The Black Stars (29 page)

Mason pulled himself out of the hole. A great blast of lighting ripped the sky apart, turning everything around him blue-white. He heard a rumble again, a sound beneath the sharp bang of thunder. Was it really just the storm? He stood in the rain, enjoying it as he had sixty-two days ago.

Mason grabbed the collar around his neck and melted it off with a thought. He was a willing prisoner no more. Mason was going to die on Nori-Blue—he knew that now—but he wanted to die as himself. Not as this weapon he had become.

He began to stagger for the woods, the sphere that had once been Child heavy on his back, heading in the direction of the strange rumble. The trees swayed viciously in the wind. His armor sensed what he meant to do, and it contracted around him painfully.
No!
it screamed in his mind.
We belong to each other. You need me.

I need nothing,
Mason thought back. Nothing besides his crew.

He pulled at the armor over his neck and screamed. It felt like peeling off a layer of skin. He stumbled against a tree trunk, and the armor snapped back into place. “No!” he roared, fingers digging under the seam again. He kept running; he didn't know where or why. The woods were dark, water pouring down through the leaves. Tiny alien creatures the size of chipmunks ran from his passing.

Mason summoned his will and pulled again, and the gloves began to retract. The pain turned his vision red, and he splashed down into a puddle of warm water. But he didn't let up. The armor split apart into tendrils all at once, with a cracking sound that made Mason's ears ring. The ground around him was crawling with black lightning. He felt the material surging away from his skin, a slow liquid leaving fire in its wake. He squeezed his eyes shut.
I'M IN CONTROL!
he screamed in his mind, a supersonic thought with all of his will behind it. He was vaguely aware of a flaming tree next to him.

When he opened his eyes, the armor was gone. He was wearing black gloves and the skintight gray suit he wore in space. His skin was throbbing with heat and pain, as if he'd been dropped into the middle of a strong fever.

He could feel the gloves pleading with him. They didn't want to be removed. They would be good. They would obey. But Mason couldn't trust them. Slowly, gently, he pulled the gloves free and exposed his hands to the warm, humid air.

Mason heard the rumble again, a sound under the thunder. He looked down at the inert black sphere. The rain rolled off its surface, not a drop finding purchase. “I could really use your help, Child,” Mason said, but the sphere was quiet. It always would be. Yet Mason would not leave his friend behind.

Mason moved toward the sound, feeling lighter but weaker. The urge to slide the gloves onto his hands again was strong—a moment was all he needed, just until the storm was over. Until he was safely away from the Fangborn.
Get a safe distance away, and then collect the rain,
he thought, his training kicking in.
Find a body of water. Make a shelter.

The rumble grew louder, and Mason's heart began to pound with something he hadn't felt in a long time.

It was hope.

He began to move faster, feet quickstepping over the roots and mud pits. He shoved leaves aside, ignoring the ones that slapped his face. Soon he was running. There was a clearing ahead. He burst through.

Steaming in the rain was a Tremist Hawk. The ramp was down. People were gathered around it, assembling weapons, checking gear. Mason stood there and watched. Lightning flashed behind him, throwing his shadow across the clearing. The people noticed his shadow, and spun around, guns at the ready.

It was his crew. His entire crew. Tom, Merrin, Stellan, Jeremy, Po, Risperdel, Lore, and even Jiric.

Susan … and Mason's mother.

He was so filled with joy that he fell to his knees and began to cry. His friends had come back for him.

No one moved toward him; they were all frozen. But then Tom walked toward Mason slowly, almost like he was afraid to scare Mason away. He held up a hand to the crew, to make sure they stayed put.

The gloves were still in Mason's hand, and he still wanted to put them on, but the urge seemed silly now. So small compared to this.

Tom kneeled in front of Mason so that they faced each other. He was almost smiling, but not quite.

“Hey friend,” Tom said. “Sorry we took so long.”

Mason could only shake his head.

“A lot has happened. But we never stopped thinking about you. Not for one second.”

Mason nodded. But he sensed there was more. “What is it?” His voice came out in a croak; he hadn't spoken in ages.

“We need you, Stark. The treaty is over.”

The words chilled Mason to his core. The treaty was over, yet all of his friends were here, human and Tremist.

“We'll brief you on the Hawk. You might need those gloves of yours still.”

The thought of using the gloves once again made Mason pulse with anger and fear … even as the gloves seemed to pulse with pleasure and anticipation.

But he would do what he had to do.

Tom helped Mason to his feet. The crew was still staring at him. Mason could see his mother crying and Merrin holding Susan tight. Po was the only one openly grinning.

The rain had stopped now, but there was still thunder in the air. Tom slung an arm around Mason's shoulders, and together they walked toward the ship.

 

 

ALSO BY DAN KROKOS

False Memory

The Planet Thieves

 

About the Author

After pumping gas for nine years to put himself through college, DAN KROKOS now writes full-time. He enjoys watching TV, playing MMORPGs, and drinking coffee. His YA novel,
False Memory,
debuted from Hyperion in fall 2012. He is also the author of
The Planet Thieves.
Find him online at
www.dankrokos.com
.

 

 

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

 

THE BLACK STARS

 

Copyright © 2014 Dan Krokos

 

All rights reserved.

 

Cover art and illustrations by Antonio Javier Caparo

 

A Starscape Book

Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC

175 Fifth Avenue

New York, NY 10010

 

www.tor-forge.com

eBooks may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department by writing to [email protected]

The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

ISBN 978-0-7653-3429-9 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-4668-0999-4 (e-book)

e-ISBN 9781466809994

 

First Edition: October 2014