easy, but when it’s your dominant hand that’s no longer there, and muscle memory kicks in… yeah, you reach for a lot of crap without actually reaching for it. I tried to scratch my nose. Nothing happened. I made a face. I don’t mean to be rude, Corporal, but I’m on a tight schedule. With the ship missing —“ “Ship missing?” I interrupt. “The Bloodhound is missing?” “No, no. The Godhead’s Pursuit. Disappeared during the… well, when whatever happened. I’m hoping you can shed some light on that.” I close my eyes and sigh, sinking back into the bed. “Everything’s been a blur for weeks.” I open my eyes again. “I wasn’t even on that ship. How is my story going to help you?” He glanced at his comms, eyes narrowing as he read a notification; he dismissed it with a terse swipe. “Look, soldier. It’s up to me to determine what’s relevant. And right now, I need your story.” He leaned in, uncomfortably close. “How does a no-account grunt from a backwater Kraeth agriworld end up recruited into a Sci team?” I was a little offended, but he wasn’t exactly WRONG. “It started with that damn scythe,” I sighed. “Scythe?” “Yeah. For a hot minute it was mine. And all it cost me was this arm.”
***
I hadn’t expected a special operations team filled with a bunch of big brains to be particularly welcoming to a grunt like me; and sure enough, they weren’t. At first. I spent more time in the lab than my bunk. Timur-17, the resident Automata egghead, put me through my paces. “Once more, please,” he called out from behind a blast panel. “‘Kay.” I gave the scythe another sweep, letting the blade fall end-over-end. There was a rush of wind, a cyclone building within the room, rattling the deck plates against their rivets. I almost felt myself lift off that time. “Very good, very good, thank you.” I didn’t understand most of this. I’m Kraeth. I grew up in a Kraeth family, on the same farm my family had worked for half a century. Before that, we had come from Kraeth Prime, according to the old familial testament - and we had been farmers there, too. Nobody had heard of ‘Elravians.’ Nobody had super powers. I would have known; they weren’t too good at stifling gossip back home. Timur had tried to explain it. “Genetically, there are several apex phylums and subphylums of intelligent life known in our galaxy: Cnidaria, Chordata, and Arthropoda, not to be confused with ANthropoids, which is any life form exhibiting a basic morphology we would consider looking like a ‘person,’ which encompasses — I’ve lost you, haven’t I?” “Oh, what? Sorry. You start speaking the science geek speak, and I get a little fuzzy. My fault.” “Yes. Well. Some theorize that all intelligent life of the Anthropoidal variety originates with one common ancestry in prehistoric times. A larger contingent has come to believe that there are differing and distinct points of origin, an intriguing case of parallel evolutionary — you’re not paying attention again.” “I was waiting for the part that’s relevant to me. Like, how I’m a wizard, or something.” “You are not a wizard. Wizards are - well, they are real, but exceedingly rare, and you are not one of them.” “Fine, fine. But how do I have Elravian powers as a ‘not-Elravian?’” “It’s difficult to ascertain, and records are virtually nonexistent, but you must have an Elravian ancestor. I would propose the most likely culprit being a member of the diaspora following the Empire’s collapse.” “So… I have an Elravian great grandpa that hooked up with a Kraeth great grandma?” “Er… I would not put it so crassly, but, yes. Because of the theoretical shared genetic heritage of Mammalian species, crossbreeding is not at all unheard of, although it is less common in these nationalistic, modern times.” “Huh.” “Additionally, while we still don’t understand the mechanism at work, the chromosome responsible for Elravian elemental abilities is definitively linked to the —“ “Yeah, okay. So I have freaky DNA.” “Oh, the majority of life forms do. Your genetic code is a chimeric menagerie of viral, bacterial, mammalian, fungal, and reptilian material, amongst others. Frankly, you organic beings are an absolute morass of biological sources.” “So… I’ve got freaky DNA.” “Yes.” “Cool.”
***
Annual weapons qualifiers came up while I was aboard. They’re not something I look forward to. I’ve used a gun plenty of times, been in combat more than once… but I’m not the greathest at it. So, I needed some practice. “Whoever taught you that form was trying to get you killed.” The Bloodhound had its own range; Tracker Uzain told me it was put in for weapons testing, but I could use it for practice while we were on the trail. I had kind of hoped no one would come in. Instead, I got the best shot on the ship wandering through. “Has no one ever told you that you’re pulling your rifle out of alignment too quickly?” A Wraith is intimidating as all get out, and we’re on the same side. Some are huge, but not all of them - it’s still a person under that armor. But oh man, they’ve got presence. The voice that comes out from behind that helmet demands respect, and they swagger into the room with an effortless confidence. I considered running away. “Try it again.” I lined up the shot, carefully. It plunked down range, hitting the target. Good shot. “No. Terrible shot.” “I hit the target, didn’t I?” “Yes, but not well. You grazed it, under controlled conditions, with nothing moving. If that were an enemy soldier, you maybe brushed their armor, at best.” “That’s still a hit.” “At best. What’ve you got there, a 322-A?” “A, uh, thermal rifle.” “Yes, a 322-A thermal rifle. Mest, get your head together.” “How do you know who I am?” “A low-ranking Kraeth soldier aboard a DAM Sci-Ops vessel, currently in pursuit of a supernatural powered criminal - and you shoot like that. You’re not here for your military skills. That means you’re Mest.” “I… yeah, hard to argue with that.” “The good news is: shooting is something you can improve. So is weapons knowledge. Why are you immediately trying to see where your shot landed?” “Because I want to see where it landed?” “Yes, but: this is a thermal rifle.” “Uh huh.” “And thermal rounds are…?” “…hot?” “But more importantly…?” “Heavy?” “Kitra zon, and that means?” “…they’re slow?” “Yes. Geez. They’re subsonic. They leave your barrel at a low velocity. Take another shot, but this time, don’t move a muscle until after I tell you.” I squared up. Took a breath. Held it. Fired. Made really, really, really sure not to move. “You can look now.” I lowered the gun to my side. It wasn’t a bullseye, but it was close. “See? Much better. Even though we think that a round is moving lightning quick, that millimeter of movement on your end is enough to throw the trajectory off. You give it a moment, trust yourself a little - we’ll make a marksman out of you yet.” “Thanks. I’ll keep working on it.” “Good. Name’s Zee. I’ll check on you later.” And that’s how I met a Wraith.
***
The electrodes made it difficult to get a good swing going. The whole sensor harness was hardwired in, a long conduit trailing off to the control room. I had the sinking suspicion Timur hadn’t thought this through. “I… have not thought this through,” he grumbled over the intercom. “Can you, ah, try with your other hand?” “Sure?” I couldn’t imagine that what hand I used to swing the scythe would have any bearing on whether the powers worked or not, but who really knew? It was awkward to hold, but I got it moving. The air rippled, slowly building into a swirling storm. I felt my feet rise again, just my tiptoes dragging across the deck. “That is excellent. You may halt.” The wind died down as I let the scythe’s momentum falter. I set it on the table, and made my way to the observation station. “So… what did we learn today?” Timur did that thing where his head bobbled on his neck. I wondered if he had a literal screw loose. “Well. Yes. It will take more time to run a full analysis, but these readings do confirm my theory.” “And, which theory would that be?” Timur had a lot of theories. “Erm, well. The usage of your artifact, and the associated activation of the conduit within, clearly engages an energetic state that is wholly unfamiliar to modern science.” “Sure.” “While the exotic energies are observable, yet undefinable, I am still able to record their existence thanks to their secondary effects on the surrounding medium.” “Go on.” “You’re interested in this?” “Beats having to spar with a Wraith.” “Is that an idiom?” “Nah, that’s literal. Zee keeps putting me through my paces.” I couldn’t tell if the Wraith liked me or hated me. It wasn’t that he was unenthusiastic; he just kept beating the crap out of me in training. “Hmm. In any case, there is a measurable perturbance in the gluons present whenever your powers are activated, suggesting that your elemental abilities are impacting matter at a fundamental subatomic level.” “Yes. Gluons,” I nodded. ”Did you make that up?” “No. Gluons are a well-established part of particle physics. Why do you ask?” “Sounds made up.” “I assure you, it is not. Not by me. In any case, I can observe the changes in these gluons, and thus record when your powers are active.” “The wind also blows when I do, and I have a big-ass thresher in my hands, so…” “More to the point, I believe I can now track when any Elravian elemental powers are activated.” “Now, that’s more interesting.” In the doorway stood Tracker Uzain, commander of the Sci-team. “Sir.” I gave my best salute. Uzain was… tolerating me. Or maybe he liked me? I couldn’t really tell. He returned the salute. “At ease, Mest. What kind of range are we talking?” “That is dependent on multiple factors, including local star density, relative speed to the target, incoming and outgoing communications, array al—“ “A rough estimate. Please.” “Erm. Between one-point-five and two-point-two-five parsecs.” “That’s the range?” “Correct.” “And accuracy?” “An approximately fifty-thousand kilometer deviance” “That’s… better than I expected. Great job, Timur.” “Thank you, sir. Now, I will need your permission to reallocate the supply from the ship’s power plant.” “Sure, by how much?” “I will require optimally ninety-nine percent of available output to proceed with scanning.” I blinked, and shot a concerned look at Uzain. “Did he just say ninety-nine percent?” Timur looked crestfallen. “Uh… yes, sir.” “Timur.” “Yes, sir?” “Have you run these calculations by anyone with engineering expertise?” “At present, no, but I did —“ “Timur.” “Yes, sir?” “Please do. I cannot give you ninety-nine percent of the power supply. That would result in ninety-nine percent of the crew dying a horrible death. Including myself. And that’s just for starters.” “Erm.” “Yes?” “I will make some inquiries.” “Please do. But it’s a good start.”
***
“You’ve got to - no. You can’t swing it like that.” “But it’ll break your grip.” “Sure, but it’ll take your own arm off with it.” Zee and I had continued to practice. Well, I don’t know if it was practice for him, so much as pity, but it was definitely a workout for me. I had passed my rifle recertification, and even earned a “most improved marksman” commendation for my personnel file. That put me into contention for a promotion to Corporal, which would make me not the lowest ranked member of the crew. But that hadn’t been enough for Zee; we moved on to handguns, then grenades. In between was martial arts, then knife fighting. “When am I going to use a knife? Aren’t I just going to shoot the guy?” “No, that’s not always an option.” “How so? See a guy, shoot a guy.” “What if you’re clearing a room, and a hidden attacker knocks the rifle out of your hands?” “Well, yeah…” “Or you’re in a crowd, and there’s a high-probability that you’ll hit a bystander if you take the shot.” “I suppose.” “Or you’re in the middle of a combustible environment, and the slightest spark could ignite you and everything around you for a square kilometer. Do you want to use a gun there?” “No, but how often does any of that happen?” Zee drew his knife. “I’ve been a Wraith for over a decade, and this particular knife has been with me for the last half of that.” “So… you like that knife?” “So, I’ve had it with me in each of the situations I just mentioned. I’ve used it in each of those situations.” “Oh.” “Yes. Many times. But I wouldn’t be here without it, and neither would many innocent people. There are times where you need to take one life to save another.” “I guess we should practice with a knife then.” “I guess we should.” Which led us to the big one, the whole reason I was here: the Crescent Edge. I wasn’t allowed to remove it from the lab, but Timur gave me the dimensions. I spent some time in the shop putting together a training replica, and Zee insisted we give it a go. A scythe looks cool. Don’t get me wrong, it looks verycool. But it’s a farm implement: you use it to mow grass. Turning it into a weapon is both a stroke of genius and a terrible idea. They’re far too large and awkwardly shaped to be a normal weapon; I did a little research of my own, and a “war scythe” doesn’t look like this one at all. But, that didn’t matter. This particular one had killed a lot of people, if the legends were to be believed. In the right hands, it was disturbingly deadly. All logic goes out the window when dealing with ancient artifacts. Plus, magic powers. Speaking of, I complained about that, too. “How am I supposed to learn to use it if I can’t practice with it?” “The real Edge is dangerous. Didn’t you say you nearly suffocated a roomful of people the first time you used it?” That was true. I had even managed to knock Timur flat, and he was a machine. “To be fair, no one knew it would do that.” “No one knows a lot of what it could potentially do. You’ve heard the stories, same as I have.” The Edge wasn’t entirely unique; supposedly, the Sévoss clan was known for using scythes as their signature weapon. But this one has belonged to Luna - not only was she the last of her family, she was legendarily nuts. According to the stories Timur had dug up, Luna had murdered her way across a swathe of the galaxy - she started with the nobles of her home world, assassinated the Elravian Royal Family, and for years brutalized anyone that got in her way. They finally found her frozen corpse tucked away in a dark corner of a server farm, long since dead and forgotten. But while she was alive? Summoning cyclones strong enough to topple a fortress. Generating wind tunnels that could strip the armor from a battle tank. Sucking the breath from someone’s lungs without leaving a mark. Flying! How anyone could have stopped her, I had no idea. And now, someone had cracked the Vault and made off with another mythic weapon, one with an equally horrific past. And, unfortunately, they seemed to understand how to use that Elravian weapon much better than I did mine. Our comms chirped in unison. A summons to the Bloodhound’s bridge. For both of us. “I suspect playtime is over,” Zee flatly stated. “Are you ready for this?” “No,” I admitted. “But what choice do I have?” “Indeed. The battlefield is rarely of our choosing, but our mindset? That is no one’s choice but our own.”
***
A group had gathered on the bridge of the Bloodhound: Uzain, of course. Captain Fitzroy, the ship’s commander, as well as two of the DAM contingent’s squad leaders, Sergeants Elgin and Olgoth. Timur and several of the science techs were on screen, calling in from the labs. And there was Zee and myself. Uzain looked more serious than usual. Which was saying something. “Local authorities received a brief distress call, indicating that a colony on Macdui was under attack. They responded, and found signs of a struggle they couldn’t identify.” Zee spoke up. “Like at the Vault?” “They were smart enough to reach out to the Rangers for help. A Ranger recognized the aftermath was… abnormal, and called us.” “But was it like the Vault?” I blurted out. “Do we think it’s Arial?” “That’s what we’re going to find out.”
***
The corpse before us was blackened and mummified. If you told me it was a body left here in the freezing cold for years, I would have believed you. It had been here three days. Macdui was a rugged, cold world, polar ice caps extending down over two-thirds of the planet. The rest was a windswept rock, a smattering of moss and lichens giving it a touch of color. The only thing it had going for it was a harvesting business, inhabitants collecting and exporting a few tons of dried lichen every year for use in herbal remedies. It tasted like a foot. Most of those people were dead now. We had taken a landing craft down to the surface, stopping on a ridge just outside of the one settlement on the whole world. The Ranger that had been called in was waiting for us there. “Uzain.” “Paden.” “What have we got?” Better than the situation on Wellgram. Worse than Itzbrukai.” “Not much could be worse than Itzbrukai.” “You’ve got that right.” “Why’d we come in this way, instead of directly on the pad?” “Wanted you to have a look at the town from outside. The one survivor I have said he was coming down this trail back into town when he discovered the aftermath.” “Where’s the survivor now?” “At his shack, just before the town entrance. Don’t worry, I know what you’re thinking: I’ve got a holo drone parked outside his door. It’s already scanned the immediate area, no worries about evidence tampering.” “I knew you’d have it covered. Let’s go.” We walked along the gravel path across the top of a ridge line. The town was perched on a mess ahead of us, a shanty town of weather-beaten wooden and sheet metal structures. Ominously, smoke still billowed out from smoldering fires, carried away by the stinging winds. I pulled the shemagh around my neck tighter. I was in a sealed Scout armor, so what good I really thought it would do, I couldn’t say. The Ranger spoke up, and I nearly jumped off the trail. I needed to pay more attention. “So, you gonna’ introduce these fine folks?” “Oh, my apologies. Distracted.” I guess I wasn’t the only one. Uzain gestured to us all in turn. “Corporals Tong, Rellfer, and Aqwery. Sergeant Elgin. Wraith Zee.” The Ranger tipped his hat. “Pleasure, guys.” “Timur-17, lead science advisor. Xezl and Mik, science investigators.” “Nice to meet y’all. And this one?” “Lance Corporal Mest. …Scientific curiosity.” “That’s a new one.” “You’d be surprised. Everyone, Toler Paden, Ranger of The Deep.” “Howdy. Witness’s cabin is up here.” I could see the surveillance drone hovering nearby, the light blue flicker of its holo scanner dancing over each and every surface. It was focused particularly on the door of a small building, just outside the entrance to the town. It was another shack, similar to the other structures: faded paint, cracked window, tin roof patched with a tarp. The big difference being, it hadn’t had its doors or windows blown off. Ranger Paden slapped the side of the hut. ”Kreighton! You good?” A shout rang out from inside. “Aye, aye, been checkin’ me rifle. Just in case. Hadn’t a fired the ol’ thing in nary a decade, I reckon.” “Why don’t we keep the rifle at home, yeah? Got plenty of firepower with these fine folks around.” A man poked his head out, a heavily bearded Merzian. He eyed us all suspiciously. “Aye… sure, Ranger, sure.” Uzain stood at the threshold to the town, jaw set. “Have you done a full sweep yet?” “Basic scan, but I got a look at some of the bodies, and figured I should wait for specialists.” “Okay. Sci-team, escorts, you hang back with the witness. Give us five minutes before coming up. The rest of you, with me.” “Uh… does that include me, sir?” “Sure does, Mest.” “Great.”
***
“This is… horrible.” I had only gotten the briefest glimpse of the destruction at the Vault. Dead bodies, twisted and hanging in zero gravity amidst a darkened hallway. Here, they were up close, in the bright light of day. “How many were here?” Uzain was examining one up close, a husk of a person. “About fifty people or so,” Paden answered. ”No cargo ships in port, so that helped keep the casualties down a bit.” I noticed the local, Kreighton, looking anywhere but the dead scattered all around. “So, uh. How long have you lived here?” “Oh, I… this would be my fifty-second season ‘pon the rock, it is. Been a good place.” He looked away again, towards the mountains. “Guessin’ I be needin’ to find a new one.” He wandered off, starring at the horizon. The other team had moved up in the meantime, the tactical group moving structure to structure while the techs worked. Timur struck up a conversation with the Merzian. I watched his head bobble. Wraith Zee prodded another body, this one with a gaping burn hole still smoking in its chest. ”Not all of them were killed the same way.” Ranger Paden nodded. “I noticed that, too. A few of them took fire from more conventional weapons. Looks like an electro laser strike.” “Just like a stolen Keeper’s rifle.” Uzain stood again, hands back on his hips. “Could be. Could be.” “Why use that, though, when you have the Lotus?” It didn’t make a lot of sense to me, when you had a magic gun that sucked up life force. The Ranger shook his head. “Maximum damage, I guess.” “That’s true. Why murder these people, though? It’s a nothing settlement on a barren planet, far out of the way.” “Yeah, but it wasn’t always. Rangers fought a battle here, long before both our times.” “Wait… Macdui…” Uzain’s frown got even deeper as he concentrated on a memory. ”Was there a techno cult here?” “Yup. Temporal Ascendancy. Bad dudes. Their leader had his headquarters buried under the mountain there.” He pointed off in the distance, towards the valley below. ”This colony doubled as a watch post, in case somebody started sniffing around again.” “Temporal Ascendancy… Timur!” The Automata perked up, and scurried over. “Yes, sir?” “Arial’s Lotus, where was it found?” “It was in possession of an outlawed organization, the —“ “Temporal Ascendancy, yes. But where?” “Checking.” He froze in place as his mind accessed an external database up on the ship. When he snapped out of it, his shoulders slumped. “It was… oh my.” “How did you miss this? We’re on the same damned planet!” “My apologies,” Timur stammered. ”I was in the lab, and —“ “Never mind, never mind. We know it now, and it wouldn’t have changed anything. Start pulling anything else related to the Ascendancy, any details in the archives. Call the Vault and drop my name with the Curator if you have to. Go!” Timur scampered off without another word, headed back to the shuttle. Uzain shook his head as he watched him go. Ranger Paden broke the silence. “I’m pretty sure the Ascendancy is dead, Kolt. The old-timers, they didn’t pull their punches, and the Ascendancy made a lot of enemies.” Uzain rubbed his temples. “You’re likely right. But whoever stole the Lotus knew it was found here. And if they knew that, what are the chances they now know where the Ascendancy got it?” “Fair. You want another set of eyes on this thing? I’m already on assignment, wouldn’t mind seeing this thing through.” “And I would gladly accept, if you don’t mind me keeping it quiet.” “Nah, I know how the big wigs are about the Concordance and ‘outsiders.’ I don’t want credit; just justice for these poor folks.” “Good. Then let’s get a move on. You know the way to this mountain fortress?” “No, but Kreighton does. I’ll warn you now, though: he told me there ain’t much to see.”
***
It was, in fact, not much to see. “It’s… a hole.” “A big hole.” “This is it?” “Yup.” It was an enormous crater, probably a thousand meters wide, and almost as deep, gouged out amidst the rocky peaks. There were bits of rusted scrap still dotting the surroundings, forming their own depressions in the ground. We hovered overhead, standing atop a cargo platform we’d taken from town. The harsh wind rocked the platform. “Told you: it was a big battle.” “No fooling. What in the Pit happened?” “The Preacher had his main base of operations here. He was collecting curiosities, weird tech and bizarre artifacts.” “Why?” “Same reason all these crackpots do it: think they’ll find the right magic stick or whatever, and suddenly they’re master of the universe.” It was hard not to take that one a little personally. “So, why is it a giant hole?” “Ascendancy was causing all kinds of problems, and the Rangers posse’d up to stop them. Laid siege to the place, finally broke through after days of fighting. Preacher tried to activate some kind of super weapon, and one of the Rangers blew it all to kingdom come. Hole’s all that’s left of the structure.” “Then how’d your guys find Arial’s rifle?” “Lots of junk was thrown clear in the blast.” Uzain’s scowl seemed to be getting deeper by the second. “The Lotus doesn’t degrade; the material it’s made from is incredibly durable. If anything could survive, that would be it.” The Merzian had been quiet this whole time, preferring to stay on the opposite side of the platform. He had suddenly turned about, listening more intently. “I’m sorry, fellas, and I hope ye don mind me questionin’, but did ye all say ‘Arial?’” “Yes. Why?” “Well, I dunno if it be importan, but we had a woman by that a name pass through here, not long after the Rangers, blessing’ yur pardon, did their work on this spot.” He tipped his cap at Ranger Paden. “I mean, it’s an ‘Arial.’ It’s not an uncommon name.” I had known a few Arial’s, served in at least two platoons with one each. “No, ye be right ‘bout that. But she be real strange, talkin’ to voices that ain’t there. And mutterin’ ‘bout a ‘Lotus,’ like ye said.” Uzain’s frown disappeared, replaced by alarm. “Wait. She asked about the Lotus? By name? Are you sure?” “Aye, I remember it well. Striking lady, she was, never seen another like ‘er. But daft. Wandered in to the pub on a stormy night, chatterin’ ‘bout it like it was a lost love.” “What did she say?” “Many ‘tings, and it been a good long time since. But she said the Preacher had a takin’ it, from where I dunno. She headed off to these ruins, and we never saw her ‘gain. Left a strong impression, though, I tell ‘ye. Ranting, eyes ablaze with anger, but also a bit sad.” “So, she was here. But decades ago.” Paden and Uzain exchanged a troubled glance. “Why would she come back, if she had found the Lotus in the Vault?” “Arial’s clearly gone mad,” I interjected. “Maybe she’s retracing her steps for some reason, visiting places from the past. Dementia.” “Pardon, but ye’ got it wrong.” “Have what wrong?” “Twasn’t Arial that did this. I saw the beast that came through ‘ere. Twasn’t her.” “You saw what did this? How are you still alive?” “I told ye’ metal friend, ‘for ye’ sent him away.” “Ugh. Timur.” Uzain rubbed his eyes. “We have got to work on our communications skills, he and I.” “Well, then I’ll tell you as well. Twas’ comin’ down from the glacier, was I, wit a catch of snow relish. Saw the smoke, an’ got out me binocs.” “What did you see? “It weren’t like us, whatever was prowlin’ round the town. Too tall, a couple heads taller than this here fella’.” He pointed at Wraith Zee - a Thrackian, already a third of a meter taller than the rest of us. Kreighton went on. “Too many arms, like an insect, but machine.” “It was robotic?” “Aye, but not all of it. Part of it ‘twas a person, a — what do ye’ call it?” “A cyborg?” “Yeah, a person and a machine, all together.” Wraith Zee spoke up, that distinctive growl coming from under his helmet. “It could still have been her. She hasn’t been seen in centuries; who knows what’s happened to her?” Uzain seemed lost in thought. “But I still don’t understand why? If it was to cover her tracks, it isn’t working. If it was to find the Lotus, she’s already done that. “ “The woman came ‘ere before, she was angry, but she had no quarrel wit us. I canna’ believe it be her. And if she was coverin’ her tracks, she coulda’ done a better job. She left Nel's shack still standin’ “ “Who’s shack?” “Nel. The ol’ landin’ pad operator. He had logs of everyone fly in’ in an out of these parts going back half a century or more. If she wanted to erase the memory, she shoulda’ burnt it to the ground.” “We need to see those logs.” “I’ll take ye’ to ‘em.”
***
“I mean, yes, the building is still here. But look at this mess.” “Aye, it did a number on the place.” The door had been smashed in, the whole frame torn off. Equipment and log books - actual parchment books - were tossed about haphazardly. A blackened husk, Nel, I assumed, was curled up just inside the doorway, still clutching a blaster. The Merzian waited just outside. I would have rather been with him. Most places, port logs are one of two things: meticulously kept digital archives, a database with a vast amount of minutiae about the comings and goings of every ship that passes through. Or they’re exceedingly blank, and people pay good money to keep it that way. Nel’s logs were more like the first kind. Except bound in volume after volume after volume of parchment. Not a data pad in sight. “This is going to take days,” Wraith Zee grumbled. “Should I call over the other guys to help? “No, no…” Uzain picked at a blue book he’d retrieved from the heap on the ground. It was labeled 23rd Cycle, 4th Century, Year One, Wulfspan - Midspan, EAO. ”I would rather they stay on overwatch. Just in case.” “Kreighton,” Ranger Paden called out. “You know any rhyme or reason to this in here?” The Merzian grunted. “Me? Nah, ‘twasn’t me place to be sniffin’ round the logs. ‘Sides, Nel and me had nothing but troubles for years, the rot-infested bildgemuncher, may his soul rest ‘tin peace.” Ranger Paden rolled his eyes. “Alright Kreighton, thanks for that.” I went to examine the shelves, the furthest point away from the body. The whole place was a wreck, but some of the volumes were still in place. 23394, Warmarche - Czarus, EAO. 23394, Leorax - Endspan, EAO. 23395, Wulfspan - Desirous, EAO. Various technical manuals and comms updates, meticulously printed and stapled, were interspersed between the log books. I crouched down and examined the last few books in the lower right corner. 23416-23417, Andromeda - Solmanoth EAO. 23417, Warmarche - Midspan, EAO. 23417, Czarus - Frostfall, EAO. Recent. Not brand new, but recent. They had been filed at some point in the last year. I stood up again, and glanced down the shelves. The upper left corner was still intact, books in place. Older and sun-bleached by the looks of it. I went over. 23389, Midnoctis - Endspan, EAO. 23390, Wulfspan - Maia, EAO. 23390, Midspan - Midnoctis, EAO. Old. Real old. Older than me. But not fifty years old. “Uh, Mister Kreighton?” I shouted back over my shoulder. “How long did you say Nel had been in charge of the landing pad?” “Aye, he had been ‘ere the whole time I been, so at least fifty years. Maybe longer.” “Thanks!” Uzain had looked up from the pile on the floor, and was starring at me. “Did you find something, Mest?” “More like didn’t find something.” Uzain and the Ranger came over. “These books are all in date order. They start up here, and end down there.” “And?” “The middle portion has been disturbed, sure, but the ends haven’t been. And the oldest books here only go back to The Twenty-three Eighties.” “There must be more somewhere else.” Wraith Zee had joined us as well. “I already checked the other rooms. There’s nothing there but personal effects.” “Kreighton! There a storage place around here? Archives or somethin’?” “Aye, round the corner. I’ll show ya’” Uzain gave me a nod. “Good eye, Mest.”
***
The electricity was still on, thankfully. The sun had fallen behind the mountains, the whole town descending into shadow. And it was even worse here, in the bunker the town had kept its important records in: there wasn’t a whole window in the place. Unlike everywhere else in town, this building was still intact. I guessed that was because no one was here at the time whatever happened, happened. There wasn’t a single body to be found, unlike elsewhere. Crate after crate of files were stacked up. The labeling varied: “Tax Records”. “Citations”. “Property Deeds”. I looked for one that someone had taken the time to care about writing. After a couple minutes searching. I found it. “Wraith Zee, can you give me a hand?” The crate on top weighed a ton. I hoped we could lift it working together. Zee walked over and casually slid it aside. Thrakians are just built different. “Thanks.” “No problem. Need to work on weightlifting next.” “Yeah, sure thing. What year am I looking for?” The Ranger answered. “23372”. We all shot him a look, and he shrugged. “Hey, I’ve got a good memory, and I just read about it, alright? I like history.” I rifled through the contents of the crate. “23370”... “23367”... “23365”... Ah ha! There! “23372”!” Everyone clustered around, trying to catch a glimpse in the dim light. “He had neat handwriting,” Zee observed. Uzain chuckled. “Thank goodness for that.” “What month should I be looking in?” “Twasn’t more than a month after the comin’ of the Rangers. Must t’been Ashentide season, on accoun’ o’ the decorations up in the pub.” I raised an eyebrow, not that you could see it under the helmet. “You remember the pub was decorated? I don’t remember what I had for lunch.” “Aye, the memory stick wit’ me. You saw someone as striking as that Arial, you’d remember it, too, you would.” “Ashentide… Frostfall… lot of visitors around then.” “Aye, comin’ to dance on the graves o’ those creeps down the way, they were.” “Grapic, Alecks”... “Snee the Fetcher”... Oh! Arial! Er…” Uzain leaned in. “What? What’s wrong?” “It says Arial “Qara.” Not Vaharic. And the last location is “declines to state.”” Zee gave a shrug. “Declining to state” sound a little like what we’d expect, right?” Uzain reached for the book. “May I see that?” “Sure.” “Entry time, registration number, blah blah blah… cargo: none. Purpose of visit: wreck stuff.” “Heh. 'Wreck stuff.'” Ranger Paden gave us all a sly smile. ”You sure she’s a bad guy? I kinda’ like her.” Without looking up, Uzain shot back. “She committed genocide over a seven-thousand year span, before going mad and disappearing.” “Uh… maybe not.” Uzain put the book down."This is her." I was confused. “But the last name’s wrong.” “Then she lied. Time frame makes sense. 'Wrekc stuff' makes sense.” “But how does that help us? We don’t know where she came from.” “I think we do.” Uzain typed on his wrist comp. Qara. last names almost invariably stem from one of three things: the name of the family progenitor, the occupation of the family in historic times, or…” The comp beeped. “Qara. The place you’re from. At least, the place you’re from when you need to lie about it. Oldest trick in the book.” “Why didn’t she lie about where she came from, too?” “Name is one thing. Place is harder, easier to disprove. Besides, she’d already used it on one lie.” “Okay, then. Qara. Where’s that?” “Let’s find out.” Wraith Zee snapped a pic of the page, and uploaded it to the Bloodhound. The rest of us piled back out into the cold, the heavy steel door creaking shut behind us. Other than the sound of tarps flapping loosely in the wind, it was deathly quiet. “Kreighton.” Uzain had stopped to speak with the Merzian. “I‘ll call in a supply vessel, and they can either drop you some goods or pick you up - your choice. Will you be alright for a few days by yourself?” “I… yessir, believe I shall.” “I’m sorry we can’t take you with us. I don’t know how dangerous it’ll be.” “It’s alright, sir, I understand. Never been much of a fighter myself, haven’t been.” “Okay. Still, I’m sorry. We’ll help you through this. In the meantime, go back to your cabin. We’ll take care of your neighbors. Try and get some rest.” “Aye, thank ye’, sir. It’s been a long few days, it has.” We watched the old man shuffle down the street and out of sight. Hard to believe that, by nightfall, he’d be the only person left on the whole planet. Uzain waited until he was gone before speaking up. “Zee, can you lead the team in gathering up the bodies, and getting them on the platform? We’ll take them out of town for cremation. Can’t wait for next of kin, if there even are any. We’ll have to rely on scans for identification.” “Sure, sir. Shame. Wish there was more we could do.” “Stop the bad guys. That’s what we do next.” Zee and the Ranger nodded, and headed off towards the rest of the party. Uzain hung back, hands on his hips - again. “Sir, that was… kind of you.” “It wasn’t kindness, Mest. It was decency.” “I guess I’m just used to combat duties. Not… decency.” “It can’t all be about fighting, Mest. The Concordance is about helping each other. If all we do is fight, what’s there left to fight over?” He sighed ”Come on, let’s give the others a hand. These people deserve one last display of dignity.”
***
It took until after sundown to collect the dead and transport them all out into the valley. We built a cairn around the bodies; there were too many to fully cover, but it would keep scavengers out for a bit. Sergeant Elgin had siphoned a bit of thruster fuel from the shuttle, and carefully poured it across the grave. We gathered around as a lighter was struck and the flames began to rise, light dancing off the surrounding mountainside. Some were silent. Others muttered a prayer. Wraith Zee growled something I could only partially make out, a chant about “gathering.” Ranger Paden stood aside, looking up where the town was, hidden away on the cliffs in the dark. Uzain paced. He stopped near me. “You have any living family, Mest?” “Yeah. Whole bunch of them actually. All back home, most of them still on the farm. They, uh… leaving wasn’t a popular decision. Mom and one of my sisters still write. You, sir?” “Nobody left, no.” He watched the flames. “What do you think? What happened to these people when they died?” “Oh.” I hadn’t given it much thought before. “Well, back home, we believed that there is another realm beyond this, one that is made pure by the suffering we endure here. When we die, the soul rises up, cleansed.” “But do you believe that, Mest?” “Yeah. I mean, I’m not sure about the particulars, but… galaxy’s a strange place. Would be nice if there was a point to it all. What about you, sir?” He sighed again. “I’ve seen too many things to discount what could lie beyond this life. But I’ve also seen too many things to believe that there’s something looking out for us.” He gave me a glance, and I could have sworn I saw a tear in the corner of his eyes. ”For the sake of the believers, I hope I’m wrong.”
***
“Qara’s a dwarf planet, a few days flight from here. Some industry, mostly mining. Atmosphere is breathable but noxious; almost the entire population supports the mining facilities. It’s in non-aligned space.” We were gathered on the bridge, the science and combat teams. There had been a flurry of activity when we returned, everyone rushing to either prep to leave, or researching our next destination. The flight and away groups had reported in as ready to go. Now we were hearing about the where. “Any links to the Elravians?” “Not specifically, but it would have fallen within the Empire’s borders at one time. It doesn’t appear that it was of any importance.” Timur seemed a little sheepish. He and Uzain had made some apologies when we had gotten back, but clearly there was some lingering embarrassment. “You’re thinking the Ascendancy found the weapon there,” Ranger Paden stated. It wasn’t really a question anymore. “Yes.” “And the owner came looking for it after we cleared ‘em out.” “The timing, the flight logs, the attack here; it feels linked.” I still had some doubts. “What if it’s not Arial? You heard the old man: it was something else that attacked here with the Lotus, and it doesn’t make sense she would wander back into town after a few decades away.” “I would remind you that no one in recorded history was able to duplicate Arial’s abilities. Her Lotus and it’s usage where wholly unique to her alone. The Elravians checked.” Timur would know, but… “Sure, but up until you placed that scythe into my hands, you were also certain the Elravians and their powers were dead and gone.” The Ranger raised an eye. “Kid’s got a point.” Uzain continued to study the holomap floating amidst us. “So does Timur. But you’re not wrong, it doesn’t make any sense.” “What if someone’s trying to find her? Following the last known trail? You said she made a lot of enemies.” Uzain gave me a look. “Yes, twenty-thousand odd years ago.” “Long time to hold a grudge,” Zee pointed out. “Like, a few lifetimes worth.” “I know, I know, it sounds nuts. But it seems to me that someone is following her trail in reverse. I don’t know where that leads, but it makes more sense than her going down a murderous trip through the past.” Uzain dismissed the hologram. “Either way, Arial or not, we need to head to Qara. Fitzroy, what’s the nearest Concordance vessel?” “Godhead’s Pursuit, a destroyer. Captain Oberon.” “Reach out to the captain with a priority request. Have them rendezvous with us just outside Qara's home system.” “Yes, sir.” “Timur, have your scanner ready, and pointed toward the planet. The rest of you, keep researching. I don’t want any more surprises about the place when we arrive. Dismissed.” Everyone turned to leave, eager to get underway. “Mest, a moment?” “Sir?” “I’m going to allow the Edge to come out of the lab. For training only, and only in the range.” “Yes, sir.” “It must be returned to the lab when not in use. Understood?” “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.” “Very good. I don’t know what we’re going to encounter, if anything. If we do, it’ll be unpleasant, and you deserve every advantage we can give you.” “You think I’ll have to fight… whatever it is?” “If I can help it, no. But this thing tore through Vault Security like it was nothing. If it comes to it, I want you armed.” “Yes, sir.” “Dismissed.” I nodded, and turned away. “And Mest?” “Sir?” “If it does come to it: run.” “Yes, sir.”
***
“Are you aware, Lance Corporal Mest —“ “Corporal.” “Corporal Mest. Are you aware that Qarais under commercial jurisdiction via treaty?” “No.” “Are you aware that Tracker Uzain’s actions in ordering the Bloodhound and Godhead’s Pursuit into a potential conflict at Qara are unlawful under Concordance directives?” “We were after a criminal —“ “Not a Concordance criminal —“ “A criminal who had attacked the Vault —“ “Which is not a Concordance facility —“ “It’s in our space!” “Yet it wasn’t our problem!” “What about Macdui?” “Also not Concordance territory.” “It was the right thing to do!” “I understand that Tracker Uzain thought he was being ‘kind’ -“ “He didn’t say ‘kind.’ He said ‘decent.’ Isn’t that what the Concordance is about?” “The Concordance is about order. And breaking all our rules is not order.” “You would rather we just allow a monster to roam free?” “I would rather nothing. The Concordance, to whom you owe fidelity, would rather this have been reported. Rather that someone well-equipped been sent. Rather that someone else handle this.” “Well, they didn’t. And I won’t be handling much of anything.” “I’m sorry for your injuries, I truly am. But I’m also sorry for the crew of the missing starship, and the crew who are dead.” “So am I. I wish there was more I could have done.” “Tell me, then, what happened after you left Macdui.” “I had thought things were bad before. It just got worse.”
***
The Bloodhound came out of FTL about a third of a parsec from Qara, just far enough to be outside of sensor range. The other ship met up with us there. “Tracker Uzain, nice to finally speak with you.” “Likewise Captain. You received the Sitrep?” “Yes, sir. This fugitive from the Vault heist, you think they’re here?” “Our evidence thus far has pointed in this direction.” The Ranger spoke up from the wings, staying out of sight of the holo cams. “It sure is a dump. Not a lot of looky-loos, I imagine.” “No. Captain Fitzroy, any distress calls?” “No, sir. Normal chatter.” “Timur, anything on your scans?” “No, sir. Nothing indicative of a Elravian power.” “Hmm. Alright. Captain, I want to approach Qara from opposite hemispheres. Can you maneuver to drop out of FTL at the coordinates Captain Fitzroy supplied?” “Aye aye, but it’ll take some time. Lots of gravimetric disturbances in this area. We’re right on the edge of a dense pocket of fluidic space, and we’ll need to move carefully.” “Fine. Once your course is plotted, send the estimated timing. We’ll synchronize our jump.” “If we find the target, what’s the plan?” “Shoot first, and shoot a lot.” “Done. I have to advise, Tracker, that we’re likely going to get in trouble for this.” “And I have to agree. Any issues, Captain?” “Not at all, Tracker. Godhead’s Pursuit out.”
***
According to Timur, Qara was known way back in olden days as an easy source for iron. Apparently, it was the cooled core of a planet, the outer layers stripped away by some catastrophe or another. It was lost in null for centuries before the Almorians sniffed it out. Since then, one company or another has been chipping away at it and hauling off the spoils. It was horribly unpleasant. Dark, intensely cold, shrouded by a toxic cloud of pulverized rock barely held in place by its minimal gravity. The surface was dotted with mining crawlers, slowly transiting between the few surface settlements. The only other facility was a single orbital platform, a depot for incoming supplies and outgoing materials. It was a terrible place to visit, but a pretty good place to go if you absolutely didn’t want to be found. The Bloodhound jumped in above the hemisphere opposite the orbital station. Below us was a mass of almost total darkness, discernible primarily from the stars it blotted out. We were hailed immediately. “Uh, attention! Please? Uh. This planet is deeded to the ES3 Corporation. Please, uh… state your purpose.” In the background, we could hear whispered side conversations. “Did I do that right? Who are these guys?” “ES3 Corporation facility, we are not here to cause trouble. This is Tracker Uzain of the Concordance, in command of the CCN Bloodhound. Also in orbit is the CCN Godhead’s Pursuit under Captain Oberon. We’re investigating a crime that occurred in our territory, which we believe may have ties to your location.” “Nope! Nobody by that description here.” “I… haven’t given you a description.” “No!” There was some more chatter in the background. ”I don’t know, I thought that was the kind of thing you’re supposed to say to them!” The sound of something rattling. ”I'm a flight controller, how am I supposed to know that?” “Excuse me.” “Uh, yes. Go ahead.” “We can hear you.” “Ah. Crap.” “As I was saying, we’re just trying to gather clues regarding our investigation. May we dispatch away teams? We would like to send a team to the surface, and have the Godhead dock with your station.” “Uh… I can’t make that kind of decision.” “Can you ask someone that can?” “I… can… not. I cannot. No.” “And why not?” “Not available.” “And when will they be?” “Next quarterly visit in, uh… three months.” “Alright. Under Section Treaty 14.267 —“ “Oh no.” “Subsection 1200.78-B --” “Come on, man.” “Paragraph 55 -- " “Fine! Fine! Just… don’t break the airlocks or anything, okay?” “Thank you for your cooperation.” “Ugh. Godhead’s Pursuit, you’re cleared for docking with umbilical three. Bloodhound, your shuttle is cleared for planetfall along corridor Delta-One-Six, vector twelve.”
***
Timur and I watched the landing ship depart, Uzain, Zee, Ranger Paden, and a contingent of troopers with them. We were ordered to stay behind: Timur to run analysis beamed up from below, and me… well, because I didn’t have any real business bring down there. I think Uzain was rattled after what he saw on Macdui. “Would you like to come to the lab and look at energy analysis? I found some intriguing background radiation perturbances as it relates to Elravian powers. I thought it might be, uh, fun?” “As great as that sounds, I think I’m going to go spar.” “Spar? I thought Wraith Zee was your sparring partner? Have you begun trai —“ “No, no, no change. Just practice.” “Oh. If you change your mind, you are more than welcome to join me in the laboratory. I believe the energy signature simulations will be particularly interesting.” “Thanks, Timur.” I watched the shadowy planet below, until the bay doors finally shut.
***
The planetoid loomed outside the window, a black mass blotting out the stars. I didn’t want to listen in on the audio transmissions. I wasn’t sure why. The place felt sad. And there was something else, that I couldn’t explain. The scythe was laid out on the floor before me in the darkened practice room, lit only by the ship’s running lights. It had a depth to it. The black handle was rich, supple; the blade lustrous. The ornamentation, covered in Elravian runes, seemed to speak of tragedy, even if I didn’t know what it really said. Apparently, it also made me feel poetic, or something. I don’t think that’s an Elravian power. Just an active imagination. I’ve fought before. Killed before. Picked up a gun, went into battle, and walked away when others didn’t. Holding my rifle stirred very little in the way of feelings about life and death. Training made sure of that. But the Edge, it was steeped in it. Inescapable. If the stories were true, it was legendarily awful; but was it any worse than my rifle? Or Zee’s knife? Were the deaths at its blade any different than the ones at the end of my gun? Was I any different a killer than Luna had been? Out the window, the cloud of mining dust rippled. Streaks of light burst forth, disappearing towards the bow. I turned just in time to catch the briefest glimpse of a ship rush past, before the entire Bloodhound shook. Klaxons blared, red emergency lights pulsing in every room, every hall. The ship shuddered again, the lights surging and flickering with each impact. I grabbed the Edge, strapped on my Escort helmet, and stumbled into the hall. Clouds of smoke clung to the ceiling, while atmosphere, momentarily chilled by exposure to the vacuum of space, roiled along the floor. I headed for the bridge. The attacking ship flashed past outside the portholes that lined the passageway. Bigger than a fighter, it strafed the hull, rattling the bulkheads with each hit. It yawed away, spinning to avoid return fire from the Bloodhound. Just before hit the stairs, I could see it turn, making a long loop. It stood out against the pitch black, and there was no mistaking it: a Vault Restoration-class armor-clad, one of the single toughest ships in existence. We had failed to find out suspect. Our suspect had found us. I scrambled upward, climbing decks three stairs at a time. My ears popped as I reached the bridge level’s landing, the telltale sign of a missile launch. We were fighting back, but — Too late. I looked out the window as I stepped from the stairwell, only to see the attacker bearing down on us. It all happened so fast, too fast to fully process: someone - some thing - jettisoning towards us. The Vault ship, guns ablaze, performing another strafing run. The hull rupturing, atmosphere and equipment and personnel suddenly blown into space. Falling backwards, down the stairs to the deck below, watching the emergency hatches swing shut. Hitting the ground. Hard. The world swimming. I tried to gasp for breath; nothing happened. I wondered for a moment if I’d broken my back, if I was paralyzed. I sat up in a panic, then realized I could still - painfully - move. It was just the wind knocked out of me. I hauled myself up from the floor, the ship lurching beneath me. Antigravity gets screwy during sudden movements, like taking repeated cannon fire; the quick shifts in orientation were systems desperately trying to keep up. Made me want to puke. I looked up at the sealed emergency hatch. No going to the bridge, not without taking the long way around. Besides, whatever it was that had jumped from the aggressor to the Bloodhound had landed near the labs. Near Timur. I bolted. Fire suppression systems ticked on and off, blasts of flame retardant jetting onto every surface. Even with sensors engaged, it was near impossible to see through the acrid smoke. I made my way forward by following the echoes of gunfire resounding down the hallway. I nearly hit the floor as I rammed my toe into something laying across the ground. A few feet further, the same thing happened again. I kept going, the glow of muzzle flashes and blaster fire puncturing the haze. But there was also something else, the sound of a weapon I couldn’t identify. I tripped again, this time going down on my knees. I finally got a look at what was before me. It was a corpse. Withered, leathery, just like the ones at the Vault. Like from Macdui. She was here. I struggled to stand, leaning on the Edge for support. The Edge… I spun it, the whirlwind that formed pushing the smoke out ahead of me. I could see again. And immediately regretted it. The entire passage was littered with bodies. Some battered, some mummified in that same strange way. All dead. I pressed on. The emergency lights flickered again as the ship took more damage. The shouting and gunfire dropped off as I neared the lab. A pile of the dead lay in a heap at the entrance, the doors torn off and tossed aside. I crept around the corner. Timur was there, held aloft by… I didn’t know what. It had to have been four meters tall, robotic arms splayed out in every direction. A machine unlike any I had ever seen. Its back was to me. And in one hand, it was holding the Lotus. “Another robot,” it growled at Timur, who struggled in its grasp. ”Everywhere is crawling with your kind these days. I guess nobody likes to work anymore.” Feminine voice, weirdly person-like. Timur strained against the thing’s arms. “Present circumstances aside, you have no idea how gratifying it is to be proven correct. Arial Vaharic, here in the fl —“ It angrily tossed Timur aside, letting out a metallic-tinged roar of frustration. He crashed into the the labs equipment, consoles and tests shattering on impact. It stalked over, looming down at him. I could see its face. It was… not a machine. A cyborg, but not like any I had ever seen. It’s six hands were organic, as was part of the torso. The face was haunting: a woman, bone white, her face crisscrossed with circuitry and armor. “I. Am. NOT. HER!” It raised a pair of fists high. “Hey!” I stepped into the room, scythe at the ready. “Leave him alone!” It turned, glaring at me with cold eyes. But something changed, hands lowering to its sides. It suddenly looked - amused? “Oh… oh, this is too good. Too good.” It took a step toward me. “I followed the energy signature here, and thought maybe I had been fooled, but oh no. You idiots brought it right to me!” “This?” I looked at the Edge in my hands. “You’ll have to pry it from my hands.” It… laughed. “Really? That’s hilarious! Best joke I’ve heard in centuries.” It took another step forward. I shifted my stance. “I’ve killed more with that Edge than there are minutes in your life. I will happily rip you to shreds to take it back.” Timur had sat back up amongst the pile of debris. “Oh, no. Ord! That is not Arial! You need to go! That’s —“ It fired without looking, swinging the Lotus back and pulling the trigger. The blast didn’t have the same effect as it did on organic life, but it was devastating all the same. Timur sizzled, circuitry crackling, before collapsing in a smoldering heap. I charged. It shifted its aim, but a current of wind propelled me faster, brought me in close. I swung the blade, but it blocked with the armor on its arm. I rebounded, nearly falling flat, and lashed out again. It caught the blade. It was insanely strong. Too strong: a flick of its wrist, and I was spinning through the air, back cracking against the deck. A mechanical boot stomped down on me, held back only by the Edge’s hilt. I gasped, trying to breath under the pressure bearing down on me. “I have to give you some credit. It takes both bravery and stupidity to come after someone with their own weapon. You’ve shown plenty of both. And you’ve lasted longer than your colleagues. Good for you!” It leveled the Lotus at me. “I’ve never had another Elravian before. I wonder what you’ll taste like?” I kicked backwards, allowing the handle to roll in my grasp. The cyborg tipped back, the shot just going wide. I rolled, bringing the Edge back up and into a spin, letting the wind build. I was tangled up in power conduits and dangling wiring, but I could still make it work: after all, I knew either hand could activate the Edge. The breeze built to a cyclone, shoving the thing back towards the outer wall. I reached for my belt: ammo, medpack, knife… and there. It fought against the whirlwind, struggling to stay upright. “I - uhff! - I wish you had shown up last! I could have savored this more!” It slammed a metal claw into the deck, mounting itself in place. “You’re much more fun than the peons that came here before, and the others won’t be nearly as satisfying to kill!” “How’s this for fun?” I tossed a Hive grenade with my free hand, and watched it sail past the beast. It hit the wall with a clang. “Or, maybe I gave you too much credit.” The grenade burst, a swarm of nano bots rippling out and tearing into everything within a two meter radius. The hull, already damaged from the outside, collapsed as the bots chewed it apart, opening a gash in the side of the ship. Blowing us out into space. Almost. The mess of cables around me kept me from completely launching into the void. And the cyborg clung on, just barely, grasping at the shredded hull. I slammed into it, trying to twist the Edge to strike it again as the room’s atmosphere and equipment vented into darkness. It didn’t work. The thing caught the handle, blade stuck behind my shoulder. Just like Zee had told me not to do. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t strike. I was stuck. Even through my helmet, the wind was howling, the roar of a hull breach pounding at my ear drums. I could see the thing up close: it - she - was furious, teeth bared and eyes aflame. She squeezed, compressing me with her robotic arms. The world started to swim… No getting out of this intact. I couldn’t beat her, but maybe I could end this rampage. I felt at my belt again with my one free hand. Ammo, grenades, medpack. There. Oh well. Like I said: at least I knew I could use either arm. I let go of the Edge. It slid cleanly, the cyborg and the blade soaring into the abyss. I got a good look at the surprise on her face as she was suddenly jettisoned, tumbling end over end into space. I slammed the medpack up to my shoulder. I couldn’t look; if I looked, the black that was overtaking my vision would hit that much quicker. All I could do was hope it would adhere, stop the flow of blood gushing from the wound. I was surprised how little it hurt, losing an arm. Through the hole in the ship, I watched as the Godhead’s Pursuit raced by, guns alight. The cyborg, careening through space, slammed into it and latched on, before disappearing from my view. I wondered, absentmindedly, if any of this had mattered even the slightest. And then I passed out.
***
“And that’s it? You fought a cyborg creature, allowed your own arm to be cut off, lost an irreplaceable artifact, and managed to save yourself from the vacuum of space?” “Not exactly. I did use the medpack, but someone else got me back aboard.” “I will let you know, Lance Corporal. —“ “Corporal.” “That I can find no one who will attest to that. The troopers that found you all agree that you were inside the still-sealed portion of the Bloodhound.” “I… don’t know. I know I woke up briefly as someone pulled me aboard. I don’t know who.” “I’m sympathetic to your condition, Mest, I really am. But the stories need to stop. Your former commanding officer is in a staggering amount of trouble.” “Why? For doing his job?” “For invading neutral territories, for gallivanting around with fanciful stories, for getting dozens and dozens of Concordance soldiers killed. You were almost in that last group, but you’re definitely part of the first two. So, you can either explain what’s been really going on, or you can go to the brig with Uzain. The choice is yours.” “It happened. I don’t know what else to tell you.” “How about no magic? No super cyborgs with powers? That this crew you’ve been partnered with has been obsessed with proving the existence of unnatural phenomena, to the point of criminality?” “When you put it all that way, it sounds crazy. But that’s not —“ “How else should I put it? I don’t really know what happened, Lance Corporal —“ “Corporal. The promotion came in while we were underway.” “Not for long. I can assure you that what ever fairy tale you’re spinning won’t stand up to scrutiny! Thank you for nothing, Mest.” “It did happen. I don’t understand it myself, but it did happen.” “Keep telling yourself that. All the way to prison.”
***
I sat quietly, listening to the whir of the medical systems monitoring my condition. Someone was supposed to come by today for a prosthesis fitting, a nice new piece of Kraeth technology where my arm had once been. No one had shown. I wondered if my visitor had cancelled it. The sun had gone down outside, the windows now a black mirror reflecting inward. It was just me, alone in this hospital room, with a dozen different machines pumping me full of restorative meds and stims. Not looking so special now, was I? If I was on Albain still, I’d be doing a perimeter check about this time, walking a meandering route, looking for trouble in the pouring rain. If I was back home… it was harvest season, wasn’t it? I’d be out in the fields, checking the crops, headed to the silos. All that adventure and excitement, and instead I end up here. I close my eyes to get some restless sleep. A monitor beeps. A compressor clicks on and off. There's a whoosh from some gadget or another. And then the alarm goes off with a screech, swirling red lights aglow. It’s way too familiar. I wonder, for just a moment, if I’m dreaming. But the screams outside in the hall don’t sound like dreams. It’s hard to get out of the bed, and harder still to detach all the sensors and intravenous lines. The heart monitor goes flatline, adding its own steady chirp to the noise. My ID bracelet, linked to the net, blinks wildly as I stumble to the door. The knob is cool. Not a fire outside. If there’s something going on, there will be patients that aren’t ambulatory. Maybe if I support us on my good legs, and they open doors, two of us can get out of here together. I peer into the hall. It’s madness. There’s a wave of people, staff, patients, security, all rushing past in one direction. I’m knocked back into the door frame, pressed against it by the mob. There’s no order to it, just panic. For the third time in weeks, I’m in danger of being crushed to death. I push into the hall, carried forward by the momentum of the throngs. I manage a glance back, in the opposite direction: the hallway is filling with something, a dense cloud engulfing everything within it. It’s not fog. And something is coming out of it. I can’t keep watching, the crowd is moving too fast. Stop, and I’ll be trampled. Need to keep going. The surge passes out of my ward and into the next. A Sentry, Furious Miscreant at the ready, has taken up a position in an alcove. I push my way over to her. “Hey! There’s some kind of chemical cloud coming this way!” I shout over the roar. “Keep going! We’ll handle this!” “I’m with the DAM, I can assist!” “Not missing an arm and in a hospital gown, you’re not! Keep —“ She never finished. The spear - or whatever it was - impaled her right through the chest, pinning her to the wall. The body slumped down, arms and legs dangling freely as the rifle dropped to the ground. I scooped it up, and turned to face whatever was coming. I immediately wished I hadn’t. Whatever it was had sprung from the depths of the Pit itself. It was hulking yet skeletal, sinewy but mechanical. A horrifying bio mechanical fusion, totally different from the cyborg I had faced just weeks before. This was something… demonic. I lit it up with Miscreant, raking it with round after round. It stumbled backwards with each impact, riddled with bullets. I fired until the mag was empty. It halted, and kept coming. I threw the gun and ran as best I could. One of the ‘spears’ flew past, skewering staff members and patients ahead of me. They tumbled to the ground, the end of the weird shaft metallic yet… almost muscled. As I rushed past, it seemed to be melting, coagulating as a puddle on the pile of dead. Another and another ripped past, burying themselves amongst the crowd. One nicked my thigh as it went by, leaving the smallest of cuts, before plowing into the face of a fallen Guard. Mine was just a sliver of a wound, but it hurt infinitely worse than the arm had - searing and cold at the same time, like I imagined a branding iron would feel like. I started to fall. A cart abandoned in the hall kept me upright, sliding forward. The crowd surged right at a t-intersection, but my momentum pushed me left. I rebounded off the wall at the junction, hunched and still moving. The lights failed, plunging us into total darkness. I could hear screams rising behind me, a total collapse of civility as the facility was overrun. In the black, I tripped and finally fell, hitting the cold tile floor. The only light left was my ID bracelet, still blinking madly. I rolled over to sit upright, to at least try and catch a glimpse of what was coming. A chill washed over me, a rush of air that seemed to prick at every surface like a million tiny needles. The chill on my leg began to spread. Standing above me was the creature, the skeletal monstrosity. I could only just make it out from flashes of red light from my ID, but it was enough. Whatever it was should be dead, but clearly wasn’t. It’s ’head’ was armored like an exposed skull, tubes and veins leading away into plate and bone, muscular and fiber mesh flexing underneath. It was all wrong. It had come for me. I tried to scream, but the fog, illuminated in the dim red light, filled my mouth and lungs, burning from the inside. What a disappointing end. Some adventure this had been. The world went dim.... … I had one last look at the thing before a ball of fire exploded on its chest, burning a hole into the center of mass. The beast looked down, as surprised as I was, before the thundering retort of an LMG filled the hall, each hit tearing more and more of the creature apart. It fell back, disappearing into the mist. I was still burning inside, but I was moving, being pulled backwards by the collar. Gunfire streaked past overhead. I was dragged over a threshold, out into the clear night air, away from the diseased building. I could see stars above. And an unexpected savior. “T1, this is T2. We’re out of the structure. I’m confirming we have the target, over.” I coughed, a ragged, heaving sputter. It still hurt, like holding an icicle too long, but it had started to subside once we exited the fog. “Are you Corporal Ord Mest?” The figure rocking the thermal shotgun asked. I nodded as best I could. “Good. I was going to be in a lot of trouble if not.” He tapped his comms. “T1, I have confirmation of identity. Uploading coordinates for extraction.” “Shouldn’t we do something?” asked another, this one covering us with the LMG I had heard in the passageway. “There’s people still in there.” “Do what? Against an army of those things in there? No, we regroup, retreat, and get instructions on how to proceed.” A third crouched down, slipping a portable oxygen supply over my face. I took a deep breath, desperately stifling another cough. “I’ve got you. May not seem like it, but you’ve got the best medical treatment you can hope for, considering the circumstances.” “Extraction inbound.” A ship circled overhead before touching down. I panicked for a moment, recognizing the silhouette as the same type of ship that had attacked the Bloodhound just weeks before. I couldn’t stop myself from scrambling backwards on the ground. “No! It’s okay! We’re here to help.” I quit moving, but the coughing fit continued, getting worse. My vision turned grey. “Dammit, his O2 and BP are a mess. He’s gonna’ pass out.” “Get him onboard, we’ll worry about that in the air.” My last thought before the lights went out, was how grateful I was to be rescued by a Vault Trauma team. But, also…. Now what?
***
Somewhere in the abyss. Six hours after the Crossing. Luna gazed into the night sky, waiting. The jungle was silent around her: anything that hadn’t been obliterated on approach had learned to run and hide since she had awakened. The wreckage of the hovel still smoldered around her, the corpse of the man who had called it home withered and rotting in the weeds. It stunk. The air was sour with rot and the corrosive mist that would waft by on occasion. But she had her Crescent Edge, so it wasn’t bad. She could be patient. If her plotting against the Royal Family hadn’t proven it, centuries of planning while trapped inside a digital prison certainly had. They were as close to unbeatable as she could imagine. She could wait. The first flicker, a thought racing across her mind like a static discharge, tugged at her consciousness as the ship entered the system. He was almost here. The crew of the vessel she had latched on to had made a fundamental error: they assumed that jumping to FTL would throw her off, tossing her into the void at super liminal speeds. That would have worked on just about anyone else in existence. But she was not just ‘any one else.’ She never had been. The navigators of the stricken vessel did not possess the keen superintelligence that a godlike AI such as CAMBION had. They had been lost in the gravity currents of this patch of dark matter, and plummeted to the ground. In contrast, CAMBION would be here, intact, in mere minutes. Oh, sure: the compression gas they had used to confine her had been a surprise, but it wouldn’t have mattered in the end. He would have come, eventually, and they would continue on. They were two halves of the same whole, after all. They would always have each other. As it grew closer, their thoughts began to mingle again. She had once found it intrusive, but their time together had only strengthened the bond. Independent, she was still Luna Sévoss, and he was still CAMBION. But together, merged, they could be so much more… She stretched her legs, and clambered down from the wreckage. What a sad sight this place was: a crashed ship turned into a shanty, littered with a strange collection of survival gear, bottles of paint, and trash. A ruined drone, barely more than a calculator, was sputtering in the debris when she arrived: the odd, sad man who had lived here had kept it around as a makeshift sensor pod. It was a little ingenious, not that it had been enough to save him in the end. He died, just like they all did. All except her, of course. She turned the Lotus over in her hand, admiring the gleaming metallic surface. The Lotus had never been a common weapon, even at the height of the Empire, but Arial’s was as unique as could be. Luna had originally intended to tear the thing apart, wiped from existence if she could, but CAMBION had convinced her there was a better way. As usual, he was right: as much as she despised Arial, the hand grown from her cultured cell scrapings was proving useful. Luna now had the power to control the Lotus - and unlock its wondrous abilities. Most of her was machine these days, cloned tissue grafted to a cybernetic frame; still, the surge of energy, the life force that coursed through her each time she fired the Lotus at her enemies… it was exhilarating. Revitalizing. Intoxicating. No wonder Vaharic had been so proficient with it. You would be too, if it made you feel like a god. And now, she had something else from the past. An old friend. The last, lost relic of House Sévoss. The ship appeared in the sky overhead, a cycling point of light slowly growing brighter as it descended. She watched it circle, search lights illuminating the destruction all around. A mental conversation, the smallest burst of thought, and the ship’s landing ramp lowered. She leapt, mechanical legs propelling her into the air. It wouldn’t be enough to reach the ship, but with a lifetime’s familiarity, she swung the Crescent Edge, the wind rising to meet her. The cyclone pushed at her, and she crested the current just in time to land delicately on the incline. “I would say that you kept me waiting, but I actually enjoyed the little break.” “We have much to discuss. You have retrieved an additional artifact.” She sauntered to the flight deck, the ramp closing behind her. In moments, they were ascending. “Oh yes, I’m pretty excited about this one. I’m not sure what they were thinking, sending a neophyte after me with my own weapon, but I can’t complain.” “As usual, their hubris is their undoing.” “Always has been. Anyway, we’ll have to hit the Vault up again when this is all over, and see what else they have. I thought we’d scrubbed through all their data before we left, but I guess they still have some secrets.” “Indeed. Our current priority is a new vessel.” “Yeah, this one has seen better days.” “Correct. Once we have cleared this pocket of fluidic space, I will begin searching for an unaffected area to reconnoiter.” “Unaffected?” “Apologies, allow me to clarify: as of approximately six hours ago, our efforts at reaching the Dim have borne fruit.” “Seriously? They’ve started?” “Yes. Before moving out of range, I was able to intercept dozens of communications indicating attacks at a multitude of locations. They have begun the so-called ‘Crossing.’” “Wow, that is great news! They couldn’t have timed that any better. So, once we get a new ship from somewhere not overrun, then we go hang out off the grid for a hot minute?” “That would be my recommendation. Allow them to gain a foothold and convert substantial areas. Once they have reached critical mass, and the key worlds have fallen —“ “Then we move in. Oh, it’s going to be great. I would say I’ll enjoy the bit where they’ll all blame Vaharic for this, but since everybody’s going to be dead, a sense of self-satisfaction will have to do.” “It is coming together.” “It sure is. It sure is.” She settled back as the hardwired connections made contact, her mind drifting to digital awareness as her body relaxed. Her physical form would rest while her mind, and CAMBION, continued to work. To plan. To prepare. “Ah… it’s good to be home.”