Serpens Cauda - Chapter Two

Antarctica was long behind them. Before the First Generation, it had been a preserved white desert of snow and ice. Now, in the Third Generation, what was once inhospitably cold was now temperate, the ice melted to reveal bedrock rich with resources, fertile and ready for life. Of course not much remained above water, but what was left had been pounced upon. Acting as the last bastion of the free world, of no nation nor creed, Antarctica had become home for those who shunned the ways of magic.

    Some sixty thousand feet below them was the ocean, hidden behind layers of cloud. With engines flaring at their full cruising capacity, the Clocktower glided without bump or hitch, the craft effortless in its motion.

    Content everything was in order, AM rose from her seat. The flight deck was not spacious; with the four stations for each member, it left only a small aisle from from the back of Oxford’s seat to the rear compartments where they slept and ate. Nonetheless, she was loath to sit, and began pacing up and down simply for the pleasure of using her legs.

    “What do we know about Rasalhague, then,” she asked, her tone rhetorical, but the pause after suggested it was a direct question.

    Spinning her chair around, Carla was the first to take a punt. “Other than that it’s got the wind up Cauda, not much.”

    “I was thinking more objectively, Carla.”

    “It - he or she - is a mage. A powerful one, one that is as ambiguous as it is threatening,” came Oxford’s reply, stately and measured as usual. He did not take his eyes off the HUD; while the Clocktower’s  computer could keep the autopilot running smoothly, Oxford had been trained to be ever vigilant.

    “Exactly. The fact is we don’t know anything about Rasalhague.”

    “But it knows about us,” Oxford continued matter-of-factly, “it’s been blocking our satellite surveillance.”

    “Mages aren’t supposed to know about us - as a whole that is,” AM took over, following the point. “One or two might, and they become our targets to stop them from striking against us. The problem with Rasalhague is not only does it know about us, but it’s telling us it knows. What kind of mage would openly show their hand like that?”

    “An arrogant one?” Rhodes pipped in before correcting himself, “oh wait - that’s all of them.”

    “Or one that is inviting us in,” came Oxford’s more sensible reply.

    “That’s what I’m thinking Oxford. Cauda must know this too. We’re not being sent to set up an observation post like he briefed us. We’re-”

    “-We’re going to call it’s bluff.” Rhodes finished. “I see what you mean. I knew this mission felt fishy. A gut feeling you know?”

    “It’s all well and good theorising guys, but what are we going to do about it then?” Carla asked, remaining unusually quiet.

    AM looked at her sternly, her face the picture of stoicism. “We’re going to proceed as ordered. It’s our duty to protect those at home, and that means getting to understand our enemy. ‘Know your enemy and know yourself - then victory is assured’,” she quoted as best she could remember.

    Carla did not look convinced, and cast her worried gaze to Rhodes sat beside her. “I don’t like being lied to. Why couldn’t Cauda just tell us the truth?”

    Rhodes shrugged. The political elite were all spin doctors: truth to them was anathema.. Luckily the mage hunters were fairly autonomous - they operated under the President’s orders directly. The mainstream military was almost entirely used in political wrangling and coup threats, though no one ever challenged Cauda, only those below him. The President was a savvy ruler, one that reigned quietly and cleverly, always out of the spotlight but always tangibly there.

    “Now that we’re all clear on this, let’s go through our plan of action. Computer, bring up the holo.” At AM’s request the central aisle filled with light, projected from hidden fixtures about the flight deck. Before them was a map of Ophiuchi and the surrounding area - the name that had been given to Rasalhague’s growing city. The centre was a perfect white circle, covering the entirety of the city. They could not get around whatever blocks were preventing their intel.

    “So, this is Ophiuchi,” she said, pacing through the hologram, pointing out with her gloved hands. “It’s more like an organism than a city. We don’t know what’s inside, but we know it’s growing. We’ve seen people entering and not exiting.”

    High-definition pictures of individuals and groups flashed up, approaching the great white nothingness.

    “That isn’t good,” Carla murmured. “Mages?”

    “Could be - it’s unlikely though. Mages rarely work together. Too scared one’s going to pop a fireball at the other when they’re not looking,” Rhodes answered.

    “Rhodes is right,” AM confirmed. “These are ordinary people. Rasalhague has proclaimed it is protecting all who go to it. Like a guardian angel. A very attractive prospect for those in the ruins of a broken world.”

    “How poetic of you,” Rhodes jabbed in quietly.

    Carla ignored his interruption and voiced her concerns.“Surely Rasalhague will know we’re there if it’s got the power to protect so many people.”

    “Almost certainly. But then again, we’re working under the assumption it’s inviting us in, so either we’re toast before we land or we’ve got some degree of safety.”

    “And if it’s the first you can count on me to get us out of there,” Oxford added from the helm.

    “We set down, establish our perimeter, start reconnaissance and get sending information to HQ. We’ll look to make sortie parties after that and maybe hunt down a few mages for fun in the meantime.”

    Their flight was not scheduled to take long; the rest of their time was spent surveying the landscape, their inventory, their tactical and strategic goals. They were now soaring over the sand-scorched plains of Africa, reduced to a sun-blasted wasteland more like the surface of Venus than that of Earth. Precisely how long the Earth had been like this was not publicly known. Of course those at the top still counted years and months as if the world hadn’t so violently collapsed, but for everyone else, all that mattered were the great shifts in magic, the paradigm changes that marked each generation from the last.

    Far below them was the Earth of the Third Generation of mages, when the powerless humans had more or less been eradicated, and each mage controlled his own little fief. It was a more peaceful time than the previous Second Generation, where full scale wars and great magical conflicts almost tore the planet itself apart. They now lived in the fallout of that destructive era, where much of the Earth was rendered inhospitable. Only the regions near the poles could harbor life, at least life unsupported by magical means.

    “Heads up everyone,” Oxford announced having travelled further north, now over what had once been Eastern Europe. “Looks like we’ve got a problem.”

    Before them, through the clear material of the cockpit, was vast bank of swelling, ominous black cloud. It stretched from the pockmarked ground far below to the highest heavens, as if painted by a celestial hand. Boundless in extent, it reached the horizon on either side, its billowing, tumultuous body pulsing with blue lightning, threading it like the bulging veins of a bloated malignancy.

    AM came forward, scanning it over with her eyes. “This high up? Must be magical.”

    “It’s opaque on all wavelengths too,” Oxford added. “Not getting anything from sensors. I’m going to have to take her down low. We’re not far from the AO as it is.”

    The rumble of the engines suddenly becoming apparent as they slowed, the Clocktower shifting its flight protocols as it sunk into the cloud bank. Through the composite canopy the four inside witnessed the unnatural storm cackling around them. Bolts and flashes of energy streaked from patch to patch. Wind lashed at the hull, shrugging off the thunder strikes with little more than a dimming of the LED fixtures.

    “Better buckled up everyone,” Oxford warned. Wind lashed the craft as it fell rapidly, plunging down towards the veiled earth in darkness.

    A sudden jolt ripped through the flightdeck. The entire ship lurched and twisted. They’d hit something.

    “What the hell was that?” Rhodes yelled. He clipped to the infra-red screen on the main turret; nothing but static.

    Another crash. This time the almighty slam cracked against the rear of the ship. The Clocktower spun wildly for a moment before the panting engines righted it.

    “Damn it, someone give me some information here. Carla?” AM’s wild eyes scanned over her instruments; they told her nothing.

    “Our electrics are going haywire. We’re losing systems left and right,” Her panicked fingers danced over her console, flashing in alarm with countless warning tones blaring out.

    An ear splitting crash came from the front. Shards of plastic glass showered into the flight deck as the canopy was breached. Caught in the rigid frame was a twisted, grotesque creature, flailing with leathery wings and snarling with foaming mouth. It lashed with its tangled claws at Oxford, desperately trying to keep the ship airborne as impact after impact rocked them.

    “Head down Oxford!” Clack-clack with two shots from her side arm and AM sent the creature screeching back over the nose cone, black blood spewing from the bullet wound over the deck.

    They tumbled out of the cloud, penetrating the lowest layer with smoke and debris trailing from them. Through the broken canopy was the landscape, perilously close. Worse, the air throbbed and pulsed with a horde of the vile creatures.

    “Shit - what are those things?” Carla asked, ignoring the blood dripping from a gash on her forearm.

    “I don’t care. Rhodes - get the AA cannons firing and clear lear us a path. Oxford - set us down before this bucket falls apart.”

    The hum of the rapid fire cannons spinning up reverberated through the trembling, stricken vessel. Like rivers of golden fire, bullets poured out in linear streams from the Clocktower’s flanks, slicing through the swarming creatures with deadly ease.

    Yet two cannons could not hold them back. Frenzied, the terrors swooped in, flinging themselves wholly against the hull, into the sputtering engines which spewed out flaming gore from their exhausts. Those which survived impact clawed and snatched at the frame, tearing off whatever they could. Piece by piece the ship was ripped away, alarms and warning lights adding to the tumult.

    “Damn it there’s too many,” the drone of the AA resonated with Rhodes’ voice; he turned to the main cannon, a huge air-to-ground piece design for clearing structures, not the air. With the smaller guns on auto he took the reins of the main cannon himself, blasting away with bone-shaking shots, streaking through the sky before connecting in spectacular flashes of flame.

    “Losing hydraulic power on the ailerons. Line’s been severed,” Carla’s hurried voice reported, trying desperately to keep up with the damage reports flooding her console screen.

    “Yes, I noticed. Thank you Carla,” Oxford replied bitterly, trying to pull up from their reckless dive with his control surfaces failing. “I think I can see a clearing ahead - I can put us down but not with these devils hounding me. Use the rockets Rhodes?”

    “Not at this range. Collateral risk too high. Staying to the cannons so long as they’ve got the ammo.”

    AM threw off her harness, clinging to her seat as she stood balancing as best she could with the ship twisting and turning, flailing through the swarm like an injured bird.

    “Oxford - open the cargo door. I’ll get you the space you need.”

    She was already at the stairs down to the hold when Oxford gave the affirmative. A narrow aisle remained between the packs of tied down gear and boxes. Beyond was the dark and ominous sky through the open door, the ramp fully lowered. Darting about were the winged creatures, screaming and gargling mid-flight.

    Utter focus on her balance got her to the ramp. Below was a five-hundred foot fall - but that didn’t worry her. All she needed was focus. Legs wide, arms out, she stood like a messiah before a congregation. Light swelled around her. The air thickened, buzzed and swirled. With the rocking of the ship she remained still as if part of it. Eyes closed, her mouth opened and carried her voice out to the sky.

    Space: blue and throbbing. Walls of words, symbols, numbers, shapes. Floating through them, her touch against the ephemeral visions. Some faded, dispersing like ink in water. Others shone like star light. Time was still. Silence was total. All she needed was the right idea, the right form, the right permutation of colour and taste and energy and...

    Dissipate.

    Like a shockwave, a great pulse of energy exploded from her. In an instant, each creature it touched fell from the sky like a stone. All around, their gargoyle like forms plummeted in unison.

    And, like them, she too collapsed.

    To her knees, then toppling over. Then rolling inexorably down the ramp.

    Instinctively she grabbed at the lip as she tumbled over, as if waking from a dream. By one hand she clung to the ship as it hurtled towards the ground. Dazed, she could make out the splotches each creature had made as it landed in the ruins beneath her. Fire and smoke billowed from the rear engines. Pieces flew off in chunks trailing behind. Her grip was weak - she felt it failing. Oxford had to land soon.

    Her fingers ached. She was slipping, slipping - then falling.

    Throwing himself onto the ramp belly first, Rhodes grabbed out for AM’s wrist and caught it. With all his strength he dragged her up, pulling her ontop of him, her form limp and drained.

    “I’ve got her Oxford. Bring us down,” he called in, carrying her backward and retracting the door.

    “This thing isn’t suppose to land like a plane, but we’ve not got much choice. I hope you’re holding on down there, this isn’t going to be elegant.”

    The engines flared once more, sputtering and groaning, one flaming out sending the Clocktower into a dangerous list. The ground was fast approaching; the ship coming in fast and steep. Huddled in the hull, Rhodes gripped his woozy leader as best he could and braced for impact.