Darkest Reach

by Eric Warren

  He took the bottle, examining it. “I don’t know what’s right anymore. Once upon a time I thought I did. And then everything changed and I had to adapt to something new. I had to live with a new truth: that in its heart, the Coalition was corrupt. But then I came back and so many things have changed while so many others have stayed the same. I thought I could return and make things better. But that’s not possible, is it?”

  She eyed him, still feeling nothing from the alcohol. “It’s a complex situation. You can’t run an empire with trillions of beings and remain virtuous. There are too many variables.”

  “Is that how you see us? As an empire?” He glanced up.

  “It doesn’t matter. If this Andromeda is as deadly as they seem, your society will be wiped out within a few short years. It won’t take long. Your people have forgotten life is pain and sacrifice. It is a struggle to survive. Without the struggle, without the fight, something larger and stronger will always come to replace you. I’ve read your history. You know about natural selection.”

  Caspian nodded. “Why haven’t your people ever bothered us? Even after we attacked you a century ago.”

  “It wasn’t worth the time or the effort.”

  He chuckled. “Good to know. All of this,” he gestured to the room and—she assumed—the rest of the ship. “Doesn’t matter to you, does it?”

  “What matters to me is my people and my connections to them. In the end, that is all that matters.”

  He pressed the bottle to his forehead. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I don’t know why I thought I could communicate with that creature. I just wanted to believe that it wasn’t malicious, that it wasn’t out to get us. That not everything out there was bad.” He sighed. At least he recognized he had been deluding himself, as she’d said. If only he’d had that insight a few days ago. “I guess I thought I could make it understand. That I could reach it on some fundamental level.”

  “That was arrogance. And pride,” she said.

  “And fear.”

  “Some things you can’t change. No matter how hard you try,” she said, feeling more open and willing to speak than she had in some time. Was that the alcohol? Or had she become comfortable with this human? He had been the one she’d spent the most time with, but that meant little. It was quality of time that mattered, not quantity. But she hadn’t felt anything like this since leaving Mil’less. Perhaps she needed an outlet. “You asked about my singing.”

  Cas said nothing else. His eyes remained locked on hers and for the first time she felt vulnerable. She wasn’t sure if she liked it with someone other than a Sil. But she’d already opened the door. “When I was a youth, I was sent to a training facility with others of my kind. But it is not like your academy. We are sent there, away from our primary families to learn the skills we will need for our purpose. I told you my purpose was to be consul, along with thousands of other Sil. And thus, I was sent to the consul training camp to receive all the instruction I would need for my life commanding a Sil ship.

  “Being away from my primary family was difficult at first, though I made new attachments. Part of the need to leave is to show us a family outside of our own, others we can connect with. And while many of us are the same age, not all are. Because as Sil, if we do not complete our training, we cannot go out into our society to perform our functions. As a consequence, there were Sil in the training camp who had been there far longer than others. Some had even been there for decades according to your time measurements.”

  He tilted toward her. “You mean they couldn’t leave? Until they finished the training?”

  Zenfor shook her head. “It is a requirement. There was an older woman who stayed in the unit next to mine. She had been there the longest and every night she would sing. Each night it would filter through the walls and the windows.” She closed her eyes. “She had the most beautiful voice and I would look forward to it every night before I slept. The woman, whose name was Zakria, had been in the camp for two Sil generations. She was born to be a consul but had never made it all the way through. Not that it bothered her, she stayed in the camp, helping some of the others with their rudimentary skills. She had committed to those easily. But she could never seem to pass the final tests.”

  “She was a teacher,” Caspian said, still watching her.

  “I suppose she was. One night as I prepared to sleep, expecting to hear her voice lull me to sleep I instead heard silence. I called for her, but found no response. Upon checking her room, I realized it had been vacated sometime during the day and I realized what had happened.” Her eyes snapped open on the unpleasant memory.

  “She graduated?” Caspian offered.

  “She was…recycled.” At his look of horror she continued. “You see, the Sil will tolerate weakness, but only to a certain point. And after that they will do what is necessary to move forward. Zakria wasn’t ever going to graduate. She knew it and the commander of the training camp knew it. But instead of sending her back to her family in disgrace, he kept her there, to help others until she reached the limit. Because as Sil, we each have a certain amount of time to reach our potential. If we don’t, we are killed and our bodies are recycled. Notices are sent to our families. Zakria’s family received a notice that day.”

  “Fuck,” Caspian whispered, releasing the bottle. “They just…kill you?”

  She shrugged, feeling a twinge of disgust with herself as she did. Zakria’s death was nothing to be brushed off, no matter what the Sil said. “She had fulfilled as much of a purpose as she could.”

  “But she was a teacher,” he argued. “She could have continued to teach new students coming in. Wasn’t there value in that?”

  “She was not born to be a teacher. She was born to be a consul. I told you, we have designated roles and we do not deviate from them. There are no exceptions.” Zenfor spread her hands out, recalling how she would sit and meditate, listening to Zakria’s voice.

  “But you never forgot her.”

  “I sing in her honor. My voice could never match hers, but I still do it to remind me of her. To remind me everything ends and life is fleeting.” She took a deep breath, her emotions rising closer to the surface than they had in weeks.

  “I’m sorry for your friend,” Caspian finally said after a prolonged silence. “I don’t think she deserved that.”

  “She taught me some of the greatest lessons of my life. I worked hard to never end up like her. I didn’t want to be recycled one day. But she also showed me that sometimes you can’t change people. No matter how hard you try. Zakria was never going to be a consul. No amount of time in a training camp would ever change that. She was a singer, and a teacher. And she died being those things, against everything my society told me was true.” She turned back to Caspian. “Sometimes we are who we are, not who everyone else expects us to be. And you can’t change someone’s true nature.”

  His eyes softened and his breath hitched. Caspian stared down at his uniform, as if he was seeing it for the first time. “You’re right. The Coalition is going to hang itself with its own rope. Unless we do something to stop it.” She watched him for a moment. It was clear from the intense stare the wheels in his mind were turning. She may have finally gotten through to him. “We’ll have to move fast. Are you with me?”

  She nodded, standing. Perhaps not all of them were doomed.

  34

  “We need to get back down to the weapons lab. How long will it take to build the trans-dimensional weapon?” Cas asked, powering forward. They’d left the bar behind, and despite having consumed an entire bottle of Firebrand, Zenfor seemed unaffected. Though she had opened up more than he’d thought possible. Maybe instead of inebriating them, alcohol lowered a Sil’s inhibitions enough to get them to drop their guard.

  “I can do it quickly, if I have access to one of the ship’s missiles,” Zenfor said. “My people have been developing trans-dimensional weaponry for a long time. There used to be…things in the space beneath which you woul
dn’t call friendly.”

  “And you’ve used the weapons against them?” That would mean areas of Sil space had to be impassible.

  “Only when necessary. Such as in instances like this.” They were making their way through the ship as quickly as they could, the corridor they were in now was long and wide, enough room so at least five people could walk side-by-side and still have enough room. “I still don’t understand your captain. He knows this ship is the only one who can gather intelligence about the Andromeda threat and yet he’s willing to sacrifice the ship because of a Coalition statute?”

  “He’s doing what he thinks best for the good of the Coalition. There’s no point in defending yourself against a threat if there’s nothing to defend.” Greene wouldn’t commit treason by using a trans-dimensional weapon. He’d be court-martialed for it. Evie too for allowing it to happen. It wouldn’t matter if the entire Coalition was about to fall apart, they’d still throw them in jail. But Zenfor was right, it needed to be done. And if this part of space was no longer usable for a few thousand years then so be it. But at least it gave them a chance of survival.

  “Your people need a serious lesson in priorities,” she said.

  He almost laughed. At least the Coalition didn’t kill their own people when they failed out of the academy. And they weren’t subjected to one line of work for their entire lives. She couldn’t think that was right. Not after what she’d witnessed. Or could she? Maybe humans and the Sil weren’t as similar as he’d once thought.

  Cas tapped the back of his hand, activating his comm. “Box?”

  “Here, boss.”

  “Are you still in the conference room?” he asked.

  “No, the captain sent me back down to sickbay. They want to try a biological weapon. From one of Xax’s stores.”

  Cas exchanged glances with Zenfor. A biological weapon wouldn’t have any effect on this thing. If they couldn’t even penetrate it with blades and missiles what were they going to do, inject it with a needle? It would have to have a porous surface to absorb the poison. “Is anyone asking about us? Have they missed us up there?”

  “I don’t think so. Everyone’s distracted with fighting off the creature, trying other plans. But the captain also sent down orders for engineering to prepare a data probe containing all the available data on Tempest. To send out in case we don’t make it.”

  Cas groaned. “Okay, if they ask you about where either myself or Zenfor are, stall them and tell them you don’t know. I’m switching off my comm.”

  “Boss, what are you doing?” There was never much variation in the tone of Box’s voice when he wasn’t doing one of his stupid accents, but Cas heard some in there now.

  “Nothing. Plausible deniability. Just keep the captain off our asses.”

  “I’ll do what I can. Mr. Box out.”

  Cas tapped his comm twice more to disable it.

  “He’s the most trustworthy one of you all,” Zenfor said as they picked up speed back to engineering. They wouldn’t have much time.

  “He’s good like that. When he’s not being a complete ass.” They had been lucky Box flew the other shuttle; without his expertise they may not have been able to make it back before that large electromagnetic wave hit. Cas hadn’t registered it at the time as he’d been pummeled by the loss of Suzanna and Grippen, but if they hadn’t made it back there was a good chance the creature would have already pulled them in as well. Without Tempest’s powerful engines anything else was bound to be sucked in. He turned to Zenfor. “Are your probes still out there?”

  “I don’t know. The last I saw they were close to the tear in space, the opening which I believe allowed the creature to come into this universe. Why?”

  “Because I want to make sure we seal that tear. Even if this part of space is no longer usable, I don’t want that thing coming back and luring in another ship.” Cas gritted his teeth. He grappled with the fact the creature had used Captain Morrow’s own voice to entice them. It was an impressive level of sophisticated trickery, and it would require a sharp mind. He wished they could get to know more about the creature without killing it; it would be fascinating.

  “If I can still retrieve the telemetry I’ll alter the signature of the missile to seal the tear. It’s something we contend with sometimes, living on multiple planes. Occasionally our ships will accidentally disrupt the barrier between worlds, especially when they’re strained. The repair takes some time, but it often grows back stronger than before.” She picked up the pace.

  “Wait, what do you mean? What grows back stronger than before?” he asked.

  “The fabric of the universe, what else?”

  ***

  When they were close to engineering, Cas stopped them in the corridor. “We’ll need access to the current cache of missiles, which means we’ll need Sesster’s approval before moving one to work on it. Which also means he’ll be required to report it to the bridge. Without—” his breath hitched again and he had to suppress the feelings. “Without Suzanna up there, I don’t know if they’ve got anyone monitoring or not, but we can’t take any chances. While they’re distracted with this biological weapon, we need to move quickly and quietly to get this done. When we get in there, let me talk to Sesster. He’s been amenable to me before and he might be willing to help us.”

  “What about Coalition regulations?” Zenfor asked.

  “Claxians are pacifists by nature. I don’t know how he’ll feel about it. If he decides he needs to notify the captain though, I don’t think there’s much we can do. We’ll just have to hope he’s on our side.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I wouldn’t count on anyone being on ‘our’ side. You said yourself we are committing an act of treason by building and using this weapon. We can’t count on anyone.”

  She was right. Still, they’d need Sesster’s approval to move one of the missiles into the weapons lab. So far, they hadn’t needed access to any physical weapons yet, everything Zenfor had been working on was purely theoretical. The tests would come later. Cas could always lie to Sesster, say they needed it for another reason. But he’d probably be able to tell. That was the problem with being psychic. “We’ll have to do our best,” Cas said.

  He led the way into engineering, which was a flurry of activity. Sesster was in the back, in his cradle, operating three different systems at once while the rest of the crew were at their emergency stations.

  Hello, Commander. We’re engaged in a crisis here, trying to keep the ship from being pulled into the vortex.

  “So I noticed,” Cas said. When he spoke, Ensign Tyler glanced up. His eyes went wide and he stepped around the console, though Cas couldn’t quite tell what was going on behind his eyes.

  “Commander, is everything alright?” he asked. “Is there something you need?”

  Sesster, we’re here because we have to save the ship. And we need your help to do it. Cas hoped Sesster could still receive his thoughts, his focus wasn’t what it normally was.

  You want a missile. To modify. It will violate regulations.

  I know. But it’s the only way to save the ship. The biological weapon won’t work.

  “Commander?” Tyler asked. Cas winced. He couldn’t trust Tyler to help him, the man neither liked nor respected him.

  “We came to see if we could…help,” Zenfor said. Tyler turned to her.

  It is against everything the Coalition stands for. You can’t as a Coalition officer authorize the use of such a destructive weapon. Not without authorization from Coalition Central.

  Cas focused his thoughts. I know. Good thing I’m no longer a Coalition officer.

  You’ve resigned again?

  Not formally, Cas thought. I know I can’t authorize the use of that missile. But I can ask you, as someone who wants to see the Coalition survive into the future, what is the best alternative? We’re the Coalition’s only chance to face Andromeda. If we don’t make it out there it could have disastrous consequences that last far longer than the us
e of a trans-dimensional weapon.

  “You want to…help,” Tyler said, derision in his voice. “Um. Thank you, but we don’t need any help. We’ve got it.”

  Zenfor shrugged.

  Very well, Caspian Robeaux. I will assist. But I will also be required to reveal my part in this endeavor. And I will face the consequences accordingly.

  Thank you. Please send it over to the weapons lab. We don’t have a lot of time. Cas focused on Tyler. “We thought with the loss of Pearson—”

  Tyler shook his head. “No. But thank you, we have it covered.”

  Cas nodded. Sesster was still operating all three systems at once, his limbs moving in concert with each other. He turned to Zenfor and led the way back to the main door that rolled away.

  “Commander?” Tyler called, out causing Cas to stop. “I wanted to say I’m…grateful you went along with Commander Diazal’s change to the shuttle roster. I would have been—”

  Cas pushed away thoughts of punching the kid right in the mouth. He had a right to be grateful. One person’s decision had kept him from certain death. “Yeah, don’t mention it.” Cas turned his back on Tyler once again. They exited engineering and headed for the adjacent weapons lab, a few doors down. “That pompous little ass,” Cas said as soon as they were out of earshot. “It should have been him on that ship, not Suzanna.”

  “It seemed you and Commander Blohm were entering the initial stages of a friendship. Possibly more,” Zenfor said.

  “Yeah. I guess I didn’t realize until it was too late. I don’t guess the Sil have mastered time travel, have they?”

  Zenfor arched an eyebrow. “Not to my knowledge. But it’s interesting; you’d use time travel to go back and experience a relationship you have missed, but you never asked me that question about a way to save the ship.”

  “I was kidding. Obviously,” Cas replied, all humor gone from his voice.