Adam hadn’t really considered the possibility of a war-fleet. He thought, y’know, maybe a delegation of Coordinators would show up, flanked by a bunch of Agents, like when he’d gone to rescue Jordan from Orion Schema. And he’d had powerful friends along for that.
It didn’t matter though. The most important first step of his plan didn’t depend on who he was facing. It was gonna happen regardless of who showed up.
He swallowed a lump in his throat, and gave his instruction.
“Tau. Shunt all of my excess fear into the storage system. Let me know when it overloads.”
Understood, Adam.
“Get outta here,” he orders Quinn, in a voice far hoarser and rougher than he thought he had in him. He discovers the Dark Drifter was already on the way out, along with the Blockhead ship, before he even started speaking.
The warships are moving.
That’s weird, a part of him thinks. There’s supposed to be a stasis bubble all around here–
Oh. Right. The Coordinators. They sent the fleet. Of course they’d let them move.
The depth of the Concordance’s corruption feels like it should be obvious to Adam by now.
He struggles to remember the plan.
No - that plan was for much smaller stakes than he was fighting for.
The fear is already threatening to overwhelm his reason, only to be drained methodically away, like water down a drain. It feels weird - artificial - and it is. It feels like being bathed in fire, and showering in ice-cold water.
In a moment of lucidity, he understands Somber’s point about negative emotion, and Quinnar Gentry’s advice about boasting. He remembers something Quinn said.
How have you still not realized how powerful emotions are?
He remembers realizing why Jordan would make such a powerful agent - because she wants to be one.
Quinn realizes the power of emotion. He just doesn’t use it. When things get bad, he runs. Nothing makes him care about anything more than his own little trailer park of a space habitat, and the handful of people who live there.
Adam didn’t want to be an Agent. Some part of him doesn’t. But there’s a planet full of people down there, Somber’s people, who have been let down in the worst possible way.
He cares about this. He can’t run.
The warships have detected him, and open fire. Too late, they discover the nature of this place - their beams and torpedoes fall motionless the moment they pass out of the bubble that lets time pass for them.
The smartest of the fleet commanders realize the needed tactic. To kill Adam, they just have to get closer. Ship after ship figures it out, and converges on him. Other ships aren’t as quick on the science, but obey the pack instinct to follow the leader. The thousands of ships don’t betray any sign of large-scale coordination, but their numbers more than make up for it.
With a huge wave of relief, pushing back the choppy surges of fear, Adam realizes he doesn’t have to blow anyone up here. He just needs to pop ten thousand bubbles. The warships will freeze in place, and he can figure something out later.
But now the ships are coming. They’re threatening to englobe him - and their bubbles will overlap with his. Their weapons will work. The fear returns. And with it, his instinct for self-defense pushes itself to the top.
How do I stay safe? his mammalian subconscious asks itself. Fight or flee–
The fear drains, and he’s painfully lucid in the aftermath. He’s never had alcohol, but he imagines - no, this isn’t like being drunk. This is like being anti-drunk, he thinks. This is extended, painful sobriety.
He has the soul spears, the ones he used in the fight against the Champions of Night. He could still use those - not against Agents, but against the bubbles, and through them, the crews of the warships.
Adam used these to power up his fusion with Armiger in “412 - Pursuit Through the Pleiades” – Ed.
He doesn’t have the time or energy to mime throwing a spear, not now. He just flings his arms wide, and dozens of them launch in every direction, like a porcupine spraying quills in a cartoon. Astral threads trail behind them, ready to draw extracted energy into an accumulator.
The spears hit - the anger, the contempt, the seething fury of the crew is drawn out - the emotion flows back into the accumulator. Adam’s own shields are bolstered. Just in time. As the numerous time-bubbles envelop and overlap, dozens of the speared ships open fire. And Adam’s fear returns.
He teleports by instinct, finding refuge inside one of the warships of the enemy.
Inside, the alien crew see him. They look at each other. They look back. They sneer. They draw weapons.
Adam, himself again, teleports out.
His feeling that this fleet has no central leadership or loyalty is confirmed. The ships who tracked his teleport open fire on their luckless fellow, the ship where he briefly took refuge. As the bolts begin to penetrate its hull, Adam launches an attack on the time-bubble surrounding it. The ship, no longer immune to the Concordance curse of timelessness, freezes in place.
One down, ten thousand to go.
More spears. More shielding. More bubbles popped. But Adam realizes that there’s simply too many ships, and they can englobe him too quickly, for this strategy to work.
He’s starting to believe that it would be rational to experience some fear.
He’s bitten off more than he can chew. This is where he’s gonna die. It’s just logical.
Adam. Accumulated fear is at 75% of containment maximum.
It’s rational to leave, he tells himself.
The universe is watching what he does next.
The universe is waiting for hope that justice can be done.
He wants to cry - just stop time for everyone and everything and break down sobbing.
He wants to be 15, to be a boy, to be back in high school and lug around a heavy backpack full of useless books he’s already memorized. He wants to go over to Keri’s house and try more of her cooking. Maybe not get measured for clothes because that turned awkward at record speed. But the rest is okay.
He wants to be answering questions for his little sister. He wants to hear how his parents’ days went, and tell them he did chores and see their faces light up.
He knows he’s supposed to face his fear. It’s something every parent says, sooner or later. Don’t be afraid.
He can’t do that.
He can’t do this alone.
Adam. Accumulated fear is at 0.04% of containment maximum.
Adam is startled out of his imminent panic attack. Even as he flings new spears, tears at new bubbles, he has time to question. “Tau? How’d that happen?”
He feels another presence, and turns.
Floating in space nearby is a strange, alien figure. They’re wearing the traditional garb of the Concordance Coordinators. Adam can dimly make out some kind of affective gadget - the emotional technology he’s learning to use - that’s been attached to him.
It’s a much, much larger containment vessel.
“Who are you?” he manages to call out, as he teleports, dodging and spearing.
“Coordinator Dentry,” the visitor answers. “Perseus Schema.”
That makes even less sense, and it made no sense whatsoever. The Concordance Coordinators should be opposing him.
“Why are you here?”
The alien responds with what Adam can feel is a smile.
“Because your cause is honorable, Adam Amari.”
The universe is watching. But not just watching.
Adam starts to feel tears rushing to his eyes.