Thorn shook his head. “Sorry, sir, no. The Starcaster Corps is working on the problem, but no one’s come up with any solutions that actually work.”
Tanner grunted and turned away. “Alright, then. Helm, bring us back to our original patrol course. We’ll just have to let these bastards go.”
Someone on the bridge muttered, “Again,” and Tanner’s head snapped around.
“Whoever said that,” he said, his eyes set firmly on the Tac O, “should feel free to add their own solution to the Nyctus dust attacks—or else shut their damned mouths, because I won’t have editorial comments about my orders on my bridge. Do we all understand this?”
A chorus of “aye, sir” rattled around the bridge. The Tac O glanced at the Captain once, then focused on her console, cheeks coloring in embarrassment. If she was innocent of the comment, she wasn’t doing a good job of defending herself.
Thorn bottled up a sigh, staring ahead at the screens. Ever since the disastrous battle in the nebula that mauled the Centurion, this event had been a script for the war. Just a series of brief, inconclusive clashes between patrols, and pursuits broken off as one side or the other managed to get under the cover of the big guns. Fixed fortifications—bristling with those same big guns—were springing up along the fringes of no-man’s land, also known as the Zone.
In the case of the Nyctus, they faded like water into sand, running hard for the protection of one of many, many voluminous clouds of dust and gas sprawling through and around the Zone.
It was a frustrating, tedious kind of war, bleeding away personnel and resources in fits and starts but never yielding a decisive battle—or even a notable loss. Ships had to be constantly rotated out for overhauls and upgrades, as frequent patrols took a toll on their systems, especially the finicky Alcubierre drives. Thorn knew a growing sense of unease was permeating the ranks of the ON, right up to the most senior levels. If something wasn’t shaken free soon, and the ON was able to resume the strategic initiative, it would become ever more difficult to do so, and might eventually become impossible.
“Stellers!”
Thorn jumped when Tanner snapped out his name. “Sir?”
“Are you asleep on my bridge?” the Captain asked, his tone the very definition of menace.
“Oh . . . no, of course not, sir. I was just contemplating possible ways to get around the dust problem, like you asked.”
Tanner narrowed his eyes at Thorn but eventually just nodded. “Fine. Just don’t let it switch off your situational awareness. I asked you if you could detect any of their damned—what the hell are they called, shamans? Anyway, any of the squiddie’s ’casters aboard their ships. You can do that, right?”
Thorn strained against his harness, struggling to take in the tactical display. At this range, no conventional magical effect would likely be effective, not without enormous effort. He’d just be another long-range weapon, no better than a single torpedo launcher.
And unlike a device made of metal, he would get spent. Exhausted, worn down, and prone to make mistakes. But Joining could work, since it seemed that physical distance between subjects was irrelevant. As long as Thorn could conceptualize his target, he could interact with it, and had several times already, remotely compelling Nyctus to attack one another or scuttle their own ships.
But he’d been wary about it since. If he could do it to them, they could do it to him; in fact, he’d likely be of more value just trying to shield the crew of the Hecate from psychic influences by the squiddies—
And yes, the irony of considering how useful Joining might be right now, when he’d pretty much blown Kira’s talents in the very same thing off just a couple of weeks prior, wasn’t lost on him. It just underscored how bad he felt about not being able to apologize to her. He’d been bugged out of Code Gauntlet too fast to get a message out before he left, and the Hecate had been deployed since then, which meant comms were secured and usable for official traffic only. He’d even considered trying to use telepathy, but given their proximity to the Nyctus, hadn’t wanted to chance it. Again, if the aliens managed to influence or, worse, take control of a Starcaster aboard an ON ship, the results might be disastrous.
Which brought him full circle back to Tanner’s question.
“I could try, sir,” Thorn replied. “But there’s a risk. If the Nyctus shamans are on the ball, they might be able to back-link through my own telepathy, and potentially gain some control over me. I mean, it’s not likely, but it is possible.”
“All I need to hear, Stellers. If there’s any chance they could turn you against us, it’d be like giving them the security access codes to our reactor’s governor system.” He scowled at the Nyctus ships, now passing out of effective sensor range. “We’ll just accept these bastards as gone and move on. Tac O, file an entry in the log about this, our latest non-fight against the bad guys, for my review and approval. And let’s stand the ship down from action stations.” He glanced at his own armor, then raised both brows in mild irritation. “I don’t wanna sit marinating in this damned crash suit any longer than absolutely necessary, and the crew needs some grub.”
Acknowledgements floated around the bridge, as the various stations went to work reducing the alert state and returning the Hecate to her standard flight configuration.
For Thorn, that mainly meant staying out of the way, which was a skill he learned years ago at the orphanage.
Some things never change.
Kira cracked open an eye but didn’t dare stir. The Trainees—and that was their official title at Code Nebula, regardless of rank—were expected to remain in their racks until reveille, whereupon their feet were expected to hit the floor. Even a few seconds before or after was grounds for a chewing-out, and probably extra duties on top of it.
She heard the sudden clump of booted feet on the barracks floor, then saw Lieutenant Commander Narvez stride into view. The severe woman stopped, looked around in the wan, grey light of predawn, and did—nothing. She just stood there. Kira knew the woman was watching the time like the hawk she resembled, while waiting to see if anyone stirred before her wake
up order.
A week into training, they all knew better than that. Besides, none of them were actual recruits; all had spent time not just in the ON, but on operational duty, so they generally knew the score. It sucked that they had to go through all of the ridiculous, basic-training style crap contemptuously known as chickenshit again, but that was just the way Code Nebula worked.
A dazzling blue flash was followed by a piercing crack like thunder, and then the overhead lights snapped on, garishly bright. Narvez varied how she did reveille every morning, another little head game. Kira shoved her feet out of the covers and planted them on the cold tile floor, then she lifted herself up. All the other trainees did exactly the same, almost in unison. As Kira stood, Narvez’s voice grated through the barracks.
“Wakey wakey, people! It’s the start of another superb day at Code Nebula!”
A ragged, sleepy chorus rose in response. “Ma’am, yes, ma’am!”
Narvez stopped and looked around, hands clasped behind her back. “You people sound like you’re tired.” She spun on a Trainee—a lean, hairy young man named Riley. “Are you tired, Trainee Riley? Is the pace of Code Nebula proving too much for you?”