First Battle

By Abigail Falanga

“Again.”

The voice that reached Pulsar along the communications thread was neither impressed nor impatient.

Pulsar pivoted away from the smoldering target at the edge of the training field to face the figure near the far-off arsenal. “But Master U’drec—I executed the maneuver perfectly! Why—”

“Return to start position, Squire.”

“Squire,” Pulsar muttered, obeying with precision born of practice in the moon’s low gravity. “I’m more than a ‘squire,’ you old scuvhit. I’m the son of your monarch and—”

U’drec was right in front of him, smirking. “Old scuvhit?”

“I’ll run the course again.” Pulsar felt himself flush green.

“No. You will practice forms.”

“But—”

U’drec raised an eyebrow-tentacle. “Continue to argue, and you will do nothing but leap-tracks for the next three cycles. As a lord, you must be both respectful and well trained.”

Pulsar saluted and made his way to the sparring enclosure, which was active with knights training and practicing moves. “I have mastered our code and combat techniques, as I just demonstrated. What more must I learn?”

“We do not pursue mere comprehension, but control. It is yourself you must master.”

“Mental disciplines. More exercises than any other initiate… All this, and I’m not master of myself?”

“Not yet. Again. Your foot slipped out of line,” U’drec corrected.

Pulsar slumped. The form was complicated and made no sense, combining breathing and pulse control with fluid gesture. “If I could practice this with others, it might help.”

“They have no need to know this form,” U’drec began to explain further for once. “You—”

An alarm sounded, cutting him short. At the same instant, a weird crackle of energy inched under Pulsar’s skin—a familiar, frustratingly uncontrollable feeling whenever he was near a space-portal. This time, however, it was stronger, harsher, almost painful.

Sure enough, a portal rent the blackness, closing again almost immediately. Not a clean, contained technological portal, but wild. From it flew a huge, bright red space-dragon—wings blotting out stars, ravenous maw aimed directly at—

“The Second Planet!” The anguished cry came from a knight whose family lived there.

“To arms!” U’drec’s voice echoed through every thread. “Mount and ride to the defense of the innocents! Pulsar accompanies me.”

Pulsar reined in his fear and bounded toward the Destri-R Vessels, just behind U’drec, who took the lead. Two knights manned each—one piloting and one at the weapons.

The Destri-Rs launched toward the twin planets. The ancient Homeworld was farther away, guarded by portal moons. The dragon was already upon the nearer, younger, more vulnerable Second Planet, gaseous excretions flaming into its upper atmosphere.

The situation through their viewscreens looked dire.

“We don’t stand much chance, do we?” Pulsar said through their private thread.

“No,” U’drec replied, a glint reflected in his eyes. “Our one hope lies in driving the beast to reopen its portal and retreat.”

Pulsar straightened, positioning his hands on the weapons controls. “Are you afraid, Master U’drec?”

“Yes, as I should be.” U’drec seemed attenuated, his green skin taut. “The outcome of this battle is up to you, Pulsar. Remember your training.”

Pulsar felt his antennae wilting.

“Do not despair.” U’drec’s voice was gentle. “Your family carries within it the seed of our salvation. Every few generations, one is born with the ability to create natural portals. All in your line train to use that skill. Call upon it now.”

The Destri-Rs reached the dragon, directing laser fire or running lances against its flank.

The dragon turned, aiming massive talons at them.

“Evade!” U’drec ordered.

The Destri-Rs broke away. Too late—one ship exploded in a shower of sparks. A cry of grief from the whole company echoed through the threads at the loss of two of their own.

They attacked with redoubled determination, but technology and tactics were to no avail. The gargantuan space-dragon fought back, more than a match for their maneuverability.

Pulsar fired volleys at coordinates calculated to do most harm. Nothing. The creature showed no sign of retreat, made no movement toward reopening its wild, natural portal…

A tingle ran along Pulsar’s skin. His family could sometimes control portals. Perhaps he could too?

At the thought, energy flashed outside their Destri-R.

“Have a care, Squire!” U’drec shouted.

“What was that?”

“A portal.” His master half-smiled despite his urgency and touched a control, instantly silencing all but their private thread. “It is your gift, Pulsar. Absolute mastery of yourself was essential to wield it, which you have achieved.”

Pulsar felt far from prepared. But he reached for that quiver of energy, concentrated on manifesting it, and gave a cry of wonder as an answering pulse of white portal-energy shone for an instant near the Destri-R.

It faded as soon as it formed.

“Again,” U’drec said as he always said, patient and implacable.

It would have annoyed Pulsar if he wasn’t terrified. He closed his eyes and grounded himself in trained calm—and the seemingly tedious repetition of forms suddenly made sense.

Then, opening his eyes, he reached into that feeling from the dragon’s wild portal. Envisioning it as clearly as a target back on the moon, with fluid, practiced movements he commanded whatever gift was in him to reopen it, just behind the beast. He vaguely heard U’drec commanding the other Destri-Rs to fall back to a defense formation, then direct everything they had at the dragon.

The portal opened. The dragon roared, rearing and lunging, but the explosion of laser fire at its fore drove it backward halfway through the portal.

Good enough.

Pulsar let go. The portal collapsed, severing the dragon. It flailed, writhed, and stilled to drifting dead mass.

Cries of triumph came from all around him as Pulsar slumped in his seat.

“Well done, Squire,” U’drec said, tone low but assured. “You bear your family’s legacy well.”

Pulsar felt more shaken than if he had done fifty practice runs as he watched the dragon remains flame out. He still had a lot to learn, but this victory was his.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Abigail Falanga may be found in New Mexico creating magic in many ways – with fabric, food, paper, music, and especially with words! She’s loved fantasy ever since playing out epic adventures of swords, fairies, and monsters with her siblings, and loved sci-fi since her dad’s stories around the dinner table. Besides sharing mad little stories on Havok, she is busily trying to launch approximately five hundred novels into the world. Some of them are even finished!

---

More Stories | Author Website | Facebook | Instagram | Twitter