Sanctuary's Gambit: The Darkspace Saga Book 2

by B. C. Kellogg

  He needed to focus on the mission ahead. “Grayson,” he said. “Switch the tactical display to a direct visual feed.”

  The Xin Caledonia portal loomed before them, kilometers of metal wall veiling its dark mouth. Like so many other end-point portals that had swallowed up human colony ships, it had been closed by the Protectorate Corps to prevent any further losses of life. The walls were intended to be impenetrable, but Hogarth had somehow obtained the secret codes that could open the wall hiding this portal.

  “It’s closed,” he observed. When they’d last come through the portal, they’d left it open. Someone had closed it. Conrad wondered if it was Hogarth behind it all.

  “Commodore Garrity is aware of this portal now,” Argus said. “If necessary, the Corps will close it.”

  “Transmit access codes,” he said. “And say a little prayer, Argus, that what happened last time doesn’t happen again—that there isn’t a hell-born Imperial destroyer on the other side waiting to blow us into oblivion.”

  “What a splendid strategy,” Jira said under her breath. She and Balt stood near Argus behind the captain’s chair, observing.

  “Codes transmitted,” said Argus. The massive barrier sat stonily silent for five seconds before it began to move.

  “How does it even stay up there?” Conrad wondered. “That wall ...”

  “The portal exerts an intense gravitational force when an object is within a kilometer or so of its vertical plane,” Argus said. “The diameter of the wall is wider than the portal itself. Coupled with the density of the alloy that composes the wall, that’s enough to keep the wall in place with only minimal power requirements to open it—if ever.”

  Divided into two half-moons, the barrier opened, revealing pure black nothingness beyond it.

  “Ready?”

  “Let’s go,” Conrad said.

  The Steadfast fired its engines, surging forward into the portal.

  Conrad held still at the moment of impact. He stretched his consciousness, sliding into the black and white otherworld within the portal.

  Mark this place, he thought to himself. One mark on the infinite web of paths within the dark space. Remember it.

  He swallowed a gulp of air when the Steadfast re-entered normal space. The universe seemed to spin, just for a moment. He dug his nails into the chair.

  “We’re here,” Jira said, a note of disbelief in her voice. She scanned the visual feed. “Those stars ... I recognize them. The orientation’s not familiar to me, but ... we’re back.”

  “Nothing in the immediate area, Captain,” the ops officer said. “We’re in the clear.”

  Conrad turned. “Jira?”

  She moved to the comms station. “I’ll ping the Federation communications network,” she said. “If my guess is right, we’re within a few systems of the Iberis cluster. I’ve sent the message.” She turned, a flush of excitement on her face. “We only need to wait now.”

  “Where do we go? We’re not staying here,” Conrad said.

  “The Seo system,” she said. “There are contacts embedded there. They’ll know we’re coming now that I’ve sent the message.”

  “Seo! Finally!” Baltasar exclaimed, jubilant. “The smartest decision any of you have made in the last two years.”

  The habitable zone of the Seo system was occupied of three neighboring planets—Cire, Tyne, and Albans. The three planets were legendary on the Empire’s frontiers—three blue jewels bound to a single star.

  It was as beautiful as Baltasar had promised, Conrad mused. Both from space and planetside. They stood on a sweeping cliff above a beach on Seo Albans, breathing the alien air. Before they landed, Argus had determined that the oxygen content was slightly higher than on Sanctuary, and combined with other unique atmospheric components, visitors to the planet experienced a faint sense of euphoria.

  That explains it, he decided. It’s the atmosphere. It’s definitely not ... her. He looked to the edge of the cliff. Jira paced there, dressed in a thin peach dress, her hair bound up high on her head. They were pretending to be tourists, and Baltasar embraced it willingly enough, but Jira was quickly running out of patience.

  “Something’s not right,” she said, kicking at the sand beneath their feet. “We’ve heard nothing. Nothing!”

  Baltasar was lying in the broad leaf of a sling-tree, shielding the sun from his face with his arm. “Have you ever done anything just for pleasure even once in your life?” he said. “No—don’t answer that question. I just remembered who I’m talking to.”

  “How long does it take for your messages to transmit?” Conrad asked. “It can’t be instantaneous across the entire Empire, especially if it’s piggybacking other transmissions.”

  “It’s not instantaneous, but it shouldn’t take this long,” she said, tense. “Something’s not right,” she repeated. “I can feel it.”

  “Since when does Jira Tai ignore all logic to decide anything based on feelings?” Conrad said, leaning against Baltasar’s tree.

  “The contacts here on Albans aren’t even responding to me, never mind showing up,” she said. “We’ve been waiting here for three days. We’re starting to look conspicuous.”

  “What should we do?”

  “We need to go into the city on Seo Cire,” she said, already throwing a thick wrap over her shoulders. “Immediately.”

  Baltasar groaned. “She’s ruining it,” he said. “She’s like some kind of sentient leech that sucks out happiness and light instead of blood.”

  “You stay here,” Conrad said to Baltasar. “In case those contacts ever do show up. Jira and I will go. We’re taking the Oro.”

  Baltasar pulled a leaf over his eyes. “Thank the Lords. Try not to kill each other on your way over to Seo Cire,” he said.

  After a short trip on the Oro Yurei—scrubbed of all identifying marks, of course, and masquerading as a pleasure yacht—they arrived on Seo Cire. They landed on the outskirts of the city, which was a grid of interconnected docks.

  Conrad realized quickly why Jira had called it the city; it was a single metropolis that spread across an entire continent. A guide in the transport station where the Oro was docked explained that the aboriginal inhabitants of Cire had demanded that all non-Cirish restrict their building to this one continent; over the centuries, the city had grown both across the continent and deep underground. It was, Conrad thought, a good place to get lost when you didn’t want to be found.

  Jira was back in her olive fatigues, and Conrad in a nondescript gray jumpsuit. Despite shedding the feminine dress and elaborate hairstyle, she seemed more ill at ease than ever, her eyes constantly darting and searching.

  “We’re almost there,” he murmured into her ear as they disembarked. “Calm.”

  Agitated, she dashed off into the terminal. Conrad trailed her, tapping the comms transmitter in his pocket to alert the Steadfast to his location. Argus was ready to extract them at a moment’s notice, although Conrad hoped the Kazhad wouldn’t be so foolish as to go himself. There were aliens on Seo Cire, but Argus didn’t know the customs.

  Neither did he, for that matter. He chased after Jira, who was almost out of sight, her utilitarian braid bouncing against her back.

  He could feel the headache growing as he took in more of the Cirish air. It was jarring to go from Seo San’s intoxicating atmosphere to Seo Cire, where the air was thinner and harsher.

  A wakeup call, he assured himself. Can’t get comfortable. Not now.

  Six hours later night had fallen over Seo Cire—not that Conrad would have known. They were deep underground in the vast city, a tangled network of tunnels and buried chambers that were hundreds of meters tall. Tucked into these chambers were crowded apartments, shops, restaurants, and everywhere there were sentient beings talking and quarreling.

  It reminded Conrad dimly of an old image of New York, before the ExMach war. Of course, by the late twenty-fourth century there was no place on Sanctuary with such a dense population of humans.
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  The light here flickered and swayed. Sometimes it was a sickly yellow, and other times it was a mysterious shade of green or violet. It was never constant.

  Here, at least, there were no Imperials. Conrad had seen a few of the sleekly uniformed soldiers on the surface of Cire, but the deeper they went, the shabbier the tunnels and chambers became, the official presence seemed to diminish.

  Which meant there were other kinds of danger.

  They were being stalked; Conrad grew more and more certain as they moved on. Jira was searching ceaselessly for something at the public comms machines, frowning and moving on after each one failed to give her the answers she was looking for. She was blind to their surroundings.

  Conrad, on the other hand, could feel the creature shadowing them.

  It was, he decided, time to bring the chase to an end.

  Chapter 11

  “Something’s wrong,” Jira moaned, as she wrenched the back panel of the comm machine open. She kicked it viciously with the tip of her boot. “None of it is working!”

  Conrad stood close to her, using his body to shield her from sight. Not that there was much to see where they were standing, deep in a cramped alleyway saturated with moisture and smelling of mold.

  He put his hand on her shoulder. “Jira ... what exactly are you looking for?”

  “There should be some response,” she said tautly. “Not necessarily a message or a rendezvous location but just a ping of acknowledgment. There’s been nothing!” She threw her hands in the air. “There’s nothing on any of the channels. That can’t be right. I even patched in directly to Cadero and Baro—I know it’s a risk, don’t look at me like that—but still. Nothing.”

  He stepped in close to her, shielding her face from the dripping condensation that came from above. Her breathing was hitched, but her eyes remained clear and bright.

  “Conrad,” she whispered. “It’s ... as if they were gone. All of them. As if the entire Federation network has been brought down.”

  He cupped her shoulder. “I’m sure that’s not the case,” he said. “The Federation’s been in existence for millennia, hasn’t it? Maybe Seo’s just cut off.”

  She shook her head, but he stayed close. “Listen,” he continued. “Wherever it is, we’ll find the link that remains.”

  She quieted. “My eidetic memory,” she said. “I remember the right codes, the right processes. If I put in the incorrect code or ... or ... augmented the incorrect comm nodes. But something is wrong.” She looked up at him, her eyes wide with worry. “What’s happened since I’ve been away?”

  “We’ll find out,” he assured her. “You, me, Argus, Balt. The Steadfast. I promise you.”

  “You can’t promise me that,” she said, wrenching herself away. “Oh Lords, what if they’re all gone? What if it’s all because of what I—”

  He suddenly pressed her against the wall of the alleyway. “No,” he said to her. “No.”

  She took a shuddering breath and leaned her head against his chest for a moment, then lifted her face to his. “You don’t know that,” she whispered.

  “I know you,” he said, a finger under her chin, tipping her face up to his. “That’s enough for me.”

  “Conrad,” she said.

  He wanted to lean in, press his forehead against hers, and let the moment stretch into infinity.

  But that was when he felt their pursuer move in the dark behind them.

  He saw Jira’s eyes flicker to his left.

  There.

  Conrad didn’t hesitate.

  In an explosion of movement, he spun around, crouched, and swept his leg across the ground as he brought the sharp point of his elbow down, hard. It hit something solid. He wrestled the body down, his knee pressing into its abdomen, pinning it.

  It made a shrill noise, then fell silent. It wasn’t human.

  Jira stepped forward, shining a light down on Conrad’s prisoner. It was a strange creature, covered in feathers with a long, arched neck. Its proboscis writhed in panic as Jira studied it, her brow furrowed.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  It let out an ear-splitting trill, and a series of incomprehensible syllables. “A friend,” it finally got out, its proboscis flailing. “Swear it!”

  “Do you know who I am,” Jira asked, shining a light down into its alien face. “Or why I’m here?”

  “The Federation,” it croaked. “You want to find the Federation! Saw your messages!”

  Suspicion and relief warred on Jira’s face. “Then why no response?” she asked. “All operatives know how to make acknowledgment. How to properly make contact. You ambushed us in a dark alley.”

  “Help,” it said. “You want my help.”

  “To do what?” Conrad asked.

  “To find them,” its eyes blinked vertically. It was unsettling.

  There was nothing here that wasn’t unsettling, Conrad thought.

  Jira crouched down. “Where are they?”

  “Nowhere that you have been searching for them,” it said. “All gone. The ones that weren’t destroyed.”

  “Destroyed?” Jira said, the light she was holding trembling just slightly.

  It made a rumbling noise. “Release me,” it said. “No weapons.”

  “Be careful,” Jira said, as Conrad lightened the pressure on its body. “It could be unarmed but still be able to kill us.”

  “If wanted death,” it said, “would have alerted the Imperials to your presence twenty levels ago. Waited until it was safe for all of us. In a place where no one would see us speak.”

  Conrad backed off, every muscle still tense in anticipation of a fight.

  It pulled itself up. At its full height, it was taller than any human, but it hunched over, its proboscis on level with Conrad’s face. “Name is Xee,” it said. “A friend. Must tell you that the Federation is gone.”

  “Gone?” Jira’s face was pale in the flickering green light that illuminated the alleyway. “Explain.”

  Xee ruffled its dull black feathers. “Cadero and Baro gone,” it said. “Devastated. The planets are still there, but re-annexed. All ruling houses gone. No prisoners or concubines taken. Extracted all Caderans with technical knowledge—scientists and engineers—and laid waste to the planet. Scorched the capitals. No one’s left alive there. That is why ... no acknowledgement. All dead.”

  Jira seemed to shrink. Conrad braced her, a hand on her back.

  “And elsewhere,” Xee continued, “Federation no longer exists. The Empire has hunted it down. More harshly and viciously. Never before like this.” It waved a wing, the claws on the wingtip flexing. “Ask any citizen, any planet. Anyone with Federation ties or sympathies have disappeared. Families too. Ask about Cadero or Baro. Look in the newscasts. Nothing hidden.”

  It shifted its gaze to Jira. “You did not know,” it said with wonder. “You have been underground. Disconnected.”

  “In a matter of speaking,” Conrad said, stepping in for Jira, who was staring into the distance, stunned. “You said that you were a friend. What do we do now?”

  “Come with me,” it said. “Will take you to what remains.”

  “You aren’t from the Federation,” Jira said. “You don’t know ... any of the codes.”

  Xee ruffled its feathers. “She sent me to find you,” it said. “Come with me.”

  “Who’s she?”

  “She who knows,” it said agitated, bobbing its head. “Come.”

  They climbed, moving through the underground chambers of Cire. Xee insisted that they avoid the public lifts. Instead, the enigmatic alien wove through chamber after chamber, taking ancient stairs that were stained with fungus and nearly invisible—unless a being already knew where to look.

  He—if it’s a he—has been here a long time, Conrad thought. Waiting for a Federation contact. I hope to God I don’t regret this.

  As he mounted another flight of circular stairs, his legs beginning to ache, he happened to catch sight of Jira. She was
following him but her eyes were dead. He looked up; Xee was not far ahead and moving slowly. He stopped and gently grabbed her by her shoulders.

  “Jira,” he said. “Are you all right?”

  She looked at him, absently. “Fine,” she said.

  He shook her gently. “Listen,” he said. “We’ll find the answers.”

  Her eyes finally fixed on his. “I know the answers,” she whispered. “Cadero, Conrad. They razed Cadero. It had to be because of me.” She dug her nails into her palms.

  “We—”

  Suddenly, a high-pitched alarm began to scream. They froze, holding on to each other as a crimson light lit up the ceilings of the chamber.

  Above them, Xee cawed, its feathers flaring up in alarm.

  “Climb,” it hissed down at them. “Losing time now!”

  “What’s happening?” Conrad demanded as he began his climb.

  “A planetary alarm,” it hissed. “The exits to the underground chambers will soon close. And will fortify. Impossible to enter or leave during the attack. Must get to our ships.”

  “Attack?” he said.

  “Vehn,” Xee said. “The Vehn came.”

  His shirt was plastered to his body as he climbed, his legs feeling like jelly. It felt as if they could slide out from him at any moment. He gritted his teeth and pushed on, listening to Jira’s soft pant behind him.

  “Will ... we make it?” she gasped.

  “Don’t know,” he replied. “Xee!”

  The alien was flying now, beating its wings to jump from one segment of the stair to another. “Faster,” it urged them. “Exits seal soon. Then trapped.”

  Conrad cursed as his foot slipped on a moist, worn step. They were too far underground for him to alert the Steadfast to the threat. They had to get to the surface.

  “I can’t,” Jira said, leaning a hand on the wall with another hand on her hip. “Go up without me.” Her face was flushed and red.

  “No,” he said simply. “Jira—go.”

  She flattened her lips into a line and seemed to gather up the last of her energy. She sprinted up with him, their ragged breathing the only thing they could hear aside from the sound of the alarm.