TRANSMISSION BT-657-778.3
Received at 0:30 via the Broken Tether central signal relay. Origin point: unknown.
Transcript by Second Lieutenant Aven Bright
SYBIL: This is Captain Sybil with a Priority Alpha message for Fleet command. Do not send anyone else here. I repeat, you need to quarantine this planetoid. No rescue teams, no investigators, no nothing. I mean it. We’re not going to—[inaudible]
Transcriber’s Note: The rest of the message is cut with static interference.
SYBIL: There’s something here. Don’t look for it. Don’t look for me. It’s [inaudible] can’t resist. Can’t even [inaudible]. So, for the love of all that’s good, don’t come.
That means you, [inaudible].
END TRANSMISSION
Transcriber’s Note: Just try and stop us.
***
Every aptitude test Aven took advised against an Echo Bond.
Most analysts were confused as to why she wanted one. Her least favourite evaluation put it this way: The Echo Bond is a mechanism for the exchange of emotions. Both partners should benefit from this exchange for it to be fair and equal. Ms. Aven Bright is incapable of offering her Echo partner her own emotions, making her ineligible for the Bond.
She fought the decision, of course. For a long time, her arguments fell on deaf ears. She argued that humans and the Draecon had been making echo bonds unfettered by these sorts of aptitude tests throughout the two species' long history. She argued that the analysts, for all their certifications, had a narrow and traditional view of what comprised a healthy emotional interface. She argued they should test her again with different parameters (a test she also failed).
Only when Captain Sybil had petitioned on her behalf did anything change. A simple suggestion: if a potential partner wants to enter an Echo Bond with Aven knowing her limitations, then at least consider the possibility. From there, things came together.
In a way, Aven owed Sybil everything she was.
I miss her too, Fallen said in the back of Aven's mind. But are you sure about this, Ave? She made it clear she didn't want us to go after her.
I'm not letting her die out there alone, Aven said. She thought about familiar routines, advice over coffee, a kind soul overlaid by three layers of bulletproof steel: Eleanor Sybil, one of the Fleet's most decorated Captains, left to die alone in the black of space.
Fallen's emotions glowed on the other side of the Echo Bond, letting Aven feel the wave of affection and loss. Aven drifted under that wave for a moment, observing its strength.
In the physical world, they walked alongside each other through the scuffed tile of space station hallways. They were a pair that the station crew was used to seeing side-by-side: Second Lieutenant Aven Bright, a young woman with a perpetually flat expression and her dark hair cut in a sharp bob cut. Fallen-Esteem, her Draecon partner, was a sharp creature, all angles and bird-like bones. She padded along on all fours, claws clicking the tile with her wings folded neatly on her back. Her body was covered in lightly iridescent, blue-black scales, and her dark eyes gleamed beneath a scattering of stubby black horns.
Sybil isn't alone, Fallen pointed out after a moment. Like you have me, she has Ever-and-On.
Maybe, Aven said. Maybe.
Fallen's side of the bond bubbled with a sense of unease. I don't think... I mean, if Ever was dead... I don't think Sybil would have been able to string that transmission together.
There's a lot we don't know, Fall.
It had been two weeks since Captain Sybil and her crew had vanished into the Broken Tether sector. Aven estimated they only had one more week before Sybil starved, assuming her ships' emergency supplies were intact, assuming oxygen generation wasn't compromised—assuming everything, really.
Maybe Aven had already waited too long. But she had hoped, damn it. Command should have put together a rescue team, stronger and better resourced than she would have been on her own, and she could have petitioned to join it. She had been very vocally supportive of it, to everyone's annoyance. A simple pilot like her wasn't supposed to speak up to command.
And despite a dozen meetings, nothing happened. There was no sign of a rescue team. Colonel Sangha said they were still "evaluating the situation". No one seemed cognizant of the fact that time was running out.
Aven had been forced to take matters into her own hands.
No coming back from this, Fallen observed, her unease intensifying.
It was times like these that Aven most appreciated the Echo Bond. Emotions were useful for evaluating the severity of a situation, something she often struggled with. If she experienced emotions the same way that Fallen did, she would no doubt be consumed by her own anxieties. She was, after all, about to undo everything she had worked for for the past five years.
That also meant everything that Fallen had worked for. You don't have to do this with me, Fallen-Esteem.
Fallen pressed her head into Aven's side, a solid and warm presence. I intend to anyway.
We'll be court-martialed and dismissed for sure. At best.
What do I care? I'm not even an officer.
Aven let out a short breath through her nose. You signed up for the Fleet, so I assume you wanted to be here.
Fallen drew herself up to her full drake height, nose reaching level with Aven's chin. She was small for her species, much like Aven was for hers, but Fallen liked it that way.
I thought it'd be fun, Fallen said mildly. I told you before that I mostly just wanted an Echo Bond, and this was the easiest way to get it. Now, even if they fire us or arrest us, they can't un-Bond us.
You thought it would be fun? Aven repeated. They finally reached their destination and Aven paused, hand hovering over the control panel in front of her.
Sure, Fallen said. Who doesn’t want to go to space? See new sights, stretch my wings a little. None of that’s worth leaving Sybil out there, though.
The computer panel crackled to life under Aven’s hand. “Second Lieutenant Adept Aven Bright identified,” a mechanical voice greeted her. “Access denied.”
“Emergency command override,” Aven recited, voice calm and clear. “Identification Captain Adept Eleanor Sybil. Code One-November-One-Lima-Seven-Five.”
The panel beeped. “Emergency access granted.”
The hatch clicked open. Fallen snickered as the two of them slipped inside the shuttle. Sybil really ought to leave her command access codes somewhere more secure than a sticky note.
The shuttle was cramped but well-supplied, the type of exploratory vessel Aven had piloted to and from planets on many occasions. Reflective chrome and smooth white plating formed the interior, dinged and scratched half to hell from years of heavy use. Aven immediately strapped into the pilot’s seat and started running launch checks while Fallen curled in the couch-like depression behind the human chairs.
Aven was halfway through the checks before the comms system buzzed. “Lieutenant Bright, what is the meaning of this?”
She ignored them, finishing up her engine check and beginning launch chamber depressurization. A countdown to launch appeared on her screen.
“I repeat,” the voice said, now clipped, “explain why you’ve used emergency codes and have entered an exploratory shuttle.”
Maybe she should try and use some clever misdirection— It’s what Sybil would have done. Aven pressed the comms button, one eye on her countdown. “Please repeat. I haven’t activated any emergency codes, I am simply running diagnostics in here.”
“There is clearly an emergency launch sequence running from that shuttle,” the officer on the other end snapped. “If you’ve done this by accident, you need to abort your diagnostic and report immediately to your commanding officer.”
“Understood,” Aven lied. “Initiating launch abort sequence.”
You’re lucky you have such a good poker face, Ave.
They can’t even see my face, Aven said dryly. The countdown reached zero. The launchpad doors slid open, revealing endless black and a distant speckling of stars.
“Exit the shuttle and report immediately,” the flight controller sputtered. “This is a direct order!”
“Eat shit,” Aven suggested, pushing the throttle.
This was what she had been made for. The hum of the engines, responding perfectly to her hands on the controls. The sudden lift of weightlessness as they exited the station’s artificial gravity field. Fathomless darkness all around them, the pinpoints of stars folding out in endless possibility. A person could forget the hungry blankness of space, sometimes, living on a climate-controlled station. Faced with it directly, the artifice of safety dissolved.
Maybe she wouldn’t get to fly ships anymore after all this was done. That, she would miss.
The flight controller managed to bark a few more orders at her before Aven soared out of transmission range, skirting the edge of the station’s orbit. They would never launch other shuttles in time to catch her, but just in case, she took a careful loop that would confuse pursuit. Then, she selected her destination on the navigation console and gunned it.
Full speed on these little shuttles wasn’t anything to write home about, but she had a head start and was, in her humble opinion, worth five ordinary fleet pilots. Once she was out of radar range, finding her would be next to impossible, a waste of resources. If there was anything fleet command hated, it was resource wasting.
Fallen was reclined languidly on her seat, feet hooked into the braces that kept her from floating away, but through the Echo Bond, Aven could feel her nearly vibrating with tension.
To ease it, Aven tried filling the bond with her own sense of confidence and peace, the two things she experienced most strongly when she was out here on a ship. It was like how Fallen felt when she flew by her own power, wings catching the wind. No fear of falling, though the height and the black of space would both devour you if they could. Somehow, that was part of it. Alone in the black, untouched.
Fallen relaxed a little, though still she peered back through the shuttle’s rear window, watching the white shape of the station diminish behind them. We just straight-up stole a shuttle. Now there’s definitely no going back.
I didn’t think there would be.
I know.
Aven made a few slight corrections to their course. Let us get a bit further out, and then we can do the Transfer.
Right. Fallen hesitated. I guess this’ll be my first time doing it on my own.
You’re practiced at it, Fall, Aven insisted, looking back at the drake. I know you can do this.
You know, Fallen said bitterly, the reason I can’t always do my best at Spirit-Craft is that I get in my own head about it. I think too much about what might go wrong, and then I’m not focusing on the actual crafting and it falls apart.
Then don’t get in your head. Just do it.
Easy for you to say, Fallen said, pouting by resting her chin on her forepaws. I… I’m sure it’ll be fine. Like you said, I’ve done it before. Just… always with a Dragon nearby just in case.
You’re easily qualified to be a Dragon, Aven insisted.
I manifestly am not, because I failed my exam.
Not because of your Spirit-Craft, though.
No, Fallen grumbled, like I said, because I got in my own head about it. Got too nervous.
But now you have me, Aven said. Though she naturally spoke with a flat affect, she tried to put a note of encouragement into her words. I don’t get nervous about this type of thing, and you know I’m being genuine when I say I have full confidence you can do this. Does that help?
Sure, Fallen said unconvincingly. Just let me know when you’re ready.
Ideally, Aven would have waited a little longer so their trajectory was good and set, but she could sense Fallen already beginning to second-guess herself. Considering that and the off chance the other Fleet pilots caught up with her, she wanted to pick up the pace. We’re ready now, actually. Go for it.
Already!?
Fall. Do the Transfer. I know you can. We have to go save Sybil.
Fallen’s anxiety sharpened to a fearsome point. Okay. Yes. I got this, lets do this.
Historically, it would have taken a full complement of Dragons to bend space enough to travel the great distances required in outer space. To be fair, historically, there hadn’t been much need to push this aspect of Spirit-Craft to its limits—both Draconae and Earth were quite small regions compared to the vastness of space.
Space exploration largely became viable when Dragons and humans collaborated to refine the craft of Transference. Now, it relied on a special engine nested in the guts of a shuttle. The engine could amplify certain aspects of the craft, increasing the maximum distance Transferrable by orders of magnitude. These days, a single Dragon could easily perform feats that would have once taken a whole coterie of their ancestors.
They were never able to make it fully automatic, however. It still required a drake with sufficient knowledge of Spirit-Craft to operate, just as the shuttle itself still needed a pilot. And like piloting, Spirit-Craft took a lot of training and practice to do safely.
A deep whirring sound filled the shuttle as the Transference engine activated. Through their bond, Aven could feel Fallen concentrating, channeling the pure energy of her Spirit-Craft through well developed neural pathways. It was something a human could never fully understand, but through the Echo Bond, Aven could see a pale reflection of it at times.
When Fallen pushed at the substance of the world itself, the world reacted. Currently they were in the dimension of the humans, its matter and natural laws sovereign. But Fallen, through her very body, brought some of her own world along with her. The beings who hailed from the world of Draconae could tempt the natural laws of the universe to change to suit them.
Mentally, it was the sort of sensation Aven associated with tying a complicated knot. Mostly muscle memory, but with a knowledge of what was supposed to go where, when to thread through and when to twist. Fallen started the operation with confidence, feeding her own energy into the humming engine that rested directly under her feet. But as she went along, she hesitated. She should move more cautiously. She should be more precise. With each new consideration, the muscle memory grew less natural.
Not wanting to startle her out of the zone by speaking, Aven focused on filling her side of the bond with her feeling of total confidence. She’d seen Fallen pull off far more complex Spirit-Craft in the past. Looking at it objectively, without letting the urgency of the situation cloud one’s mind, it was a simple task.
Fallen recovered herself and resumed her work. When the craft was complete, the engine responded with a piercing cry. The world outside the shuttle, black and star-flecked, warped.
In a moment, it was done. The station that had just been visible through the viewport was gone. The navigation panel displayed a series of confused readings, adjusted, then snapped into place some ten light-years out from their original location.
Fallen let out a shaky breath. Okay… Transfer complete. And everyone’s still got all their limbs and there were no hull ruptures! Uh, right?
Correct, Aven said, running a quick check. Textbook Transference operation, Fall. Good job.
Fallen drooped her head and covered her nose with a paw. Ever-and-On better be okay so she can do this on the way back. It’s too scary for me.
But you did fine.
Maybe I won’t next time!
Aven had to smile as she busied herself with adjusting course. There was a dense asteroid belt up ahead, cutting across what was called the Broken Tether sector. Past it, they would find Point Lark: the lonely planetoid where Captain Eleanor Sybil disappeared.
Sybil’s mission was secretive, associated with high-level Science stuff Aven would never dream of having access to. Though Sybil was usually free with information, she hadn’t had a lot to say on the matter before being deployed.
“They’re sending me out to investigate some weird signals,” was all she said. “Apparently it shares some similarities with the signals you get from Echo Bonds, so naturally the Dragons are very curious about it. I shouldn’t be gone longer than two weeks.”
If things broke bad, that would be the last conversation the two of them would ever have. Aven stewed on this as the shuttle soared towards the asteroid field and the planetoid beyond.
It would still take them a minimum of three days to reach Point Lark. Aven spent that time carefully navigating the asteroids, grimly chewing her way through tasteless supplies, and listening to Fallen talk about whatever popped into her mind.
Each hour made it less likely that Sybil would still be alive when they reached her. If Aven had been smart, she would have realized command was going to write Sybil off and would have stolen the shuttle long before that point. This was a last-ditch effort, probably throwing away her whole career for nothing.
At least the asteroid field was a challenge that could occupy her mind. She led the shuttle through a careful dance, gliding through a rain of tiny pinging stones. She hardly slept the first day, not trusting the autopilot. The next two days were less dangerous, but harder to endure without the work of navigation to occupy her.
And then, finally, she saw the planetoid. It was wreathed in the asteroid field, bearing many marks from its impacts. It showed up black on the viewport, an absence in the stars. The nearest star was a white blotch in the distance, casting only the palest possible light on the planetoid’s surface.
Aven took them in for a landing with mechanical ease, a standard procedure for her and Fallen. As the black planetoid filled their viewport, Aven hesitated, looking over the readings.
Now that’s odd. It says there’s an atmosphere.
Huh, Fallen piped up. It sure looks like a barren rock.
The readings were quite clear that there was an atmosphere here. An Earth-like one, even, that was theoretically breathable both for her and Fallen. But how would a tiny, asteroid-pitted planetoid like this one, so far from its own sun, form a means of oxygen production? Maybe some kind of bacterial reaction…
No, according to the scans, it was plants. Massive flora specimens crowded the rocky planetoid with jungle-like density.
Well, that’s weird, Fallen said.
I don’t trust that. Aven floated towards the rear of the shuttle where the space suits were stowed. I’m suiting up anyways. I recommend you do the same.
It does say it’s breathable, Fallen commented, but followed after Aven.
The suits were standard issue. Though Aven and Fallen were both small for their respective kinds, once each panel had been installed on the body, the suits let out a hiss of air and morphed down to fit. Aven tapped on her helmet a few times until the digital overlay showed up, reporting full functionality.
Fallen looked back at her from her own suit, which consisted only of a helmet and a few pieces of white plating adhered to her shoulders and back. A pearlescent, shimmering light covered the rest of Fallen’s body. That was her Spirit-Craft being channeled through the suit in order to accomplish the same pressure, temperature, and oxygen regulation of a physical suit, but with the freedom of movement required for a being with so many damn limbs. Aven was sometimes envious of that extra freedom, but ultimately preferred the security of a physical barrier between her and the deadly vacuum.
She took them down to the coordinates where she believed Sybil must have landed. The scans showed signs of a ship having passed through; trace chemicals from fuel still lingering in the air.
Yet as they approached the ground, there was no sign of Sybil’s ship, the Oracle. There was only thick vegetation as far as the eye could see. The largest specimens had long stalks for trunks and huge, curling leaves at the top, like palm trees. Their colours were unfamiliar: a combination of mauve and purple that confused the eyes and seemed to morph smoothly into the dark sky.
Aven found the likeliest spot, a small platform of rock, and took them down. Tall grasses whipped as the engines roared and then quieted, gently dropping the shuttle on feet that extended from the undercarriage.
Aven and Fallen stepped out onto the exit ramp. Light was sparse even though their side of the planetoid was currently facing the sun. Aven activated the lights in her helmet, casting a watery glow ahead of her.
Fallen didn’t hesitate to hop to the ground, pawing at the grass. It was also a peculiar dark-red colour, thicker than Earth’s grass, but not terribly unusual otherwise. Looks like a normal plant to me.
Where is it getting its energy from? Aven asked. That star isn’t nearly close enough for photosynthesis.
Normally I’d take a sample so we can find out, Fallen said, but I think we have other things to focus on.
The only sound was that of rustling leaves; there was no sign of animal or insect life. After a moment of disorientation, Aven realized that there wasn’t any wind, either. The leaves were rustling all by themselves, shuffling in minute, jittery movements.
This is kind of cool, Fallen said.
Don’t drop your guard, Aven warned, starting to move in a tight perimeter around the landing area. She shone her lights across the tree trunks and through the grasses, highlighting veins of crimson in the purplish foliage. They sprouted right from dusty rock, roots penetrating even where there didn’t seem to be any cracks.
As she increased her perimeter, Fallen close behind, she noticed a few furrows in the earth under their feet. The vegetation had grown thickly inside, making them difficult to spot. Aven tentatively brushed aside a clump of grass with her boot to try and get a better look.
The furrow was about four feet wide, running straight across the rock. It was difficult to tell, given the apparent lack of wind, but it seemed fresh. Small piles of rock dust still clung to its edge.
Oh, here’s another one, Fallen commented, wandering some distance away.
Something was dragged, Aven said, a chill certainty settling in. Something extremely heavy that was resting on small points only about four feet wide.
Fallen slowly turned to look at their own shuttle, perched on its three landing feet. The Oracle was a much larger ship, built for a full crew complement, but it would have had a similar landing mechanism.
Something dragged the entire ship? Fallen asked incredulously, inspecting the furrows. What the hell could do that?
Aven turned back to their own shuttle and sent a series of commands to the autopilot through her helmet. Its engines flared again, the exit ramp and landing feet folding away.
Let’s leave it to hover, just in case, Aven suggested, directing it to float in place a good fifty feet up. That would certainly be a drain on their fuel resources, but as long as they didn’t take too long, they should have enough to get back. The Oracle’s fuel reserves could be intact, too.
Good thinking, Fallen said. Let’s not get ourselves trapped here too, if possible.
Together, they turned to follow the snaking path the furrows made in the rock, delving further into the dense vegetation. Strangely, trees were also crowding around the furrows even though Aven imagined the ship’s passage should have knocked them down. They had regrown in the space of less than two weeks.
The tree canopy closed them in from above, blocking view of the black-lavender sky and the pale, distant sun. Aven could have sworn she felt the air grow closer and thicker, though her space suit was filtering the same as it always did. In addition to the trees and grass, the path was crowded with bruise-coloured ferns and bushes, leaves and stems obstructing the way ahead.
Fallen took the lead, forming a shimmering Spirit-Craft blade over one forepaw. Muttering something out loud in Draecon—“Out of the way, bastard plants,” Aven thought she caught—Fallen started chopping as if wielding a machete.
Aven stiffened, expecting some reaction, but the plants cut as normal, leaves and broken stems falling to the ground. Satisfied, Fallen shot a wide grin over her shoulder. Her side of the bond radiated a tense but oddly content excitement. You coming?
Aven shook her head in bemusement, following Fallen and her wild fern-chopping. Ask the drake to perform a simple Spirit-Craft Transfer operation and she falls to pieces, but set her loose on a dangerous alien planet and it might as well be a playground.
They followed the furrows for a good forty minutes, picking their way through the rustling alien jungle. Their hike reached its end when they arrived at the edge of an enormous chasm. The drag marks from the Oracle vanished there, replaced by a huge trench gouged into the side of the cliff face. The ship must have turned over, impacted the earth on its side, then been dragged or pushed down into the pit.
It was like they stood at the edge of the world, seeing only darkness beyond and below. Aven’s lights couldn’t reach the other side of the chasm or pierce its depths. Looking down, the sheer rock simply dropped away to nothing. Judging by the measurements provided by her suit’s scan, the hole probably covered near fifteen percent of the planetoid.
Corrupt designs, Fallen cursed quietly. I guess the ship went down there.
Sybil too, Aven said, kneeling near the edge of the cliff to grab a small stone. When she tossed it down, it clattered a few times on the wall and then vanished into silence and darkness. She sent that transmission from the Oracle, so she must have been on board.
But maybe the ship was aboveground at that point, Fallen said, peering around. And it got dragged down there afterwards. We could be throwing ourselves into a trap.
We didn’t see any signs of human life out there, Aven said, though a prickle of doubt crept through her. The furrows, after all, had been nearly hidden by vegetation. It stood to reason that other signs could have been masked. It may be our only clue, even if she isn’t in there right now.
I see what you mean, Fallen said. She was nervous, but still suffused with the simmering excitement that new places and sights always brought her. I’m very curious as to what could drag a Scout-class vessel all this way, even if it is about to eat us whole.
It can try, Aven said. She patted the various pockets on her suit, making sure her weapons and other tools were all secure. I’m sure we’ve faced worse.
Oh, no we haven’t, Fallen laughed, full of affection tinged with mounting anxiety. Hearing you say stuff like that makes me nervous.
Fine, let me rephrase, Aven said, withdrawing her pistol. This is dangerous as hell, but with the two of us and Sybil, we are going to get ourselves out of it.
That’s more like it, Fallen said. She stretched out and refolded her wings, black leather membranes shimmering within the suit, then trotted over to Aven and lifted her chin. Hop on, Lieutenant Bright. We’ve got some people to save.
Aven didn’t need to be told twice, swinging herself up onto the spot below Fallen’s shoulders. The drake adjusted her wings again, peered into the chasm, and then took a running leap, catching the air underneath her and beginning a slow spiral down, down into the nothingness.
