Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out; a simple pattern that Vis held at the front of his mind. If he didn’t run it through his head constantly, he might forget, hyperventilate, and panic. He couldn’t do that to Nue. He’d come with her promising bravery and support, but after his first real taste of battle, deprived of practice weapons and time-outs, he was finding it hard to breathe. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. It was so simple, but his body refused to recall on its own.
The addition of another person to protect just made things harder. Although Trem tried to walk at a steady pace and keep up with everyone else, he still needed Rhapsody’s assistance to stand upright. Sending the two diplomats back to the hangar wasn’t a possibility; Zulkar were still prowling the halls, and they would be vulnerable without a Rashani escort.
They couldn’t just leave yet, not without finding the poison that had been put in Alis’ veins. Such an evil thing had to be destroyed, and the means of its creation suppressed or erased. So they continued their anxiety-inducing search through the ship, expecting an enemy attack around every corner. Nue walked beside him, no doubt sensing his fears as he felt hers. That was the worst part of having the Blood of Rasha; it was hard to comfort someone when they could tell what you were really feeling. He reached out and squeezed her hand. She looked up at him, startled. Be brave, he told himself. Think brave thoughts.
They’d wandered far too deep into the ship’s belly for comfort. The corridors seemed almost labyrinthine, twisting in on each other at every turn. Vis could swear they’d passed down this way before, but there were no signs of their earlier fight, as if the ship had wiped the unconscious Zulkar away to create the illusion of progress. Vis shook his head to clear it; he was the one with the illusions, clearly. The stress was getting to him.
Something brushed his mind. He stopped short, inadvertently tugging Nue to a halt beside him, and looked around the thin but tall corridor. What had he just felt? It wasn’t like any emotion he’d ever felt before, more like a forceful sensation.
Nue tugged his sleeve. “What’s wrong?”
The others stopped, their expressions anxious and exhausted. Vis sought out Mela’s eyes, reading her grim determination.
“Did you feel that?” he asked.
Mela tilted her head, eyes narrowing in focus. “I don’t…” She suddenly reeled, her composed expression flashing to wide-eyed surprise for an instant. “That’s unusual. What is that?”
Nue shuddered against Vis’ shoulder. “I feel it. That can’t be a person, can it?”
Rhapsody butted in, scowling. “Would you mind sharing what you’re talking about?”
Vis had an impression; not an image, but a word. Only it was hazy, impossible to parse, like trying to recall a name heard in a dream. His lips moved of their own accord, mouthing this mystery word, but his conscious brain refused to acknowledge it. Mela and Nue had their eyes lowered to the floor, both looking very confused.
“There’s a presence of some kind nearby,” Mela answered, lifting her eyes to meet Rhapsody’s. “It feels unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I can’t explain it, exactly.”
“Do you want to look for it?” Rhapsody asked.
Mela blinked in surprise. “We already have a task to fulfill.”
Rhapsody nodded, almost flippantly. “Yes, but all three of you look pretty worried right now. If it has that kind of effect on you, I think it’s worth investigating. It might have something to do with the poison, or maybe it’s another weapon made to hurt the Rashani. If you’re actually feeling it, maybe it’s a prisoner we don’t know about.”
“I agree,” Vis chimed in. The word was still rattling in his head, but he couldn’t get it out in coherent form, and that was infuriating. Maybe finding the source would bring him the clarity he was looking for.
Mela considered before she and Nue agreed. Trem said nothing, seemingly content to go wherever he was taken. They focused more closely on what lay in the rooms they passed. More weapon test chambers, more laboratories, but no hint of what they were looking for, yet the word became clearer the further they moved. Sounds began to form, two syllables stringing together. At last Vis found himself outside a particular door, the word sitting on the tip of his tongue. He indicated the room to the others, and his fellow Rashani agreed. The door was locked, but Mela slid her Lucidil through the crack and forced it open. Vis was the first inside, nearly trampling Mela in his eagerness.
A coffin rested in the centre of the lab. At least, that’s what it looked like to Vis—a casket, maybe. Black as night, its surface was made of some kind of metal that seemed to soak up the light instead of reflect it. He touched it without even thinking, and red light spread from his palm and across the surface, illuminating strange symbols within the metal.
Birthright.
The word echoed in Vis’ head, the fog lifted. As the others stepped into the lab to gawk at the oddity, Vis retreated into himself. Why birthright?
“What is this?” Rhapsody asked. The symbols began to slowly fade back into the black, and the diplomat pressed a finger to a particularly intricate geometric pattern as it vanished. Unlike when Vis had touched it, the casket didn’t seem to react at all. “Those symbols weren’t Imperial. I don’t think I’ve ever seen writing like that before. Where did this thing come from?”
Nue’s expression was troubled, her emotions a jumble. “Is it alive?”
“Impossible—it’s some kind of machine,” Rhapsody insisted, leaning closer to inspect the surface.
“But we can feel it,” Nue retorted. She made as if to touch it herself, then recoiled. More than anyone else, she seemed upset by the casket.
Birthright.
The word came at him again with unexpected force, and Vis took a step away. “Maybe it’s made of a sympathetic metal, like our Lucidils.”
Mela stroked her lower lip as she touched a finger to the flat top of the casket. The eerie red light returned. “But it’s not constructed from Lucidite. I don’t know of any other sympathetic metals, unless…” Her face creased with doubt. “Unless it came from outside known space. Do you think the Imperials made it into this form, or did they find it like this?”
“Maybe it’s from some other civilization,” Rhapsody suggested, an astonished smile spreading across his face. “All our nations were formed from smaller cultures, so who says there aren’t more out there we don’t know about? This could be a probe—maybe those symbols are a message to the rest of the galaxy.”
“Or it could be a weapon,” Mela said, quickly. “As it stands, we don’t have time to find out.”
Birthright.
“Let’s take it with us,” Vis said.
The others stared at him. He flinched beneath their questioning looks, but carried on. “We have scientists on Utopia—good ones. They were studying sympathetic metals even before the Rashani existed. Why don’t we let them have a look at it? I don’t like the idea of just leaving it here. It might be important.” Birthright seemed important—a single word that created so many questions.
He looked around the lab. Some of the equipment had been overturned, and there were shards of glass over by the far wall. In one corner he saw a rectangular cart, just the right size to fit the casket. That was probably how they’d gotten it into the lab in the first place. “We can use that. It’ll hardly slow us down if it’s on wheels.”
Mela stroked her lip again. “We can try, but we can’t let it become a distraction.”
“Of course, Sikkat,” Vis said, smiling.
He, Nue, and Mela lifted the casket onto the cart. While they did that, Rhapsody took Trem outside to help him practice walking under his own power. They weren’t needed; it wasn’t as heavy as it looked, and it might even be hollow. Within a minute, the three of them had set the casket onto the rectangular base and secured it with the tethers built into the cart’s sides. Vis gave it an experimental push, and the cart smoothly glided across the floor.
He smiled at Nue. “Kinda cool, huh? A real mystery.”
Nue gave a slow nod. “I guess.”
“What’s wrong?”
Nue frowned. “It’s a little scary, isn’t it? This thing—I can feel it thinking. I shouldn’t—it shouldn’t be able to do that.”
Birthright.
Vis hadn’t thought of it like that. “I don’t think it’s actually thinking. Whoever made this must know about sympathetic metals, so maybe they’ve figured out a way to communicate with them. Like a recording, only with thoughts instead of words.”
“Maybe.” Nue nibbled her lower lip. “Still kind of creepy, though.”
Vis wanted to press her on this, sensing she was thinking more than she said, but Rhapsody came running into the lab, chest heaving. “I think we’ve found what we’re looking for!”
* * *
The lab was smaller than most, clearly designed for only a single subject of study. Diagrams of human anatomy hung from the walls, most depicting the circulatory system and the inner workings of the head. There was a single worktable, with an array of bottles labelled with Imperial letters spelling out the names of unfamiliar chemicals. A machine roughly the shape and size of a desk computer sat on the table, with little vials clutched in small holders on its side, no doubt for mixing the chosen poison. There was an actual computer on the desk as well, but it had a twenty-digit password protecting it and Arc didn’t have the time to figure it out.
He pushed aside a wheeled chair on his way to a tall cabinet across from the table. When he threw it open, he was greeted by shelves of vials and syringes, each completely opaque. Some kind of bandolier hung from the side of the cabinet door, and he extracted another syringe from one of the pouches, feeling the liquid inside shifting from one end to the other.
Dae Trem leaned in the doorway, watching quietly. Arc lifted the syringe for him to see. “Do you remember the syringe they stuck Alis with back on the Consortium? I think this is the same kind.”
Trem nodded. “I think you might be right. Strange that this seems to be the only room in which they’ve stored such a valuable weapon.”
Arc had quibbles with calling any weapon valuable, but he let it go. “Shodus said it was experimental, and that Alis was the test subject. They got the results they were looking for, and I bet the Zulkar would’ve started mass-producing this stuff if they’d had more time.”
He raised his voice and let out a shout so Mela and the kids could hear him from across the hall. “Hey, I think we’ve found what we’re looking for!”
Feet pounded across the corridor, and Mela poked her head through the door. Her eyes darted over the shelves, the diagrams, the machine on the table. “This is where they make the poison?” Her calm tone carried a hint of disgust.
“We’re almost positive.”
Mela nodded, her hand closing into a fist. “Then we must destroy it—all of it.”
The sudden crack of gunfire cut into the conversation and Mela whipped her head down the corridor. “More Zulkar,” she hissed. “I should’ve suspected. Strange that they weren’t lying in wait when we arrived.”
“The fleet of battleships may have altered their priorities somewhat,” Trem said dryly.
Mela lightly shoved the Aquila in the back, pushing him into the room with Arc. “We’ll deal with them. I trust you two to destroy everything—leave no trace of this atrocity.” She drew her Lucidil and shut the door on them, the sound of gunfire suddenly muted.
Arc dropped the syringe on the floor and stomped on it, and then the two of them started destroying what they could. They tore the diagrams from the walls, threw the mixing machine around until it was inoperable, and fried the computer with a shot from the electric pistol. Although Arc detested violence, this wanton destruction was quite cathartic. He gave the cabinet a kick and it tipped over, spilling vials across the floor. Most broke on impact, bleeding clear fluid onto their shoes, and Arc began methodically crushing the survivors beneath his heel.
A single vial rolled clear of the massacre, bumping against Trem’s shoe. The Aquila bent and picked it off the floor. “A question for you, Rhapsody, while we’re alone,” he said, seeming to weigh the vial in his hand. “You’ve seen the Rashani fight. What do you think?”
Arc shrugged, grinding another vial to dust. “I think they’re formidable warriors. I can see why hiring one is usually enough for any job. I wouldn’t want to be on their bad side.”
“No, neither would I,” Trem said, distantly. “But what if we were, theoretically speaking? How would we fight them?”
“By negotiating a peace treaty,” Arc replied, scowling. “What the hell are you going on about? The Rashani are our friends.” A horrible possibility came to him; what if Shodus’ brainwashing had already gotten to Trem? It made sense—if the manipulation had been subtle, they might not even notice until they’d handed him back to the Alliance.
“Don’t give me that look,” Trem growled. “I’m completely myself. This was something I’ve been thinking about since before we were captured, during the negotiations. Don’t you find them a little frightening? The Alliance trusts the Rashani, but I find it disconcerting how little we understand of their abilities. Some even say they wield actual magic. Can you believe that? If they were to change their mind about their role in the galaxy, if they turned against us, I believe we would win eventually. But we would lose many, and why waste those lives if we had something to dissuade the Rashani from fighting altogether?”
Arc couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but at the same time, he could. He had seen what the Rashani were capable of, the terrifying grace they used to down their enemies. He had even seen their worst—what Alis had done to that Zulkar in her cell still made knots in his stomach.
“What you’re suggesting would be an incredible betrayal of their trust,” Arc said, firmly. “They helped save us both.”
“Yes, those three saved me, and they have my thanks for it, but what about the other ten thousand or so Rashani? Can I really trust all of them? It would be smart to take precautions.” Trem paused, touching the top of his head. “I’m exhausted. I’m not sure I really understand what I’m saying anymore. Here.” He held the vial out to Arc. “I’ve said my piece. Do what you will with it.”
Arc took the vial and weighed it in his palm. It was light, and would be easy to conceal. He could slip it under his armour, in the waistband of his shorts, and then hide it somewhere safer when he had the chance. The Rashani’s lie-detecting ability might be a problem, but he might be able to misdirect them if he watched his words. He could keep the poison a secret, known only to him and Trem, and it would only be shared in the event of a major emergency, if the Rashani ever thought to turn against them.
He opened his hand and let the vial fall. It hit the floor with a tinkling smash, and its shards came to rest in the small puddle of clear fluid.
He stared hard into the lenses of Trem’s mask. “I’ve seen the Rashani fight, but I’ve also heard them speak. Mutants or witches, they’re still people—rational beings like you and I. If war came, I would find a way to make peace.”
Trem wheezed sharply—it almost sounded like a laugh. “Spoken like a true diplomat. Perhaps you’re right.”
The floor suddenly shook. No, it was the entire ship that was shaking. Arc grabbed hold of Trem’s teetering body and held him upright, fighting to keep his own balance as well. A knot of worry coiled in his stomach, and he had a strong suspicion that things were about to get worse.
Fredrichs’ voice suddenly hollered over his communicator. “Rhapsody! Are you done yet?”
Arc fumbled for the communicator in his pocket and jammed his thumb on the reply button. “Yes. We’ve just destroyed the last of the poison.”
“Well, good.” There was a note of urgency in the Commander’s voice. “Those idiot pirates got a little too eager with their shooting. They’ve blasted out some of the Superius’ thrusters—the ship’s going down.”
For a moment, Arc forgot to breathe. “How long do we have?”
“Fifteen, twenty minutes,” said Fredrichs. “Drop whatever else you were planning to do. I’m pulling everyone back onto the carrier. You and the others need to get back now.”
Mela and the kids pushed the door open, the latter two looking around in wide-eyed horror. Even Mela looked tense, and Arc noticed a splash of violet on her blue robe.
Arc considered what they’d accomplished. Trem was safe, and the poison had been destroyed. Whatever other diabolical inventions there were onboard would be destroyed when the Superius crashed. Shodus was conspicuously absent, but his schemes had been demolished. They had nothing left to stay for.
“We’re on our way,” he told Fredrichs, nodding to Mela. “Just a heads-up—we’re bringing something back with us, so try to make some room.”
* * *
The rattle of the cart’s wheels in the corridor was Sorin’s cue to leave. The Rashani would be coming his way, and he’d like to avoid being spotted. He left the corridor intersection where he’d been observing and headed down the path the mortals wouldn’t take. He heard the cart and the thump of footsteps pass behind him, then fade into the distance. He was alone, and he could at last begin his own search.
He’d snuck onboard amidst the chaos, acting on a hunch. Something had made Shodus aware of his Deus heritage, and that something might be somewhere on the Superius. He’d followed Marissa’s husband and his Rashani entourage, keeping a safe distance to avoid detection, and he’d shared in the surprise at their discovery.
That casket-like object was unlike anything he’d ever seen, and that alone was enough to tell him what it was. Seeing that it matched no known technology of any species within the Syr galaxy, it must have come from outside. This was the alien presence that Lutus had asked him to find, something he’d pushed aside in favour of stopping the war.
If he were to follow Lutus’ methods, he should have destroyed it immediately—incinerated every atom so that nothing could contaminate the security of their galaxy. But Sorin was not so quick to act, and more importantly, he still needed to be cautious. The mortals had taken the object with them, and he foresaw that a chance to destroy the object in secret would be a long way away. He wasn’t sure whether Lutus would have pushed him to risk it, given the potential consequences and the presence of the Rashani.
He swallowed. It was time to admit something to himself; the Rashani frightened him. Not because of their quaint powers or their fighting abilities, as they posed no real danger to him. It was what they represented. The Blood of Rasha flowed through their veins; ichor spilt in death. Like maggots, the Rashani were born from and thrived on Rasha’s corpse, and she’d been a fellow Deus, regardless of her crimes. Laying eyes on them filled Sorin with a chilling disgust. He knew it was unfair to the mortals—they had no power over how they were born, but his revulsion was deep-seated and hard to dismiss with logic alone. That was why he chose to avoid them whenever possible, why Deus rarely spoke of them.
He let the mortals take the object with only mild doubts. Such a small thing couldn’t bring about the disaster Lutus had predicted. What mattered was where the Zulkar had found it. Finding the source was the first step in determining how the Firmament had been breached, and maybe how to prevent it from happening again. He would come for the object later, when he could get at it without being seen.
He had set his Guise to the shape of a Zulkar, his face concealed beneath an imitation of their dark visors. He’d been practising walking in this shape, and now moved in something resembling a typical Zulkar gait. He carried on into the depths of the ship, seeking out the control room. He found it in disarray, manned by a handful of Zulkar crewmen. One of them, dressed in a long grey coat instead of armour, turned his eyes on Sorin with a look of desperation.
“Has there been any word from Lord Shodus?” he asked, his voice wavering.
Sorin stopped dead in his tracks. “N-no. I haven’t heard anything.”
Another Zulkar, designated as captain by the blue bands across his uniform, scowled. “Some use you are. What are you even doing here? There’s a battle to be fought!”
“His Lordship has abandoned us!” the first Zulkar exclaimed, on the verge of tears. He wasn’t a soldier, that much was clear; more likely a scientist. “The ship’s going down and he’s already gone! Why are we standing around here? We should be boarding the escape pods!”
“It’s called loyalty, you coward,” the captain hissed. “Loyalty to my lord and my ship. I won’t leave the second without an order from the first, and neither will you.”
The scientist cringed back, retreating to a small group of grim-looking Zulkar on the far side of the room. They talked amongst themselves, casting furtive looks at the stern captain. Sorin sensed an impending mutiny. In the meantime, he saluted to the captain. “Sir, I was sent to retrieve some important information from the database.”
The captain narrowed his eyes. “Were you now? Whose command are you under? Which sergeant?”
Sorin hesitated. If he was going to do this, he had to think fast and lie hard. “I’m not sure, sir. Command began to break down when the hangar was breached, and we’ve taken heavy casualties. The man in charge half an hour ago might be another man now.”
The captain gave a slow nod. “What data were you sent after?”
Sorin was elated, but remained calm. “Any data related to the, um, coffin-looking thing.” He didn’t know what the Zulkar called the object, but he hoped the slip wouldn’t seem too suspicious.
The captain scowled again. “Best description of it I’ve heard yet. Damn thing’s going to get us all killed, if these pirates don’t do it first. Computer’s over there.”
The captain returned to berating the scientists and Sorin stepped over to the central computer, then bent over the console and went to work. The computer was password protected, but mortal systems were simple enough that he was able to circumvent that with little trouble. With the ship on a slow but inevitable descent, he couldn’t waste time examining the data now. He found the notes regarding “the artifact”—its properties, its discovery, theories on its purpose—compiled in one folder, which he copied onto his own handheld computer, along with the rest of the ship’s records, just in case. Somewhere in there, he knew he’d find the answers he was looking for.
He saluted to the captain on his way out, then stopped to eye the terrified Zulkar around the bridge. They were the enemies of Fulmus’ daughter, but Sorin felt a twist in his heart at the thought of their deaths. He felt responsible, somehow; his actions had led to this battle and the loss of so much life. Mortal life was precious: that was the foundation the laws of Okirazon had been built on. There were no sides when it came to mortals; the only enemies of the Deus were Deus.
He halted in the doorway, holding a hand to the side of his head as if he were listening to his communicator. “I’ve just got word from Lord Shodus. His communicator was damaged, so he’s only able to speak over frequencies meant for soldiers. He says all crew are to evacuate the ship, and to leave everything non-essential behind.”
“Lord Shodus said that?” the captain asked, incredulously.
Sorin shrugged. “He says personnel are more valuable than equipment. With the minds that made all this, we can rebuild.”
The captain nodded, giving Sorin a funny look. “Wise words from a wise man. I’ll order the evacuation.” The Zulkar scientists let out a cheer, and Sorin stepped aside to avoid the stampede as they rushed for the escape pods.
That was it then. He’d done what he’d needed to do, and then some. All that remained was to analyze the data and ensure Marissa’s safety. He checked his computer in the corridor; it had been almost an hour since he’d checked on Fulmus’ daughter, trusting her father’s blood to make her at home on the battlefield. He turned on the Echo’s locator, just to be sure of where she was.
Marissa was lower than expected. Much lower.
“Damn!” He bolted towards the hangar and his Chariot.
* * *
Vis was thankful he wasn’t wearing a robe—it would make running for his life much harder. Then again, Mela didn’t seem hindered by her garb, and she kept pace with Rhapsody as they pushed the casket ahead of them like a battering ram. Trem clung to the handle bar between them, feet wedged onto the back of the cart so that he didn’t have to run. Vis and Nue brought up the rear, trying to keep up. There was no time to waste; the longer they stayed on the Superius, the smaller their chances of making a safe exit. He’d already spotted fires burning down the side corridors—the results of the heavy firepower that Corda’s ships were hammering into the hull. Damn pirates could have at least waited until the boarding party was off.
They were making good time, at least. Vis was beginning to recognize the corridors they passed through. A momentary glimpse through an open door into a lab, a spike round embedded in a wall, splashes of blood on the floor—all of these evoked a sense of familiarity. They must be coming near the hangar now, and then they could leave this place behind.
A sudden gasp had him turn his head, and the sound of something hitting the metal floor brought him to a halt. Nue knelt a few meters back by an intersecting hallway, with her palms pressed against the floor to support her. Her Lucidil had fallen from her grasp and rolled in Vis’ direction.
At first, he thought Nue had done what he’d worried about and tripped on her robe. But then he saw the tall shape emerge from the other hall, a long pole clutched in his claws. Vis felt his chest tighten, panic building as the Zulkar moved to stand above Nue. The others had stopped further down the corridor, and Mela was already dashing back towards them, but she was too far away. She wouldn’t get to Nue in time.
Nue turned over into a sitting position, her terror touching Vis’ mind as she stared up at the Zulkar. The pole was raised, one end poised to be driven through her head, and Vis felt a sudden burst of rage. He was running without even thinking, internally pleading with the universe that he would make it. He bent down and scooped up Nue’s Lucidil as he passed it. Strangely, what he thought about in that moment was Marissa Rhapsody’s training, when she’d told him to use his anger instead of shunning it.
“You stay away from her, you bastard!” he shouted, stopping and hurling the sphere at the Zulkar’s head. It was not an impressive shout, cracking halfway through and ending in a rasping gasp. He snapped his eyes shut, praying that the Lucidil would buy Nue a precious second to escape. It had to, otherwise…
Vis’ mind went blank, and then there was a scream. He opened his eyes, predicting the worst, but got an unexpected shock.
Nue was alive, still sitting, her face pale as it turned towards him. Drops of violet blood dotted her face and robe, but she had no visible injuries. His eyes moved up to the Zulkar as the soldier stumbled back, the pole falling from his hands. A jagged silver lance protruded from his chest. His claws fumbled across its length, trying to get a hold on it, but then his trembling knees gave way and he collapsed.
Vis dropped beside Nue and pulled her into a tight hug. “Are you OK? I thought—I thought you weren’t going to make it.” His breaths came hard and shuddering as he held Nue’s trembling body against his. He couldn’t recall a time when he’d been this frightened.
Nue’s arms found their way around his back, linking around him. “It’s all right—I’m fine. But, Vis, you did it.”
Vis looked into her eyes, felt her aura of astonishment. “Did what?” He glanced at the Zulkar corpse, the jagged Lucidil standing in its chest like a flag on conquered soil. Mela had thrown it just in time.
He looked back over his shoulder to thank her, but Mela stood frozen in place, her expression a mirror of Nue’s. Her Lucidil rested in her hand, half-formed into a blade.
Electricity ran through Vis’ body. “She didn’t… but you mean you didn’t…?” he asked Nue.
She shook her head, a smile spreading across her face. “You did it, Vis.”