Oratus Page 5

  “That doesn’t explain why you’re calling us a pair,” she says. Though it does explain a lot of Bronze’s actions. Why he has the bracelet, why he left whenever danger approached. Why he didn’t kill Gray in that first jungle fight.

  “Being a pair means that the two of you will always work together. You will be inseparable, and will be able to face challenges one of you alone would never pass, but both of you will conquer,” Bronze says.

  His voice has the slant of ritual to it. A speech given many times before.

  “The trials were broken!” Gray protests. “We were supposed to earn our way up here, but those creatures said—“

  “Things change,” Bronze interrupts. “The Vyphen, those that you encountered, are lingering remnants. Part of older trials left to wither, as most of their species has done. If you dispatched them, then you have done them a favor. Regardless, you survived. You triumphed.”

  Gray doesn’t look convinced. For her part, she’s not sure what’s going on. Decides to wait and see because it’s clear Bronze isn’t done.

  “Having made it here, you must both name one another,” Bronze says. “You have earned your first letter.”

  “Letter?” She asks, realizing she’s never had to consciously spell before.

  Bronze points to the bracelet. “Slip on the Cache. It will guide you.”

  She moves over to it, Gray watching. Picks up the bracelet - the Cache - and, the moment her claws close on it, the bracelet changes. It glows bright green, and tendrils spring out. The Cache breaks apart as it encircles her left foreclaw. Then the tendrils reform, close together into a new, perfectly-fitting bracelet. With a single flash, the green glow dims.

  And she’s lost.

  It’s like diving from the arch - only this a rush of knowledge instead of air. An infinity of terms, places, people, species and thoughts. It’s so much that she almost collapses until she hears Bronze, in the back quiet of reality, telling her to focus. To think of what she wants to find.

  Names. Oratus letters.

  There they are. As if she’s standing in a vast room surrounded by words, only not just text - which she’s never read before - but whole ideas. Gray, rendered into emotions and surreal images. They shift as she looks around, and gradually the ideas compress into individual letters. Large ones hanging in the gray infinite around her.

  She tries to point at one, though she has no claws, no form. Yet the Cache registers, and the letter floats down in front of her. S. The sound of it wisps through her mind, and it’s followed by impressions, images and definitions. An Oratus that bears this letter is strong, fast, yes, but also aggressive and perilous. A force to be reckoned with, and to watch.

  A perfect fit for Gray. So perfect that she wonders if the Cache, in fact, took what she knows about her fellow Oratus and guided her to this choice.

  The reasons, though, do not matter if the decision is the right one. She speaks the letter aloud to Gray, who only looks confused.

  Bronze, though, accepts this. Asks her to remove the Cache.

  She doesn’t want to, but at the same time, she’s afraid she’ll drown if she keeps it on. So with her right foreclaw, she begins to tug at the bracelet, which dissolves into a thin wire frame eager to find a new target to wrap around. The Cache slides off and she hands it over to Gray who slips it on just like she did.

  She watches his eyes. They, like hers must have, grow wide as the Cache connects. As he dives into the endless pool.

  “B,” Gray says after some time in silence.

  Bronze nights again. “Fitting choices.”

  “Now what?” Gray, S, says.

  “Now?” Bronze points up, and she notices a quartet of bright white lights descending from the night sky. “Now you wait for what comes next. Welcome to your lives, Oratus. Welcome to the galaxy.”

  An Excerpt from Starshot - The Skyward Saga Book 1

  The thing about gravity is that, this far from the gas giant, there’s not much of it. Only enough to boost the Oratus’ momentum. Which works in their favor, because when the shuttle’s pointed tip pierces the seed ship’s hull, allowing the nose to crash through, Sax and the others let go of the hanging bars and shoot forward towards that translucent shuttle bow.

  Where they’ll splat into a gooey pile if things don’t work as they should.

  But the shuttle is a Vincere craft, and the Flaum that maintain it do so with the constant penalty of death for any failure whatsoever. Vigilance isn’t just expected, it’s enforced. So the shuttle’s nose bursts like a blossoming star; pointed triangles flaring out and leaving a wide open window into the seed ship for Sax and the other three to fly through.

  For the barest second as he launches from the shuttle, Sax feels the tug of vacuum pulling him back towards space. Then, again, the shuttle does its job: those flared ends fold back against the seed ship’s inside hull, and from each one slides out metal slats. They mesh with each other and create a seal against outer space, and now the fun’s beginning.

  The four Oratus soar into what looks like the seed ship’s growth quadrant. Dark blue lights shine from the top of a smooth ceiling down onto open clusters of terminals and liquid-filled tanks that quickly give way to a forest of glass tubes, most full of greenish ooze and the floating bodies of all sorts of species. They’re tall, going from floor to ceiling, which in the seed ship means a towering height. Ten times Sax’s own. The Oratus have to watch themselves or they’ll splatter against those tubes too.

  Not that they have much control after being flung out of the shuttle. Sax, with the Stim giving him plenty of time to look as the four of them fly over the Sevora’s thin defense, has a second to torque himself around before he hits the first tube.

  He tenses his muscles.

  And bounces.

  His claws slide across the glass, pulling him around the tube and then Sax kicks off, launching himself further towards the back of the section. Bas, Gar, and Lan do the same, jumping from one tube to the next, leaving behind the growing laser-light show as their soldiers engage the Sevora.

  Who, it looks like, are using Flaum too. Only these aren’t the same as the Vincere soldiers. Mostly because the Vincere conscripts are actually Flaum, all the way through. On the Sevora side, though, they’re just bodies. Flaum hands holding the rifles, fingers pulling the trigger, with a Sevora in their heads calling every shot.

  Which is why Sax, with every tube he hits, digs his claws in just enough to crack the glass. To splinter it inside the tube and start the fluid spilling. The leak will kill the half-grown specimen inside. Prevent one more Sevora from getting the body it wants. If the mission succeeds, all of these test tube species will die anyway, but Sax prefers confirmed kills to hypothetical ones.

  The seed ship’s own homespun gravity, coupled with the gas giant’s, starts to pull the set down before they’ve reached the end of the tube forest. Sax calls, through the mask, for his team to drop now so they don’t get too scattered, and the next tube he hits serves as his ride to the ground.

  At the base, it’s a hard metal landing. Terminals whiz and beep as Sax crashes into a deserted cluster of tubes. Monitors show waving lines and green numbers. Sax ignores it all and orients himself towards the back of the section. They have to get further into the seed ship, and they don’t have long to do it.

  A chittering noise slips in through Sax’s mask. Followed by more. Looks like some of the Sevora saw them flying overhead. Weren’t fooled by the assault troops spilling from the shuttle. Sax reaches for his own miner and draws it from his belt. The miner is made for an Oratus, with circles that close neatly where each claw ought to go. Precise, deadly control.

  Only the chitters aren’t coming closer. Maybe Sax is wrong. Maybe they didn’t notice.

  But now Sax has noticed them.

  He creeps around the tubes, careful to place his claws lightly on the metal floor. The soft gravity here means such steps aren’t hard. Sax just has to be careful so an accidental twitch doesn’t
send him floating.

  What Sax sees when he pokes his head around the side of a tube cluster and into a wide hallway, is a trio of Sevora Flaum setting up a gouter on a tripod. A large cylinder attached to a pair of wheeled containers as large as Sax, the gouter will, in another moment, start spraying hot chemical doom through the air towards the Vincere troops.

  The gouter’s liquid would melt a mask in no time, and would melt a hull too, which is why, when it cools, the stuff hardens into a stiff seal. The Sevora don’t see Sax, so he takes a moment to put his miner back. No sense wasting energy.

  Or fun.

  Sax bursts around the corner, claws digging hard into the floor, then he leaps at the Flaum settling in to the gouter’s targeting chair. The Flaum’s friends turn at the shriek of tearing metal, but all they have time to do is scream before Sax hits. His claws do the work on the gunner, while Sax uses his tail to wrap around the left one’s neck.

  Constricts enough to feel the jolt that says the job’s done, and then he’s turning to the last one. Sometimes Sevora know their end is coming, and they face it bravely. Stand there silent as Sax claims them for his kill count. This one, though, cowers. Backs away from the Oratus as Sax climbs out from the gouter’s chair. Behind him, Sax uses his tail to bash apart the chemical feeds, ruining the weapon for any future parties.

  “Tell me, Sevora,” Sax hisses as he towers over the tiny Flaum. “What are you hoping will happen? That I’ll spare you because you look so pathetic?”

  The Sevora stares back at Sax through the Flaum’s big black eyes. There’s still a small weapon hanging from the Sevora’s holster. If drawn and shot perfectly, it might pierce the mask. Give Sax a scar. Sax wants the Sevora to reach for it, to see if Sax is faster. He doesn’t get the chance.

  Bas dashes by in front of him, and without breaking stride, her claws leave a fatal rend that has the Sevora collapsing to the ground.

  “Stop playing with your food,” Bas says through the mask as she hurtles on towards the edge of the section.

  Sax can’t argue with her logic, and he bounds after her. They’re almost to the gate leading further into the seed ship. Which is good, because, by Sax’s counting, their time is almost up.

  Also by A.R. Knight

  The Mercenaries Trilogy

  The Metal Man

  Wild Nines

  Dark Ice

  One Shot

  The Riven Trilogy

  Riven

  The Cycle

  Spirit’s End

  The Rakers Saga

  Rakers

  The Skyward Saga

  The Spear

  Oratus

  Starshot

  Mind’s Eye

  Clarity’s Dawn

  Creator’s End

  Humanity Rising

  The Last Cycle

  Discover More Stories

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  Acknowledgments

  This novel is the product of my family and friends refusing to let a dream die. My wife Nicole, for letting me write in the early mornings and making sure I didn’t starve. My brothers and parents for their continual comments, support, and enthusiasm.

  And, of course, you, the reader, for giving me a reason to write.

  About the Author

  A.R. Knight spins stories in a frosty house in Madison, WI, primarily owned by a pair of cats. After getting sucked into the working grind in the economic crash of the 2008, he found himself spending boring meetings soaring through space and going on grand adventures.

  Eventually, spending time with podcasting, screenplays, short stories and other novels, he found a story he could fall into and a cast of characters both entertaining and full of heart.

  The Wild Nines have more adventures to come, along with new plots, settings, and stories in the future. From there, A.R. Knight plans on jumping through to other worlds and finding new stories to tell in the limitless borders of our imagination.

  Thanks, as always, for reading!

  For more information:

  www.adamrknight.com