Rift in the Races (101 page)

Everyone on the ship watched on their respective monitors, hundreds of hearts beating rapidly in hopes that the weapons would get through this time. That they could end this thing. They could finally go home.

Hostile orbs appeared on the screens, many of them, rising up from the surface of the world. At first only a few, but soon, in the distance as the missiles came through the upper atmosphere, they could see that there were hundreds and hundreds of them. Far more than had been sent on the initial attack. It looked like a rainfall of pepper coming upwards from the ground. It seemed the planet was no longer going to play the pacifist—Orli’s explanation for the
Aspect’s
success with the single missile was simply, “She didn’t even try.”

Up came the waves of Hostiles, each growing larger with every second.

Down rocketed the missiles, racing toward final victory.

“We have incoming,” came the reports from several ships.

“Fire second waves,” ordered the admiral, his voice edged but calm.

The up-flung Hostiles shaped themselves into their familiar spherical forms, dark and externally mutable. They seemed on the whole much smaller than those that the fleet had encountered in deep space, but there were so many more of them now. Thousands of them. Roberto wondered if the whole planet was covered with them. Those he could see flew in close proximity, and he realized after watching for a few moments that they were swerving back and forth, rapidly so, making it seem as if the sky above Goldilocks, or Blue Fire as Orli and Altin claimed, was vibrating.

“Zoom in,” ordered Captain Asad, seeing it at the same time Roberto did.

The group of orbs in the video view zigzagged as they rose. They moved east and west, north and south, back and forth, seemingly at random, sometimes a five-foot shift, sometimes twenty, sometimes perfectly flat, sometimes at a slight angle up or down. But as a group, they continued to rise, the side-to-side movements almost too fast to see. The whole formation of them created something of a cloud, a vast shifting sheet rising steadily, continuing as they did to swing back and forth toward one another in random patterns that created an effective layer of defense, a cloud layer of randomly rebounding wrecking balls.

Roberto recognized the strategy for what it had to be. “Damn,” he said as he watched the missiles getting nearer to the shifting span of orbs. He wondered if the missile’s evasive programming would be adequate to that much input.

As the missiles entered the swarm layer of weaving Hostiles, they, too, began to duck and dodge, swerving about as their sensors detected the objects and calculated trajectories that would avoid the Hostiles in their way. The onboard computers sought to navigate through the shifting orbs, trying to avoid collisions and being smashed to bits by incoming from all sides.

“I don’t know if they can dodge all that,” Roberto observed.

“Those are the defenses of a blind man,” said Captain Asad. “A frightened child with its eyes closed, swatting at a wasp. It will stop some, but not all. If not this wave, then the next. A defense like that will only become more chaotic with each new pass.”

The admiral clearly had come to the same conclusion, and his order a moment later echoed what the
Aspect’s
captain had said. “Continue firing. Send them all.”

As if to prove the need for such measures, the first missile Roberto had launched, arcing and shifting through the air as rapidly as it could, was, in the end, unable to account for the randomness and magically enhanced movements of the Hostiles. It dodged the approach of one, ducked another and swerved in between two more, only to be crushed by yet another that came up from below. It broke apart like a clay vase, its triggering mechanisms destroyed, the warhead falling undetonated toward the ground far below. A small orb swooped in and caught it as it fell and streaked off toward the sun.

“So much for that one,” Roberto said as the monitor went black. He pulled up the second one just in time to see it go blank as well. “Shit.” He pulled up the third missile they’d fired and opened another quarter of the monitor for the fourth.

They could see on the planetary grid that the missiles of the other ships were faring about as well, but several missiles appeared to be getting close to the surface, and in only a matter of moments, the yellow circles of light on the graphic showed where explosions were going off. These images were accompanied by the whoops and shouts of the respective crews.

“Stay focused people, it’s a big planet.” The admiral’s voice was placid, but Roberto knew he must be overjoyed inside. The plan was working. Finally.

The
Aspect’s
third missile was also crushed by a waggling Hostile orb, but the fourth one got through. Roberto switched the view in that quadrant to the surface view, and both he and Ensign Nguyen gave a hoot of joy as they watched the formation of the massive mushroom cloud. “Hell, yeah!” he shouted. As soon as he did it, though, he couldn’t help but feel bad for Orli. He realized in that moment that somewhere on the ship, Orli was probably watching this too. Watching and suffering miserably. Nobody on the fleet that wasn’t dead had had it so bad as she had through all of this. Thinking of her took some of the fun out of it. He sure hoped she wasn’t right about all that Blue Fire stuff. He knew it was post-traumatic stress and all, but still, she sure seemed convinced.

The third wave of nukes from the
Aspect’s
arsenal was now weaving its way through the seething layer of the Hostiles’ spastic-seeming defense. Both missiles were crushed.

Waves of cheers from other ships sounded over the all-com, giving balance to the curses and frustrated remarks coming from those whose missiles were being swatted down. The former proved that everyone now knew it really was possible. It wasn’t just hope anymore. It was unfolding reality. The yellow blast rings on the graphic continued to light up like popcorn popping in a slow-motion video. At least fifteen good strikes had gotten through, though only three in total between the two poles.

That’s when the tower appeared.

It was a big one, much bigger than the only other tower they’d ever seen in space before, a long slender shape, flute-like with its windows and delicate spire. Roberto was familiar enough with Calico Castle to recognize Tytamon’s tower immediately. He also knew that Tytamon was dead. Which meant there could be only one person inside.

And then the planet was gone.

Everything was gone. The console went dead. Everything was dark. Total blackness. For a moment, Roberto thought they’d just been killed, that this was death, that he was dead. But Ensign Nguyen’s “What the fuck?” suggested otherwise.

“Commander?” barked Captain Asad as the red battery-powered lights came up. “Status.”

“I have no idea, sir. I have nothing.”

Several hours later—the time it took the fleet ships to recover and restart enough of their systems to look—the only thing any of them saw in their proximity was the brightly lit crystal sphere of
Citadel
, from which projected like some massive hologram, the image of the War Queen standing astride it like the golden god of some luminous world.

Chapter 82

A
fter much shouting and many calls to fire upon
Citadel
, the admiral managed to regain some measure of control. He summoned his favorites to his ship, and the rest to video conference where he soon found himself subject to more of the same profanity and calls for all-out war on Prosperion.

Queen Karroll appeared in the admiral’s conference room then, Aderbury at her side and looking as if he wished he were anywhere else. The Queen took an empty chair at the table and motioned for Aderbury to do the same. She seemed completely at her ease. She waited until the admiral had calmed them all down again, entirely unaffected by the threats and insults being sent her way.

When there was finally calm, she spoke, her voice regal but sincere. “Admiral, Captains, I must most sincerely apologize for this unexpected surprise. I can assure you, it comes for very good reason, and one that I am happy to explain.”

Admiral Jefferies’ face was pale, his features narrow, and he clearly struggled to hold his temper in check. Captain Asad to his right looked as if he were going to draw his weapon and shoot.

“I have been in contact with … the leader of the Hostile world. I believe your Ensign Pewter has attempted to brief you on the details, but you, like myself, did not credit her account as reasonable. It seems, ladies and gentlemen, that we have all misjudged Miss Pewter, myself most shamefully, and in doing so, we have been hasty to the point of near catastrophe.”

Mainly grumbles followed that, but there were a few acquiescent nods. The most ardent support came from Captain Eugene and Colonel Pewter, but there were a few others less predictable, officers who did not like the idea of genocide overmuch and were more than happy to discover some remedy for peace—if it weren’t already too late. Many missiles had gotten through.

“We’re listening,” said the admiral, his body as rigid as if he’d been turned to stone.

“I have spoken to Blue Fire myself, in great length. As have a number of my subordinates.” She was careful not to mention that they were priests, as she knew that would not be useful at this particular point in the dialogue. “At her request, I sent Sir Altin to assist her in, shall we say, postponing further attack, until we could have this conversation and see about finding a reasonable accord.”

“A reasonable accord?” Captain Asad spat as he leapt from his chair. “You sent one of your … space vehicles to attack us and you think you get an
accord
?” He turned to the admiral. “This is an outrage. It is unacceptable in every way known to man.”

The Queen remained perfectly at ease. “Yes, Captain. I sent him. But I assure you, it was not an attack. I was merely stopping a tragedy from taking place. Buying time for this discourse. To put it bluntly, Captain, you don’t realize what you were about to do. I confess, I didn’t know either until only a matter of hours ago, but now I do. I hope you will give me a few moments to explain.”

Captain Asad turned to the admiral. “Blow them out of the sky.”

The admiral didn’t seem to like that idea very well, but the Queen’s laughter prevented him from reply.

“Oh, there won’t be any of that, Captain. Even if you wanted to. I think if you have a look, you’ll find that all your enchanted missiles are missing.”

“What?” Captain Asad said it, but the look on every face in the fleet echoed it. Faces could be seen vanishing from the conference monitors as captains on their respective ships, like the admiral did on his, checked to verify the claim.

Captain Asad contacted Roberto and ordered him to take an inventory as well. “How many nukes do we have aboard, Commander?”

Roberto pulled it up. All red lights. Not one. “Zero, sir.”

“What have you done?” Captain Asad shouted at the Queen. Anger enflamed him, the rage pulsing through his veins turned his dark complexion nearly the color of blood. His eyes shot through with it. “How dare you! This is an act of war.” He reached for his blaster, having had enough of her, but he found that it was gone. The Queen’s elf had it. Shadesbreath stood a few steps away from the captain, hefting the weapon in his hand and shaking his head. Captain Asad made to lunge for him, but Admiral Jefferies caught him by the waistband of his pants.

“Captain,” said the admiral. “We don’t need to go that far just yet.”

“That far?” fumed Captain Asad. He sent a spray of spit across the space between him and the assassin as the veins at his temples throbbed visibly like hoses pumping liquid fury. He spun on the admiral, “She’s disarmed the entire fleet, and you’re still going to sit there and fawn over her like some sniveling diplomat? Grow a spine or step aside, Jefferies. This is an act of war.”

“Oh, Captain Asad, you are ever the dramatic one,” said the Queen waving her hand in air as if at a mosquito buzzing nearby. “I understand your anger, but we can get your weapons back. Sir Altin will return them to you as soon as the anti-magic spells wear off. You have my word on it.”

“Where are they?” asked the admiral.

“Right where you left them,” she said. “They simply fell out of your ships, unable to accompany you when Sir Altin and Blue Fire sent you all back here to Mana’s Edge.”

Admiral Jefferies seemed at a loss, his hope and his trust crumbling beneath him like a thing burning away, the alliance turning rapidly to ash. “I thought that was impossible. You said … your people told us teleporting ships was not something one person could do, or at least only a few could, and even then only over the course of time. Days, we were told. Was the entire exercise with Conduit Huzzledorf just for show?”

“She lied, Admiral,” said Captain Asad. “For Christ’s sake, can’t you even call a lie a lie? I told you they couldn’t be trusted, and here we are, disarmed and floating helplessly in the sights of her newly completed ship—the ship that we gave them just enough time to build. The great crystal orb, king of them all.” So much anger coursed through him, so hotly, he nearly glowed with the heat of it.

“Hardly all that, Captain,” said the Queen. “Although, again, I do understand how you might see it that way. But I assure you, it’s not like that at all. To begin, Sir Altin is certainly no ordinary mage, and, more to the point, it seems Blue Fire has magic that makes anything we have look ridiculous. We are but raindrops compared to a sea. The only thing she lacks is strategy. You should be thankful for that. For, while I’m sure you will take it poorly, it was my Galactic Mage who convinced her to send you all back here. She could just as easily have put you all into the center of her sun with the rest of your weapons and been done with you. If that’s not proof of my desire for peace, and Blue Fire’s, I can’t imagine what is.”