Galactic Storm Page 24

  You mean we’re fighting ghosts? Max questioned. Then where is…

  I see her! The link carried an image from Jeffrey’s mind.

  The image guided Max’s attention to the streets below. She saw a cloud of dust with a clear hollow pocket at its heart. The dust revealed an invisible torso of monstrous proportions.

  Max releasing a power stream that burnt the air and liquefied the rubble around the dust. The beam strobed wildly, impotently against Hydra’s shield.

  This isn’t working. Maybe I should just bite the bullet and go large.

  We’ve got to find the enharmonic pattern that lets her fire through her own shields, Commander Hardrune said. If we phase the quantum—

  Hydra’s thoughts interrupted, slamming them punishingly. I am done playing with you. I wanted to conquer this world, leaving it mostly intact to serve my will. But I see a lesson is in order. See the cost of your resistance!

  The other ghosts of her faded out.

  Hydra became visible—then invisible in a new way. As Max watched, the creature darkened, becoming a living shadow that was somehow darker than lightlessness itself. It was a phenomenon beyond all Light Born past experience that Max had access to.

  How can something be blacker than utter black?

  Hardrune answered: I suspect Hydra’s generating a new type of energy, one not native to our universe. The question is; what is she going to do with it?

  Max thought: No, the question is; what can we do against it?

  The rubble around Hydra shattered as waves of unseen force radiated out from Hydra in all directions, buckling buildings, slapping the Light Born end over end.

  Max righted herself in time to see a dark-fire column wreathed in black lightning, spearing into space. Atop the wake, Hydra eclipsed the sun, fanning wings monstrous wings like an obsidian phoenix seeking death.

  C’mon, she’s getting away!

  Max gathered herself for pursuit as Twila’s voice echoed in her thoughts. I don’t think that’s all she’s trying to do. I’d be careful if I were you. I don’t think it’s an accident she’s falling into the sun.

  A terrible premonition squeezed Max’s heart. An impossibly horrific idea fought for space in her brain. Her alarm spread like wildfire to the rest of the Light Born. What if she means to fly through the star?

  Jeff responded: You mean this might be an attack against the star itself?

  Hardrune said: You might be right. We don’t know anything about this type of energy. She could give the star indigestion.

  What if it blows up? Max felt silly sharing that thought with her friends. She hoped they’d tell her she was crazy, but the emotional turmoil choking her links was unpleasant confirmation of her suspicions.

  A grim resolve possessed her. I can catch her. I can use my personal dimension as a shortcut to get ahead of her.

  Go! Hardrune said. We’ll follow the old fashioned way. You can make better time without hauling the rest of us along. Just be careful. You’ll be on your own until we get there.

  Won’t be the first time, Max answered. All right, I’m going.

  As the copper green light of her pocket dimension washed away the universe, parting thoughts from Jeff followed her. Make sure you come back to me!

  The thought didn’t shock her as much as the emotional current behind it. He’s been hiding his heart, she realized, not wanting to burden me with feelings he thought I might not share. A bright joy suffused her. Reluctantly, she set it aside for later. Hydra needs my full attention.

  Pale faced, Twila appeared out of the green murk, her mental voice laden with concern and regret. I wish I could go with you and fight by your side, Max.

  One day you will. I’ll get you out of the Star, somehow. I promise. No victory will be complete without that.

  Twila smiled brightly, but her thoughts carried a decided lack of conviction: Sure. Go get her, Max. Give her a couple smacks for me!

  I will, she said, whatever it takes.

  Max parted the dimensional fabric, making a portal. It hung before her, a two-dimensional plane of eye-searing orange, leading deep into the endangered star’s gravity well. She stepped into the portal, thickening the second skin of her energy sheathing, anchoring and protected herself from fierce solar winds.

  This close, sight was eclipsed by Osarra’s sun. Max set her back to the seething solar mass. She couldn’t see Hydra coming. The creature’s darkness, against the black of space, hid her well. Though Hydra blocked stars in her approach, it wasn’t helpful enough; Max needed another way to zero in on her target.

  Gotta face it. I can’t afford to limit myself any longer. Billions of lives depend on me. I have to set my humanity aside and hope it’s there later for me to return to. It’s time to borrow a page from the mechamorph manual and put my heart in a small box so I can channel the universal spirit.

  Max closed her eyes, imagining a black star-point in a universe of white. She willed the star to come closer and closer. It swelled, rushing at her. Max let the darkness take her, becoming a golden star in its crushing depths. She lost touch with most of the Light Born, sensing only Twila and the Spirit of the Star. A door opened in her soul as the universal stage claimed her.

  Max expanded exponentially, becoming the dark universe she’d imagined, then the white one, then all of star-strewn infinity. She opened her eyes, feeling the connectedness of every galaxy, star, world, and each life they harbored.

  There was a wrongness that violated her essence, an extra-dimensional cancer that needed to be excised. In a way no one out of the loop could understand, she knew just where Hydra was and where she was heading.

  As Max’s awareness centered on the invader, the spatial fabric folded. Two points in space became one then parted again. The constellations jumped just a little, and Max was directly before Hydra.

  I have to take Hydra into me to unmake her.

  The Star’s Voice called to her: Better hurry; if the dark energy reaches Osarra’s sun, its nuclear process will be hopelessly disrupted; the star will supernova, shattering every world in orbit.

  Max was slammed by a burst of pure psi-energy. Before, compressed into her humanity, she’d have been hard-pressed to barricade her mind. Now, she didn’t bother. She was beyond pain, having discarded all limitations. Hydra’s beamed thoughts weren’t even a proper distraction.

  If Hydra was a goddess, Max had become something more.

  Hydra plowed into Max.

  Max held her place against riptides of darkness, letting shadow-fire fold around her. She was shocked to find that there was nothing physical within the firestorm. Hydra had transmuted entirely to anti-energy.

  It doesn’t matter. She’s still going down.

  Max folded space with her thoughts, holding two divergent points together, one of them at the dawn of time. She made no effort to cross over herself. Golden energy from the heart of creation spilled onto Max, raging around her as an expanding holocaust.

  The spirit of the cosmos spoke through Max: Hear me, Hydra. Whatever reality spawned you, I will not tolerate this desecration any longer.

  Max drew much of the galactic storm into herself, using the energy to transmute her own material structure. The sun paled in comparison as she enclosed the solar system, shielding it with her will while swallowing Hydra.

  The dark energy became material, a black ice sculpture that cracked and splintered, forming a black ice cloud.

  Max sent the galactic storm she inhabited back to its distant place and closed down the tesseract. Collapsing inward, she congealed to her original form and released the solar system from the stasis she’d held it in.

  Within the dark matter of Hydra’s corpse, Max located two hematite spheres, taking one in each hand, feeling the life in them.

  Max! Twila spoke to her. Those are mechamorph cores.

  I know. I recognize the energy signatures. This is Ashere and your brother Mitron. They’re not dead after all.

  What are you going to do with t
hem?

  What do you think?

  No, Max, don’t destroy them.

  They’ve earned death many times over. If I allow them to be recreated by your people, it will all start all over again.

  But you’re not a killer.

  I’m not sure what I am. I’m back in human form, but I don’t feel complete. I don’t feel…human. The barriers I had between me and the universe—I think I broke them down. Past repair. Besides, after I irradiate one of these cores, you can fill it. This is your way back, Twila. Let me do this for you and Tommy.

  I don’t want my life back if it’s bought with the last of your soul. Tommy wouldn’t want you to do this either. Neither would your parents.

  Listen to her Max! It was Commander Hardrune. He and the rest of the Light Born enclosed her, coming out of the black ice drift. Their thoughts pulled her into communion. Their unity, compassion, and devotion washed across her soul, bringing healing warmth. They had enough humanity to share.

  Commander Hardrune and Jeff came closer.

  The commander said: The League will judge Ashere and Mitron. If they die, let it be on the altar of justice, otherwise, how are we any better? As the Guardian, you must protect the universe—even from yourself.

  The Voice of the Star said: If you could not withstand the temptation of power, you wouldn’t have been Chosen.

  Jeff said: Max, some sacrifices should never be made. Don’t become something I can’t love.

  His thought cut through her like a sword, and the promise of love healed the wound with warmth. Gathering up the shards of her broken humanity, she tied them together.

  And handed Hardrune the hematite cores.

  She spun toward Jeff, arms open wide. Hold me, she begged. Help me remember dreams.

  Sure. His arms enfolded her. That’s what I’m here for.

  INTERLUDE TWO

  “All the power of the universe,” Hardrune mused, “and she just wants to kick waves. Kids these days!” Smiling, he shook his head in vague disbelief before wading into the breakers himself. I don’t blame her. It’s a beautiful spot. He admired the sea, but still kept a troubled eye on Max. She stood in the surging waves, not really seeing them. He sensed changes in her from her journey beyond humanity and back, but couldn’t quite define them. Her mind was open to him except for a small dark corner his thoughts could not breach. Max had wanted to come here for the day, back to where it all began—where the Star first found her.

  Hardrune turned his thoughts toward the other Light Born. They were doing their job, keeping the curious crowds away so Max wouldn’t be bothered. Her whole world knew that she was cosmic royalty of sorts. They knew that Earth was no longer alone in the universe, and they knew that was a good thing—thanks to Max. Those that thought they were entitled to her time were legion.

  Still a little concerned over Max’s state of mind, he listened in on her conversation with the disembodied mechamorph.

  It’s not fair, Twila. You deserve better. There’s so much I want to show you, so much I want us to do together. I wish you were here.

  Hardrune caught a psychic impression of Twila limed in a hazy gold fire, within a green-syrup nebula. Don’t cry, Max. I am here, in a way. And we won! Time to party!

  I can’t, Max cried.

  You must, Twila’s insisted. Where’s the logic in winning if you don’t reap the spoils of war? And how can you despair while there’s pizza in the world? Go on! Have a slice for me. Enjoy it—for both of us.

  The Guardian turned toward him. Hardrune felt a shiver race down his spine. For just a moment, her eyes were older than the universe. A stranger weighed his soul. The moment passed as she blinked and became Max again.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  She came awake as power failed. The chamber around her was oppressively dark. The silence of failed mechanisms alarmed her; a new experience. The stass light was gone that had kept her in dreamless oblivion, awaiting the Master’s return. She longed for the comfort of his pale face and cold, warrior eyes. She ached for the rare touch here and there as he assisted her in learning various skills. She heard his voice in her memories: Those who depend on others will ultimate fail for lack of competency. He had made her, shaped her, and given her a permanent core; one with promise that allowed her to dream of forever at his side.

  He had explained that she was not supposed to exist as more than an empty vessel, waiting to be filled by Ashere in case she were danger of total system collapse. She wasn’t wanted for her mind. She wasn’t supposed to have one. Mitron had explained that if they found her—a bootleg copy—they’d destroy her as an abomination.

  Only he loved her. Only he could protect her.

  But where are you?

  She waited in the darkness. The room shuddered. The artificial gravity failed and she floated off the cradle. She flailed, drawing a deep breath she didn’t really need. Something in her programming—that she had never suspected—engaged. It spoke to her, this secret place in her mind. It spoke with his voice, demanding to be obeyed.

  Erehsa, that you are hearing this voice means that grave disaster has overtaken us. I may not be able to come for you for a while. You must save yourself. You must save yourself for me. You lack experience as a person, and do not understand all the ways you can be hurt and exploited. This program’s voice will guide you until I am once more at your side.

  Do not fear. Whatever challenge comes will not defeat you. Believe. That is your duty now. Believe and act on that belief, then I will be proud and will come to reclaim you. I, your god, will not fail you.

  Yes, of course. It was so clear now. This room was a womb that she must leave. Time to be born. Her lessons in the past had include freefall movement. Her flailing became coordinated. She righted herself, orientating to a theoretical up and down.

  A schematic appeared in her thoughts: plans for a device she could grow within her. An impeller drive. Her new sub-program handled the construction. Raised, concentric rings formed on her back, pushing out of the polyurethane outer layer of skin. Power flowed to the rings. The wash of blue light behind her, brightening the secret laboratory, told her the device was online. Its kick pushed her ahead. She swam in the air, making only minimal movements, riding inertia instead of wasting power with a constant thrust.

  Her new program brought her to a locker prepared for this day. She caught it to stop herself. Due to past training, she knew what it contained. Her hand tapped a glass plate that glowed red. The device activated: a crimson beam swept through her, seeking the energy signature of her core. After taking its reading, the plate glowed a soothing aqua blue. She stood approved, and need not be destroyed by the locker as it protected its secrets.

  The face of the locker flipped open. Within was armor designed for her—a hole in the back plate would accommodate the impeller rings so their power wouldn’t be blocked. The armor came with a harness holding assorted weapons and devices. Most important of all was a data chip resting on a little stand. This contained what Mitron had called a box for her emotions.

  Erehsa didn’t have one. She wasn’t supposed to be active, to have a mind. Therefore, she’d been created without a reservoir to contain emotions. Mitron had said that he wanted her to experience the joy of loving him, of serving him, of living for his every whim. He hadn’t wanted her emotions to govern her.

  Emotions exist at a cost, her new program told her. They can cripple logic. They can make you vulnerable to others. In an emergency, feelings must be ruthlessly controlled, limited. This data download will give you this ability.

  She picked up the chip.

  The ship shudder as if struck by a dwarfing fist. She held herself in place, one hand on the open door of the locker.

  Inside her mind, Mitron’s voice said: Swallow the chip.

  She’d never hesitated any command he’d given her in person, but she only stared at the chip. This would change her. She feared change, knowing nothing but familiar routines broken by long periods of sleep.

 
Mitron’s simulated voice came again, this time with a warmth that surprised her: I know you think I might not love you if you become … different. This is not true. I have designed this difference for you. I know the person you will become. I will love that person even more. A sad tone bled in. Don’t you trust me?

  Of course I do.

  She opened her lips and swallowed the chip as instructed. It dissolved inside, releasing encoding that overrode part of her core. A new space opened inside her mind as a concept took shape: a cube of blue steel with a hinged top. The lid was lifted. A silver light shone out, a beacon in her inner darkness. The light pulled her emotions, draining her love, her adoration, her happiness—leaving only the driving will to obey her master. The lid slammed shut and she felt more alone than ever, and wounded as well; like having her limbs sheered away, but oddly, she couldn’t care about the loss. It simply didn’t matter.

  I have a box!

  She pulled the armor from the locker and seeped into it, reforming on the inside so it fit perfectly. The sub-program released schematics to her for a sub-space transfer link. She assembled it within herself and accessed a mechanism elsewhere in the ship.

  Mitron’s Voice spoke in her mind: We must hurry. The system could fail at any time. Brace yourself.

  As if that could do any good when they were leaping blindly for Earth. A swirl of red, curling around her, and she felt herself sliding in the line of a new dimension, a short-cut to normal time and space. The red swirl cleared away and she fell toward a city with many high buildings. The sky was bright blue, piercing. Off to the side lay a river. And between the big buildings were ribbons with moving metal bugs on them. Cars. Her sub-program provided names for what she didn’t know.

  There was a moment of dissolution. Darkness rushed in—like a very brief sleep—then left her again. What was that?

  Mitron’s voice said: I minor adjustment needed to be made to stabilize your core. You’re fine now. Continue.