This is it, the day we’ve dreaded possibly arriving. G-Con Three was sure it was on its way, and, well, we were right. Peace talks have broken down, and now the Nedzeds want dominion over all space in this quadrant, and are ready to kill and destroy anything and anyone that might stand in their way. I’m not just talking military either though, freighters, passenger cruisers, any space faring vessel under the sun. Well, stars. Their demands were ridiculous at the peace talks in the first place. Handing over all tech above the great divide, sending us back into the nuclear age.
I glance down at my plasma blade. Never thought I might be a Psi-E. Never thought I’d even rate on the scale. Moving from G-Con Ops to G-Con Three was a hell of a surprise. Three has never seen active duty, we’re basically bug hunters, the best of the best of the worst of the worst case scenarios. No one was quite sure what to do with Psi-Es and our like when we started popping up. Maybe in history, we’d have been assassins or black ops units in one of those pre-apoc nations. No one’s really sure about the pre-apoc nations, mostly speculation, archeology, sociology guesses. Ever since the final world war, the seventh one, when everyone launched everything, and what few bits of humanity that were left scrambled through the ashes to band together. Or so the history books say. That was a long, long time ago.
There’s some romanticized nonsense in the history books. There’s unrealistic stuff, like some jerk setting up a dominion to try to rule everyone else, crush their souls and make them essentially servants. Supposedly taken down by one or two or so people, some small group at best, at some secret showdown, far off the map. Though, I guess that’s what we are at G-Con Three. The specialists of the specials, the ones with psych that can be weaponized to head far off the map behind enemy lines and take out the rest of the best of the foe’s forces and leadership. The Three is a ridiculous concept at this point in history, but here we are.
Never exactly wanted to be a dog of war. We were at peace, ya know? Service was just something to do to pay the bills. Not exactly easy getting paying work on a Duspla. A planet bled dry is lucky to get any external support. Getting offworld from a dust world is generally on a troop carrier or in a casket. Pretty easy choice, right? You’ve got to think to yourself, “All of local space that’s known to you is at peace, so why not, right?” Couldn’t even make it through my short first tour.
A third of the way through my required tour, before I could get a discharge somewhere offworld on a Mapla or Dapla the other shoe drops. I’d have taken pretty much any of those worlds still doing data analysis or manufacturing, where manual work was still a thing. That’s all I wanted, somewhere to go that wasn’t a dying world. But nope, not for me.
It’s only a third of the way my tour through before it happens. You’re shaking your head incredulously at the insanity of it all, the scale beyond your scope. You have to think, “Aliens you’ve never heard of, who’ve been in talks with people you’ve never heard of, are now so upset that they want to kill people you do know-of along with all those others you don’t.”
Not that I know that many people. Only a few other Psi-Es in The Three. Haven’t gotten to speak to anyone else in a long while, and it’s not like one can keep touch with anyone back on a Duspla. Don’t even get to meet any of the other sapient species, at least, none that we’re not going to be sent out to kill. Supposedly no other species so far has developed Psi-Es. Brains with little entangled particles inside that happen to form portals to some sort of energy. It just sorta exists there, doesn’t do anything without equipment to manipulate that energy out here.
So now we’re like the old cinema, laserguns are an actual thing, sort of. Plastisteel with certain very unique circuitry can focus the energy in harmful ways. Works out pretty well as long as you remember which end is the harmful end. Rumors say some Psi-Es in the deeper G-Cons are never seen after they’re enlisted. Most people guess that somehow those Psi-Es are being used for bigger things, things that can turn their energy into portals or warp drives or weapons of planetary scale. Even if none of those rumors are true, you still get troops with never ending ammunition, and closer quarters weaponry that passes through, sunders, incapacitates, or destroys anything it touches. You can bet that some goon somewhere was slobbering at the thought of a fighting force like from pre-history, or in the cinema.
Hells, what do we even know about ourselves as Psi-Es? Not much, other than the fact that we can be weaponized. Projecting psi energy as a form, or ejecting psi energy works better for some, worse for others. It has to do with stability and size of the portal generated by your entangled particles, but also how adept your brain is at adapting your own unique configuration to the circuitry. Basically, half nature, half nurture. Nature has a leg up, since it can also grow nurture. My nature? Middling to say the least. I’m a nobody from nowhere, special in only one way, in that I am completely average at a very rare thing. I’m half glad of that. I’d rather not be disappeared into some deeper G-Con.
Still, there’s talk in The Three of what service might look like after a tour now, or what ending a tour might look like. Back to the old “caskets or corps”, or “corpse or corps” sort of a deal I imagine. Getting out? Getting out would be a miracle. We’re the only precious resource in our society at this point, they’re going to use us til we burn out. Even if somehow we survive all that, they can just take the tech away from us, then we’re no one special, just some wardogs that saw their day of use. The really old history spoke of war like this, had songs that raged against it. Things like, “forefathers sending other fathers’ sons”, and other sentiments along the same lines, angry at the higher ups for using those in less standing.
It’s funny, if any of us were evil, greedy, war-like, it wouldn’t take much for them to become a worldwide threat on some planet or another. It’s almost funny they don’t even pretend they’re going to treat us any better than we’re expecting. I’m not normally this cynical, but it’s also not normal that I have to deal with being sent out to kill other people, or that one of us in The Three might actually not come back from an outing. We’re not exactly close, but we’re tight, and it’d mess up the rest of us just the same.
I blink slowly towards wakefulness as wet spray splashes upon my face. What? Where? I was about to get on a troop carrier. Wait. A what? I must mean a carriage. That’s right. We’re on our carriage, being towed by The Drake. But how, why are we already on the—? Ow. Hellspit and Fel fires that hurts. Holy crap I can’t even move a muscle. My eyes are about the only thing responding to me, so I flick my gaze about, trying to appraise my own damage. Hell on handrails Reggie, what did you do to yourself? How are you even alive buddy?
I think, I think Kozzurth’s dragonforce, and either my bond with Bud, or Lil, or both, are the only things keeping me alive. I’m in worse shape than I thought. The adrenaline of the battle must have been keeping me going as I pushed past my limits. Argh, I can’t even enter thinkspace, my brain freakin’ hurts. What the hell? I’m sure Te is upset, and maybe even panicking that she can’t reach my brain. Holy crap the pain though.
I attempt to form words, but I’m barely able to breathe, let alone move my jaw or esophagus or vocal tract. Suddenly I feel a massive swath of hair draping across the left side of my body. That’s gotta be Kitten, but I can’t even say hello. She’s groaning in pain, and it feels like she’s tossing and turning in her sleep, based on my silent sonar. Poor Tiktik. Where’s Te though? Ow, my ears are acclimating. Holy hell, there’s a fight going on! Move Reggie, move!
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Try as I might, I can’t move a muscle. Even attempting to craft runes to perhaps move via magic only ends up feeling like my brain is being sheared in half. No, no, no! Come on! Tiktik’s vulnerable and weary, I need to protect her. Also, hell if I’m going down without a fight after all that. I want to live. Dawn made me promise. I need to stop letting depression and other things drag me down. I’ve literally faced and battled the hordes of Hell at this point in my life. I, I want a chance to live. I want the good people of both worlds to be able to have a chance to live out their lives happily in peace. If that means I personally have to battle back every single apocalyptic thing to ever rear its head, then so be it. So, move already Reggie!
My muscles spasm, and it feels as if I tear my right forearm off while trying to curl my arm at the elbow. Ow, come on, come on! I know I took some nerve damage, which, sure, was my own freakin’ fault, but come on Reggie, pull it together! Te’s out there trying to fight something in the water. If I can just flop, and crawl to the door here inside the cabin of the carriage, I, I should be able to do something. Think Reggie, think! You don’t have your Can’Z’aasian thermokinesis, and you still haven’t learned the telekinesis ability, but you’re embedded with the wooden shards of a magic lightning stick, right?
Hm, actually I don’t feel them any longer. A side effect of either transmuting my whole body to magical steel and back, or my Can’Z’aasian regeneration, or both. But the electricity is still in there, right? Please tell me you didn’t let our internal subroutine drop on that spell. Feel it out, guide the electricity. There it is. You’re starting to get it together, now just keep it together.
Huff, huff. Holy hells this is exhausting. It’s like I have to manually fire every neuron, then guide the electrical pulse to its destination to so much as twitch a finger. That’s some nasty nervous-system damage Reggie. Non critterkin wouldn’t recover from something like this. They’d be paralyzed forever. Are you sure you won’t be as well? I, I have to choose to believe that my Can’Z’aasian biology will let my nerve pathways regenerate from their smoking, cored-out state.
Argh, am I completely naked? I can begin to move muscle groups, so I can finally tilt my head to look at myself. I’d been caught up in thought so much that I hadn’t noticed. I’m bandaged pretty heavily, a bit sloppily. That would be Teuila’s doing. She’s strong as hell, but paramedic aid is not one of her strong suits. Tiktik’s similarly mostly bare and bandaged, wrapped up nearly like a mummy. I probably should have told Teuila to take us to Tiago as a pit stop before boarding The Drake. Actually maybe she did, that’s probably where she got the gauze from. Or maybe she raided the apothecary before leaving The Brook.
The carriage rocks once again, and much more lakewater sprays in through the various non-airtight seams, edges, and the slit that looks out towards the driver’s seat. Cough, hack, pft, ptew, ugh. I hear a massive crack as of shearing wood and denting steel, but our carriage seems intact. Hell’s bells, that means The Drake is taking hits. Come on Reggie, one last push, guide these elec—. The sounds of battle cease, but I don’t sense Teuila returning. For several moments, my heart skips beats. Te!
I flood my nervous system with all the electricity I can generate to move myself, agonizingly slowly towards the cabin’s door. I fling it open, taking the crest of a wave to the face for my troubles, but I scrabble atop the carriage while closing the door behind me to keep Tiktik somewhat sheltered. Glancing frantically about, I spy The Drake listing only slightly, and no signs of battle anywhere across the waves. Commotion from the deck of The Drake worries me, so I agonizingly carefully direct my movements with a combination of magnetic fields and internal electrokinesis. Using every fiber of my being, I struggle to claw my way up the tow rope to The Drake’s deck.
Laughter reaches my ears as I slowly heft myself over the edge of The Drake and flop atop her deck. Teuila and Tim seem to be having a chuckle about whatever just happened. My brain is still too burnt out from overloading it with too many simultaneously running spells, so I can’t enter thinkspace, unfortunately. I wave weakly at the two, from my position flopped bodily upon the deck.
Teuila frowns as she calls out, “Airhead, what’re you doing up here? Why can’t I hear your thoughts? I thought you were just sleeping. One sec Tim.”
Teuila leans down to scoop me from the floor of the deck, and I slump wearily into her arms. I struggle to figure out how to precisely control my vocal tract with my new nervous system. Finally I manage to croak out, “Brain overloaded, spells, too many. Nerves cored out, can’t move. Heard battle. Moved anyway. Was worried.”
Teuila frowns and playfully slaps me gently along the back of my head. Teuila grumps, “What do you mean your nerves were cored out? Wait, my brains doing that encyclopedic thing. What the hell? Don’t take this the wrong way Air, but how are you still alive after something like that? Never mind that. I’m okay, we’re okay. You and Tiki should be resting.”
Teuila adopts a thoughtful expression for a moment before continuing, “I, well, I should be too. I’m beat to hell, and for the first time ever, I wish I weren’t tethered up to Valkyrie form. It’s so much easier to fight in the water when I’m an otter. It’s too much of a hassle, and risk, to drop the form though, in case something else happens. I wouldn’t be able to swap back up to Valkyrie fast enough if the need arose. Really though, your brain is broke? How do we get it better? Do we need to use the potion?”
I seriously consider telling Teuila that yes, now is the time to use the last healing potion we know of in existence. It’s not though. Somehow I’ll work this out. Maybe I’ll even become stronger because of it, if I find some way to turn this into an advantage. I weakly shake my head at Teuila, sighing sadly. Despite the difficulty it’s causing me, my life isn’t in danger, and that potion can save lives.
My silent sonar senses say that something or someone is slowly approaching from the direction of our carriage. Based on the topography of the incoming shape, I think it’s safe to assume it’s Kitten, bundled up in her hair and her giant magical hand. My eyes roll about in their sockets momentarily as my head lolls. I’m so exhausted. It took almost everything I had just to fight through my own limitations to check on Teuila. Now that I know that she’s okay, it’s like every system in my body is shutting down.
A second, more monstrous, much larger shape enters my sonar sensory range, on an interception course with Tiktik and The Drake. My eyes flash wide in terror, flicking towards the direction they’re coming from. Instantly Teuila has her danger-spear in hand, and comes to the same conclusion. Tiktik’s a fraction of a moment away from danger, with The Drake not far behind.
Teuila unceremoniously drops me as softly as she can upon the deck of The Drake and leaps into battle with the monstrosity cresting the waves. It may well be the head of a Fel Portalspawn that’s simply walking along the bottom of the lake. I, I need, need to help. My eyelids droop heavily closed, and despite my best efforts I can’t open them. Nor can I lift my limbs that suddenly feel even heavier than they’d already been feeling. No, no, Reggie fix this! Get it together! Nerve pathways that have been bored through and cored out by lightning are such a liability, dangit!
Despite my desires, I begin to fade into unconsciousness. I find myself flickering back and forth between wakefulness and the non. Come on Reggie, stay awake long enough to take stock. What are your assets and limitations? What’s the situation? What patchwork fixes can you put in place at least temporarily? There are some minor abjurative potions available, they’re meant to protect from outward harm, but could they prevent my own system from shutting itself down? Inward harm? Somehow I doubt it. I wish I’d had more time on Can’Z’aas with the Nagas. I wanted to learn scribing from them, maybe alchemy, more about their magic. Wait, reptilian magic. I snap back to wakefulness momentarily as my mind races with new thoughts.
The last time I was in my draconian form, it was being poisoned. My draconic form had been being filled with petrifying foam, and weighed down with intense density. Is there anything I can do with my Changeling natural gift, or my Can’Z’aasian shapechanging to make use of my possibly destroyed alternate forms? I don’t think the mite-hulk form would be a wise choice here, since it would likely crash through wooden floors and sink to the bottom of the lake. Even The Drake would be dented or damaged, since it’s a mostly metallic vessel, as a steamboat. I’m pretty sure I’d die in my draconian form without Teuila passing me rescue breaths, since it was paralyzed with foam the last time I used it. My vision blurs behind closed eyelids as unconsciousness attempts to take me.