There is no air in space, Gareth thought to himself as the flash of light ended, replaced by an endless darkness broken by a billion points of light. He was suddenly in freefall and vacuum.
Beneath him, the air in the panel van exploded outwards through the shattered window and the opened back door, a snow storm that ended as abruptly as it had begun.
A pinging began in his right ear in spite of the soundlessness of space. It matched a flashing red light that suddenly reflected off his hide and tail.
Emergency beacon on the truck. Automatic. The vehicle has suffered a failure in space and the onboard systems had triggered their own mayday. His earpiece was picking up the distress beacon, and it was tucked in deep enough that he could feel it click in his bones.
Gareth’s inner eyelids clicked shut and held in moisture, as did his nostrils. He kept his mouth shut and let his own unconscious systems come into play. Talyarkinash had designed the Star Dragon to survive in deep space. He was airtight and insulated against cold, air loss, and radiation for several hours, if his held breath lasted that long.
The men inside the van didn’t have that option. If they were wearing their air masks, they could at least breathe, but vacuum damage and cold would do them in quickly. He needed to do something.
He hadn’t come this far just to lose them now.
Without gravity’s greedy clutches, he could move the panel truck more easily. It was a giant medicine ball in his hands now, rather than a Sisyphean impossibility. He flapped his wings and imagined bringing the vehicle to a stop, since he had nothing in the vicinity against which to measure his speed.
Still, it seemed to work. He let go with rear claws and right hand, and flowed himself around to the open front window. The one he had shattered earlier.
The driver was gone.
For a moment, Gareth panicked, looking every direction in case the man had been blasted into deep space by the sudden decompression, but he was alone in the darkness and silence.
Nothing.
He stuck his head into the window and looked at the rear. Morty and Xiomber, at least, had been back there, and hadn’t gone out the back door either.
Then he saw why.
Inside the rear cabin was a giant bubble. One Grace and two Yuudixtl sat inside, pale white and darkest green, respectively.
Morty waved cheerfully. The driver flinched.
Huh. Emergency lifeboat system. He hadn’t thought about that. Trigger it to inflate and then seal it up around you. Probably up to an hour of air, depending on how many people it had to contain.
“Gareth, this is Baker, can you hear me?” a tinny voice came in his ear.
“I can,” he said.
It was weird, talking without moving his jaw. The bones in his head would carry the sound via induction to the microphone in his ear, with some distortion. No complicated speeches, but basic communication would work.
“Thank you,” he continued. “It worked.”
“What is your status?” she asked, obviously relieved.
“Vehicle dead in high orbit,” Gareth murmured. “Three people in a survival bubble.”
“Okay, stand by,” she said. “We’re trying to find a truck big enough to rescue you at the same time we do your prisoners. Nothing like that here.”
Gareth considered his options. He actually couldn’t remember seeing anything but a transport shuttle capable of holding his twenty-seven-meter-long dragon form, and he couldn’t shift back to his base form without a space suit. Up here, there would be no time to get into one.
He’d be facing the same freezing death he had feared these three men had gotten into.
Then a thought struck him.
“Do you have an auto-car that had can open to space?” he asked.
There was a long pause before her voice returned.
“We do, but what about you?” she asked.
“Rescue them first,” he said. “I have an idea for me.”
“Okay,” Baker said. “Stand by.”
Gareth pulled his head back out the window and stuck a paw in instead, giving them a thumbs-up signal he hoped was universal. His current face wasn’t capable of smiling like a Vanir or a Grace could, and he didn’t have time to teach them.
Instead, he moved around the truck, finding the spots where his rear claws had actually managed to punch holes in the sides in spite of the armor.
Of course, in the Accord of Souls, everything was a beam weapon of some sort, rather than a high-velocity shell, so you needed insulation and thermal barriers, rather than inches of hardened steel plate and ceramics to protect you.
The men inside were trapped by the narrowness of the door. Gareth had no idea how much squeezing and reshaping the bubble could take, trying to pry it out of the back of the vehicle, and it would only take one mistake to kill the three men inside it.
He braced his feet into those holes again, but facing rearwards this time. In space, there is no gravity to hold you down. And no friction to stop you from moving, You are actually in constant freefall, but moving sideways such that it looks like you can never hit ground.
Everything becomes leverage.
Fortunately, Agents of Earth Force Sky Patrol had to be experts in extra-vehicular activities in order to earn their badge. Gareth had lost track of all the times he had needed to move outside a vehicle in deep space, from rescuing a lost puppy to stopping a runaway ship from destroying Shadow Base One, back in the Earth–Moon L2 LaGrange Point.
His dragon form was long enough to clamp onto the top of the truck and hold himself firmly, while also stretching his front to the aft of the craft. The door opened out and was just getting in the way, so that needed to go first.
Or did it?
He relaxed his chest and inspected the metal of the craft more closely. In this form, he could have licked it and gotten almost as good an understanding as a mass spectrometer, but that would waste precious air. Plus he might end up sticking his tongue to a frozen sign post.
He twisted around until he was looking in the rear. Morty and the others had turned to face him from much closer. Apparently, one of them had said something to the driver, because the Grace seemed a little more relaxed than before.
Like maybe he wasn’t expecting a Star Dragon to have him for lunch.
Heh.
Gareth held up a single finger, again hoping it was a universal signal, and pushed the door closed until he felt it latch through his claws.
In space, nobody can hear you laugh. That was good, because this was the single silliest thing he had done since he came to the Accord of Souls seven weeks ago.
He let go.
It stayed where it was.
He flapped lazily until he was lined up with the passenger bottom corner of the truck.
There is no air in space, but he didn’t actually use mechanical lift to do this, according to Talyarkinash Liamssen. It was all in his mind, somehow, a leftover from somewhere, or perhaps a trace of the very godhead that the Chaa had tapped when they moved past physical forms.
Was that why they had uplifted all the other species in the galaxy and left humans alone? Did we have the potential to someday join them on their exotic quest to find God and sit at his feet?
Gareth had always been punctual about Sunday school as a child. And visited Pastor Jacob whenever he had home leave, plus whichever priest was assigned to the base he was at. The religions really didn’t matter that much to Gareth, as long as they believed. As ship’s commander, he had even had to act as priest for his own crews, making special readings every seventh day to help bind them into a greater whole that was Earth Force Sky Patrol.
Gareth blinked in shock. He wondered if this radical idea was something he could ever share with anyone. The Accord of Souls was comprised of species that had been Uplifted by the Chaa and then set into their current form.
Did that mean that nobody but a human had that potential? Did it mean Marc Sarzynski really could achieve godhead if he worked at it hard enough? That Gareth could himself?
Whoa.
Still, not a problem for today. Right now, he needed to save these three men from certain death, and that meant that he needed to get them out of the vehicle safely.
The hatch was closed and latched. He hadn’t seen it move. Everything should be safe enough.
Just to be sure, he started low and away, like a good curveball coming in over the plate.
The Star Dragon had a binary chemical weapon. It didn’t need oxygen, as one of the two chemicals in the mix contained enough. More would help, but he needed controlled destruction today, and not psychological terror.
Gareth opened his mouth just a little. It was almost like that disgusting habit of chewing tobacco and spitting the juice into a cup. He had set down strict rules on any crew he commanded that something like that was not allowed aboard ship, because it could be so messy.
Squeezed his chest slowly and carefully. Aimed his snout and focused the sudden blast of superheated fluid.
And discovered that Newton was right, when he was suddenly tumbling backwards ass over teakettle.
He hadn’t been pushing forward, and had done the equivalent of lighting a rocket engine in his mouth. Hopefully, nobody had a camera pointed this direction.
He flapped a few times and stopped his tumble, just the slightest bit queasy.
Getting closer, the tail of the truck was certainly scorched, but not in a single spot, as he had planned. It looked more like a badly done crème Brule.
Okay, focus on incoming pressure and hold yourself stable this time, dummy.
He moved again to the right spot and focused his will. Another jet of flames.
This time, he flapped his wings, leaning into the heavy wind that was his own personal rocket engine in deep space. He’d need to remember this trick, sometime.
The blowtorch hit the corner of the truck and started it tumbling as well. Slower, but noticeable.
Crap.
Gareth quickly pounced on the vehicle and pulled that damned medicine ball until it felt like it was sitting in space again. The riders probably wouldn’t notice a moderate spin, but he didn’t need them puking on the inside of that emergency bubble and then having to sit in it for an hour or more.
Okay, fine.
Gareth stuck his toes back into the holes he had gouged earlier. Newton was right, and physics were physics. He would just have to do this upside down.
Third try.
He had a better idea of how to flame in space by now. And could bring it down to a fine, cutting blade of plasma. He was pretty sure the door was insulated, and probably a good chunk of the rear and sides, but the welds where the vehicle had been assembled would still be vulnerable.
It was just going to take patience.
Fine.
Up the sides, and he could see the welds weaken. He didn’t want to actually penetrate the interior, because his breath weapon was too dangerous to the soft tissue of the emergency bubble.
No, this was just to soften them up a little.
"What are you doing?” Baker’s voice came across the radio.
It sounded like she was watching him.
Gareth stopped flaming and looked up. Sure enough, an auto-car hung in space about thirty meters away. Almost close enough that he could touch both at the same time if he stretched, but far enough distant to stay out of his way.
The aft airlock hatch was open and she was standing in it, wearing a light EVA suit and clamped to the interior with a secondary line. Good professionalism on her part.
He wondered who was driving, if anyone, and what they though to see a dragon in space.
“Watch,” Gareth smiled.
He returned to his work. Across the top. Down the driver’s side. Back across the bottom.
“Could you move up and to my starboard?” Gareth asked.
“Stand by,” she said.
Silence, so she was probably on a different channel, talking to the car or the driver.
Gareth puffed a few places that looked a little stronger than the rest, and then delicately opened the door. He leaned his head in and scanned as much as he could with his peripheral vision.
So far, so good. Probably would have set things on fire if they were down on the surface, but there was no air to burn up here.
Morty and Xiomber looked quite thrilled at the spectacle. The Grace had turned almost green by now. Probably not the day he envisioned when he got out of bed.
Baker’s car had moved off and out of the way. Physics was physics, and this was probably going to be impressive as hell when she replayed the video later for Grodray and whoever else was cleared for this level of secrecy.
Okay, now to get crazy.
Strength, like flight, was a matter of mind. Or mind over matter. Or something. He hadn’t been strong enough to lift this truck when it was falling, but maybe Talyarkinash could upgrade him again later. Maybe a Greater Star Dragon form to improve upon the first?
But he didn’t need to carry the damnable thing, just damage it.
Eight, razor-sharp, front claws found the weakened seams where the pieces had been welded together, once upon a time. But heat/cool cycles unquenched metal, had it ever been done right, and made things brittle.
And Gareth was still a little angry at having failed earlier. He sank the tips through the welds like butter and pulled.
In space, everything is relative leverage.
And dragonrage.
He heaved.
A seam parted. Not much, but a crack suddenly ran nearly a meter. Good enough. He shifted his grip to the other side of the stern and did the same thing. This was easier. He had a feel for where it was going to tear.
The sides were going to be harder, except that he could just shift himself around the truck ninety degrees.
Oh, yeah.
He slithered to his right and found a new spot to dig in his toes. Couple of good, solid kicks and he was firmly anchored to the carcass.
This might even work.
Reach around the aft end and grab the side. This weld felt softer than the others. He wondered if the verticals hadn’t been anchored as heavily as the horizontals. That would certainly make this easier.
Torque, and he could see a gap run the entire side of the vehicle.
Gareth had planned to hit the top next, but a lazy welding crew might make this far easier than he had planned. He shifted one hundred and eighty degrees this time, so he could get a grip on the passenger side and attack across.
Sure enough, this set of welds had been seals, rather than structural, like the top and bottom. Possibly to make it easier to get at lights and wires later, but he gave it a good tug and the side came across from the quarter panel.
Okay, now the fun part.
Gareth returned to his original overhead spot, rather than climbing underneath, like he had planned originally. Quick double-check, but Baker was back and staying out of his way, about fifty meters off to his right.
He took a deep breath. Or whatever a Star Dragon did in deep space where there wasn’t any air.
Settled his toes into their holes and grabbed on, foot-fists holding him tightly in place.
Stretch out and over the back of the truck. Grab hold of that panel, right below the door, where the seam had failed earlier.
Pull.
Nothing.
No, unacceptable.
PULL.
Movement. Not much, but proof of concept.
Gareth focused his entire being on that top weld and flexed all the way to the tip of his tail.
It started slowly, failing by millimeters and fighting him for every bit, but it moved. After about three centimeters, something snapped somewhere inside, and the metal began to deform. He pulled more, but the door was warping now as much as it folded. Still, good enough for his purposes.
He let go and flowed around into the opening he had ripped. The back plate gap was about a meter wide, which was enough to get his head, arms, and shoulders inside.
His snout was actually touching the emergency bubble now, and Morty, being Morty, just had to boop him on the snoot with a finger and a laugh that the membrane transmitted.
Gareth rumbled with a laugh, and then set his arms on the floor, using the Elohynn’s throne-like chair as an anchor point. He flexed his shoulder and back up and out, growling with the intensity. The metal moved more, failing under the torque Gareth was forcing into it.
It failed with a snap, breaking loose.
Gareth had hold of the chair, so he didn’t embarrass himself again, with witnesses this time. Instead, he glanced back and caught the back plate with his left foot, holding it in place, more or less. The throne was in the way, so he found the pins holding it to the deck and snapped them off. He slid it around to the side and stuffed it into the front seat, out of his way and the bubble.
He let go and backed out of the cabin, flowing up and over to the driver’s door. His arms weren’t long enough in this form, so he pulled open the door and stuck his head in.
Just because Morty had started it, Gareth head-butted the emergency cocoon once, his own boop that picked it up and shoved it softly out into space, now that the entire rear of the vehicle was wide enough for it to get out without catching on anything.
“Baker,” Gareth rumbled over the radio. “All yours.”
He moved to the top of the truck and snagged the floating panel. After a moment of thought, he stuffed it inside and wedged it well enough to hold. At some point, a tow ship would have to grab the truck and move it to an impound yard. Otherwise, it might fall to earth and maybe have enough metal to survive reentry.
Not good.
Baker was EVA now. Her suit had little jets on the backpack that she used to capture the cocoon, like a sheep dog, and herd them into the open rear door of the truck. The door closed and the three were safe.
Under arrest for a variety of crimes and in really deep doo-doo, but safe from death today, and that was all that mattered right now.
“What about you?” Baker asked, turning her jets to face him as she waited outside the airlock for it to cycle.
“When you get back, open a tube and I’ll fly through it,” Gareth replied.
She was silent for a moment, deep in thought or maybe talking to Grodray on another channel.
“Sun’s coming up over Londra,” she observed. “You’ll be visible.”
“You would never be able to keep something like this secret now anyway,” Gareth retorted. “Might as well make a splash.”
More silence.
“You sure about this, Gareth?”
He heard Grodray’s voice on the line this time. Senior Constable Jackeith Grodray who was secretly a Prime Investigator. A Level-7 instead of a Level-4. The man in charge, but still keeping a very low profile. And he could hide even better in the shadow of a Star Dragon.
“I am,” Gareth rumbled back.
“Very good,” Grodray said. “Stand by.”
A golden portal opened in front of the rescue truck, and the vehicle moved carefully into it, disappearing like a soap bubble on a sunny day.
Gareth waited.
“Okay, Gareth,” Baker said. “We’re clear of the landing point and moving away. You have a clear flight path.”
“Thank you,” he said.
The golden tube in front of him represented all the weirdness that had upended his life over the last two months. Perhaps it was appropriate that it would open the next phase in his cursed, or perhaps charmed existence.
The underworld had been rife with unbelievable tales of a giant, flying lizard hunting bad guys. Nobody would doubt them after this.
And he was also a good guy, rescuing people from certain death.
That legend would take shape as well.
For the briefest, scariest moment, Gareth wondered if his appearance might trigger some bizarre new religion. None of the known species could become a dragon, and nobody would know the truth except a very few on both sides of the law.
Would people think he was one of the Chaa, returned to the Accord of Souls to help fight evil? Would they worship him?
He was sad that Pastor Jacob wasn’t here to advise him, but the man had helped shape him along the way. Gareth would do what was right.
Whatever the cost.
He turned to the golden portal and began to flap, building up speed.
There was a flash of light, over almost before it began, and he was suddenly at gravity’s mercy again.
Down became down, and the morning air had turned so cool that his breath steamed when he let go and drew a new breath into his lungs.
The sun was just above the horizon over Londra, painting the cotton-candy sky almost the same reds as that painting he had experienced last night. She hadn’t been painting the sunset, that Grace woman.
She had been facing the dawn. The new beginning.
Hope.
Gareth let loose a cry of pure joy as he banked over and began to slowly orbit the Hall of Art.
His story was finally beginning.