“This is a mess, captain!” Vachir shouted over the noise of battle. Another arc of awakened lightning crawled along the outer hull of the Liberator, leaping between the shrapnel and cannon balls that had lodged themselves into the side. Vachir and the captain ducked in time. Another crew members was not so lucky as bright tendrils of energy knocked him backward. The man groaned in pain as two crewman dragged him to relative safety below deck.

Alia shot to her feet and leaned sideways against the railing to return the favor. A nearby gas lamp had been struck by a stray bullet and was blazing out of control. Instantly, it went dark as she gathered its fire into a space between both of her palms. The heated ball grew to a half meter in diameter before being violently flung back at the topdeck of the smaller ship.

The enemy vessel’s awakened of air collapsed behind the battle scarred railing to avoid the superheated fireball. Two Alliance soldiers were not so lucky. The blast of torrid air was enough to throw them helplessly across the deck. Their screams of dying agony could be heard above the gunfire as their bodies were consumed in hungry flames.

More cannonfire rocked the ship beneath their feet. Alia stumbled and was caught in Vachir’s powerful arms. “Please Alia,” he shouted as he steadied her, “the topdeck is no place for a woman with child. Even if she is a prime awakened. Get down to the gundeck at least and let me deal with this one.”

“You’re sounding way too much like my husband, Vachir. One might think you two are in league together,” Alia replied sarcastically.

“When it comes to the safety of our captain, we all are,” Vachir replied.

Another cannonball tore through the air above them and ricocheted off the tip of the bowsprit, taking a few splinters with it. “Now, captain!” Vachir shouted.

Alia scowled in protest before marching toward the stairs to the topdeck. It was more of a waddle. Her belly had grown astoundingly fast in the few weeks since they had departed Freeport. She was only a few months pregnant, but she looked as if she were ready to give birth any day.

They were on their way to see Emat, the enigmatic leader of the Ll’tal people. Hopefully he would have the answers. Unfortunately, for Vachir’s sanity, the captain had spotted a lone Alliance destroyer on the horizon patrolling the southern tip of the Eastern Eternal Mountains. She just couldn’t resist.

“Cannons, focus fire on their gunports!” Vachir shouted, “I’ll deal with the topdeck.”

“Aye sir!” came the reply from those who could hear him. The word was passed down the line, and soon gunners and crew were repositioning their cannons downward. The gunfire from the enemy destroyer had been mercifully erratic. A few crewmen had fallen to injury, but the Liberator’s armored sides were mostly holding up.

Vachir leaned backwards below the safety of the ship’s railing and closed his eyes. His breathing slowed and his focus narrowed as he gathered the power within himself. The topdeck crew began to fire down onto the smaller ship. Both gundecks joined the offensive push. The air between the two vessels was quickly filling with the stench of gunsmoke.

In a quick fluid motion, he stood and stretched his arms toward the destroyer. A web of awakened electricity leapt from his fingertips and engulfed the enemy’s topdeck. It sizzled and crackled as it indiscriminately coursed through all metal and flesh in range. Vachir knew, spreading that much awakened power over such a large area would diminish its effect. But he only needed to disable their crew and priest. The Liberator’s sailors would do the rest.

The enemy priest’s wails lifted over the sounds of battle as energy surged through his body. More Alliance soldiers joined him in agonizing shouts of helplessness. As the remnant of his energy was expelled, Vachir stumbled backwards and was caught by Harol.

“That’ll be enough sir,” the short stocky man growled. “Ma’ boys’ll take it from here.”

A dozen crewmen stepped up from the protected portside of the topdeck. In their hands were compressed steam powered grapple guns. Their odd frames vaguely resembled a giant brass inlaid wooden crossbow. The barrel held a heavy iron hook. Below the weapons, spherical reservoirs of water awaited a heat source.

The weapons were designed to be used by fire awakened. Purpose built lines of black crystal ran the length from the stock to the reservoir; a design cooked up by Taruh and Harol.

“Steady boys,” Harol shouted over the continuing cannon fire, “Steady.” The Liberator released a belch of steam. The acrid smelling cloud erupted through top deck ventilation grates and exhaust pipes on balloon above.

The Liberator’s altitude decreased slowly until both vessels were nearly level. They had to wait for nearly perfect angle to - “LOOSE.” Harol shouted. The black crystal on the grapple launchers suddenly glowed a bright white as the powers of each fire awakened were channeled. Superheated steam catapulted the firing mechanism and sent their hooks across the small space with a hiss. Trails of vapor followed the uncoiling ropes, sheathing them in a ghostly haze..

The loud clangs of metal on wood rang out from behind the cloud of gunsmoke. Quickly, the boarders began the process of anchoring and securing the enemy vessel. Each of them worked a release lever on their weapons that deployed 4 sharp spikes from the front and rear of the guns.

Next, they planted their weapons in pre drilled holes along the starboard deck. Finally, the process of pulling the enemy ship in began with the boarders turning built in double hand cranks on their weapons.

Ropes and men alike groaned in protest as the cranks were manipulated. Below, Vachir could hear Alia shout, “grapeshot! Point blank, continuous fire! Keep them from cutting those ropes!”

From the Liberator’s upper deck, more crew emerged, scimitars in hand. Their faces were covered in grime. The weariness of battle showed on their powder blackened faces, but their morale was high. Leading the boarding party was Sandra Mason. Her head sported the classic Federation kepi, in defiance of her homeland’s conquest.

Fresh Alliance soldiers spilled out onto the deck of the enemy vessel like ants. They rushed the grapple ropes but were brought under immediate fire from the breach guns of the Liberator’s crew and the grapeshot loaded cannons. More gore was thrown in every direction onto the enemy’s deck.

The ships were drawing closer with each second. The chaotic turbulence of close range rifle fire and grapeshot filled the air.

Ten meters

A round erupted from one of the swivel guns and cut down two of the nearest Alliance soldiers. They cried their last through gurgling blood.

Five meters

The swivel gunner suddenly slumped over her cannon before falling backwards into a heap. An Alliance round had gone clean through her eyesocket and out the back.

One meter

Both sides disappeared behind a wall of gunsmoke as they fired their last desperate shots.

Contact

The ships collided. The sound of reinforced wood siding grinding against each other complimented the sudden percussive roll across the deck. Some of the less experienced boarders stumbled. Sandra grabbed a nearby rail and rode out the retching of the two behemoths.

As the tumult slowed, Sandra vaulted herself over the rail and into the blinding smoke, scimitar in hand. Everyone on the topdeck followed and leapt onto the enemy deck with a loud cry. The sound of screams, steel, and shot filled the air. Vachir was already weak from his use of Awakened power, but he wouldn’t sit out a fight. Leveraging himself up against the railing, he took a breath and centered himself. Then, he charged into the gates of hell.

***

Jim’s ears were ringing. It was a problem that seemed to have developed during his time aboard the Liberator. The day had been spent inventorying their supplies and assessing the damage to the submersible.

For some reason, everyone had assumed he was in charge. It was a responsibility he neither wanted nor felt he was qualified for. After hours of giving directions and keeping Fredrickson from being decapitated by anyone and everyone he pissed off, Jim was mentally and physically drained.

It was well into the evening. A cool breeze, or rather a breeze that wasn’t stifling hot, rolled across the desert landscape. Jim left Captain Michie in charge and promptly ran off on his own. When he’d put a comfortable distance between himself and the others, he found a rock outcropping and lay down to look up at the stars.

The ringing sound in his head slowly abated until the gentle desert wind drowned it out. His thoughts drifted to Alia at that moment. Her beautiful green eyes. Her odd crooked smile. The way she still tried to hide the scar across her face with a strand of hair.

But, there were also the things that drove him crazy. Her stubborn attitude. Their endless unsolved arguments. Her refusal to accept help. For reasons he was sure he’d never understand, he loved her.

The Broken Moon was well on its way across the horizon. Long milky shadows dotted the landscape where starving plants struggled to grow. Jim listened as the gentle night breeze worked its way through the sparse vegetation and pushed the desert sand along on its eternal journey. His eyes began to grow heavy.

“You know, I’ve come to you in some interesting places but, middle of the deep desert without a landship... you’ve got balls kid.”

Jim leapt to his feet, but one foot missed the rock he’d been laying on. OOF his back hit the sand below as the wind was forcefully pushed from his lungs.

“What the…” *gasp* “hell is the ma..” *gasp* “matter with you?” He coughed a few times.

“Sorry my boy,” came the stranger’s reply through crooked teeth. “These moments of peace are the only ones where we can talk freely.” It had been months since Jim had seen the strange old man. He looked as old as ever, perhaps older still. Just as before, his eyes were bright and youthful, contrasting his face as if they didn’t belong.

Jim sat on the rough sand for a few moments and caught his breath. After a few more lungfuls of hot desert air, he asked, “What are you doing here, old man? Here to tell me more riddles?”

The man chuckled, “This time, I come bearing riddles with a sprinkling of knowledge.” Jim was stoic, so the man continued, “You seem to have found yourself in quite a predicament on this little mission of yours.”

“And what do you know of my little mission?” Jim asked.

The man smiled and replied, “I see the question in your eyes. You’re asking yourself, is he real or am I crazy? If he knows of my mission, he must be part of my imagination, or perhaps a spy.” Jim shifted uncomfortably. The old man stepped toward Jim and held out a wrinkled hand. “Here,” he commanded, “touch it.”

Jim was reluctant. He’d almost grown used to the idea that the stranger was simply his imagination playing tricks on him. But, the things he’s said… and predicted, Jim thought. He took a deep breath and extended his hand, grasping the old man’s in his own.

It was coarse, cool, and rough. Worn by the sands, time, or more likely, both. More importantly, it was quite real. He eyed the man’s hand suspiciously and asked, “how do I know this isn’t just another dr-”

A loud smack and a stinging on his left cheek caught him by surprise. In one quick motion, nimble for his age, the man had struck him with his free hand.

“Dammit,” Jim cried angrily, “there’re less painful ways to make a point.” He rubbed the spot where the man had struck him which was still tingling.

The man released his grip of Jim’s hand and snorted, replying, “If there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that your entire life has been one painful lesson after another. This seemed the most fitting way to cut to the chase.”

He continued, “you once asked me my name. I suppose it’s best I give myself one now. You can call me Malachi. It means Messenger.”

Jim tilted his head and replied, “I don’t think I’ve heard the name before.”

Malachi shook his head, “no, I don’t suppose you would have. It’s from an old forgotten language of a long lost people who themselves were ancient even in the times of our ancestors. It seemed a fitting name for my purpose in my last days.”

Jim stopped rubbing the red spot on his face and asked, “Last days?”

Malachi smiled and replied, “Well, yes. Look at me boy! I’m ten years late for my own funeral.”

Jim shook his head, “I don’t think I believe that. You look old, yes, but your voice… your eyes, something’s off. It’s like you’re a young person buried beneath an old man’s body.”

The man’s face lit up with genuine surprise. “Very impressive,” he replied. “Very impressive indeed. You’re right of course. I suppose you could call me a young soul. My choices led me to look like this. Choices I hope to spare you from.”

“Such as?” Jim asked.

“I’m afraid, that conversation would take longer than we have. There is a very real danger approaching, and my time with you, as always it seems, is limited.”

Jim’s heart began to beat faster. One thing he’d learned in his prior conversations with the man who now called himself Malachi was that, he had a knack for being prophetic, reliably so.

Seeing the concern on Jim’s face, Malachi added, “Don’t worry. There is still a little time. I’ve come to bring you a warning and some guidance.”

“Let’s start with the warning then,” Jim said.

Malachi nodded, “Your awakened power is growing within you. With each use, you hone your command of it. However, unlike fire, water, and air awakened, ours is a blessing and a tremendous curse.”

“Ours?” Jim asked with surprise.

Malachi’s eyes opened wide. For the first time since Jim had seen him, fear crept across his face. “That was foolish of me,” Malachi answered. Sighing, he continued, “Yes, I too am an awakened of earth, like yourself.”

“You mean, I’m not the only -”

“Please,” Malachi interrupted, “there is very little time. We will speak again of this later. I do ask that you never share knowledge of me or our meetings though.” Jim nodded.

The old man placed a hand on Jim’s shoulder, “For now, I have come to warn you, use your abilities as sparingly as possible. Awakened of earth can heal others, and also themselves. This is our greatest strength, but also our self sealed death sentence.”

Malachi coughed. A deep wet wheezing escaped his lungs. It was a hot evening, but the old man shivered. “Every time you heal another, you forfeit a fragment of your life,” he warned.

“But,” Jim replied, “I’ve only ever healed someone twice since my awakening. Both times were necessary.”

“Ahh, but you forget, young one. Your extraordinary powers of healing extend to your own injuries too. Every time you use your abilities on the soil, it takes a physical toll, does it not?” Malachi asked.

Jim sighed, “Yes actually... In a big way. Half the time, I end up unconscious or burned from my hands to my neck. It hurts like hell.”

Malachi nodded, “Yes. As is the case with all awakened, using our powers in battle brings harm to ourselves, usually by burning our arms since they are the conduits for our… talents. While other awakened heal their injuries over time somewhat faster than non awakened would heal, say, a bruise, your powers accelerate that process. Each time you cheat your body’s natural mending process, days of your life are stolen away, forever. You are a candle, Jim. Burning away at both ends.”

It took a moment for Malachi’s words to settle in. Thinking back, Jim whispered, “The battlefield at Green River, the skies above the dune sea, or in the mountains. I’ve already used my abilities dozens of times since my awakening. How many years have I lost?”

“If I were to guess… one or two already,” came Malachi’s reply. “Though, your extended life as a prime awakened will at least make up for some of that time. It’s why, though I am over eighty years old, my eyes are those of a thirty year old.”

Jim was dizzy. He steadied himself against the boulder he’d fallen off of earlier.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t warn you sooner, but I was delayed,” Malachi added, staring blankly at a painful memory he chose not to share.

“Is there some way to halt my healing abilities and let my body do it naturally?” Jim asked.

“I’m afraid not,” came Malachi’s somber reply. “Now though, there is a more important matter to discuss. Your life, and keeping it beyond this night.”

“What are you talking about?” Jim asked.

Malachi pointed to a distant outcropping of rocks, “There is an ancient machine of war buried very near to here, he said. “I’m going to teach you how to find it. Hopefully, I’m not too late.”

“Enough with the damn half information,” Jim growled. “Too late for what?”

“Listen,” Malachi instructed, grabbing Jim and turning his gaze northeast, “A sound rises on the dawn wind. The cry of hundreds of hungry voices and the droning of ramshackle skimmers as they ride to the feast.”

Jim’s blood went cold.

“That’s right, my boy,” Malachi said. “You’re in cannibal country.”