Tarai bit back a yawn and continued her valiant fight to keep her increasingly heavy-lidded eyes open and focused on the flickering screens in front of her. She and Muin were sequestered away in a small, private study in order to limit interruptions as best as possible. It was comfortable as rooms went, with plush chairs set out before large monitors on either side, and walls lined with weathered texts and dataslates on a multitude of topics. Two lamps in either corner opposite the door provided just enough light to see without straining one’s eyes, but not so much that it fully lit the room, creating a nice ambience within which to carry out one’s studies.
Since her unprecedented selection as Ananchra, Tarai had been buried beneath an avalanche of ancient documents and data regarding her new task which she had been forced to study at a rate of knots in between hurried meetings with a slew of people too numerous for her to have any hope of learning their names, let alone the information they had attempted to furnish her with.
Even Muin, her eternally unruffled master—though, she supposed, he no longer really held that title—seemed fraught and frayed. He had been as taken off guard by the Adepts’ decision as she. His job had been to prepare her for the day, decades from now, she might be eligible for selection as Ananchra, and now his time scale to do so had decreased to a week or two at best.
Tarai glanced across to his station, where he was matter-of-factly detailing the supplies she would need to join with this Tanwen with an incredibly flustered looking UGC clerk. He’d never confided much in her, but this development had rocked him to his core, no matter how much he tried to hide it behind duty. Her selection had been unprecedented, yes, but a good Scribe was always ready for the unprecedented. Each of them could potentially be picked to guide one of the Fallen, and that was a duty that required a certain…flexibility.
What had disturbed both of them, however, had been the reasoning. Her Fallen and his pilot were to be held back intentionally by her appointment. A part of her rankled at the notion that her guidance would be enough to do that, but she couldn’t argue the fact that she wasn’t even the slightest bit prepared. She was a distinct disadvantage when compared to a guide with decades of experience and learning at their back. The far larger part of her was simply afraid. Afraid of the dangers she would undoubtedly face, afraid of failing either her order or her Starbound. More than anything, she was terrified of the implications of her selection. What did it say about Tanwen that he was considered too dangerous to be given a properly trained Ananchra? Light, what did it say about the Adepts that they were willing to sabotage one of the Fallen so?
She shook her head slightly, before returning her attention to her screens and her notes. The questions were valid ones, but there was no answer in reach now. All that she could do was prepare as best she could, and then go and do her duty.
What she knew for certain was that the Starbound were the only thing standing between their world and the all-consuming dark of the Abyss. Whatever plans the Adepts were weaving behind those doors didn’t change that her duty was now primarily to her Starbound, and to ensure they were both as ready as possible for whatever they would face.
As a result, she’d done all she could in the time she’d been given to learn as much as she could about the Paths, and the challenges they presented. About the different parties she’d be expected to liaise with on his behalf, how to requisition resources and supplies, and what their obligations would actually be come mission launch. As she did this, Muin was handling about a dozen tasks at once on her behalf. Sorting her own supplies was a huge relief, as was the fact he was handling rushing through the scores of permit-acquiring and certifications that were required for her new role.
On top of all that, he was helping prepare a bank of information for her to study once she was gone. Much of their data and knowledge was stored on computer systems she could access as she pleased from the Archives, but that became a more complex endeavour once in space. Of course, there were existing data packs that were prepared as standard for Ananchra to take with them to aid their Starbound. Unfortunately, most of those were designed with an experienced, decades long in the tooth Scribe in mind—not somebody who’d only been here for four years.
The current page she was reading flickered away, and she swiped a finger across the data slate on the desk in front of her to create a fresh page of notes for her next area of study, regarding Starbound class evolutions, when the sliding doors to their study room hissed open, and a harried looking apprentice stumbled through, a light sheen of sweat across his forehead.
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Tarai recognised him as a freshly arrived recruit, and winced. Inexperience would not save him from what came next.
Sure enough, Muin stood and turned to face the intruder in one smooth motion, his face like thunder.
“I gave specific orders not to be disturbed! You should be well aware of the importance of—”
“Apologies, Master Scribe, it’s just—”
Muin’s normally composed expression twisted into something ugly at being interrupted, and Tarai had to supress a smirk and getting to see somebody else on the other side of her former master’s temper. However, before he could launch into his tirade, the apprentice managed to stutter out his message.
“It’s the Ananchra’s Starbound, Master Scribe. He has been in contact with the UGC command. I was sent to summon the Ananchra urgently.”
This time it was Tarai’s turn to leap out of her seat, data slate clattering to the floor, as Muin’s eyes widened, his rant dying on the tip of his usually razor sharp tongue.
“What has he said?” Tarai demanded.
“I-I don’t know,” stammered the apprentice. “Only that it has the UGC liaisons and the Council squabbling like I’ve never seen.”
Tarai’s heart thundered in her chest, the words of the Adepts swirling through her mind. It is the nature of the Void to run wild. For some reason, she no longer felt scared. Instead, there was only the rush of unseen danger, and her pulse thrumming in her ears in response to her racing heart. Preparation, such as it was, was over.
“Take me to them. If a decision needs made regarding the Starbound, his Ananchra should at least play a part in it,” she said, with a confidence she didn’t feel.
The apprentice nodded, as Muin placed a hand on her shoulder. “I should like to accompany you, but to have your master at your shoulder would undermine your own status and authority. You will be under enough scrutiny as it is because of your inexperience. You must find the balance between listening and learning, and asserting yourself as befitting your new station. It will be a tricky line to walk.”
“I will do my best to represent you well.”
His hand squeezed her shoulder, and Tarai felt a swell of affection for her mentor. “You have done so since first you came into my care. I see no reason why that should change. You may not have the knowledge or experience of any of your new peers, but you are clever, and capable. Those, I believe, will serve you well. I will make preparations in case you must depart immediately.”
She swallowed thickly and nodded at Muin, before stepping out towards the robed apprentice now standing awkwardly just outside the doors in an attempt to give them some semblance of privacy.
“Lead the way,” she said to him, simply, declining to trust herself with more words than was necessary.
It was not explicitly a goodbye, but Tarai knew one when she heard it, and Muin was usually so taciturn you might occasionally mistake him for a rock. For him to say so much, he was clearly not expecting to see her again—at least, not for a good long while. Which could only mean it was time to leave the Nexus.
Time to meet the Fallen she would be bound to for what was likely to be the rest of her life.
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Malan stood stone-faced in the centre of Tanwen’s bridge, hands resting gently on the control arms. He could feel the ship’s consciousness in the back of his mind, tense, but ready. It felt nothing like the fear that lingered at the back of his own mind, making his fingers twitch and his breath short.
“The Sparrow is ready on your signal,” Elena’s voice crackled across their short range comms.
He let out a deep breath, and forcibly squared his shoulders. Celestial energy thrummed, blazing through he and Tanwen as the ship’s systems roared their way out of their idle state and came to life, powering up to full combat readiness.
Both ships hovered in the adjacent system to where Standarr’s Eclipse fleet waited for them, having spent the last twenty four hours pulling the fine details of Malan’s plan together.
“Tanwen, initiate short range jump in ten. Share the countdown with The Sparrow over our com channel.”
“Affirmative. Countdown initiated. Ten…”
Malan swallowed, and focused his attention to his displays. He’d already checked that all the ships systems were fully operational and functioning at full capacity about a dozen times in the last thirty minutes. He did it again anyway.
“Three…Two…One… Jumping.”
A tear opened in empty space, and reality flashed white as Malan felt the peculiar, omnidirectional tugging of passing through Celestial space, before everything lurched and suddenly they were in an entirely new location.
Malan’s displays lit up with dozens of flashing signals and warnings as Tanwen’s systems quickly took in the data from their new location, before red marker after red marker flickered into life upon his screen, marking out dozens of Eclipse ships spread out before them, alongside their associated level data.
At the back of his mind, Tanwen burned with eagerness, and suddenly Malan was finding difficult to tame the urge to throw himself headlong at the enemy. Instead, he waited.
“We keep it tight, Mal. Just as discussed. Your plan is a good one. Dangerous, of course, but that was always going to be the cost of rescuing those kids.”
He nodded, more to himself than anything, as a fresh wave of warnings flickered across his screen, indicating the Eclipse ships had begun to pick him up on their sensors.
“Let’s give them hell.”