The pilot, p.24
The Pilot, page 24
While we had continued to extend Omega’s contract as the Pilot, it was still a temporary position. He retained clauses that none of the rest of us had to deal with.
Namely, that we could remove him and that he couldn’t harm the rest of us.
Omega groaned loudly and rolled his entire head along with his eyes. “Kill me already! Get me out of this meeting! I’m not here to talk, talk, talk about how bad you feel.”
Sola shot him.
Dark goo splattered against the far wall, and he started to re-form immediately, but she shot him again.
“We can’t work with him, Captain,” Sola said. “It’s a failed experiment.”
Omega sprouted mouths to laugh as he reconstituted himself, but as he started to say something, Sola pulled a matter-reduction grenade from her Subspace inventory and threw it into his pool of mass.
Mell leaned back, but the rest of us didn’t.
The grenade detonated into a perfect circle of light, erasing a scoop of Omega’s body. Tiny bits of him squirmed together, but they were slower than usual; after his fight with Aila and the Zenith Blade, he might very well be on the verge of death.
“It wasn’t a bad call, Sola,” I said.
Mell had pulled out her own hand-size Nova-Bots, which were taking samples of Omega’s body. “If he had a good reason, he should have said so. How many times does he have to tell us he’s an insane killer before we believe him?”
“He has been careful not to stretch his bonds,” Shyrax said. “Punishing him is permissible, but I do not believe he deserves to be executed.”
In our time working together, I had come to trust Omega.
He talked about shooting us in the back all the time, but he’d never actually done so. There were many ways he could work against us that weren’t covered by his contract, if he really wanted to. For one thing, the spell didn’t compel him to work hard or to do his job well, but he always did.
So I wasn’t going to let Sola kill him, but kicking him off the team was a reasonable possibility.
As much as we’d gotten used to Omega, it was a constant strain to work with someone who was incapable of telling the truth.
“Oh, I deserve it,” Omega said from the ground. “Don’t listen to her, Fallen Sword! Keep—”
Sola shot him again, but after that time I walked over and spoke quietly to her. “Do you really think we should kill him?”
She glared green fury at the puddle on the ground. “I think I wouldn’t lose five seconds of sleep if I did.”
“Don’t put that to the test,” I said.
Despite how he acted, his decision had logic behind it. It wasn’t always possible to be certain about someone’s guilt before you killed them, but it was always preferable.
I’d learned that in most of my lives. Including the current one.
Sola turned her glare on me, but she struggled with something inside herself and then let her gun dissolve to cubes of light.
Omega panted as he pulled himself back to human form and unsteadily regained his feet. “Where’s the rest of it?” he asked curiously.
The fire of Sola’s anger burned lower, and she sank back into her seat. “I wanted you to be one of us, Omega,” Sola said. “I wanted to be wrong.”
“Too bad!” Omega cried. “Do you think she was wrong, Captain?”
I ignored him and turned to Raion, who was still gazing at Omega with brow furrowed.
“Raion?”
Raion didn’t respond to me. He moved slowly over to Omega, which was especially significant to me given that he could have covered the distance invisibly fast.
Omega put on an ecstatic look and held both hands out. “All right, is it finally time? You first, and then…Hm, I want to save the immortals for last, so I’ll take the Engineer next.”
Raion walked up until he was almost chest-to-chest with Omega.
Then he threw his arms around the Pilot in a crushing hug.
“I’m so sorry you had to fight your daughter,” Raion said.
I’m not sure I’d ever seen Omega so truly, honestly stunned before that moment.
Raion squeezed him again, then grabbed Omega by the shoulders and faced him eye-to-eye. “Fighting for your enemies…I can’t even imagine. I don’t have kids myself, but I’ve fought friends before. It tears your heart in half.”
“Oh, but your heart is still in one piece.” Omega’s tone wasn’t as wild and mocking as usual; it came out as a snarl. He slapped the front of Raion’s armored uniform, and when Raion didn’t flinch, he delivered the first punch I’d ever seen Omega throw.
Obviously, it accomplished nothing.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t rip my daughter apart with my teeth!” Omega shouted. He threw another punch, then another, most of which were landing on Raion’s face like raindrops on a boulder. “It’s the greatest trick the Aether ever pulled that I can’t—ever—kill—the ones—I hate—the most!”
He was shouting and panting by the end with the effort of hitting Raion, and his knuckles bled black goo. Finally, he pulled a glowing orange gun from Subspace, which he shoved into Raion’s third eye.
Raion closed it, but he was otherwise unmoved.
Omega’s finger trembled near the trigger, and even I couldn’t tell if the contract spell was stopping him or if it was something else.
Without another word, just one final growl, Omega folded himself in darkness and disappeared into Subspace.
Leaving the rest of us in silence for several long seconds.
“He deserved worse than that,” Sola said after a while.
Raion put fists on his hips. “We haven’t lost him yet. I believe in him!”
“You believe in everybody,” Mell said.
“I try to,” Raion responded seriously. “It doesn’t always work out like I hope, but I keep trying.”
I put a hand on Raion’s shoulder. “Thank you, Raion.”
He gave me a thumbs up.
“This matter is resolved, so I will return to my people.” Shyrax pushed herself to her feet, looming over the rest of the table. “Tonight, we must meet again. Beyond recovering the hostages, our situation has only worsened.”
“Not necessarily,” I said. “It’s bad, but it’s not all bad.” When the rest of them stared at me, I lifted my eyebrows. “They didn’t get the research they were after. That’s a win.”
Mell scratched the side of her head. “So what are we going to do next?”
At that moment, I wasn’t entirely sure. So I needed to find out.
I flipped up the hood of my mantle. “I’m going to cast some spells.”
Mell put her head in her hands.
THIRTY
Sometimes, the trick to pathfinding magic was brute repetition.
Void Prism had obviously analyzed my magic and found countermeasures, which were especially effective against navigational spells. A powerful stealth enchantment could stop even me from finding someone, especially if it was warded against my magic specifically.
But they had made too many moves across too much of the galaxy to hide everything. I’d be tracking down threads one at a time until I found a loose one to pull.
There were later steps to that process that would require my full attention. The initial step was just casting and failing over and over.
So I hovered in the middle of the students’ training room and waited for Horizon to bring them to me.
As I floated cross-legged on an invisible cushion of telekinesis, I flicked my wand and traced golden symbols in the air. Each circuit I completed was a new pathfinding spell.
While I cast, I examined the room around me. The runes they’d engraved into Horizon’s walls were subtle and mostly hidden, but I could infer the function of the hidden components just from what I could see.
It was solid, competent work. The wizards had benefited from their time aboard The Last Horizon, examining a Zenith Device and whatever magical records the Starship had contained. Even observing my spells from afar would benefit their magical education.
But I hadn’t done much for them personally.
They’d saved me anyway.
Honestly, I thought it was the wrong choice. They’d put their friends and family in danger by associating themselves with me. I’d warned them about Solstice, but they didn’t understand the risk.
Nonetheless, they had risked more than their lives for me. I wouldn’t let that debt go unpaid.
The door opened and the six of them came in together, with Horizon’s horns glowing in the background as she stood over them like a mother bird with her hatchlings.
They clustered together, looking sheepish rather than proud. It was as though they were expecting a reprimand.
As usual, Mariala stood in front of the others, representing them. She nodded and forced a smile as she saw me, though she too looked nervous. Afraid of meeting me or afraid of the consequences of her actions, I wasn’t sure.
I paused my spellcasting and drifted to my feet. “Let me start the way I should.” I looked Mariala in the eyes and extended a hand. “Thank you for saving me.”
She blinked rapidly, startled, but took my hand.
I repeated the gesture with the other five as I continued talking. “I never expected you to fight the Galactic Union for me, but I can only express my thanks.”
Nera Jesh, a young Lichborn woman with her hair tied up, extended her console to show me a message. “They’re not mentioning us by name, but they have to know who we are.”
She hadn’t projected the Subline article, so I couldn’t see it in detail, but I glimpsed enough to tell that it was a report on our fight on Fathom.
“If they don’t already, they will soon,” I said. “I won’t sugarcoat it for you: your families are in danger.”
They didn’t look happy about hearing that, but none of them gasped or shouted. It seemed they had taken my earlier warnings seriously.
“I’ve given my family an excuse,” Mariala said. She chewed her lip and glanced into the distance in a way that made me suspect she was watching something on her optical implant. “I don’t know if the enemy will buy it, though.”
Gar cleared his throat and met my eyes. “There is an enemy, isn’t there, Professor?”
It was only natural that he still had doubts, but he’d acted on my behalf in spite of them. I could respect that.
“By the Aether, I swear that Solstice is real and a threat to the citizens of the Galactic Union,” I said calmly. Not exactly binding without a spell to reinforce it, but even I wasn’t bold enough to lie to the Aether itself.
Some of them looked relieved by the oath, but others looked even more nervous.
“I have to leave, then,” Nera said. “To protect my family.”
I sighed. “You do have to leave, and you should do it now. But that won’t be enough on its own.” I tapped my console and sent them a file. “You all betrayed me when you found I was fighting the Galactic Union. Now you’re sharing everything you can about us.”
Mariala opened the file and paled immediately. “This is a map of Horizon.”
“Only a map of the current floor plan,” I said. “But not just that. Details of this crew’s impact on Horizon’s adaptive systems and photographs of all the weapons and records you were likely to see during your time aboard. Not to mention analysis of our personal capabilities.”
Mariala leaned back from her console like she wanted to peel it off her arm. She glanced up at the ceiling, and I was certain she was looking for Horizon.
The World Spirit obliged her, flickering in front of her and bestowing on her a gentle smile. “Don’t worry, child. I provided this information myself.”
“Feel free to add your own observations,” I said. “Report us to the Union and don’t hold back. Your sincerity will protect you.”
They exchanged glances before Gar spoke up. “But what about you?”
“None of that will hurt us. You haven’t seen anything that will really be a disadvantage to us, and most of it Solstice knows anyway, thanks to their cooperation with Void Prism.”
“What’s a Void Prism?” Nera asked blankly.
“The Zenith Processor.” I waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. The point is, what you know about us is valuable enough to them and harmless enough to us. Just give it to them.”
Mariala looked around the room in visible despair. “But…we just finished.”
I patted the wall. “Then you’ll have to come back once everything is over.”
“Over?” Nera asked hesitantly. “Do you think you’ll be able to reach an agreement?”
“No, I do not.”
“But they rule the Galactic Union.”
“That’s right.”
“Oh.”
I had essentially told them I was declaring war on Solstice, but it wasn’t as though the enemy didn’t know as much already.
“That’s all I can do to help with your families,” I said, “and you still have my notes on your magic. In the meantime, the best I can do to thank you is to protect you more…directly.”
Before I signaled her, Horizon eagerly conjured several hands. They swept in from the corners of the training room, each carrying a folded blue cloth with an orange crystal sitting on top.
Replicas of my mantle and amulet.
“Traditionally, apprentice wizards would wear the same mantle as their masters,” I said. It was a little embarrassing to present the gesture so dramatically, so I tried to keep the tone light. “I never accepted you officially, but now I feel like this is the least I could do.”
Mariala was already pulling the mantle around her neck. The silver Aetheric symbols around the hem of the mantle shimmered as they were activated.
They weren’t quite as good as my own equipment, but they were pretty close. Better than whatever they’d been using before, I was sure. They had only taken a few hours to prepare, given that I already had the materials and plans handy. In fact, two sets had been originally intended as my spares.
But they took the gifts solemnly. A little too much so, if you asked me. Mariala’s eyes welled with tears.
I cleared my throat and pretended not to notice. “I’ve left you with plenty to practice, but when I’m done, you won’t have to track me down. I’ll contact you myself, and you can come back to the ship as official crew of The Last Horizon.”
“Not official crew,” Horizon corrected, “but supplementary crew, perhaps. Attendants. Servants, maybe—”
“Horizon, please stop.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Officially, of course, I gave you those before you decided to betray me out of loyalty to the Galactic Union,” I said. “And obviously my promise means nothing in the very likely event we don’t survive.”
Mariala straightened herself up and saluted, though she’d never actually served in the Union military. “We look forward to working with you again, sir!”
I looked forward to their return, too. I’d neglected them too long.
No matter how powerful, seven people couldn’t change the galaxy alone. We needed help.
Ultimately, the next generation of wizards would be the ones to inherit whatever legacy we left behind.
I just hoped there was enough of the galaxy left.
THIRTY-ONE
Benri Vallenar stood coldly in his office, with his back to the monitor that had just given him the news. He didn’t curse, he didn’t rage, and he didn’t destroy anything.
But it wasn’t hard to tell when a wizard was angry.
When a powerful enough spellcaster lost control of their emotions, they affected the Aether around them. A healer might cause nearby plants to bend or rustle, a water elementalist might produce puffs of fog or disturb the surface of a drink, and Benri had seen his son—before the ritual that made him into an anomaly—interfere with electronic screens when he lost control of his sealing and binding magic.
Benri himself dealt with possibilities, so all around him, the objects in his office fuzzed and flickered, like they were holographic projections disrupted by interference. The console on his wrist twitched in indescribable directions as it tried to turn into other versions of itself, the light-pen on his desk chaotically shifted colors and position, and even his tie vibrated.
Varic had ruined his future. Again.
Ever since the God’s Eye ritual, Benri had tried to work with his son. If not as family, then as business associates. But Varic had repeatedly demonstrated his immaturity by refusing to cooperate.
If it weren’t for the value of maintaining a connection to The Last Horizon, Benri would have stopped associating with his son long ago.
That time had finally come.
There was nothing Benri could do that Varic wouldn’t find a way to ruin. If that was the case, then the Vallenar Corporation needed to tear down the Zenith Starship altogether. If Varic insisted they would be enemies, then let them be enemies.
Maybe that could salvage his reputation with Solstice.
When his holo-projector switched to life without his consent, Benri’s anger was stilled by a cold wash of fear that swept down his spine. He’d expected contact from Solstice, but not so soon, and not so directly.
He’d imagined them making their displeasure known by days of silence or the sudden drop in Vallenar stock prices, followed by an eventual call to pressure him into something.
A direct, immediate call was too ominous to consider. Yet there it was.
Nearby objects stopped vibrating as his anger swept away, and a holographic figure gradually took shape in the chair on the outside of his desk.
Out of habit, Benri took his own chair, facing the Voice of Solstice as though this were just another day in the office.
The Voice took their usual appearance of a dark human silhouette outlined by golden light, like a moon eclipsing a sun. They lounged in the chair, looking thoughtful, as their androgynous voice came through the speakers.
“What do you know about the Pilot of The Last Horizon?” the Voice asked.
“Omega?” Benri asked. “I assume he’s the Pilot, anyway, by process of elimination. It’s not as though they gave me an org chart.”
