Paygan Xeing’s hand rested on the hilt of his sword as he barked out orders. “All Alliance ships proceed to the following coordinates and form a defensive sphere. Any vessel that is heavily damaged or has lost weapons is to take shelter at its center.” Regrettably, there were far too many ships in the latter category, as the entire fleet had suffered greatly at the hands of their enemies. At least they’d defeated the Troika and driven them from the field, but that still left them facing the dreaded Yīqún. The last-minute addition of the Avatar weapon had been an unexpected windfall, but despite its effectiveness, there were simply too many of the demonic machines still out there.
“Paygan, incoming message from the Terran Admiral,” his Second informed him.
“Let me speak to him,” the Ixian leader answered, as Van Aalst’s image appeared on the screen.
“We just got your message,” the Admiral relayed, “and we’ll join you momentarily, just as soon as we can shepherd our cripples to your location.”
The Paygan shook his head. “There is no need for us both to join our ancestors this day, Admiral,” he smiled. “Your asylum awaits for both you and your people. Take them there while we cover your withdrawal from the battlefield.”
“We’re not leaving you here to die,” Van Aalst snarled. “You came to our aid when we needed you, and now it’s our turn. We stand together, and we finish this together… one way or another.”
The blue-skinned warrior grinned fiercely at the human. “They will sing songs of this battle, Admiral. You may be Terran… but beneath your breast beats the heart of an Ixian.” Rising to his feet, he slammed his fist against his chest. “Yuutsah’Zhoz!”
“We’re on our way,” Van Aalst answered, with a wry grin of his own, as his image disappeared from the monitor.
Another of the swarm’s wings hurled themselves at the fleet as they returned fire, while the Paygan settled back into his chair. The Terrans had yet again proven their virtue, and it honored him to die in such company. For they would die, that much was certain. There were no reinforcements to be called upon, no resupply for their empty guns, no last miracle waiting to save them. He knew they would fight bravely, but in the end, the Yīqún would overwhelm them.
But it would be a good death, one with honor. He’d made his peace with that, long, long ago. “Yuutsah’Zhoz,” he whispered again as they faced the swarm.
Own the Day.
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Remi stood by helplessly as Athena continued pressing her attack against the Yīqún, though even he could see it was a losing battle. The fleet and the Alliance were giving it their all, but they were hopelessly outnumbered.
“There must be something you can do,” he pleaded.
“I regret to say there is not,” she replied. “They have fought bravely, your people, but the Arbeh’Negef are a tenacious foe.”
“So that’s it then,” he said quietly, bowing his head in defeat. “After all this time, coming this close… that’s it. The end of our race.”
“Not at all,” Athena disagreed. “You and your crew will still be safe. You may transport yourselves down to the planet and begin again. In time, your species will thrive once more.”
“With just the four of us?” he snorted. “Forget it, Athena. It’s over.”
“With what has been preserved on the surface, it need not be,” she argued. “You will find nourishment and medical aid, as well as vast libraries filled with the knowledge of my Creators. Though it may be the work of generations, your people can live once again.”
“But they won’t be us,” he snarled, his features twisted with white-hot fury and the bile-black grief of despair. “Don’t you see? We’ve already lost so much. Sure, we could go on, have children, raise them on New Terra, but in the end, all we’d share was DNA. They’d be some weird alien offshoot, but they’d never be human. Not really. Not where it counted… where it mattered.” He closed his eyes and silently grieved, unable to watch the last Terrans die.
An icon appeared on Athena’s console, drawing her attention. She queried the icon for information, her eyebrow rising as it responded.
“It would seem that I spoke prematurely,” she said, as Remi’s eyes snapped back open.
“What are you talking about?” he demanded.
She tapped the display, showing a three-dimensional representation of the icon in relation to the nearby space. Rem stared at the map, his jaw dropping. “I thought you said there was nothing you could do?” he whispered.
“That is correct,” Athena agreed.
“Then what the hell is that?” he argued, pointing at the display.
A hint of a smile played at her lips as she inclined her head.
“I said there was nothing I could do,” she repeated, choosing her words and inflection with care, as Remi’s eyes widened in comprehension.
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“I hope everyone’s buckled in,” Samara warned the others, “this run is likely to get interesting.” The shuttle bucked hard once again, driving her point home. “You still shielding us?” she asked Hyperion.
“I’m trying,” he winced, straining with the effort, “but keeping it up this long, against the entire Yīqún swarm?” Sweat beaded on his forehead. “I’m not sure how much longer I can hold it.”
“Long enough to make the rally point, I hope,” she growled, goosing the engines, though part of her was asking why she bothered. The writing was on the wall, anyone could see that. They could draw it out for a while, but in the end, they’d be overrun. If they tried to escape, the drones would simply chase them down and destroy them. This was it. Game over.
Don’t suppose you have any bright ideas? she asked Guardian.
I regret to say that I do not, the ancient cognate replied. I am sorry, Samara. I have failed you.
Not your fault, she shrugged, wrenching the shuttle hard to avoid another drone. The odds were always against us.
Perhaps, Guardian reluctantly agreed, though I feel I must bear some responsibility. You would not have come so far without our assistance. I cannot help wondering if we have offered you nothing but false hope.
We had a hell of a run, you and I, she chuckled, arousing a few curious glances from her team. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.
Nor I, Guardian said gently. Still, I wish things had ended…
His voice cut off mid-sentence.
Guardian? Samara queried, now growing concerned. The last time she’d lost contact with him, things hadn’t gone well. Are you there?
… yes, Samara, he said after a moment, as she breathed a sigh of relief. I am… I appear to be receiving a transmission.
A transmission? she thought in surprise. I thought you couldn’t interact with anything that wasn’t organic?
That has always been my understanding, he agreed, though I am not entirely certain what I am receiving is from an electronic source. It is… I am unsure how to describe it.
Try, she urged, we’re kind of on the ragged edge here.
It is on a channel I was unaware I possessed, he continued, sounding slightly awed. The transmission contains a message…
The cognate glitched out once again.
Guardian! Samara shouted inside her mind. What the hell is happening?
There was a brief pause. Samara, you must contact the Admiral at once, he insisted.
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
The Admiral? Why? she asked. It’s not like I can simply call him in the middle of…
… DO IT! Guardian shouted, his voice smashing into her brain like a mailed fist, DO IT NOW!
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Blye breathed a sigh of relief as they took her patient from the makeshift operating table. It had been a bad one, with multiple organs needing repair. Prash had offered to take it but he was in the middle of some rather delicate brain surgery, dealing with a subdural hematoma. They were running short of everything, medicine, plasma, even masks and gloves. Whole blood at least they still had plenty of, though it was currently being carried in the still-warm bodies of the passengers and crew. Volunteers were donating around the clock, and somehow, they’d kept the supply just barely above the demand.
Stripping off her blood-stained gown and disposing of it, she took up her staff and made her way over to a nearby chair, groaning in relief as she finally sat down. Her feet were killing her, since she’d lost her eyesight she hadn’t pulled a marathon OR session like this one. Like any other skill, the longer you failed to keep in practice, the harder it became when necessity forced you back. Leaning her head back against the bulkhead, she massaged her aching hands, taking a much-needed respite as she awaited her next patient.
Suddenly she felt herself swoon, the exhaustion she’d tried desperately to keep at bay catching up with her at last. Her head lolled as she slumped in her chair… only realizing too late, as she tumbled to the deck, that exhaustion wasn’t the cause. Blye scarcely heard Amar’s distant shouts as a familiar hand reached out, whisking her away.
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Her eyes slowly fluttered open, expecting to see once more the lush greenness of Threshold, only to find herself instead standing on a strange platform, surrounded by crystalline walls and strange technology she couldn’t even begin to guess at. Before her stood the naiad, as beautiful and ethereal as she remembered. They smiled at her, reaching out to caress her cheek.
“Hello, little one,” they said. “Our time is short, and there is much I must tell you.”
Her shoulders sagged. “So… this is it, then. You told me last time that Death brought my visions on; either nearing it myself or surrendering to it in despair. Since I’m not feeling suicidal at the moment, I guess that means we lose this battle.” Blye closed her eyes, shedding a single tear. “Damn it… we were so close.”
The ancient being wiped away her tear. “No, this is not the end, but the beginning. The start of something new and magical.” They cocked their head, sharing a wistful look. “But endings always preface beginnings, child. As the seasons turn, so must the stars.”
The Knight shook her head. “I don’t understand.” This was so very different from her other visions; the setting, the message, even the Precursor themselves, and those differences frightened her.
Taking her hand, the naiad walked with her, escorting her… somewhere. “I am the last,” she explained, “chosen to remain behind while my people journeyed to the reality from whence we sprung. For a billion of your years I have slumbered here, dreaming, planning, watching over this world, as I awaited the day when my labors could finally cease.” The pair came to a halt, arriving at what looked like a… control room, maybe? A ship’s bridge? There was what looked like a display, and objects resembling consoles and control panels, but even those were nothing but guesses on her part.
“What have you been waiting for?” Blye whispered, fearing the answer.
The ancient smiled at her. “For a successor.”
Yanking her hand free, Blye stumbled back, away from the Precursor. “No! I don’t want to be entombed here! Never able to hold my son, forced to watch eternity spin by? I want no part of it!”
The naiad laughed, a musical sound. “Nor will you, little one,” they chuckled. “Some day, far in the distant future, your race will choose a Caretaker as they take the next step in their journey, just as I was chosen, but that day is not yet here. Your race has proven itself worthy to succeed us, to learn and grow, until the day when you too locate a scion, one who has earned the right to inherit our gift.” With a wave of her hand, the display came to life, showing Blye the world of Threshold. She could only gawk and marvel at it, a jewel more precious than life itself.
“I’m not sure we’re ready,” she said at last, her eyes wide as she stared in wonder. “I’m not sure that I’m ready.”
“For your own sakes, I pray you are,” they said gently, “for this gift is a weighty one. I told you once that Threshold was not for the timid, or the meek. Perhaps now you have learned to appreciate that truth.” They waved their hand once more, as a blinking icon appeared on the display. “We have made our choice, little one. We give you this gift freely, and hope that you will exercise wisdom in its stewardship.”
Blye felt the responsibility pressing down on her, crushing her. “We are so going to fuck this up,” she said in sudden anguish.
The ancient caretaker laughed once more. “Of course you will, child,” they all but giggled. “Did you believe we made no errors? That my race was without flaw?” They sighed, taking her hand once more. “That is, in fact, the second reason I am speaking with you, for in addition to passing on our legacy, there is one other task I have been waiting to perform.”
“What task?” she asked.
They got a distant look in their eyes, almost melancholy. “... to correct an ancient mistake,” they sighed. They reached out and pressed the blinking icon, then turned to Blye. “When others of your kind ask about us, tell them…”
The Caretaker paused, cupping her cheek as they smiled. “Tell them… that we are proud of you.” They leaned forward and gently kissed her forehead, as Blye felt the tears come once more.
Only to be abruptly torn away, thrust back into the waking world.
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“... look, I don’t know what the hell is happening!” Samara snapped. “All I know is I’ve got Guardian screaming in my head that we’ve got to get clear of whatever’s coming!”
“I’m going to need a lot more than that,” Admiral Van Aalst snarled. “In case it escaped your attention, we’re getting our asses handed to us out here!” He winced as an explosion off their starboard bow heralded the death of another Terran ship, along with the souls who called it home. “So you tell whatever that thing is that…”
“Sir!” his XO shouted, “something’s emerging from the planet!”
His head snapped around as they brought it up on screen. Something had lifted off from the surface and was now heading in their direction, but as the bridge crew attempted to scan the object, their sensor data made no sense. Whatever it was, it was like nothing they’d ever seen before. It wasn’t a ship, though it moved like one, and when they zoomed in closer for a better look, all they saw was an oblate sphere moving at incredible speeds, yet with no obvious form of propulsion. Scans showed no metals, no ceramics, no composites, no anything, yet it was obvious something was out there. Energy readings were off the charts, but they could determine almost nothing else.
His jaw dropped as he watched the object grow closer. “... I’ll call you back,” he stammered, before looking at his second in command. “Get me the Paygan,” he ordered, “... and hurry!”
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As the strange object appeared on their screens, something changed. The Yīqún paused in unison as if halting in mid-attack, to glance over their shoulders at an unfamiliar sound. The allied fleets took the break in the engagement to redouble their efforts, pouring it on as they hammered the enemy, yet the drones took no notice. Even as their brethren exploded all around them, they focused their attention on one thing, and one thing only.
Surprise turned to disbelief as the Yīqún suddenly abandoned their positions, swarming en masse for the Precursor artifact instead. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the device did not attempt to avoid the swarm; instead, it altered course to join them. Aboard the allied ships, as Samara’s warning was passed from one vessel to the next, hasty calculations were made to determine what constituted a “safe distance’’, when one didn’t know what to expect. With the Precursors, literally anything was possible.
For all they knew, the other side of the galaxy wasn’t far enough.
The ancient naiad sang to her children as they approached, with music only they could hear. They called to the swarm, and the swarm answered, hypnotized by the melody, drawn to it, like a moth to the flame. It had taken Caretaker the greater part of an eon to solve the problem of the Arbeh’Negef, but they couldn’t implement their plan until now. Years spent dreaming and experimenting and failing and trying again, and failing again, until finally, they devised a solution.
In theory, at least.
But despite all their power, Caretaker also had limitations placed upon them. Unable to leave Threshold without supervision, it forced them to wait. For millions of years, they stood by for the opportune moment, the day when their deadly and disobedient offspring would return. Only they never did return, instead shunning the world that had birthed them, as if they knew that to return was to risk their own existence. Since their escape from the prison built to contain them, they had long avoided this place… until the one inducement they could not ignore drew them back. Jealousy had overridden centuries of vigilance, and now, Caretaker called out to the drones.
Come to me, my children. I am waiting.
The Yīqún swarm engulfed Caretaker, the hundreds of thousands and millions of drones pressing close, though whether to embrace the ancient being or to destroy them was uncertain. Perhaps they did not know themselves. All they knew was that they could not turn away from Caretaker’s siren song.
A surge of energy erupted from the center of that swirling mass, expanding outward to envelop the swarm, pulsing with light and raw power. The allied ships nearest the convergence found themselves being pulled towards it, forcing them to strain their engines just to avoid being sucked in. The power increased in volume, shattering display screens and consoles, oscillating the very fabric of spacetime as it rose to a crescendo, before detonating in a massive burst that threatened to tear the universe asunder. It hung there for a brief moment, then reversed in on itself, the blast now an implosion more powerful than any black hole, racing to collapse at its most central point… and then disappeared completely, leaving nothing in its wake.
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Remi slowly opened his eyes as the chair returned to its original position, the tendrils and connections now receding, his flesh healing of its own accord. He took a deep breath, and then another, before looking at the faces of his anxious crew.
“Are you all right, Cap’n?” Xiulan asked apprehensively.
He did a brief self-check, just to be sure, before finally nodding. “I’m fine,” he told them.
“So… what happened?” Slavko inquired, his eyes darting about as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Part of him wanted to laugh. How the hell to answer that question? Eventually, the full story would come out, but it could keep for now. Instead, he chose simplicity. “It's over,” he said, a tiny grin tugging at his expression.
“The Troika?” Mairead insisted.
“Defeated,” he smiled.
“And the Yīqún?” she pressed him.
“... gone,” he chuckled.
“Gone? What do you mean, gone? Gone where?” Slavko demanded.
“Just… gone,” Remi shrugged. He’d asked Athena, but not even she knew the answer to that one. Whoever their savior had been, they’d apparently decided that despite everything, some secrets were still too dangerous to be shared.
“Then what happens now?” Xuilan asked him.
Remi sighed, before cautiously rising to his feet. “There’s one more duty that needs seeing to,” he informed them, as they began heading back towards the shuttle.