Axxa Skyhawks. Three of them.
The comm crackled. ‘Unknown craft,’ came a harsh voice. ‘Identify yourselves.’
‘This is the Axxa ship Sunfire,’ replied Frollix on the comm. ‘We’re civilians—’
‘Then what are you doing in this quadrant?’
‘We’re here on a mission of peace—’
‘Peace?’ snarled the voice. ‘Tell the truth. Are you spying for the Humans?’
Frollix stared in horror at the comm. Then he cut the channel, and turned to the Captain. ‘They’re never gonna listen to us,’ he said. ‘We have to run. Can you set a course, sir?’
Nox didn’t even seem to hear Frollix’s words. He remained silent and still, in his own sealed-off world.
‘He – he can’t do it,’ said Bixa, shivering. ‘There’s no way he can navigate like this.’
Frollix scratched the base of his horns. ‘Then you have to do it, Lucky,’ he said.
‘Me?’ gulped Lucky. ‘But – how?’
‘With your astrolabe, of course! It’s hooked up to the ship. You just trace a route; I’ll take care of the rest with the Dark Matter drive.’
Lucky gaped at his friend. ‘But I’ve never flown a ship before. Not for real. The Captain would never let me—’
‘Hey!’ said Frollix, shaking Lucky with his huge hands. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s up to us now, buddy! C’mon, don’t doubt yerself. You can do this: I know you can.’
And with that, he turned away, and started to fire up the Dark Matter drive.
Uncertain, Lucky looked down at the astrolabe.
He ran his fingers over the cool black metal. The disc lit up instantly at his touch. The twelve symbols around its circumference started to glow. Silver light flickered as its dials began to move, to turn and spin.
He took a deep breath –
– and then he went into the astrolabe.
He was floating in space, totally weightless among the stars. And though their silver voices were shot through with sorrow, they were still full of encouragement.
Further away, he could hear those other songs: those fragments of strange sad songs, still echoing across infinity.
They chilled him to the core, but he shut them out. Because much closer – and closing in every second – there were three Axxa Skyhawks, coming to get him.
But through the astrolabe, Lucky could see all the invisible threads that held them together. He saw right down to the smallest levels; even to the atoms that made up these ships. Atoms created in the hearts of stars, billions of years ago, but now held together in this unique form.
Inside the Skyhawks, he could see the Axxa pilots, each one another unique configuration of atoms. Each one like a galaxy in itself: a galaxy of dancing matter and energy, minutely patterned and perfect, beautiful to behold.
But at this moment, every fibre of their being was focused on one thing only: destroying him.
He saw their fingers, touching triggers –
– and he knew he had to fly. Right. Now.
He picked a course at random: just somewhere, anywhere, away from them. He chose a line of silver light, went racing after it – and the Sunfire accelerated away as a torpedo came sizzling behind them.
It exploded just under the hull.
Lucky slalomed through space, riding the waves of destruction as best he could. The Skyhawk pilots still had him in their sights. He felt their ferocious anticipation of a kill. The next shot would almost certainly hit.
But now at least he had a course. And he was changing it every moment, leaping from one line of light to the next, constantly shifting direction so the Sunfire would be hard to follow, and even harder to hit.
He was deep in the astrolabe now. Deeper than he’d ever been. So deep, it felt like it was part of him, and he was part of it. This infinite view of space, where everything was connected: it was beginning to feel like home.
And now he was flying the ship at last, he was loving it. He flew with a fierce, bright joy, as if he’d been born to it – and with every movement, he felt more and more confident.
Frollix was right, he thought, amazed. I really can do this!
But the Skyhawk pilots were just as fast as him, and far more practised. They flew with ruthless accuracy, matching every move he made. He steered the Sunfire deeper into space, towards the edge of the galaxy, trying desperately to shake them off. But still they were closing in.
I can’t out-run them, he thought. But maybe I can out-manoeuvre them . . .
Rapidly, he plotted a new course – diving, wheeling, swivelling along infinite paths of light. The Sunfire banked, rolled, and spun through 180 degrees in space. It circled about and arrowed directly across the Skyhawks’ flight paths. Right into their range.
All three Skyhawks fired their cannon – but Lucky’s course had dragged them across each other’s bows. The quickest Skyhawk was caught in the crossfire.
BLAMMM!!!
As it imploded in a flash of flame – as its atoms came apart in an incendiary blaze – Lucky felt everything the pilot was feeling.
The moment of horror as he realized his mistake. The regret. The pain.
And then – gone. The pilot was gone, his life snuffed out in a single instant, his unique form never to be repeated.
Lucky felt it all. There was no joy in destruction. Just the deepest sorrow.
But he also felt the fury of the other two pilots as they realized they’d been tricked. And he knew he was running out of options. He was flying as fast as he could think; surfing Dark Matter connections as he made his leaps and jumps through the stars instinctively. But it was only his first time – and good as he was, the Skyhawks were closing in again, spurred on by grief for their comrade.
The Sunfire was nearing the edge of the astrolabe’s map; nearing the end of the galaxy. They blurred past Pisces, the twelfth and last great star system, and surged on into the outermost reaches of Axxa space.
And now, at the edge of his perception, Lucky had the strangest sensation. Just the faintest feeling: a place behind him where space seemed darker than normal, somehow. It was moving, this darkness. Almost as if it was following him. But it wasn’t the Skyhawks; the darkness was behind them, too . . .
Puzzled, he turned his attention away from the chase for just a second – and shook as a volley of torpedoes exploded around the Sunfire. He scrambled into an evasive pattern, but it was too late to avoid them all. One of the torpedoes was going to hit—
SCORCHHH!!!
It singed the Sunfire’s wingtip. Lucky felt the impact in his own body. It was like the ship was a living thing, in pain, and he was connected to it through the astrolabe.
He knew they couldn’t take another hit.
Concentrate! he told himself fiercely. He redoubled his efforts – reaching for faster connections, quicker currents, swifter pathways through the stars – away from the Skyhawks that were now hell-bent on finishing him off.
But space was running out. Before him now lay a dense cloud of purple fire. A radiation storm: a deadly front of energy, burning on the very edge of the galaxy. He could not see through it to whatever lay on the other side. Beyond it, space was completely unseen, uncharted, unknown.
Lucky stared at the cloud of purple fire. Oh no, he thought. That’s all we need.
And then a memory flashed into his mind. Something Gala had said, when he asked her how he would find his father. Through the storm, and off the edge . . .
What if she meant the radiation storm? What if he flew straight into it, and off the edge of the galaxy?
It’s crazy, he told himself. But what’s the alternative?
He summoned every last scrap of courage and concentration. Where is my father now? he asked the astrolabe in his mind.
A single line of silver light shot out from where he was. It streaked to the edge of the map, where the radiation storm marked the boundary of charted space – and then kept going: off the edge, and out of sight.
> Off the edge.
Follow the light!
Before he could doubt himself, Lucky steered the Sunfire straight after it. He sent the ship surging along the line of silver light, directly into the heart of the storm. He flew right up to the edge of the map – and then off the edge.
This time, the astrolabe didn’t fling him out. Instead, the map kept going, opening out before him as he followed that fragile line of silver light – just as it had when Gala used it. Somehow, she must have expanded the map, giving it knowledge it didn’t have before: knowledge of the future, knowledge of the unknown. And Lucky was following it into the storm – chasing the fragile line of silver light as it streaked deeper and deeper into uncharted space.
He was working on pure instinct and adrenalin now. The radiation storm’s lethal energies crackled all around him. Ultraviolet light dazzled him, drenching him in irradiated glow as he steered the ship through deadly purple haze.
The Sunfire’s shields shook; its hull began to groan. They were losing power. He could feel the machinery beginning to fail. It couldn’t take much more.
He glanced behind him. He couldn’t see the Skyhawks. Just clouds of pulsing power, throbbing all around him, like acid eating into the ship’s shields. They were buckling; the radiation was seeping through.
Already, it was making him nauseous. His hands were starting to shake, his muscles aching, but he forced himself to keep concentrating. He had to keep going. He could not stop now.
He kept following the line of silver light through the storm, trusting that somehow, the astrolabe would not let him down.
And then – at last – he glimpsed a tiny patch of black ahead. A break in the storm. The line of light was heading straight for it.
With a swift movement, he sent the ship towards it – and the Sunfire came soaring out of the storm, just as its shields buckled around him.
Lucky looked back. Still no Skyhawks coming after them. They were in the clear.
He pulled himself out of his astral body –
– and back into the cockpit.
Bixa was sprawled on the ground beside him; she must’ve been hurled about in the chase. Frollix was clinging onto the Dark Matter drive, but he was grinning.
‘Wooo-hooooo!’ he whooped. ‘We made it! You did it! You lost ’em!’
‘Maybe,’ said Bixa, as she picked herself up. ‘But what’s that, ahead?’
Lucky’s pulse accelerated. What could she see? Could it be the Twelve Astraeus?
Hoping against hope, he looked at the vidscreen –
– and his hope died.
Because right there, before him in space, was a mighty fleet of Skyhawks. The Axxa fleet, hidden behind the radiation storm, just off the edge of the galaxy.
And beyond them was a new star system: one he’d never seen before. A thirteenth system, with a cold blue star at its heart. Circling it was a single white planet, like a fist of ice.
‘Charon,’ whispered Bixa. ‘The Axxa army’s secret base. I think you’ve found it.’
Chapter Thirty
The radiation storm behind them flickered – and from its depths burst the Skyhawks who were chasing them.
This time, there was nowhere to hide. Every option was blocked. They were trapped.
‘This is the Axxa craft Sunfire,’ Frollix called desperately on the comm. ‘We’re on a peaceful mission, and we—’
BLAMMM!!!
Without warning, a torpedo hit the Sunfire full on – and this time, they had no shields.
The Dark Matter drive crackled, sparked, and burned out.
Lucky tried to get back into the astrolabe, but it was no longer connected to the Sunfire. He had no control of the ship.
They plunged down towards Charon, drawn by the planet’s gravitational pull. Frollix struggled furiously to keep the ship in space, but it was out of control.
Flames scorched their sides as they fell into the planet’s atmosphere, down through the layers, losing altitude all the time.
Charon looked totally white from above. Its surface was covered in ice. It seemed a cold place. A hard place. A terrible place to crash . . .
‘Strap up tight!’ yelled Frollix. ‘This is gonna be bumpy!’
The Sunfire shook and juddered like never before as they plummeted through the whiteness. A blizzard raged around the ship, hurricane winds buffeting them.
Frollix grappled with the Dark Matter drive, trying with all his might to bring it back online. ‘There’s something I gotta try,’ he said. ‘I never did it before, but . . .’
He flipped his fingers over his controls – and with a great ripple, the silver strings that criss-crossed the Sunfire’s crescent wings unfurled.
They caught the wind between them like a parachute. The ship began to glide.
Lucky could feel their descent slowing – but it was still not enough. Because now, on the vidscreen, he could see mountains, cabins, bunkers, blurring by in the blizzard. They were still falling too fast.
‘Watch out, folks – here it comes!’ warned Frollix, bracing himself.
And the Sunfire crashed into the planet Charon.
The hull ruptured as they smashed into the surface. The impact ripped open the underbelly of the ship. It sheared off both wings, snapping the steel strings, leaving them fluttering like ribbons. The Sunfire skidded and thudded along the ground, a trail of shattering metal sparkfire in its wake – tearing apart, breaking up on impact –
– until finally –
– finally –
– the Sunfire rolled over, and over, and shuddered to a standstill.
Everything was upside down. Every surface was broken. Smoke and steam were rising from the wreckage.
In the cockpit, there was silence. Dust swirled before Lucky’s eyes.
He hauled himself to his feet. He felt dazed and unsteady; he was beginning to shake. He was bruised all over – but at least he was alive.
Which was more than he could say for the ship. The cockpit had cracked open. The vidscreen was fractured; the Dark Matter drive was smashed to pieces. Frollix’s huge bulk was hunched forward over the wreckage, ominously still.
‘Frollix!’ called Lucky. He leaped towards his friend.
But Frollix’s starry eyes were open. He was alive, too. ‘Did we make it?’ he gasped.
‘You did good,’ said Bixa. ‘But now I think we might really be in trouble . . .’
She was looking at the fractured vidscreen. It flickered on and off, buzzing, broken; showing only flashes of the view outside. An army barracks in the snow. Axxa troopers in military uniforms. Marching towards them. Fast.
Bixa’s needles buried themselves in her hair, but she stood up. ‘Mystica,’ she said. ‘We have to get Mystica.’
She helped the Captain to stand. He was unsteady, but he could still walk. The Living Death had not yet destroyed his body. Only his mind.
They clambered down from the cockpit, and picked their way through the wreckage.
It broke Lucky’s heart to see the state of the Sunfire. In the main cabin, the vidscreens were shattered; the cathedral columns and vaulting arches flattened. Mystica’s pots and pans were strewn out across the deck. The spherical silver seats were crushed flat, while the hammock where he’d slept hung upside down, like a limp flag.
They staggered on through smashed-up corridors. All the ship’s curved lines were at jagged angles: broken now, not connecting any more.
‘Mystica!’ called Bixa, as they stumbled onwards. ‘We’re coming!’
No answer came back.
They burst into her quarters. The low gravity was gone; the air felt heavy. The old lady lay sprawled on the ground, unconscious, her body bent double. Her golden rings were scattered about the floor.
Frollix put his ear to her chest at once. ‘She’s alive,’ he said. ‘But her heartbeat’s weak. We need to get her out of here, in case the ship blows . . .’ He picked her up in his great arms and carried her. She looked so fragile in those massi
ve, muscled arms, but Frollix held her with infinite gentleness and care.
Bixa led them back to the main cabin, and threw open the ship’s hatch. Freezing wind whipped into the warmth of the Sunfire.
And out there, the Axxa army was waiting: tough, tattooed troopers in body armour and cloven-hoof boots, with huge horns and burning eyes of flame. Their cannon and ground-blasters were all aimed at the Sunfire. And the ship was still smoking, steaming, even in the blizzard. Flames lapped around it, consuming what was left of it, like carrion birds after a kill.
Lucky and his friends staggered out of the hatch. Their beautiful ship was now just a pile of wreckage, strewn in a long trail behind them. A silent tear rolled down Frollix’s cheek. It froze there on his face, a solid tear of ice.
Snow was knee-deep on the planet’s surface. It was freezing cold here: a deadly cold Lucky had never felt the likes of before. It seemed to cut through him – through his clothes, skin, flesh, blood – right down to the marrow of his bones. In just a few seconds, his hands were utterly numb. He couldn’t feel his fingers.
All he felt was unbearable guilt. Because he was the one who’d brought them here. He was the one who’d steered the Sunfire into a radiation storm, in the desperate hope that he would find Charon and his father on the other side.
And he had found Charon. But at what cost?
An Axxa trooper crunched towards them through the snow: a powerfully built woman whose face was studded with metal piercings. They raised their hands as she came before them, cannon cocked, proud authority in her stance.
‘You were evading capture,’ she said. ‘What were you doing so near the Human fleet? Are you spies?’
‘Course not!’ said Frollix. ‘I keep trying to tell you guys: we’re on a mission of peace—’
‘Peace?’ spat the trooper, her eyes burning like hot metal. ‘There is no peace in this galaxy. Not any more.’
‘But we’re no threat to you,’ pleaded Bixa. ‘These old people here – my grandparents – they need help—’
The trooper wasn’t listening. ‘By all the Twelve Astraeus, I don’t have time for this! Take them away,’ she ordered. ‘Take them down to Charon Caves.’