The Black Stars (23 page)

Mason realized his eyes were closed. Someone was saying his name—
Mason, hellooo, Skars to Mason.
His eyes snapped open: Tom and Merrin were standing in front of him, both grim-faced.

“Are you ill?” Tom asked.

“Mason, what's wrong?” Merrin said.

“We have to get up there,” Mason said. “We've beaten them once before.”

Tom raised an eyebrow. “I'm not sure disabling their tractor beams and then getting blown up constitutes winning.”

“If they need us, they'll call us,” Merrin said, but Mason heard the doubt in her voice. If the Tremist called upon the rhadjen for help, it was already too late. Mason could help
now.
They all could.

It was good battlefield logic to not put all your forces in one location. The enemy could wipe you out in a single battle. There would be no second chances. But Mason had a feeling this was an all-or-nothing fight.

The walls on the way back to the dorm had changed: they were no longer ice or grass or wood or metal or any kind of throbbing colors. They were now floor-to-ceiling video screens that showed space. They showed the Fangborn ship from many angles, all one hundred miles of it. It was four times as long as it was tall, close to a rectangle laid on its side, but it was much too large to be considered any one shape. The bottom of it had several enormous engine platforms all in a row, facing “down.” Mason couldn't imagine the amount of force required for the ship to break free of a planet's gravity.

On both sides of the ship were raised circular areas, pushed outward into domes, like the very dome they were inside of now. Judging by the size of the ship, they had to be twenty miles tall. Mason didn't remember seeing them last time, when they encountered the Fangborn ship above Nori-Blue. But he did recognize the red horizontal line at the front, which could swing down like a giant jaw, then swing up twice as fast to swallow entire ships whole. The front of the ship had control towers on top, like the horns of a demon.

The students were walking back to their dorms, but they stopped as the Fangborn ship began to glow white around the huge domes. The light grew brighter and brighter. Mason searched the screen for other spacecraft, knowing what that light meant. Soon it would unleash a blast from particle beams so enormous they could vaporize entire ships with one hit.

But Mason was wrong.

White light began to spill out from the left and right sides of the ship, from the two domes, almost as if it were growing wings before their eyes. The light grew and grew and stretched, and then suddenly it shot out from both sides in thick white columns.

The beams hit both Skars and Earth at the same time.

They're attacking us on the ground! They're blowing up the planets!
Every muscle in Mason's body tensed; he expected to become space dust in the next second.

But Mason was wrong again. Everyone was still there, frozen by what was happening on the screen. Students were asking questions:
What is it doing? How are we still alive?
But no one had an answer.

It was Tom who figured it out first. “Great Mountain…” he whispered.

“What is it?” Merrin asked.

“Those aren't particle beams. They're tractor beams.”

Which meant …

“They're pulling the planets toward each other. If we don't stop them, Skars and Earth are going to collide.”

 

Chapter Thirty-four

 

The school had a shuttle bay on the side facing the valley. Mason had always thought that was a faulty design: if there was a power failure aboard the ship, you wouldn't crash down into the trees, but into a valley larger than Earth's Grand Canyon.

The wall screens also showed an outward view of the school. Two Hawks took off from the shuttle bay. Mason knew what was inside them: Rhadgast, as many as the school currently held, save two instructors who stayed behind to watch the students.

“I'm going up there,” Mason said to no one in particular. Everyone looked at him. “I'm going up there, and I'm going to do whatever I can to help. If you want to come with me, meet outside my dorm—”

“What do you think you're doing?” a voice said behind him.

Mason turned around. It was Reckful, wearing a dark gray skintight suit Mason knew was meant for space. His robes were folded over one arm, and his Rhadgast helmet was held in the crook of one elbow. The faceplate was already throbbing with red light. Not purple, like when Mason had met him aboard the Will.

“I'm joining the fight. This is our one chance—you need
everyone.
”

“You—” Reckful abruptly stopped. Sighed. Searched for words.

Mason held up his hands; Reckful's eyes immediately went to the gloves of Aramore. “Let me stop you right there—yes, it's dangerous. Yes, we may not make it. But with these gloves … I must have them for a reason. I can do something. Just get me up there.” The gloves prodded him on, almost supplying him with the words. “Reckful, I think I can pierce their hull. I think I can destroy them.”

He thought of how Broxnar had been able to shake off Mason's assault:
I have to let the gloves go deeper, that's all.

Reckful scratched his chin and looked away, thinking. Torn.

Tom was furiously doing calculations on the Tremist equivalent to a dataslate. “The amount of energy required to move two planets is not something I can calculate. Their energy source is beyond what we can even register. Like they must have a controllable black hole in the center of their ship, an idea so absurd I'm embarrassed to say it out loud.” His fingers continued to dance over the screen, and then his eyes widened. “Hold up. I made an error. They're not pulling the planets toward each other—they're holding Skars in place. Since Earth shares an orbit with Skars, it's going to eventually crash right into Skars on its own!”

Tom lowered the dataslate. “If we don't stop them, we lose this war right now. Billions will be dead by the end of today. We don't need the planets to collide—once they get too close, the natural disasters on
both
planets will be enough to wipe us out! I'm talking earthquakes and tsunamis and continent-sized storms. And I don't want to say that's because the Tremist placed Earth too close to Skars, but, yeah, that's definitely why. If both planets weren't so close, we'd be having supper right now.”

“Hey!” Risperdel said. “
Your
people built the planet gate in the first place!”

“To use on Nori-Blue, not a planet with billions of people!” Tom said.

“Stop it,”
Merrin said, in a tone she must've learned as princess. It worked.

Mason looked at Reckful, daring to hope. He could see the gears turning behind Reckful's eyes and recognized when they stopped. Reckful struggled with the decision for a final moment. Then he said, “Does everyone know where the spacesuits are kept? The ones we wear under the robes?”

A few of the students nodded, looking like they were about to barf. Mason knew the feeling.
Bravery is nothing without fear. Bravery is nothing without fear.

“Good,” Reckful said. “If you want to come along, suit up and meet me in the shuttle bay.”

*   *   *

In the end, forty-five rhadjen volunteered to fight. Their bravery made Mason's heart swell and gave him strength. That lasted until they reached the shuttle bay antechamber and discovered that there were only six spacesuits left. The other suits had been taken by the instructors and visiting Rhadgast that had been at the school. Those Rhadgast had been ordered to join the combined fleets of Tremist and ESC, to wait for a two-pronged assault.

Once again, the fleets were waiting to strike, and once again, Mason and his team were not content to wait. Especially when he knew the fleets would most likely fail, no matter how mighty they were.

Reckful handpicked his team: Mason, Tom, Merrin, Lore, Po, and Risperdel.

The room was filled with faces that were either disappointed or relieved, about an equal mix of both.

As the rhadjen suited up, Reckful pulled Mason aside. “What exactly do you think you can do with those gloves?” he asked. “I need to know before I take our best and brightest on a potential suicide mission.”

Mason looked at his hands.
Give us a chance,
they seemed to say. Or did they actually say it? Maybe it didn't
seem
like they were talking at all. But no, that was impossible. If the gloves contained an artificial intelligence, surely that would be part of their legend.

“I think I can penetrate their ship,” Mason said. “Were you at the battle above Nori-Blue?”

“Yes,” Reckful replied. A troubled look crossed his face at the mention of it. “I was aboard a ship. It was over before I could be deployed.”

“Then you know energy weapons aren't going to do anything, and this battle is going to be a massacre. We had to get close just to blow up their tractor beams with conventional weapons. They
won't
let us get close again—and last time, the tractor beams weren't twenty miles tall!” Mason could see the lingering doubt in Reckful's eyes. “Look, if you guys can provide me some cover, I'll use my gloves against the hull. If it works, we go inside the ship as a team and try to destroy it from within. If it fails, we all take off.”

Reckful put his hands on Mason's shoulders, looked him in the eye. “I want to trust you, Mason Stark. I
am
trusting you. And frankly, I wouldn't do this if I didn't think it was absolutely necessary.” He sighed. “I'm supposed to protect my students, not take them into battle.”

Mason could only nod back: he felt pressure at the backs of his eyes. To gain someone's trust was a rare thing. Tom trusted him. Merrin trusted him. Who else? Mason would not let them down.

Mason changed into the Tremist spacesuit, which was dark gray and skintight, with veins of red stitched up and down the arms, across the torso, and spiraled down the legs. Like the stolen armor he'd worn aboard the Egypt, the suit shifted to fit him perfectly. Mason put his robes on over it. Soon he would see what it was like to use his Rhadgast belt in actual space, not a training room. He hoped the belt was as fast as the jetpacks he had used with Merrin and Tom during their assault on the planet gate.

The helmet came last. The curved faceplate was dark, but soon it would glow an opaque red. Mason had once feared the mask. Now it was his to wear.

“Mason!”

He looked up at the sound of his name and realized the room was almost empty. Merrin was waiting for him in the doorway. Mason looked down at the helmet one more time, and at the gloves that held the helmet.
Don't fail me.

We won't,
the gloves replied. There was definitely something alive in the gloves. But perhaps it was only the darker part of Mason's mind that answered.

Mason met Merrin at the door, and she put a hand on his wrist, stopping him. “We might not make it back this time.”

Mason didn't know what to say. Merrin didn't seem to know either. So Mason just kissed her on the cheek and said, “We will.” Merrin looked stunned, her mouth even making an O shape. Mason didn't linger: he took her hand and pulled her into the shuttle bay, where a Hawk was waiting for them, magnificent under the bright lights. The hull was covered in scales, the colors shifting between shades of rich purple and jade green.

“I wonder whose ship this is—it's beautiful,” Mason thought aloud.

“Um, it's my dad's,” Merrin replied.

Mason almost laughed at the idea of going to battle in the king's personal vessel, but the danger was too near. He'd be sure to return the craft in one piece. They walked up the ramp and through the corridors, which were only now beginning to gradually brighten. The ship was waking.

“We haven't had a chance to catch up that much,” Mason said. “Have you been able to see your parents? I mean, your human ones.” It was a standard tactic among soldiers to chat before a potentially deadly battle. Talking kept your mind off the dangers ahead, helped to calm the nerves.

“I've been busy with the coalition,” Merrin said. “But yes, we've met twice. I was all ready to be mad and yell at them for lying to me for my entire childhood, but they were so happy to see me, and I realized that none of it mattered. They are still my parents.” Merrin made a sound between a laugh and a sigh. “They're actually scheduled to visit the palace next month, to meet Father and my brother. I'm … hoping it goes well.”

“It will,” Mason replied. “He's different. You can see it in his eyes.” Mason wondered if it had less to do with removing his armor than it did with getting his daughter back.

“I think you're right,” Merrin replied.

The six of them gathered at the top of the ship, where a hatch would open to outer space. Reckful was in the cockpit down below. When he spoke, his voice sounded inside the rhadjen's heads, not through external speakers: “Everyone strap in. Put your helmets on and check the seal. We're going to do a short light-speed jump directly above the Fangborn ship. After that, Mason is going to do his thing. If he can make a hole in the Fangborn hull, we all go inside and try to stop them. If we can't, we go home, no exceptions. I'm going to cloak as soon as you're clear, but you'll be able to see me on your HUDs. Understood?”

Everyone replied, “Yes, sir!”

If we can't get inside, there won't be a home,
Mason thought but didn't say. He slid the helmet over his head and felt it seal to the neck of his suit. He threw his hood up over his helmet, as the heads-up display snapped on. This time, he understood the flashing symbols. The suit monitored vitals of every kind, something Mason found extremely useless. With a thought, he cast them away until there was nothing to clutter his vision. The link the helmet made to his brain was a feeble thing compared to the gloves. All around him, faceplates lit up as they sealed. Tom's mask was bright red. Lore's, violet. As was Merrin's.