by Nick Webb
“I mean, relying on meta-space, the distance isn’t so much the issue. It’s the temporal aspect. The further back you go, well, the uncertainty scales as the square of the time. So, you know.”
“Primary singularities? Are they ready to go?”
“In the shuttle bay,” said Wiggum.
“And our tactical singularities? Ready?”
“Ready. Those were the easiest. Worries about uncertainty go out the window when you’re intent on destruction, am I right?”
Shin-Wentworth sensed that the scientist was trying to make a joke. He offered a vague smile in response. “Right. Let’s do this. Helm?”
“Q-jumping in Five. Four. Three . . .”
He closed his eyes, and counted along with the ensign.
Two.
One.
“Arrived at Paradiso,” said the helmsman.
He opened his eyes.
He wished he hadn’t.
“Evasive maneuvers!” he yelled.
Dead ahead of them, in high orbit over the peaceful blue planet, sat one giant Findiri ship and two smaller IDF starships. The Volz just happened to arrive only a few kilometers away and they loomed large on the screen.
The Volz dove down toward the planet and angled north.
“Incoming transmission from Captain Wood on the California, sir. He orders us to surrender and prepare to be boarded.”
“Like hell,” murmured Shin-Wentworth. “Traitorous bastard. Helm, get us to the target coordinates asap. The closer we are the less uncertainty there is in the quantum link.”
The Volz leapt away from the three ships on a full engine burn, and they started to drop out of sight below the horizon. But before long, the Findiri ship grew in size as it gained on them.
“Captain Wood says last chance, or else the Findiri will open fire.”
Shin-Wentworth gripped the armrests. “Plan B. Send that Findiri ship a care package.”
Wiggum, back at the science station with the science team, gave him a thumbs up. “Okay, initiating primary singularity launch. In five . . .”
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
He watched the viewscreen in breathless expectation. And then—there. The starboard side of the Findiri ship blasted outward in a violent explosion. A small explosion, but severe damage nonetheless. When the vacuum extinguished the blast, he smiled approvingly at the result.
A giant cavity in the side of the ship indicated where the singularity had landed. The blast they’d seen probably accounted for only a small fraction of the mass that was missing. The rest?
Probably careening down into the Penumbra black hole by now.
“The Findiri ship has slowed, sir, and falling back.”
“Trying to figure out what to make of us, I’ll bet,” said Shin-Wentworth.
Lieutenant Mak, the officer he’d chosen as the temporary XO, glanced over at him. “Sir, we need to keep in mind their momentum transfer shield. They may be falling behind, but we have no idea how far ahead they can project that thing.”
“Right,” replied Shin-Wentworth. “Which is why we’re about to go full-stop.” He glanced over to the helm. “Time to target coordinates?”
“Nearly there, sir.”
He counted down in his head again. This time, the estimation of how long it would take the Findiri to establish a momentum shield that could crush them. Twenty seconds or so?
Twenty. Nineteen. Eighteen.
“Sir, the IDF ships split up. The California is still on our tail, the other split off into another orbit that will intersect ours near the target coordinates.”
Fifteen. Fourteen.
“It’s fine. Ready another tactical singularity, Wiggum.”
“On— on one of ours?” he said.
“They’re not ours. They’re traitors.”
“The captain, sure. But the crew? The enlist—”
He snapped his head around and glared at the man. “JUST DO IT!”
Nine. Eight. Seven.
“It’s ready, Commander,” said Wiggum.
“Hold until the last second. Helm?”
“We’re still another twenty seconds away, sir.”
Four. Three. Two.
One.
“Full stop,” he said. “Maintain geosynchronous orbit. No relative motion between us and the surface.”
The Volz slowed to a stop.
And not a moment too soon. Just ahead of them, barely visible on the viewscreen, a blue sheet shimmered in the darkness.
“Momentum transfer shield just ahead, sir,” said Lieutenant Mak.
“I see it. Tactical, launch the holoprojector drone at the target site. Okay folks, time for the big event. Wiggum?” He turned around and approached the science station. For this, he wanted to be hands-on.
He wasn’t trusting any other hand with the lives of his babies. Of his best friend and partner.
“Holoprojector drone launched. Maneuvered around the momentum shield and approaching target location on the surface,” said Mak.
Wiggum nodded. “Everything’s entered in. We’re still a few hundred kilometers away from the capital, so the uncertainties will be higher than if we were closer—”
“I know. It’ll have to do,” said Shin-Wentworth.
The initiation button was right there on the panel. Just a tap was all it would take.
No time to hesitate.
He tapped it.
“Shuttle bay? Report.”
The medical officer he’d assigned to the shuttle bay to receive his loved ones answered. “Uh, sir, there’s no one here. Just a big pile of rock, dirt, and, if I’m not mistaken, a whole bunch of twisted metal of an unknown alloy—almost like the remains of a starship’s bulkhead and a hallway or something.”
Dammit.
“Sir, the two IDF ships are almost on us,” said Mak.
Wiggum looked at him. “Do we try again?”
He pounded the panel of the station. “And then what? Grab another pile of dirt? Again and again until the Findiri finally catch up to us?”
“What exactly are we looking for, anyway?” said Wiggum. “I thought this was just an extended experiment to test them against the Findiri. We’ve done that. We got our data. Now let’s get the hell out before they blast us to high heaven.”
He was right, of course.
And he’d be back. To try again, after they’d figured out what went wrong.
“Helm, get us out of here. Q-jump out a lightyear or so.”
The tug of the q-field on his insides told him they were safe.
But it was also time to get back to work, and figure out what was sitting on the floor of the shuttle bay.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Veracruz Sector
Chantana III
Vestige Corvette Legend
When the final q-jump had completed, Granger would have breathed a sigh of relief at the sight waiting to greet him, had his thoughts not been with the men and women standing in that line, waiting for death.
The sight greeting him was one that he couldn’t have realistically hoped for. The Eru fleet was there, in orbit above the Itharans’ planet.
“Well that’s lucky,” said Jasper.
“Luck had nothing to do with it,” said Qwerty. “I heard from Jerusha. The Eru are here to help evacuate the Trits, basically because they don’t trust humanity, or the Findiri.”
“Nor should they,” said Granger. “The question is, will they trust us?”
“They’ll trust you,” said Qwerty. “Jerusha also told me that they’re looking for you, desperately. They say they have a message for you.”
“A message?” He thought hard, digging deep. But he had no memory of the Trits, much less what they could possibly have to tell him. “Hopefully something that can help us decipher the manuscripts.”
“Perhaps, Cap’n,” said Qwerty. “They are supposedly custodians of one of the four manuscripts, right?”
“R
ight,” said Granger. “Okay. Let’s head down there.”
Jasper glanced sidelong at him. “To the surface?”
“Under the surface. That’s where the Trits live. I assume their leader is still there. Going down with the ship and all.”
Jasper shrugged. “Right.” He looked over the sensor data coming back at him. “Question is, which port? There’s like five I can see. Might be more than that.”
Qwerty tapped the comm array on. “I’ll get on the horn and see if I can talk to someone down there.”
The next few minutes seemed like ages. Granger was still reeling from the revelation that Jasper was— no, it couldn’t be. Could it?
“So what’s it like growing up with a famous dad?”
He meant it as a joke. But it clearly didn’t come across as that. Jasper scowled. “Would have been great had people known my dad was famous. But poor kids with single moms don’t often have great childhoods. At least, mine wasn’t.”
“Mine was okay.”
Jasper looked over at him. “Your childhood?”
Granger nodded. “Yeah. I had a single mom. Dad died when I was a little kid. Flying a fighter. And it wasn’t even a storybook glorious death in battle. It was a stupid malfunction while the bird was still on the deck. Sealed off the cockpit and bled the oxygen and he died. Quiet. No one was around. Mom was devastated. She . . . wasn’t too much fun for a while after that. At least to a six-year-old kid.”
“I didn’t know. Sorry.”
“But she bounced back,” continued Granger. “Gave me and my sis a good childhood. Occasionally brought a guy home, but nothing ever came of it. We were happy, just the three of us. Then I left for the academy and that was that.”
“That was that?”
Granger shrugged. “She died a year later.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Killed herself.”
Jasper winced. Granger wasn’t sure with the dim lighting, but the kid’s eyes looked red. “Oh shit. I’m so sorry. Grandma. Damn. What was wrong?”
“I like to tell myself that, after dad died, she lost the will to live, but that she made a pact with herself. Raise the kids, give them a great, happy childhood, and then?” He shook his head. “No idea if that’s the case, and honestly, I don’t care to know. But that’s when I lost my tether, so to speak. I threw myself into IDF. Never put down roots. Threw myself into service, not letting myself get tied down. Marrying my job, so to speak.”
“Hey, this is great,” said Jasper, to Granger’s surprise.
“How’s that?”
He tried to grin, halfheartedly. “You just remembered a shit-ton of stuff. Maybe your memory is really coming back.”
Granger chuckled. “Yeah, I sure did. Don’t know how I could ever forget my own mom, but yeah, that was good.”
“Cap’n,” said Qwerty. “I’ve got one of the higher ups. I think. Not their leader, but close enough.”
Granger nodded. “Put it through.”
The comm speakers came to life with some static. “This is Granger’s ship. Greetings. Where may we land? Granger would like to receive your message,” said Qwerty.
He glared at Qwerty. “That’s not why we’re here,” he mouthed, furiously.
Qwerty shrugged meekly. “I figured that would be the fastest way to get us down there. Give them what they want.”
He had a fair point. “Fine. But in and out. Let’s track down their copy of the manuscript as fast as we can, then head on up to the Eru ship before it leaves and get their copy.”
The Trit on the other end of the transmission began to speak. “It pleases me greatly. I am Varioosh, Second in importance of clan Klollogesh. I have shortened my name out of respect for your strange human customs of unreasonable brevity.”
“Thank you,” said Qwerty. “Much appreciated. I’d love to hear the full name when we join you. Speaking of, how do we join you? Which port shall we enter?”
The voice made what Granger assumed was a huffed laughing sound, then, “I’ll transmit coordinates. I’ll dispense with the sending of fake coordinates for now. It would have pleased me greatly to watch you struggle with them. But since it is an emergency we must forego such basic pleasures. Leader Klollogesh is occupied with the evacuation, but will meet us when you arrive.”
Jasper mouthed, “Fake coordinates?”
The transmission ended, and moments later Qwerty said, “Translator seems to be working great—basically one hundred percent. Oh, just received the coordinates. Assuming these aren’t fake and she was joking about foregoing basic necessities like pranking alien saviors.”
“Great,” said Granger. “Let’s get down there, and hope we have ourselves a third manuscript.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Il Nido Sector
One lightyear from Paradiso
ISS Tyler S. Volz
Shuttle Bay
Harry Shin-Wentworth wasn’t that out of shape, but by the time he arrived in the shuttle bay he was panting, sweating, and wished he hadn’t sprinted the entire way there. The doors opened to receive him, and what met his eyes—
Was chaos. A huge pile of rock, dirt, twisted metal and plastic, and who-knows-what-else, sat in the middle of the bay, and across the rest of it was more of the same. The walls had been pelted with it. Smaller piles scattered around the rest of the room indicated that whatever had come out of the secondary singularity in the shuttle bay, it had done so … explosively.
“Have you scanned the composition of the material?” he asked the medical tech on hand.
“Yes, sir. Looks like a mix of dirt and rock from the surface of Paradiso, mixed with material from the Findiri ship. At least, the alloys match what we’ve scanned of their ships.”
“And the holoprojector drone? Did it come through?”
“It did. It’s no longer active, but I can detect the electronics package. It’s buried at least a meter down in the pile.”
Okay, so if the holoprojector made it, that means … they, might have made it. Except, in what state? Good God, did he rip them apart with this attempt?
“Scan for organic matter.”
The tech nodded, and started his scan, just as the doors opened again. Director Wiggum jogged through, sweat glistening on his forehead. “I—sorry, I just couldn’t keep up with you, Commander.”
“Wiggum. Explain this. What happened?”
He showed the theoretician his handheld, with the material composition detailed. Wiggum frowned. “I don’t know. It’s a mixture of material from the two singularities. That shouldn’t be possible.”
“And yet here we are.”
Wiggum’s brow furrowed. “Well let me think. Somehow the two were coupled, clearly. And yet they were also coupled with their own counterparts that we have at Penumbra, since all the material ended up back here.” He glanced over the pile, and back at the handheld, scratching his head.
“How could the two singularities have been coupled? One was on the surface of Paradiso, the other was launched at the Findiri ship.” He paced back and forth impatiently. “Where’s that organics report?” he yelled.
“Nearly done, sir!” said the tech.
“Oh,” said Wiggum. “Oh shit. Yeah, I see how it could have happened. Long, complicated mathematics—too long and esoteric to even attempt to explain. But, in layman’s terms, yeah the two singularities became coupled. Even though it seems that the two were far apart here on our end, from the perspective of Penumbra, this is essentially the same point in space.”
“What? How? That makes no sense.”
“Think about it. Penumbra is, what, a few hundred lightyears away? And the separation of the two singularities on our end was, what, a few hundred kilometers? What’s the ratio of a kilometer to a lightyear?”
“Small.”
“Exactly. Small enough that the quantum tunneling between the two Einstein-Rosen-Rao bridges became more than just a second order effect—it became a primary effect.”
“Sir!” sai
d the medical tech. “I am detecting organic matter.”
His insides felt like they were about to explode. “Where? Show me!”
The tech pointed to a spot in the pile. “Here, maybe half a meter in, and,” he gulped, as if reluctant to even say the words, “distributed over a radius of about two meters or so.”
“Did you say distributed?” He climbed up the pile to the indicated spot and fell to his knees, digging with his hands. After a few minutes of sifting through dirt and rock, tossing the occasional chunk of Findiri metal, his hand came away wet.
“Oh my God,” said Wiggum. “Is that blood?”
He couldn’t speak. His lips were pressed so tightly together that his teeth started to bite into them. If he opened his mouth he was sure he would lose it.
And so Shin-Wentworth could only shake his head yes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Kiev Sector
Bellarus, high orbit
ISS Defiance
Bridge
“It’s impossible. Senator Cooper is not dead,” said Sepulveda.
“President Cooper,” corrected Zivic.
“Shut your hole,” snapped Sepulveda. He scratched at his days-old stubble. “And if the woman acting as the puppet leader of United Earth under Director Talus is not Cooper, then who the hell is she?”
Commander Rice cleared his throat. “Uh, well, this might be going out on a limb, but what if she’s a Quiassi?”
Both Sepulveda and Zivic turned to look at him. “What?” they both said in unison.
“I mean, assuming Talus is telling the truth. He said he was Quiassi. The first of the original ten. What if Cooper is another?”
Zivic shook his head slowly. “I’m not following the logical twists and turns that led you to that conclusion, Mr. Rice.”
“Well, it’s not a conclusion. Not yet. I’m just putting two and two together. Talus claims he is a Quiassi. And he looks exactly like Abraham Haws—a man who’s been dead for thirty years. Was Haws a Quiassi? Serving all those years with Granger aboard the Constitution? Or—and stick with me here—what if Haws was just a human, died, and before he died he somehow fell into the hands of the Quiassi who . . . I dunno, did something, and managed to clone his body or something and stick one of themselves into it—”