I hate my muse
I was having a nice relaxed weekend. Nothing had particularly grabbed me, writing-wise, so I was catching up with comments and tackling Wallflower and Juniper. With my head full of Saisorhi, I went to check the description of Solan in Hollow Stars.
Yes, Hollow Stars. The dead WIP.
The dead WIP with a Lazurus complex.
After it had finished jumping on me, rubbing my face in the mud and laughing, I realised the blasted thing has finally acquired a coherent plot (the lack of which was the main factor in keeping it dead). In view of that, I made purty hero pictures of the characters; did a thorough edit and comma-ify; finished the third chapter; and moved it all over here. Hence it will be the first thing to get deleted off Elfy.
1 2 3
Chapter 3: Realisation
Fleet Battlecruiser Anansi, 5.33 light years from Aldebaran, Terran date 04.03.13140
By the time the watch changed Ben was exhausted. Kamei had driven his JGs to their limits, correlating scans from six time-streams to plot what had happened. Already they had received near-contemporary images from Band J, so deep into non-space that images were hard to discern. The ghostly shapes from the scans, told them enough, pale shapes breaking apart with slow grace, debris floating away from the impact of whatever had happened out there.
There would be clearer images as they grew closer. Ben did not need them. What his fellows would see on the screen he saw with the eye of his mind, brushing against the torn edges of the ships as he checked on Caroline, again and again and again. He could no longer feel her mind, the raw power and terror, and hoped she slept. He hoped she was alive.
When Lieutenant Turner came to relieve him, he relinquished the scans gladly and followed the rest of his watch through the ship to the narrow wardroom. The table was already laid and, once the formalities were done, Ben ate mechanically. He wasn’t sure how much he should sleep, under the circumstances. He was the only League operative for light-years and this was a League problem, he was sure. What would Aunt Ria do?
Sleep, probably. They wouldn’t reach the site until his next watch and he’d need to be fresh. He was shovelling the last of his dessert into his mouth before he realised how quiet it was. Conversation at high table was normally decorous but no one was talking at all. Shifting in his seat, he realised that some of the greyness he was feeling was the collective shock of his fellow officers.
Wearily, he boosted his shields and wondered what he could do.
Captain Chen stood, and Ben bit back a sigh of relief. The rest of them had to await her permission to leave the table. Finally…
“Captain, a moment, please.” That was Yaneth Toller, the ship’s psychologist.
He saw Chen’s jaw clench, but the psychologist was a civilian appointment and too influential to offend. The captain smiled, baring her teeth, “Ms Toller?”
“I believe it would be beneficial if we shared our feelings about this terrible day.”
Ben felt the greyness around him thicken with dread.
“Really?” said Chen.
Ben had spent his first week on board helping engineering catalogue their stores. He had a pretty good idea what could be easily replaced.
Toller laughed. “A problem shared, remember captain?”
“I must have forgotten.”
“Captain Chen,” Toller said sharply.
The light bulb above her blew, with a boom like an air lock sealing. Toller jumped, spilling coffee down her front.
“Oh, dear,” Captain Chen said blandly. “Are you injured, Ms Toller?”
“I - oh. Gracious.”
“Perhaps you should go to the infirmary. Resettle your nerves. Let us adjourn, gentlefolk.”
Toller blinked. “But, captain…”
“Was there something, Ms Toller?”
Ben eyed the ceiling gloomily. Another light bulb would look suspicious.
Toller met the captain’s gaze, and then glanced along the table. Her lips tightened, but she said, “No, captain, I don’t believe there was.”
As they filed out of the wardroom, Captain Chen fell in beside him and murmured, “Well done, Mr Arslan.”
Ben stared at her. What?
She smiled, and strolled on to talk to Leo Komiyama, her executive officer.
“What’s your problem, Arslan?” Badran demanded, crowding him as they passed through into the antechamber that served as their common room.
“Your company,” Ben snapped. He wasn’t in a mood to deal with her. Half his mind was still in space, sliding between the wreckage, trying to identify Caroline.
“Charming.” She moved into the corner, making him retreat before her, and lowered her voice. “Tell me - how is it that even your f***-ups work to your advantage?”
He bit back the retort he wanted to make, and smiled politely, “I’m just lucky. I think we have more important things to worry about, though. A minor matter of the Sirius Conventions being broken in Home sector. Or does that not worry you?”
There was a low chime from the wall screen, and Lieutenant Turner’s face appeared on screen. “Captain, we believe we have a visual of the ship’s ID.”
Everyone tensed. Chen said, “Put it on screen, lieutenant.”
It was a torn and shattered hulk of metal, turning in the darkness. The letters on the side, though, were glazed, and the real-time sensors picked up their differing magnetic signature in blue. They read SIR-137PO65XF71/LMA LOUISA MA- before the edge was sheered away.
“The Louisa May Alcott,” Leo Komiyama said. “Oh, s***.”
The captain let the curse pass. “You know her?”
“My sister Jeska runs a charity. The Komiyama Didactic Trust. They take deprived kids and train them up in space skills - good enough to get a berth on a commercial ship. The good ones get sponsored through the Academy. They’ve got two ships they send out so the kids can get practical experience. Mark Twain and Louisa May Alcott.”
“A children’s charity?” Thea Tung said, her voice shrill. “Kids?”
“Kids,” Komiyama confirmed, voice flat. “A few adult trainers, and some carers, but kids, for the most part.”
Ben found he was shaking. Beside him, Badran had brought her hands to her face, her fingertips curling in. Across the room, he saw only horror.
“I’m on my way up,” the captain said. “The rest of you on downshift, get some sleep. You’ll need your strength tomorrow.”
As she went, Ben reached out again, searching desperately for a hint of Caroline. She was probably a child - a child, new come into her powers, floating alone in space, among the bodies of her dead friends.
At last, he felt a flicker, and clung to it. Hold on, Caroline. Just hold on. We’re coming. We’re coming to save you.
Third Shadow Battleship Redcap, 5.22 light years from Aldebaran, Terran date 04.03.13140
Captain Nerit Arslan sat in the command chair, back rigid and hands settled on the arms. On the screen before her, the pastel colours of non-space swirled like madness, the pinpricks of the stars fuzzy black holes in the sky.
Her fingers had dug holes in the chair.
She dared not look down. She was too afraid her arms would be smeared with blood.
“Captain?” someone said, voice shaking.
It was Alene Tamburi, her executive officer.
“Silence on the bridge,” Nerit said coldly. She could feel their mixture of emotions stirring in the air: horror, hysteria, excitement, shock.
“Captain!” Alene protested.
Eighteen years, eight months and sixteen days ago, Alene Tamburi had turned to her and said, “You really ready?”
“Silence!” Nerit snapped.
But Alene had two teenage children back on Ajathave and she wouldn’t be silenced so easily. “Nerit. The Admiral’s gone.”
No, Nerit thought. She’s never gone. She’s always listening. Shut up, Alene. Please, shut up.
She dared not send the thought.
“Do you realise what we’ve done?” Alene demanded. “We should never-”
“Silence!” Nerit snarled again, rising to her feet. She glared at Alene, trying to put the full force of her personality into the stare. “Not one more word, Commander Tamburi.”
“They were children!” Alene spat.
“We had our orders.”
“Some orders are wrong.”
Shut up, Alene. Please, please, please. She sat back down, settling herself in the chair. “Listen to me. There will be no mutiny on my ship, Commander.”
Please, listen to what I’m not saying. Listen.
“They weren’t part of our war.”
“Oh, Commander,” said a silvery voice from the back of the bridge. “Everybody’s part of our war. Don’t you agree, Captain Arslan?”
S***. “Admiral,” she said stiffly, as everyone on the bridge rose from their seats.
The Masked Admiral walked forward. Silver flames still danced across her shoulders, casting uncanny shadows across the dimly lit bridge. She was dressed all in black, marked only by the gleaming bars of her rank on her shoulder. Her mask covered all of her face, save her blue eyes, and the silver-blonde fall of her hair. The mask itself was blazoned with stars, glimmering with their own light.
Now Alene was looking frightened, when it was far too late.
“Light wars ever against Dark,” the Admiral said, pausing in front of Alene. “And see, commander, now their souls have gone to feed the Dark. Rejoice.”
Alene swallowed.
“Or do you doubt, commander?”
Next time they docked, she was getting Alene off ship, whatever the cost.
“Doubt is such a dangerous thing, commander. I don’t like to see it. Don’t you agree, captain?”
“Admiral,” Nerit said hollowly.
“Have you ever doubted, captain?”
It was all a game of masks. She knew who was behind that starry mask. The Admiral knew where she herself had been born. The lethal question was whether the Admiral knew that Nerit knew her. To be safe, she said, “My faith is absolute, admiral.”
“Commendable,” the Admiral said, and turned back to Alene. “You do set a good example, captain. It must be so hard, with doubters in our midst.”
“I am loyal,” Alene whispered.
“Oh, I don’t think so, commander. Doubt me, and you doubt the Dark.”
Nerit knew that not everyone chose the Darkness for the reasons she had. She had long accepted that half of those she worked with were dangerously insane. None of them scared her this much.
“Admiral,” Alene said, her eyes widening in fear.
“There’s no room for doubters under the Pleiades, commander. Such a shame.” She reached out and brushed her fingertips across Alene’s cheek. “Greet the Inviolate Dark for me, commander.”
She dropped her hand, and Alene began to burn.
For a brief moment, she screamed, a yelp of shock lengthening into agony. Then her face was gone, immersed by silver flames. Nerit could feel the heat rushing off her, battering her own cheeks. She saw the glisten and drip of bronze as Alene’s wedding band ran down to the floor; her brass buttons scoring through the collapsing flesh of her torso.
After the heat, the smell hit her, beef roasting, made bitter by the chemical tang of Alene’s uniform.
With a final flare, she was gone.
It seemed that no one on the bridge was breathing.
Nerit didn’t want to breathe.
“Oh, dear,” said the Admiral. “You’ll need a new exec, captain. Send me a shortlist.”
Nerit felt a first breath judder out at her as she stared at the pile of ashes.
“I do hope you’re not upset, captain. After all, the Dark do not have friends. The Dark do not know affection.”
It was a direct quote from the school syllabus on Emli. She had believed it once.
She could not react to it now. Instead she pulled in all the strength of will she possessed and said, “As you will, Admiral.”
“Good. Now, I think we need to do something to cheer everyone up. Set coordinates for Old Earth, captain. I fancy a trip to Atlantis.”
“Yes, Admiral.”
She continued to stare at the screen ahead. She heard the Admiral walk out, and finally looked down.
Her crew were staring at her, their faces stark with terror.
Nerit closed her eyes for a moment. Then she said again, her voice gentle, “There will be no mutiny on my ship.”
There was a slow, rustling sigh. They understood now.
Oh, Alene, you should have listened.
“Helm, set coordinates for Old Earth. Bosun?”
“Ma’am?” Davey Evans’ voice was shaking.
“Get a cleaning crew up here.”
After a moment of shocked silence, he said, “Yes, Ma’am.”
Nerit stared out at non-space, watching the stars swirl as the ship began to turn.
Alene, she thought, then thrust it down. It wasn’t safe. All that mattered now was living to see Atlantis.
She didn’t dare think about what she would do when she got there.
Yes, Hollow Stars. The dead WIP.
The dead WIP with a Lazurus complex.
After it had finished jumping on me, rubbing my face in the mud and laughing, I realised the blasted thing has finally acquired a coherent plot (the lack of which was the main factor in keeping it dead). In view of that, I made purty hero pictures of the characters; did a thorough edit and comma-ify; finished the third chapter; and moved it all over here. Hence it will be the first thing to get deleted off Elfy.
1 2 3
Chapter 3: Realisation
Fleet Battlecruiser Anansi, 5.33 light years from Aldebaran, Terran date 04.03.13140
By the time the watch changed Ben was exhausted. Kamei had driven his JGs to their limits, correlating scans from six time-streams to plot what had happened. Already they had received near-contemporary images from Band J, so deep into non-space that images were hard to discern. The ghostly shapes from the scans, told them enough, pale shapes breaking apart with slow grace, debris floating away from the impact of whatever had happened out there.
There would be clearer images as they grew closer. Ben did not need them. What his fellows would see on the screen he saw with the eye of his mind, brushing against the torn edges of the ships as he checked on Caroline, again and again and again. He could no longer feel her mind, the raw power and terror, and hoped she slept. He hoped she was alive.
When Lieutenant Turner came to relieve him, he relinquished the scans gladly and followed the rest of his watch through the ship to the narrow wardroom. The table was already laid and, once the formalities were done, Ben ate mechanically. He wasn’t sure how much he should sleep, under the circumstances. He was the only League operative for light-years and this was a League problem, he was sure. What would Aunt Ria do?
Sleep, probably. They wouldn’t reach the site until his next watch and he’d need to be fresh. He was shovelling the last of his dessert into his mouth before he realised how quiet it was. Conversation at high table was normally decorous but no one was talking at all. Shifting in his seat, he realised that some of the greyness he was feeling was the collective shock of his fellow officers.
Wearily, he boosted his shields and wondered what he could do.
Captain Chen stood, and Ben bit back a sigh of relief. The rest of them had to await her permission to leave the table. Finally…
“Captain, a moment, please.” That was Yaneth Toller, the ship’s psychologist.
He saw Chen’s jaw clench, but the psychologist was a civilian appointment and too influential to offend. The captain smiled, baring her teeth, “Ms Toller?”
“I believe it would be beneficial if we shared our feelings about this terrible day.”
Ben felt the greyness around him thicken with dread.
“Really?” said Chen.
Ben had spent his first week on board helping engineering catalogue their stores. He had a pretty good idea what could be easily replaced.
Toller laughed. “A problem shared, remember captain?”
“I must have forgotten.”
“Captain Chen,” Toller said sharply.
The light bulb above her blew, with a boom like an air lock sealing. Toller jumped, spilling coffee down her front.
“Oh, dear,” Captain Chen said blandly. “Are you injured, Ms Toller?”
“I - oh. Gracious.”
“Perhaps you should go to the infirmary. Resettle your nerves. Let us adjourn, gentlefolk.”
Toller blinked. “But, captain…”
“Was there something, Ms Toller?”
Ben eyed the ceiling gloomily. Another light bulb would look suspicious.
Toller met the captain’s gaze, and then glanced along the table. Her lips tightened, but she said, “No, captain, I don’t believe there was.”
As they filed out of the wardroom, Captain Chen fell in beside him and murmured, “Well done, Mr Arslan.”
Ben stared at her. What?
She smiled, and strolled on to talk to Leo Komiyama, her executive officer.
“What’s your problem, Arslan?” Badran demanded, crowding him as they passed through into the antechamber that served as their common room.
“Your company,” Ben snapped. He wasn’t in a mood to deal with her. Half his mind was still in space, sliding between the wreckage, trying to identify Caroline.
“Charming.” She moved into the corner, making him retreat before her, and lowered her voice. “Tell me - how is it that even your f***-ups work to your advantage?”
He bit back the retort he wanted to make, and smiled politely, “I’m just lucky. I think we have more important things to worry about, though. A minor matter of the Sirius Conventions being broken in Home sector. Or does that not worry you?”
There was a low chime from the wall screen, and Lieutenant Turner’s face appeared on screen. “Captain, we believe we have a visual of the ship’s ID.”
Everyone tensed. Chen said, “Put it on screen, lieutenant.”
It was a torn and shattered hulk of metal, turning in the darkness. The letters on the side, though, were glazed, and the real-time sensors picked up their differing magnetic signature in blue. They read SIR-137PO65XF71/LMA LOUISA MA- before the edge was sheered away.
“The Louisa May Alcott,” Leo Komiyama said. “Oh, s***.”
The captain let the curse pass. “You know her?”
“My sister Jeska runs a charity. The Komiyama Didactic Trust. They take deprived kids and train them up in space skills - good enough to get a berth on a commercial ship. The good ones get sponsored through the Academy. They’ve got two ships they send out so the kids can get practical experience. Mark Twain and Louisa May Alcott.”
“A children’s charity?” Thea Tung said, her voice shrill. “Kids?”
“Kids,” Komiyama confirmed, voice flat. “A few adult trainers, and some carers, but kids, for the most part.”
Ben found he was shaking. Beside him, Badran had brought her hands to her face, her fingertips curling in. Across the room, he saw only horror.
“I’m on my way up,” the captain said. “The rest of you on downshift, get some sleep. You’ll need your strength tomorrow.”
As she went, Ben reached out again, searching desperately for a hint of Caroline. She was probably a child - a child, new come into her powers, floating alone in space, among the bodies of her dead friends.
At last, he felt a flicker, and clung to it. Hold on, Caroline. Just hold on. We’re coming. We’re coming to save you.
Third Shadow Battleship Redcap, 5.22 light years from Aldebaran, Terran date 04.03.13140
Captain Nerit Arslan sat in the command chair, back rigid and hands settled on the arms. On the screen before her, the pastel colours of non-space swirled like madness, the pinpricks of the stars fuzzy black holes in the sky.
Her fingers had dug holes in the chair.
She dared not look down. She was too afraid her arms would be smeared with blood.
“Captain?” someone said, voice shaking.
It was Alene Tamburi, her executive officer.
“Silence on the bridge,” Nerit said coldly. She could feel their mixture of emotions stirring in the air: horror, hysteria, excitement, shock.
“Captain!” Alene protested.
Eighteen years, eight months and sixteen days ago, Alene Tamburi had turned to her and said, “You really ready?”
“Silence!” Nerit snapped.
But Alene had two teenage children back on Ajathave and she wouldn’t be silenced so easily. “Nerit. The Admiral’s gone.”
No, Nerit thought. She’s never gone. She’s always listening. Shut up, Alene. Please, shut up.
She dared not send the thought.
“Do you realise what we’ve done?” Alene demanded. “We should never-”
“Silence!” Nerit snarled again, rising to her feet. She glared at Alene, trying to put the full force of her personality into the stare. “Not one more word, Commander Tamburi.”
“They were children!” Alene spat.
“We had our orders.”
“Some orders are wrong.”
Shut up, Alene. Please, please, please. She sat back down, settling herself in the chair. “Listen to me. There will be no mutiny on my ship, Commander.”
Please, listen to what I’m not saying. Listen.
“They weren’t part of our war.”
“Oh, Commander,” said a silvery voice from the back of the bridge. “Everybody’s part of our war. Don’t you agree, Captain Arslan?”
S***. “Admiral,” she said stiffly, as everyone on the bridge rose from their seats.
The Masked Admiral walked forward. Silver flames still danced across her shoulders, casting uncanny shadows across the dimly lit bridge. She was dressed all in black, marked only by the gleaming bars of her rank on her shoulder. Her mask covered all of her face, save her blue eyes, and the silver-blonde fall of her hair. The mask itself was blazoned with stars, glimmering with their own light.
Now Alene was looking frightened, when it was far too late.
“Light wars ever against Dark,” the Admiral said, pausing in front of Alene. “And see, commander, now their souls have gone to feed the Dark. Rejoice.”
Alene swallowed.
“Or do you doubt, commander?”
Next time they docked, she was getting Alene off ship, whatever the cost.
“Doubt is such a dangerous thing, commander. I don’t like to see it. Don’t you agree, captain?”
“Admiral,” Nerit said hollowly.
“Have you ever doubted, captain?”
It was all a game of masks. She knew who was behind that starry mask. The Admiral knew where she herself had been born. The lethal question was whether the Admiral knew that Nerit knew her. To be safe, she said, “My faith is absolute, admiral.”
“Commendable,” the Admiral said, and turned back to Alene. “You do set a good example, captain. It must be so hard, with doubters in our midst.”
“I am loyal,” Alene whispered.
“Oh, I don’t think so, commander. Doubt me, and you doubt the Dark.”
Nerit knew that not everyone chose the Darkness for the reasons she had. She had long accepted that half of those she worked with were dangerously insane. None of them scared her this much.
“Admiral,” Alene said, her eyes widening in fear.
“There’s no room for doubters under the Pleiades, commander. Such a shame.” She reached out and brushed her fingertips across Alene’s cheek. “Greet the Inviolate Dark for me, commander.”
She dropped her hand, and Alene began to burn.
For a brief moment, she screamed, a yelp of shock lengthening into agony. Then her face was gone, immersed by silver flames. Nerit could feel the heat rushing off her, battering her own cheeks. She saw the glisten and drip of bronze as Alene’s wedding band ran down to the floor; her brass buttons scoring through the collapsing flesh of her torso.
After the heat, the smell hit her, beef roasting, made bitter by the chemical tang of Alene’s uniform.
With a final flare, she was gone.
It seemed that no one on the bridge was breathing.
Nerit didn’t want to breathe.
“Oh, dear,” said the Admiral. “You’ll need a new exec, captain. Send me a shortlist.”
Nerit felt a first breath judder out at her as she stared at the pile of ashes.
“I do hope you’re not upset, captain. After all, the Dark do not have friends. The Dark do not know affection.”
It was a direct quote from the school syllabus on Emli. She had believed it once.
She could not react to it now. Instead she pulled in all the strength of will she possessed and said, “As you will, Admiral.”
“Good. Now, I think we need to do something to cheer everyone up. Set coordinates for Old Earth, captain. I fancy a trip to Atlantis.”
“Yes, Admiral.”
She continued to stare at the screen ahead. She heard the Admiral walk out, and finally looked down.
Her crew were staring at her, their faces stark with terror.
Nerit closed her eyes for a moment. Then she said again, her voice gentle, “There will be no mutiny on my ship.”
There was a slow, rustling sigh. They understood now.
Oh, Alene, you should have listened.
“Helm, set coordinates for Old Earth. Bosun?”
“Ma’am?” Davey Evans’ voice was shaking.
“Get a cleaning crew up here.”
After a moment of shocked silence, he said, “Yes, Ma’am.”
Nerit stared out at non-space, watching the stars swirl as the ship began to turn.
Alene, she thought, then thrust it down. It wasn’t safe. All that mattered now was living to see Atlantis.
She didn’t dare think about what she would do when she got there.