Into the Great Darkness

by George H Y Watson

  It was the third attempt by the sweating, cursing shuttle pilots to approach the 'Revenge', the flagship of the sixth fleet. The enormous vessel was still at action stations despite the upcoming peace talks and evasive manoeuvres had to take place whenever enemy activity was detected. The gigantic vessel had veered away from the small shuttle twice already.

  I sat behind the two pilots as they gave it their third and final try at approach. I had become friendly with them but the friendship had that element of aloofness you have to cultivate with comrades who also fight and may fall. It is to protect yourself of course and enable you to carry on.

  Sometimes it even works.

  I could hardly think because of the racket coming from the cockpit as proximity alarms and low fuel warning shrilled endless warnings. I gripped the cot armrests and closed my eyes. If we didn't make it this time we would be out of fuel and then drift off into the Great Darkness like so many before us, never to return.

  Suddenly the refuelling hose scraped along the fuselage, searching for the input. The sound of the radioactive slurry coursing into the fuel tanks silenced the fraught pilots and the cockpit alarms.

  The hatch opened and two non-coms jumped in to manhandle the steel boxes from the small hold. When they finished the last one to leave gestured for me to follow. Before I climbed out I heard the cockpit comms unit blare, "Enemy Activity detected! Disconnection in thirty seconds, twenty-nine, twenty-eight..."

  I never did find out if the shuttle had taken on enough fuel or if my new friends had managed to return successfully to Luna...

  The marines carried the last of the boxes forward and again one gestured at a door. I nodded and entered a small empty office and sat down. I then did what all soldiers do; I waited and wondered what the hell was going on.

  After a long wait I was summoned to the Execs Office and I was pleasantly surprised to be face to face again with my old boss, Commander Brexler. He had always been a friendly sort and forgave me my many trespasses until he had finally moulded me into the kind of young officer he could pretend he liked.

  At a nearby desk a white coated medic type acted as if he was scrutinising some documents whilst pretending not to listen to us, but was.

  Brexler smiled as we shook hands and he eased his portly frame back into the small space allowed for a seat.

  "Nice to see you, Fletch," he said, then glanced at my Lunachrome arms that poked out from my new uniform, "I was sorry to hear about Sirius 4. Bad show, as the Brits used to say."

  "Why am I here, sir?" I was in no mood for polite conversation.

  He laughed, "Straight to the point, Fletch! That´s what I always liked about you: no beating about the bush."

  Pulling a large video screen down from the upper bulkhead he asked, "Do you know who is to take the major part in the upcoming peace talks with the Trills?"

  I shook my head.

  "Grand Admiral Nimitz. I believe you've met him."

  Commander Brexler smiled slightly as he waited for my mind to finally get into the right gear.

  "You could say that, sir."

  I also kicked a hatch down onto his head, too.

  "Well that’s why you’re here. The Admiral has talked many times about Sirius 4 and the man who saved him. I can tell you he actually shed a tear when he found out you’d survived! But getting back to business, we have a serious problem out here that threatens all of our operations and we’re grasping at straws, now. You’re the last roll of the dice."

  Nice to be wanted, I thought but gave him one of my world famous, Blank Looks.

  "Two weeks ago the ‘Revenge’ intercepted a Trill attack group near to where your cargo ships were caught. The Grand Admiral himself was in command."

  Brexler reached to start the video screen, "This is what happened. Top Secret, of course."

  The screen energised and in the few moments before the playback began, the Commander said something I would remember later, "Do you know that it was Admiral Nimitz that launched and named this ship?"

  The screen darkened and before replay began the viewer was warned of graphic content and that the following was a compilation video from security drones. I suppressed the urge to ‘Twirl’ my arms and switch off my thought processes, as if I could. I gave the screen my full attention.

  Nimitz was in his spacious (by shipboard standards) cabin when the communicator buzzed. The urgent voice of an Ensign shouted excitedly, "We have trouble aboard one of the Trill ships, sir. The lieutenant reckons there’s something you should see. He´s also having trouble with the men."

  For a seventy year-old the Admiral was brisk. He was up and out of his cabin then on his way to the umbilical tunnel within a minute. Intelligence drones followed him as a Gunnery Sergeant led him onto the alien ship that only hours before combat marines had entered by lethal force.

  Dead alien bodies had been piled up on top of each other in the side passageways to clear room in the main corridors and Nimitz barely gave them a glance; he knew from personal experience what went on in combat. They came to a larger than average hatchway with Trill hieroglyphics on the bulkhead at the side. Only the Admiral understood and his face blanched as he translated for the Gunny, “Teach Room”.

  The door opened into a large laboratory-like area with wall mounted cupboards and storage spaces. On the left several Trills sat bloodied and kneeling in front of a marine who was fixing his bayonet onto his rifle meaningfully. On the right a Trill, who had probably been the room supervisor lay face down and still in a pool of green blood, a Marine short-sword protruding from his back. Nearby the soldier who had dispatched him was being restrained by his Lieutenant and another private. All three men were liberally splashed with the alien green liquid. It could be seen that the main function of the room was to hold a force field in its centre for the display of important exhibits. It was obvious that the soldier had completely lost control on seeing what floated aloft and slowly turned as it had been for an unknown time since it’s capture.

  The ‘exhibit’ held everyone who was human, transfixed.

  "What is it, sir," Gunny asked, gazing fixedly up into the brightness.

  Nimitz waved his arm to encompass the whole room, "This is called a Teach Room that the enemy use to show human physiology, its strengths and weaknesses. All by means of using live subjects."

  "How can these cruel bastards do that?"

  "I stopped trying to understand their savagery long ago. It’s part of their so-called ‘Warrior Code’.”

  The Admiral gazed up at the poor soul that hung suspended in the plasma force field, not dead yet not really alive. Part of the chest cavity was open, to disgustingly reveal a slowly beating heart whilst an eye hung out from the poor woman´s shaven skull. There were also other incisions.

  Hoping that the young woman, if indeed she was a young woman, had not been kept like this too long, Nimitz walked slowly around the suspended form. He was watched closely by the humans and Trill captives alike but for different reasons.

  One of the characteristics of the plasma force field is that it is can also be used in suspended animation systems.

  The men looked like they were waiting for Nimitz to switch the infernal machine off so they could give the woman her final peace. Then he looked up and suddenly staggered as if suffering a savage blow. Several troopers moved towards him to offer aid but before he could be helped he regained his posture and gestured for them to get back. Looking up into the woman’s tortured face he uttered a few whispered words that I couldn’t quite make out. Going back over the video later, he seemed to be saying something like, “It’s you, it’s you.” but I couldn’t be sure. His face was now drained of all colour as he gently reached out and up to hold the floating hand.

  I would bet my steel arms that the woman’s delicate fingers seemed to grasp his fingers in return! Static electricity crept down his arm and slowly made his short grey hair stand on end. Nimitz spoke to the Lieutenant, not averting his gaze from the woman for a moment and sti
ll not releasing her hand, "Do you know Lieutenant that these Trill corvettes are manned by the same Nest-Family from the day they are launched?"

  "I'm not sure I understand, Admiral."

  "The Nest-Family in charge of this vessel probably includes the Trills or their descendants responsible for this atrocity! Get them down here at once and get that poor marine to the sick bay."

  The Lieutenant now noticed that the Admiral´s face was wet, as if from tears and he was additionally unsettled to see his superior draw his plasma pistol, moving the setting to maximum.

  With a feeling of dread the Lieutenant knew something was going seriously wrong. The other marines also sensed the approach of a ‘F.U.B.A.R.’ situation and slowly edged themselves back for a quick exit.

  The Nest-Family of eight senior Trill officers were roughly shoved into the room, some bleeding from bayonet stabs. Nimitz indicated that they should stand near the exhibit.

  Warlord Gann stared down at the diminutive Nimitz with the haughty conceit of the Imperial Officer Class and yet at the same time I could see that behind the facade of arrogance he was thinking desperately that there was something familiar about the small human. ‘Have I seen this creature on an info-vid?’

  No.

  ‘A nest family history disk, perhaps?’

  No?’

  Secondary War Lord Son of Gann also smirked at the small human holding the pistol because he knew that the weapon would never be used. He knew that the Humans still obeyed some ancient code of their ancestors called 'The Geneva Convention' that prevented ill-treatment of captives. Secondary War Lord Son of Gann was also sure that this behaviour only showed how weak and stupid they were as a race, arrogantly ignoring the fact that they were the first sentient beings that had ever managed to halt the continuous expansion of the Trill Empire in its eight hundred year history.

  All this time, the camera drones swirled about, not missing anything.

  Warlord Gann´s eyes widened as he seemed to realise finally who or what the diminutive human was, and where he had detected him before! At that moment the plasma pistol discharged into the suspended exhibit. The cameras watched the Trill as he opened his mouth to scream but the scream never came as he was enveloped along with his officers by the explosive plasma back-flash.

  The cameras overloaded and the screen blanked. When vision was restored, the one remaining camera showed Nimitz lying behind a steel bench with superficial skin burns whilst the marines were hesitantly returning to the room, two casually fired their weapons at the prone lab assistants that lay screaming on the deck.

  Of the Trill officers and the exhibit, there remained nought but a thick choking dust that began to settle.

  The video switched off.

  "Damn! What the hell happened?"

  Brexler looked back, "We don`t know. He’s been virtually catatonic, ever since. We can`t get a word out of him and we need him desperately for the upcoming peace talks. Desperately! He’s best, most experienced Planner we have!"

  He leaned forward and looked me in the eyes, "And that's why you're here, Fletch. You saved his life and possibly you can get through to him and save it again."

  "He needs psychiatric help, for god's sake!" Brexler took a sideways glance at the next desk where White Coat still pretended that he wasn`t listening.

  "Who do you think brought you here, all the way from Earth? Our tame shrink Dr. Lopez." White Coat swung round in his chair and gave me a cursory wave of the hand, “Buenas.”

  "What the hell am I expected to do?" I shouted in return.

  With sickly level-headedness, typical of shrinks Dr. Lopez smiled and said, “Try talking to him and when you get nowhere I’ve documents and holo-views I’ve gathered from all over the solar system and wherever else Nimitz has been; all for you to go trawl through. The material covers his entire career, no his entire life! It’s that important. You're an engineer and possibly your analytical frame of mind allied with the typical engineer's thoroughness will help you find what we can’t."

  ‘BS’ was what I thought but I said, "Help me find what?"

  "To find the key that will snap him out of it! We have plans that depend on him."

  It was only later that I wondered who 'We' was and what their plans entailed.

  The following day I entered the room where Admiral Nimitz sat, seemingly gazing at his hands that rested palm down on the table, his face red as if from crying. I sat and looked to him, "Sir."

  Looking up, he gazed at my arms and looked puzzled. Suddenly it dawned on him who I was, "You!" He also had a nice scar about five centimetres long on his left forehead. My handiwork.

  That was the last thing he said as he returned to look down at his hands. I barely noticed the dark tattoo encircling the second finger of his left hand as I wondered where his mind had gone to and how could I pull him back?

  Later, sitting in my cabin I contemplated the large boxes of Top Secret documents and dusty holo cubes that covered my desk. They were the same ones I had accompanied in the shuttle because I recognised the serial numbers that I’d stared at for three weeks. Fortunately, it seemed, the phosphorous charges had been removed along with the locks.

  Many more boxes lay piled against the bulkhead; Brexler hadn’t been exaggerating when he told me he’d gathered the information from all over human space!

  There was a narrow gap from my desk that just allowed me access to my bunk and to the cabin door, as if I could just walk out at will. As Brexler had left he’d said, “Don’t try leaving this cabin until you’ve sorted through this lot. That’s an order.”

  Outside the cabin two Military Police stood one at each side of the door, just in case.

  Glumly I lifted a pile of old documents and holo cubes and began to sift through them.

  First I began with the old paper documents that took up the most room. If I could process the obviously irrelevant ones and get them removed I might make space so that I could actually use the battered computer that sat in the bulkhead in front of me.

  The hours and days came and went, filled with combat alarms and the sound of running feet then the deck below me churning and thrumming with the torque of a tormented airframe. Once the bulkhead shifted as a torpedo was fired. All this time I was confined to sit and read and read until my eyes and back ached. The cabin was gradually cleared of paperwork and then I stretched out my legs and activated the semi-sentient workstation.

  Many decks below and above me I could still hear the thunder of many running bodies as the crew raced back and forth just in case death was nearby. The vessel juddered as the engines sped up and the course changed. I sensed that I was heading into something really nasty and sighed. There was no escape for me, none at all.

  At some unknown hour, I don’t know if it was ‘day’ or ‘night’, the life of The Grand Admiral Nimitz, Warrior of Earth, Creator of the Modern Space Navy, began to take shape in front of me, an amalgam of info from paper documents, old videos and holocubes; Nimitz came from a wealthy Industrial family founded by his grandfather who had ‘gotten in on the ground floor’ of ‘Spacengines Inc’ that developed the Ion-Pulse Engine, the pre-curser to today’s Light-Engine. Consequently, coming from a rich family Nimitz had attended good schools including M.I.T. and Oxford. Everything about his background was characteristic of a wealthy young man of that time, over fifty years ago.

  Another age indeed, before the Trills appeared! His family had high hopes for him to enter their business dynasty on graduation and as an early reward allowed him to take a short hiatus on the newly commissioned Cunard space liner, 'Empress of the Stars' along with many of his wealthy contemporaries.

  Everyone knows what happened to that luxury liner of course and when Nimitz was returned to earth he was a changed man, turning his back on the family business and to the abject horror of his family he entered the Navy.

  We are taught at school all about this first contact with the Trills, so it was with a heavy heart I finished the last paper document and picke
d up the first holocube. On it a bright red label decreed ‘Not for public release. Military Staff only. 1st Voyage Cunard ‘Empress of the Stars. Time Period; the Trill War. Year 0.’ Wearily I inserted the cube, expecting to be bored with the familiar footage I had encountered so many times. Unsurprisingly, the uncut video was much longer than expected but I was determined to concentrate and not let my eyes glaze over with the tedium.

  The screen began by showing grainy surveillance footage of the privileged guests boarding that fateful first and last voyage in Luna orbit. I fast-forwarded the footage for two hours through the Cunard advertising dross until a young unsullied Nimitz appeared. I must admit that I nearly missed him; he was so young and fresh-faced. Locking the facial recognition programme onto him, his total experience on that ill-fated ship was mine to view at my leisure. I began to feel a little like a time-travelling voyeur.

  I relaxed and slowly looked back in time over fifty years and watched as ‘The Empress’ undocked and began its ponderous journey to oblivion. The young Nimitz spent the first weeks of the voyage spurning the usual pursuits of a spoilt rich young man i.e. drinking with friends, chasing the high-priced naughty ladies and joining the decadent null-gravity parties. It all looked so old-fashioned to me, quaint even. Another age.

  The weeks on board the liner during its solar itinerary slowly passed and I watched them all, the ‘bright young things’ as they enjoyed the rugged red beauty of Mars, then on the outward solar path, the swirling clouds of Jupiter, the spectacular rings of Saturn and the numerous icy and beautiful satellites. As if that wasn’t enough pleasure for the gilded guests there were the uninterrupted galactic views as the craft headed towards its proposed turning point near the orbit of Pluto.

  Somewhere amongst all the jollity Nimitz popped up, here and there, always at the side of a young blond woman called Stella Dubois of the Asteroid Mining Dubois´s. Gradually I realised it was an important fact that she became the sole companion of the painfully earnest young man.