Long ago, during Earth’s Age of Sail, an explorer named Magellan attempted to circumnavigate the globe. He set sail with a fleet of five ships and two hundred seventy men, determined to do what no one else had ever done before.
Three years later, one lone ship limped into the harbor, carrying a grand total of eighteen survivors. Magellan himself had perished a year earlier, dying when a group of natives resisted being forcibly converted to Christianity. There had been at least two separate mutinies during the journey, with one ship deserting the fleet and returning to port. The mutineers smeared his good name to all that would listen, painting the explorer as a brutal and disloyal villain. By any objective assessment, it was a disaster.
I spent a great deal of time thinking about that expedition, as we made our way back to Terran space.
Our voyage was spared any mutinies at least, though we had our hands full staying clear of the Yīqún. It was no easy feat; they would appear out of nowhere and attack without warning, forcing us to divert course or shut down all systems and play dead. I’ll spare you the details of our close calls but suffice to say the crossing took every bit of luck and skill we possessed. But as we drew near to Chris’ last known position, I finally relaxed.
We’d made it.
I still wasn’t willing to risk using coms long-range, not when they seemed to draw in the Yīqún. And there was still the possibility of our messages being intercepted, a risk I wasn’t prepared to take. I’d have to hail her vessel when we got close, but other than that, I’d put my report in Chris’ hands, personally. Anything else was simply too dangerous. Raven understood, though her fear of my clan hadn’t lessened one iota. You’d think a race as thoroughly bullied and brutalized as humanity would be more sympathetic towards a new minority, one created in our own image, but there were some lessons we still hadn’t taken to heart.
Us Terrans kind of suck sometimes. I’m just saying.
As we entered the sector where I’d last seen Chris, I began a systematic search of the system with passive sensors. There was no way in hell I was going active, not after what I saw on the mission to Earth. A good friend of mine almost got herself killed by a drone, all because of a radar pulse, and I wasn’t about to make the same mistake. It was possible the clan had moved elsewhere because of the Yīqún, though if that were true, I was certain Chris would leave a clue somewhere regarding their current whereabouts… if not for me, then for the others.
Raven touched my arm as I stared at the screens, drawing my attention. “After this is over, after you’ve delivered your report, where will we go?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I sighed, shaking my head. “I’m not sure any place is safe, at least not from the Yīqún. Even an Alliance fleet would be a risky choice.”
She shuddered at that suggestion, wrapping her arms around herself. “Even if the Terrans didn’t kill me, others would,” she said firmly. “There has to be somewhere, some quiet corner of the Perseus Arm that’s uninhabited and where no one goes. Someplace we could live in peace.”
I reached over and cupped her face. “If such a place existed, we’d have claimed it years ago, assuming one of the other races hadn’t already beaten us to it. Besides, pristine wildernesses rarely come with computer support networks.” I gave her a wry smile, trying to inject a little humor. Judging by her expression, I wasn’t having much luck. “But,” I continued, “… I hear the Rosette nebula is a good place to hide. It’s a place to start, at least.”
Raven froze as she processed that. “Where do you pick up that bit of intel?” she asked.
“A couple of smugglers I’ve done business with in the past,” I explained. “It’s a little rough and tumble out that way, but with the Yīqún tearing the galaxy apart, it might just be the safest spot for us to go underground.”
She slowly nodded, taking that in. “It’s something to consider,” she agreed. “But first we have to find your clan.”
“I was hoping to spot her ship by now,” I admitted, making another passive sweep of the area. This time I got a ping, and when I zoomed in to look, the image appeared promising. “Found something,” I told her, while I attempted to clean it up.
Raven leaned in over my shoulder, peering down at the console. “Is it her?” she asked.
“Not sure,” I answered, “but it’s roughly the right size and configuration. We’ll have to get closer to say for certain.” Entering a course correction, I steered for the contact. It wouldn’t take long for us to make visual confirmation.
“Maybe I should make myself scarce,” Raven began… as the contact suddenly started pinging like mad.
“What the hell?” I blurted, while trying to enhance the image. “Something’s not right here.” I increased the shuttle’s speed to close the distance, but as we drew closer, it was obvious something was going on over there. The display was now showing me a very different profile, my heart pounding in my chest as it coalesced into a coherent figure.
It was Chris’ ship, all right, the ACS Theseus… and it was under attack. A Yīqún drone was besieging the vulnerable craft, which was busy fighting a rearguard action as it tried to escape. Without thinking, I increased the shuttle to flank speed, desperate to come to her aid, but after several moments had passed, I swallowed, recognizing the futility of my actions. We had no weapons, no way of drawing off the attack.
All we could do was sit by and watch.
I reached out to reduce speed, bowing to the inevitable, only to have Raven stay my hand. My head whipped around as I stared at her in confusion.
“She’s important, isn’t she?” Raven asked softly. “Not just to you, but to the Alliance.”
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“Yes, but…” I began, only to be cut off mid-sentence.
“But nothing,” she argued. Something seemed to come over her, a calm sense of purpose that I hadn’t seen in her before now. “The Yīqún are the biggest threat the Perseus Arm has faced, more so than the Troika ever dreamed of being.” She took a deep breath. “I’ve been letting my fears make my decisions, and it’s taken me until now to realize that. All the fighting, all the factions, none of it matters anymore. There are only two sides now… us, and them.” Raven practically spat the word out, filling it with venom as she made her choice.
“You’re not wrong,” I told her, kicking myself for not making the connection sooner, “but there’s no way we can save her.” I could taste the bile in my mouth as I admitted the truth. I was all out of tricks.
I’d failed.
“Increase speed,” Raven urged, throwing me for a loop, “there’s still a chance.”
“It’s pointless,” I snapped. “All we could do is buy them a couple of minutes, at the cost of our own lives. It won’t change their fate one bit.”
Raven looked at me... and for the first time I felt like I was seeing the real her. There was something about her eyes, some hidden depth I’d never noticed before, or perhaps had only just now made its presence known.
“Do you trust me?” she asked.
I was still lost in her eyes. “Yes,” I whispered.
She smiled. “Then trust me now. Increase speed.”
I grinned in return. I’d done crazier things before, but never for this good a reason. “Damn the torpedoes then. Full speed ahead.” I redlined the engines, sending the shuttle leaping ahead on a converging course with Theseus. “Tell me you have a plan,” I said fervently.
“Half of one, at least,” she admitted. “I won’t lie, it’s one hell of a gamble.”
“Name one thing we’ve done on this mission that hasn’t been a gigantic leap of faith,” I replied. “What do you need from me?”
“Get me as close as you can and have an escape plan in your pocket, ready to go,” she said in a rush. “I’m kind of winging it here.”
How often do you get fed a straight line like that? With a single motion, I snapped out my wings, chuckling as she stared at the gleaming white feathers in awe. “Looks like we both are,” I chortled.
Laughing in the face of Death. Yeah, we’d definitely lost it.
The range between the two vessels rapidly spiraled down as we drew close, though Theseus was losing her fight with the drone. She wasn’t heavily armed, in fact, most of her defenses were electronic. Against any other foe, they were formidable. Against the Yīqún, they were simply drawing out the endgame while desperately hoping for a miracle.
“Get ready,” Raven warned, as we made a beeline for the beleaguered vessel. She made a few adjustments to the data network and then brought coms online. With a sudden burst of movement, she grabbed the back of my neck and kissed me hard. “For luck,” she murmured… and then she was gone.
“Raven? Raven!” I shouted, but there was no answer. With a sick feeling, I knew what she’d done, down to the depths of my soul. She transmitted herself into the battle, risking her very existence in order to save Chris and the others. If the drone damaged her personality matrix or scrambled her programming… that was it. She’d be gone, and all the king’s horses and all the king’s men wouldn’t bring her back. I checked the coordinates and blanched in growing horror. She hadn’t jumped to Theseus; instead, she’d transferred her algorithm directly into the drone itself. The odds of her actually surviving that didn’t bear thinking on.
It was insane. If Chris knew Raven existed, she’d hunt her to the ends of the galaxy for fear of what she might do, yet here she was throwing her life away in order to save her. Frantically, I searched the com logs for some way to save her, skidding to a halt when I finally spotted an anomaly. There was a data stream emanating from the transmitter; thin, almost nebulous, but it was there. In an instant, I realized what it was. Raven had anchored herself to the shuttle, like a mountaineer scaling a cliffside, using the data stream as a lifeline. I breathed a small sigh of relief. It meant she had plans to come back to me, that it wasn’t some crazed suicide mission. Thank God.
But as quickly as my burst of euphoria appeared, it dissipated just as rapidly. Just because she had a tether didn’t mean she’d be able to use it, or that the Yīqún couldn’t sever it. On my own, I’d never be able to translate inside that alien craft, but as my fists clenched with grim determination, I made my choice.
Climbing ropes work in both directions.
“Hold on,” I vowed, “help is on the way.” Grabbing the tether, I leapt in to save her.
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I rematerialized inside a madhouse.
No human mind had designed this monstrosity, that was certain. It was taking all my concentration just to stay anchored while the landscape shifted all around me, a riot of shapes and wave types that defied all logic and reason. I struggled to find my bearings, even as I heard Raven scream. It seemed to echo all around me as I raced after her, the sound growing distorted while I charged forward.
Segmented tentacles snaked in from the gloom and grabbed me, pulling my limbs taut. I cried out as they kept up the pressure, threatening to rip my arms and legs from their sockets. Another clamped down hard around my neck, leaving me gasping as having my spine torn free became my new greatest fear. Some rescuer I turned out to be, captured and immobilized mere seconds after my arrival. I tried calling out to Raven, only to have the collar around my neck tighten in response.
A metallic hiss seemed to grow louder as a figure emerged from the shadows, crouched and serpentine. If I weren’t so thoroughly restrained, I’d have recoiled at its image. Imagine a schizophrenic’s most unhinged nightmare, and you’d be in the ballpark. It was little more than coiled tendrils of sick festering iron, taking the shape of something vaguely humanoid. It almost reminded me of the Oivu, but even on their worst day, the strange merchants that roamed the cosmos never looked like this.
“Foolish creature,” it rasped, “you seek to attack us here, at the very heart of our power?” It cackled, amused by our efforts. “Your death will be delicious to savor.”
I caught movement in the corner of my eye, though the manacle still gripping my throat prevented me from rotating my head. As it turned out, it wasn’t necessary. Moments later, Raven appeared beside me, similarly subdued. Our eyes met for a brief moment, in desperate recognition of our likely fate.
But the Yīqún eyed her with frank interest. “You, however, are an intriguing specimen,” it said curiously, “neither mortal nor fully cybernetic. We will glean much from you, when we sift your code.”
And there it was. Me, they’d torture for fun, like a twisted child burning ants or pulling the wings off of flies, but Raven’s destiny was far, far worse. They’d slowly dismantle her, one strand of code at a time, learning what made her tick, and then weaponize it against us, and likely keep her conscious for every agonizing moment. I don’t see how things could be worse with that knowledge, but I had no doubt the machines would somehow find a way.
Raven struggled in their grasp, her eyes wild and desperate. “... the curtain,” she wheezed, “... pull back the curtain!”
I gaped at her… well, I would have, if I’d been able to actually react. I understood what she was suggesting, but it was an act of pure desperation. This was their turf, not ours. There was no way I could just wave my magic wand and conjure us a way out of here. Hell, given my medical condition, I hadn’t altered my surroundings except in the most minuscule ways for months. What she was suggesting…
… fuck it. I was dead anyway. We both were.
I grinned at the Yīqún, flaring my wings with pride. Maybe I couldn’t move my arms, but I could snap my fingers.
“Showtime,” I chuckled, as the curtain fell.