Midnight blue and studded with broken lights, the hovercar was almost invisible on the nightscape of Atsa City. It was filled to the brim with Maria packing lasguns, and there was no possible way for it to have left headquarters after the fall of dusk. Sandsa had distantly noted its arrival, gleaning from the minds of his clanspeople the orders that had brought them out this early. The governor had forbidden the clans from venturing into daylight and his threat of sending GLEA after them had kept everyone in line until now. But since the Chippers were already attacking the Maria in the darkest hours, it seemed Ala had decided that she was done playing by the rules.
The hovercar careened into view, much too fast, and went wide. A large lasbolt struck the tar beside the driver’s side of the vehicle, a lucky miss, because the driver had not yet noticed he was being followed. He was simply enjoying his ride. But when hot tar splattered the door and sloshed up over the opaque windows, the driver lost his ignorance and gained panic in its place. He began zigzagging down the road.
‘Chipcopter with infra-red vidcams!’ Callista snarled, pointing. ‘Governor Garnett banned them from bringing those here to Yalsa 5. And Colonel Nerani wants us to help her when she’s obviously had these in storage? The Alcazaar’s Chippers had to get them from somewhere!’
While the hovercar continued to swerve alarmingly, she ducked inside their headquarters, presumably to rouse some reinforcements. But what could the Maria do? Sandsa’s clan had neither the galactic connections nor the permission of the Alcazaar to import anti-air lasguns, the artillery required to face off against a knife-sharp ’copter. Its windows were as dark and smooth as black ice and the four hoverpads spaced evenly underneath the craft where whisper silent. No wonder the clanspeople in the hovercar hadn’t noticed they were being pursued.
The ’copter continued to strafe the road, its bolts skirting the perimeter of the vehicle, toying with the occupants. Sandsa started sprinting down the road, uncoiling the power within, preparing to take the ’copter out —
Something exploded behind him. Sandsa tossed a look over his shoulder and saw that the front of the Maria headquarters had been scoured clean by a large blast sent from a lascannon. A second Chipcopter had arrived — and it was a lot better armed than its companion, Sandsa noted grimly. Callista’s lifesign was a steady thrum behind the blast-proof shutters so he need not worry about her, but still he reached for her mind, a glancing touch that she blocked —
This time the fireball came from in front of him. Sandsa shouted in anguish. How could he have let himself be distracted like some…like some mortal! The hovercar now lay on its side, its wounds glowing and belching smoke into the night.
Sandsa glared up at the ’copters as they drew in line with each other. All it took was a single thought from him and the flying machines collided, flattening together like pressed paper. They flamed briefly then hit ground, blackened and unidentifiable as anything that had ever broken free from the grip of gravity.
Sandsa gritted his teeth as he approached the unbearable heat exiting the wreckage of the hovercar. Bodies spilled from inside the vehicle, scattered like the toys of a petulant child.
They can’t die because of my lapse in concentration! Sandsa thought, calling on swirls of sand to swarm around the bodies in preparation for teleporting them away.
Sandsa, no! Callista’s voice cried
Sandsa blew out a breath. She was right. He couldn’t risk it. Already he heard the voices, gentle whispers for now, but if he activated the Desine’s powers they would rise into a howl of despair. He gnawed on the inside of his cheek, welcoming the coppery blood into his mouth, the reminder of what he was. A man. A mere man. He would have to rely on this fleshy vessel and its limited powers from now on.
Sandsa stepped no further towards the ruined hovercar, intending on using his telekinesis to bring out the bodies in one go, but he found his ability to use it stunted. He frowned. Of course. The god was more powerful than me. But that does not mean I am helpless.
One body rose from the ground, hovered, then drifted to safety.
One clansperson saved.
But there were still many more people in there, people who would not survive if he kept removing them at this frustratingly glacial rate. They needed him. They needed him now.
Sandsa entered the wreckage and knelt beside the person closest to him. The skin of his fingers blackened and bubbled when he slid them between tar and victim. Flinching from the pain, Sandsa scooped the fragile body into his arms and carried his fellow Maria clansperson away from the flames and the chemical fuel tank that could explode at any moment.
Callista was suddenly there to take his burden. Releasing the man into her care, Sandsa returned to the inferno and retrieved another. And another. Still more bodies coasted away, as though held by invisible hands.
On the sixth trip, he saw Ala shouting at him, her mouth oscillating furiously even though no sound seemed to escape her. Sandsa squinted, trying to read the words from her lips.
‘She keeps saying you’ll die if ya keep this up!’ Ala roared, suddenly audible.
‘It would make matters less complicated for you if I did,’ Sandsa said, swinging around, uncaring that he could no longer feel his fingers, his palms, his wrists.
Ala grabbed his shoulder, pinning him at her side. ‘I’m never gonna think you’re good enough for her but you are Maria and, stark it, I will not lose any more tonight!’
‘So let me finish my job.’
Sandsa walked back into the flames. Just one clansperson left now. Just one. He stumbled over rubble and hit the ground. The sound heralding the fuel tank’s death seemed to come at him from all sides, as though several people stood around him, hissing through their teeth. As he crawled towards his goal, the knees of his pants disintegrated, giving way to roughened road that rubbed his skin raw. His vision swam; his arms were reduced to stumps — no, they were burned and bleeding but still intact. He distantly regretted not wearing his jacket.
Sandsa reached the last victim. They did not appear to be injured — but then he turned them over. Half the woman’s face was a mess of blood and ichor. Trying not to retch, he held his mangled hand over her face, forcing weak streams of white light to pour from his fingers. Relieved that he still had this power, reduced in potency as it was, he watched the healthy pink spread slowly from her jaw to her temple.
He knew he should have waited until they were both outside to heal the woman, but he wanted to keep this particular power secret. His clan would constantly demand it of him and he wasn’t sure he could recover quickly enough to perform on command. His powers were now greedily eating through his energy reserves faster than they ever had before. He had to force himself to yank his hand away from his fellow clansperson’s face when the healing began to take too much from him.
Sandsa looped his arms around the woman’s torso and hips, gathered her against his chest, and tried to stand. His aching legs refused. He swore at them, using many choice words that Callista had insisted were part of the local vernacular. His thighs, seared with heat, trembled. Eventually, one knee obeyed, rising unsteadily through the smoke. Sandsa coughed. His eyes watered. And then his precious cargo fell onto a bed of ash and distorted metal. A tortured rasp peeled over his lips as he bent over to retrieve her. But he was too weak.
He toppled over the woman, his chin striking the blazingly hot tar. Sandsa’s eyelids sealed; prying them apart was a mammoth task, made more difficult by the junk that tried to glue his eyelashes together. Defeated, he allowed one last gasp of air to escape and submitted his body to the road that had become his final resting place.
Two boots appeared beside him. He tipped his head to the side and studied them; the soles were worn and melted and the hardy hide was interrupted by holes that spewed blackened blood. As he watched, the boots grew, lengthening into legs that were translucent and ethereal. A torso, arms and head followed, until she existed in all her glory.
The spectre crouched beside him, her face savaged by her manner of death. ‘No, my son. You cannot share this grave with me.’
‘Mother?’ he croaked.
She was still so beautiful, even with the burns cascading down her face, even with a hole in her throat oozing gunk and one of her arms hanging at an odd angle. Seemingly unaware of these injuries, she reached for his hands, hauling him up from the road; he nearly tripped over the Maria clanswoman lying beneath him in the process. Sandsa crouched down to touch her, but his fingers sailed through skin and bone and even tar, invisible to the world. He staggered back up onto his feet again and looked over to find his physical form splayed out on the road. His shirt was in tatters, torn away from burns and cuts. Mercifully, he felt nothing.
‘You died here,’ he said, focusing on his mother rather than his discarded body.
She nodded once. ‘Yes. This very road. This very way. The Alcazaar are not very imaginative in their attacks.’
‘How are you…?’
‘Enough.’ Icy fingers lay across his lips. ‘You live still.’
‘How…?’
Her smile was as brilliant as it had been when she still lived despite her cheek being torn open, her teeth in plain view. ‘I can’t tell you, Sandsa. It’s not my place. Go back to her. Go back to Callista.’
Sandsa captured her hand and tightened his grip. ‘But Mother, I…I’ve missed…’
‘I’ll always be here, watching over you,’ she said, her voice becoming an echo, her face dissolving. ‘Go back to her…go back to her now!’
He floated for a moment, free of feeling, but then he fell back into a vessel of agony. The nearby tank screamed into his ear, an explosion imminent. He grabbed the Maria clanswoman and shot to his feet.
Callista, I need your help! he sent.
He cried out, then telekinetically hurled the body he’d been carrying through the air. He couldn’t see Callista catch the woman with her own powers, but he trusted her, knew she could do it. He stumbled, then burst into a wonky run. He nearly fell several times but he kept going, desperate to reach the mortal woman whose body was hot with passion for him, whose mind was warm with thoughts of the future.
Sandsa found himself face down on the road again, tasting blood. His tongue had been caught between his teeth when he’d hit the ground and his nose had taken a battering of its own. Flames danced over him, taunting his exposed skin, but then they receded, the fuel that had given them life now covered in the dry foam being blasted from nozzles on deep purple tanks.
Nerani’s Chippers? Sandsa thought. But it’s night-time!
Callista was near him, a ball of emotion — anger and relief. Her focus was entirely on him; the woman Callista had caught was being carried away by another Maria clansperson, one who seemed surprised to find her in such good health. Sandsa leaned heavily onto Callista and could not stifle the smile that slipped onto his lips. He felt anaesthetised by her very presence.
With her help, Sandsa managed to turn around and face the lifesigns he could sense nearby. He shouted at them, his throat crackling, ‘Come out, you filthy Alcazaar! You murderers!’
The nearby Alcazaar force appeared from behind a corner two blocks away, then began advancing. Those who weren’t passengers aboard the heavily armed hovercars marched on foot, their weapons at the ready. Within moments a pack of Maria clanspeople had poured out from their headquarters and sprung up defensively around Sandsa, lasguns out and charged.
Ala drew in line with Sandsa and nodded at him, her face grim. She felt ready for a fight — and so did her people. This barricade made out of Maria bodies was far longer than any line-up of the Creator God’s sons and daughters. The willingness of these people to stand up for a stranger who hadn’t been one of their own for very long was both touching and confusing.
Guarding their backs were the Chippers he had spoken to earlier, though there were markedly fewer of them than the Chippers on the side of the Alcazaar. Sandsa’s eyes found Colonel Jeras Nerani. He was astonished by the determination that fanned each breath and cranked each beat of her heart. She was standing by them at the risk of angering her regional commander. She could lose her rank and her life. But she didn’t care. Because protecting the people of Atsa City was more important to her.
Sandsa felt Callista stiffen in response to the growing number of Chipper lifesigns. She withdrew into herself, hiding her presence. There was no point in Sandsa doing the same. Everyone here had seen or heard about what he could do.
The oldest of the Alcazaar held his fists above his head. His clansmen dutifully fell back, allowing their Clan Leader to stand out. He looked about seventy, his white hair styled into a high starched apex which resembled a single frozen flame. His sun-spotted skin was now also riddled with red dots thrown by the sights of Maria weapons. He seemed unbothered by his peril and continued forward, leisurely tapping his cane on the road. As he drew nearer the Maria line, it became apparent that he was much shorter than any of them, but he was just as lean as a still-fighting Clan Leader should be.
He stopped mere paces away and levelled his gaze at Sandsa. ‘Bolt. I am CL. You refused a request from your Clan Leader to join the Alcazaar. Will you walk this way now, before any more blood is shed on your account? I will spare most of the Maria this night if you do.’
The man had apparently changed his street name to the initials of his position. It was a presumptuous move, even if he had earned the right to make it.
‘I am having enough difficulty standing,’ Sandsa said. He was still relying on Callista to remain upright and knew she couldn’t support his weight for long. ‘But even if I could walk over there, I wouldn’t.’
CL raised his cane. Several of the Maria ducked, but Ala, who was on the receiving end of the cane’s capped base, didn’t so much as flinch. A long, sharp blade, so basic it didn’t even thrum backwards and forwards like those favoured by many of Sandsa’s clanspeople, shot forward, halting a whisker from Ala’s nose.
‘Only your subofficers can make this decision for you, Bolt,’ CL said with a sad shake of his head, as though he was disappointed in Sandsa. ‘You are their responsibility…for the moment.’
Sandsa felt his lips rear back from his teeth. ‘You killed my mother. My subofficers would understand my need to seek vengeance.’
‘Is this true, about his mother?’ Ala muttered out of the corner of her mouth.
‘Yes,’ Callista answered shortly.
‘Can’t blame him then,’ Ala said.
CL fluttered his hand in front of his face, as if fanning himself. ‘I do not recall your mother. But there have been many innocents killed in the crossfire. Unfortunate. But this is Atsa City. Such things happen.’
Sandsa, you are too young to be Julia’s son! Callista reminded him.
Sandsa’s fingers curled into claws. ‘You can’t offer me anything that will make me forget my thirst for your blood, CL.’
‘There are many things a man might thirst for,’ CL told him. The blade slipped back inside the cane. ‘I can promote you to subofficer.’
‘Bolt is already a subofficer,’ Ala said.
Several pairs of eyes swung to her.
‘Made him one last night,’ she continued, her snarl victorious. ‘You can see why, right? Him being better than the Chippers.’
‘You knew about his abilities?’ CL asked her, frowning.
Ala chortled and the rest of the Maria echoed her. ‘’Course. Why do you think I didn’t kill him when he turned up lookin’ for trouble? But here’s the thing, CL, he’s not the only one I have.’
Callista’s nails dug through a hole in Sandsa’s shirt and found flesh. He hissed. She whispered an apology and loosened her grip. Sandsa wanted to comfort her, but a potent exhaustion was beginning to creep in from his fingers and toes. Either the spotlights on the Alzacaar hovercar’s were dimming or he was fighting impending unconsciousness. He suspected the latter.
CL clicked his fingers. One of his Chippers strode forward and declared, ‘Any of your clanspeople who have chipless powers must be handed over to the Galactic Law Enforcement Agency.’
‘They’re not your starkin’ property!’ Ala said, slapping a lasgun against her thigh. ‘My clanspeople don’t have chips or any tech that’s yours so they don’t owe you Chippers a single starking thing.’
‘And the Agency should respect the free will granted to us all by the Creator God,’ Colonel Nerani spoke up from beside Ala.
‘And what’re you gonna do about this, Colonel?’ the opposing Chipper said scornfully. He had many more gold strokes on the shoulders of his uniform than Nerani did. Clearly he was the regional commander.
Nerani’s smile was full of teeth. ‘Our superiors are not likely to believe any report I file if you write a contradictory one. But not to worry, the more you lot get up to, the more proof I’ll have to get you thrown out of the Agency.’
‘What’s it to be, Subofficer Bolt?’ CL asked loudly, so that all those gathered could hear him. ‘Surely you don’t want all these people to die because of you?’
Sandsa blinked, though the action seemed to take centuries because his eyelids felt so sluggish. ‘I will not be an Alcazaar or a Chipper. No, CL…I intend to become you.’
CL snarled and turned his back on the Maria. Once he was safely inside an armoured hovercar, the Alcazaar retreated. Sandsa took one step forward to follow them but tripped — and fell into darkness.
***
‘Colonel Nerani!’ Callista called from the ground, cradling Sandsa’s head in her lap and ignoring the feet slapping the tar around her as the Maria mobilised to chase the Alcazaar down. ‘I need your help.’
‘In a moment,’ promised the colonel before rapidly exchanging words with Ala. They were trying to reach an agreement on where to launch their biggest attack.
‘I need your help, stark your Creator God!’ Callista snapped.
Ala’s heavy boots clomped over to her. ‘Cals, this isn’t about you and your lover boy anymore. Get him inside — Bock can look after him. I need you on the streets.’
Callista raised her glistening eyes. ‘Ala, I think can heal him. But I don’t know how.’
‘You chipless?’ Jeras asked, the tiny tentacles on her head swinging to one side as she moved her head to regard Callista.
Callista nodded.
‘Lieutenant Bartan!’ the woman bellowed and another Chipper appeared. ‘Look, we can’t heal or do anything fancy like that, but Bartan here has a knack for finding what needs fixing in people, thanks to the same glitch in his chip that weakens his forcefields. He can’t just sense lifesigns, he can pinpoint bad energy right up to the cellular level, see where something’s gone wrong. If you really can heal, which I’d not be shocked to hear at this point, then maybe he can help.’
Callista nodded once at Nerani, then transferred her fierce gaze to Ala. ‘As your fellow subofficer, I am ordering you to fuck up the Alcazaar’s night for them!’
‘As if I would do anything else!’ Ala said, rolling her good eye. The mechanical one remained fixed in place. ‘When you get him sorted out I want you with me, Subofficer Dancer. You gotta help me set an example — I don’t want all these subofficers I’m about to promote to think it’s okay to sit down and catch a breath when there’s fightin’ to be done.’
‘Are you sure you want to share the clan with that many subofficers?’ Callista asked, smiling.
A dark cast fell over Ala’s face. ‘Honestly, Cals, I don’t expect most of them to survive the night. So make sure you do.’
The undisputed leader of the Maria and Colonel Nerani both headed towards one of the purple tanks belonging to the Chippers. Callista stood to wave off her clanspeople as they hurried into the night, wishing she was heading out with them.
‘Can’t fucking believe it,’ Bartan growled beside her. ‘Working with the likes of you.’
Callista frowned at the lieutenant, taking in his bulky form and the thick neck that ended with a round, squashed face. ‘This man is your colonel’s only chance of putting down the Alcazaar.’
Bartan grumbled something under his breath then grabbed Sandsa, lifted him bodily over one shoulder, and stomped over to the Maria headquarters where a skeleton crew was stationed. Callista could feel the restless energy of Bock in there; Ala had ordered him to stay behind. The teenager was understandably unhappy about this.
Callista followed Bartan, stepping carefully over scarred concrete. The damage was mostly cosmetic, thanks to how the building had been constructed, and since cleaning was a costly expense it would probably become a permanent alteration.
Callista pressed her palm to the print reader. A small beep confirmed her identity and the door slid open. Once they were both safely inside, they moved upstairs and into the lounge room where Bartan cleared a table before lying Sandsa atop it with surprising gentleness. He then balled up Sandsa’s ruined shirt into a makeshift pillow.
Callista hovered nearby, hands dangling uselessly by her sides. She wasn’t sure if she could actually heal Sandsa, because they hadn’t reached that stage in her lessons — and because she’d never attempted to do it. What if she tried now only to fail? Biting her lip, she watched the uneven rise and fall of Sandsa’s chest. His breaths were so short, so shallow. She wanted to run her fingers over his skin, to reassure him that she was there, but there were so many burns.
‘Can he heal?’ Bartan asked, jerking his head at Sandsa’s supine form.
Callista nodded.
‘How’s he do it?’
‘He holds his hand over the injury…’ Callista trailed off as Bartan came over to her. He seized her wrist and positioned her hand above Sandsa’s body.
‘That’ll be step one then,’ Bartan said, letting go of her arm and taking up a position at her shoulder. The chip beneath the skin on his temple seemed to be pulsing in time with a heartbeat. ‘I’m told you can sense stuff. I guess we’ll find out. First you gotta link up with me, like…a passenger. Then we’ll go inside him and find each little teensy dot of bad energy. These dots, they’ll correspond with a physical bit of him, so I guess that’s what you’ll have to fix.’
Callista nodded but the moment she reached for Bartan’s mind she hit a wall of static that buzzed angrily at her. She recoiled, then reminded herself that she didn’t need to hide from the Chippers, or that sensation, anymore.
She loosened the muscles in her shoulders and arms, her posture slumping, and tried again. The link between them vibrated uncertainly, then finally settled.
Bartan was a hulking mass filling both the room and her mind, but now that she was connected to him and could see his good nature, she thought of him as an oversized teddy bear. She spent some time studying each facet of his lifesign, marvelling at how limited his powers were, then let him feel her apology when impatience flooded his energy.
‘Let’s get this over with,’ Bartan muttered from somewhere far away.
And then he yanked her down into the body of the man she loved.
Blood roared and whooshed disconcertingly around them. Callista’s brief panic faded into curiosity as Bartan began to indicate the damaged areas to her. She wasn’t sure how he managed to do this, given that neither of them had hands in this…form. But it worked — where he saw pockets of bad energy, she saw something that needed healing.
Shoving aside her fears, Callista moved through blackened, blistered cells that shook at her presence. She commanded them, coaxed them, and badgered them until they stirred back into life. Each ropey edge of the cells blazed with light, new and healed, but she didn’t stop to celebrate the discovery of her new power. There was too much to do.
Bartan’s presence now felt distant, weak. He was struggling to catch up to her, lagging three or four paces for every one of hers. But she didn’t go back for him — she no longer needed his help. Injured cells were now calling out to her, showing her how to find them.
Emboldened, Callista skipped even further ahead, finding a rhythm in Sandsa’s steadying heartbeat. Soon phantom hands were gliding along hers and fingers filled the spaces between her own, drawing her further into the dance. Two spirits circled each other, recognising, laughing, loving. Somehow they were both there, as real as they were in the life beyond Sandsa’s body.
You figured out how to heal me, Sandsa said, looking around at her handiwork. Clever.
Only returning the favour, she responded with a grin.
Sandsa’s tone became sharp. Who is that?
A Chipper. I needed his help.
His sensing abilities are exceptional, for a Chipper, Sandsa noted. You won’t need his help next time. And hopefully with enough practice you will be able to heal me fully.
Callista brushed her lips over his cheek. I have to go. Our clan needs me.
She peeled open the dry, gritty eyes that belonged to her physical form and leaned forward, anchoring the heels of her palms on the table and fighting the dizziness that spiralled down from her skull and into her bent knees. When she refocused, she saw that Sandsa’s skin was now bright red and shiny, not fully healed but no longer black like overdone meat. She pushed herself away from the table and spun towards the exit, then immediately regretted it when her head started pounding.
Warm hands led her away from the door and pressed her into a chair. Callista watched dully as the table approached her, then realised the high pitched squeal was not caused by her headache, but by the chair beneath her as it was being forced across the floor in Bartan’s strong grip. The Chipper knelt at her side, saying, ‘I can feel in your energy that you’ve exhausted yourself. Relax. It’ll pass. Give it time. Nice work, by the way. Nerani’d welcome you into the Chippers anytime.’
‘I’m stronger than anyone with the chip, aren’t I?’ Callista mused.
Bartan nodded. ‘Loads more. Makes you wonder if the Creator God has heard our pleas for help in fighting the galaxy’s evils and is giving us his answer. In you.’
The snort of disdain was ripped from her nostrils, causing her head to ache more fiercely. ‘I doubt it. These powers are the reason Sandsa found me and left his home behind. The Creator God can’t be happy about that.’
Bartan stared at her, confusion creasing his forehead. ‘What the stark are you talking about?’
‘Go,’ Callista told him instead of explaining. She suspected he wouldn’t believe her anyway. ‘Go help your colonel. And tell Subofficer Ala I’ll be along when I can.’
Bartan nodded then left without further comment.
Once he was gone, Callista eased further back into her chair, willing her strength to return. The Maria needed her — and her lasgun. She couldn’t let them down.
One long hour later, she was ready.