“Mr. Simmons, your analysis.”
“Scanner reports are coming in, sir. The structure is the source of the energy readings reported.” Lieutenant Simmons looked puzzled. “The probe cannot determine the material—the compounds are not listed in the scientific database, sir.”
“Extrapolate, Lieutenant.” Johann faced his tactical officer.
“I have no idea what it is, sir.”
Johann turned his attention back to the ring on the screen, hoping to find more about the mystery in his hands. The board of directors back on Berlin forgot to mention the gigantic artificial alien structure.
“It looks fascinating, doesn’t it?”
Johann tensed with Commander Callan’s voice coming right behind his ear. She was observing the glowing signs with open curiosity.
“It looks big and strange. I do not like strange. And I do not like big when it is strange.” Johann was more agitated than fascinated. No, I am intimidated. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the ring or the curiosity of his aide. He was a war veteran, not a science officer and interesting didn’t interest him unless it needed his abilities as a tactician.
“Sir, the latest readings.” A junior grade lieutenant interrupted.
Johann took the data pad and looked at the charts. “What do you make of this, Callan?”
Commander Callan took the data pad and read the flowing information in silence. “A doorway,” she said finally, raising her head to stare at the ring on the screen.
“What?”
Callan shrugged. “You’d have to ask a scientist, but those readings look similar to the warp windows we have at the jump gates.”
“So, if this is a door…”
“…Then who is behind it?” Callan completed Johann’s words.
“Captain Eriksson, something is happening!” Simmons interrupted.
“What?”
Callan darted to the tactical terminal. “The readings are off the charts, Captain. Something is changing with that door.”
“We do not know if it is a—” Johann stopped as the symbols carved on the alien structure started to glow bright red, one by one. The experienced captain felt a sudden cramp in his stomach, a taste like ash that nullified his years of experience in a flash. Everything the reports had told were wrong, Consortium was wrong. This is not some mere anomaly. Someone or something put a lot of effort into creating a huge doorway to their corner of the galaxy. Something far worse than pirates or a solar glitch was going on and Johann felt as if he was staring the face of an approaching cyclone.
“Sir, we’ve lost contact with the probe!” Callan called from the tactical console.
Johann wasn’t surprised at the probe’s fate. He slowly turned to face his first officer and stared at her for a good long moment. Callan’s eyes met his; she was right. “Fire two class-two probes Mr. Simmons, and put twenty clicks between us and the structure.” The captain didn’t realize he was squeezing his uniform buttons until one came off with the force of his grip.
“Aye, sir!”
He went back to his seat and let his body sink into the chair, still battling with the ashen taste. He weighed the situation, watching the signs come alive in bright red light, one by one on the display.
“I don’t think I am that fascinated to see what will happen when all those signs are lit.” Callan voiced Johann’s thoughts.
He and his commander nodded at each other, confirming the call. Johann straightened his uniform and leaned forward. When he spoke again, his voice was ice cold. “Mr. Simmons, go to red alert.”
***
“What do you mean it is gone?”
“It means the damn ship has been destroyed, Evans. The scouts found nothing but chunk.”
“Great God…any survivors?”
The man shook his head.
Evans sighed, looking out the window of his office, watching the rain wet the towers of Berlin. They were trying to keep the discovery in Samara’s Star quiet and they’d lost a dreadnought in the process. The press would be all over it if they caught a glimpse of the reality. They had discovered an active alien artifact and now, they had a capital ship worth twenty billion credits turned into space debris.
“How many were on board the Novosibirsk?”
“Seven hundred and thirty crewmen, seven bridge personnel.” Vice President Otto answered with a sullen voice.
The balding man suddenly felt older. Evans was the one who’d sent the Novosibirsk to investigate the matter. He’d had to lie about the situation to the captain, not risking a rumor spreading about an active alien artifact, trying to protect a newly found Consortium asset as the man in charge of the operation. Now, they were all dead.
Evans tried to focus on the political implications. It would be hard to explain the fate of so many men. The cover-up had to be planned and executed swiftly, and no matter what, they had to conceal the existence of this artificial alien design, whatever it was. Consortium practically owned the Core systems but competition was fierce with other players and the power game had shifty sands. Today’s Consortium could end and another power could take it over easily like the Virm Industries or the Cosmon Brotherhood. Evans shivered with the idea of a religious cult like the Cosmon Brotherhood coming out of whatever hellhole they were hiding and dominating Earth politics with their doomsday preaches. The appearance of a huge alien doorway would be a publicity feast for those madmen.
“So, our theory of a possible first contact scenario was accurate,” Evans said after a while, surprised by the weakness of his own voice.
“You could say that,” Vice President Otto replied, fiddling with his data pad, observing the bald man from the corner of his eye. “The symbols on the structure are mostly unknown but some of them resemble the ones found at the ruins. Bunari, Pendar, you know the locations. The structure is a gate as we have suspected.”
“It is a gate, all right! What matters is what had passed through it and eradicated a dreadnought.”
“Something nasty. The extraction team couldn’t find anything but the remains of Novosibirsk. Whatever it was, it disappeared without a sign.”
“So, what will we say?” Evans asked, pacing the room, “An accident?”
“We can say one of the nukes on board malfunctioned.”
“Great God.” Evans hadn’t realized he was sweating. He pulled a handkerchief from his suit-pocket to dry his forehead. “You think this has anything to do with that accident?”
“The Bunari crash? Maybe. The symbols connect the two, and an accident at the same time as the loss of a dreadnought is a bit farfetched for coincidence. We will have to wait for Agent Caius’ report.”
“Novosibirsk, can it be sabotage?”
“We have a very tight security protocol after the incident in Cairo with those Cosmon freaks, but it is a possibility, yes.”
Evans nodded slowly.
“We cannot disclose anything about the gate, Evans,” Vice President Otto continued.
“I am aware of that, Otto. No one needs another religious breakdown or a power struggle.”
Evans walked toward a nearby cabinet and opened the top drawer, pulling out a torn out printed photo.
“Bernard Evans?” Vice President Otto asked behind him.
“My grandfather told stories of him. How they worked to create peace dialogues with Chinese, the Iranians and the Israeli.”
“Hard times. Minister Evans was an important figure in this planet’s history.”
Evans nodded. “Over a billion people died because of that world war. And when they finally managed to instill order, the discovery of Titan ruins came into play and the following Uprising.”
“Well, things happened and Consortium was born as a consequence. Everything resolves in one way or another, Charles.”
“True. I do not think people marching to Vatican and trying to burn the Sistine Chapel is a resolution I would like to see repeated.”
“The old beliefs have changed and are not regarded as tab
oos. A struggle of power is a much more real threat. Religious dogma was doomed to fail anyway, one way or another. Science will always be in conflict with organized religion, Charles. They ask people to believe in things and then someone in a white coat proves all they said was a lie or a misconception.”
Evans nodded. “That discovery changed our understanding of creation but also created the demons like those religious Cosmon Brotherhood freaks. Terrorists.”
“There will always be demons, Charles.”
Like us. Evans looked at the photo for a few seconds more before putting it back. “Have you informed Eberhardt?”
“He is awaiting you in his office,” Vice President Otto answered. “I do not know how he will want to handle this, Charles.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“Loss of a dreadnought is a big deal. I do not believe Eberhardt is too happy about it.”
“No one is.”
“You know what I mean. Consortium is the seat of power, order. We control the trade, we control the military and practically anything major around these parts.” Vice President Otto sighed, “Now, a rivalry between other mega corporations and us would be the usual deal, one we are battling for decades. The religious side of things however…”
“I am not about to create the risk of that Cosmon maniac using this and claiming it is judgment day with his mad prophecies, Otto. They are silent now and we all know it is for the best.”
“Well, Eberhardt is waiting.”
Evans knew where Otto was going. Charles Evans was nothing but a pawn of Consortium. He was playing ball with the major players but he wasn’t one of the big fish in the bowl. Both the trade cabinet and the company would be more than happy to leave Evans behind if it helped them cover the situation up. No matter what, the power always stayed with the company.
“All right Mr. Otto, let us go and pay a visit to your boss.”
“Please, do not take it personally, Charles. It is politics.”
“Is it, Otto?”
“Worst-case scenario would be your resignation, or perhaps relocation to another office.”
“You need someone to take the fall. I suppose you will be taking over my sector of operations?”
“Just politics.” A knock on the door interrupted them.
“What is it?”
It was Evans’ clerk. “Sir, your shuttle is ready.”
***
“You do not get it, Evans. You have to consider your options wisely here.”
“Oh, please share your wisdom Mr. Eberhardt!” Evans played with his jacket pockets. “You want a scapegoat.”
“Perhaps,” the old man agreed, “but you are missing the point.”
“Am I now?”
The plump Consortium boss took another sip of bourbon. “Look, if the word of an active alien artifact spreads, we will lose what control we have over the people. You yourself are aware of this risk.”
“It took three decades to stabilize the mass confusion after the Titan discovery, Charles,” Vice President Otto added. “You know the history as well as we do.”
“What will you accomplish by being stubborn, hmm?” Eberhardt asked. “Resign the office, accept responsibility, and lay the ground for us to cover this up.”
“Then what?”
Eberhardt took another sip and set his glass on the Brazilian mahogany table. “Well, we can figure out something for your future,” he said with a sly grin. “A consultant position. All you have to do is collect your paycheck at the end of the month.”
“There is also a hefty pension,” Vice President Otto added.
“No, I mean the ring and Novosibirsk.”
“We will continue our investigation.” Eberhardt shrugged. “And move forward with the initial research plan of the alien artifact.”
“You mean you will keep the thing for yourself.”
“It is a competitive environment, Evans. We need to keep our edge. We may run the Core Systems but the Consortium is not the only corporation or the center of power out there. You know the players and the stakes as well as I do. The space is a big place. Any technological breakthrough we might have could very well be the edge to win this power struggle against our competitors.”
Evans noticed a change in the old man’s voice. Eberhardt clearly saw the gate as a prize worth risking for, if it meant overwhelming others over sector dominance. “But what makes you think the fate of that ship was an isolated incident? What if an event like the Titan discovery is unavoidable?”
“We are taking the necessary precautions,” Vice President Otto answered, “The First Banner is being repositioned near the gate as we speak.”
“Admiral Rebecca Conway?” Evans asked.
“One of our best tacticians,” Vice President Otto nodded.
“Let us see for ourselves,” Eberhardt added and reached for a button on the left-hand side of the table. A holographic screen appeared before him, showing the face of his secretary. “Darling, please be kind and patch me to the First Banner actual.”
“Yes, Mr. Eberhardt.”
A few seconds later, a woman with a graying black hair and a stern look was on display. “Conway.”
“Rebecca, good to hear your voice,” Eberhardt gave a sly smile. “How is everything?”
“Thank you, sir. We will be in position, near the coordinates the Novosibirsk broadcasted within five hours. All ships are battle ready. The reserve dreadnoughts have been pulled from Mars. They will be here in five days. We will be watching the artifact.”
“Good. You have full authority to handle things as you see fit. Keep me informed. Eberhardt out.” The chairman of the Consortium leaned back and smiled. “I believe two dozen dreadnoughts and a flagship will be more than enough to handle anything we may bump into, Evans.”
Evans saw everything was already in motion. This discussion was simply to decide whether he would come down peacefully or by force. His shoulders dropped. “I will do as you ask.”
Eberhardt smiled and lit a Henian cigar, puffing the dense, aromatic smoke into the balding man’s face. “Of course you will, Evans. Of course you will.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
AT THE END OF THE LIGHT
Ray opened his eyes. It took him a moment to focus. He looked around but couldn’t remember the place, wherever this place was. He tried to move his body but it didn’t and he gave up the idea. Instead, he observed his surroundings.
He was lying on a camp bed under a blanket, inside a tent. His mind searched for answers but he only remembered flashing images that didn’t make any sense and none of them had anything to do with a tent. He gently removed the blanket and felt the chill on his naked skin. Ray groaned and could only raise himself a few centimeters. He saw his chest had been carefully wrapped in clean bandages
He didn’t remember where he’d gotten injured, or how bad it was, but when his hand touched his groin a sharp pain stopped his search for answers. The moist sense of soaked textile turned into faint red marks on his fingers.
After a few agonizing attempts, he turned his head to the left. There wasn’t much going on. Another small bed stood opposite. A tiny portable table stood beside his bedside with a water flask and a glass, near a pot with a sharp smell, possibly herbal in origin.
He recognized the clothes on the stool by the tent’s exit. His worn-out shirt and pants were covered in brown. Blood, Ray guessed but couldn’t remember how it had gotten there.
The effort tired him. Ray felt himself sweating under the sheet and closed his eyes. He saw Rahul, Halle and Alec lying dead on Canaar’s bridge. He felt the ashen taste of fire and smoke in his mouth and more flashes came into his mind, of his ship burning. The Canaar probably crashed.
Perhaps whoever had patched his wounds knew how Ray had ended up here but his body wasn’t ready to face the reality yet. Ray was tired. He was very tired. His eyes closed and sleep overtook him.
***
Ray opened his eyes slowly, again trying to adjust to the l
ight in the tent. He had no idea how long he’d slept, but he felt a lot better. He turned his head slowly to the table, hoping to find something to eat.
Instead he found a man in a simple brown cloak sitting on the other bed, staring at him. His face was clean-shaven, with a broad nose reddened by sunburn. The man had more white than black in his hair, but his build suggested a healthy body. His look was sharp, judgmental. Bushy brows, Ray thought, those gave the man an uncompromising air.
“Where am I?”
“In a tent.” The man’s eyes softened and he gave a faint smile. He reached for a plate sitting on the table and handed it to Ray.
“Here, eat.”
“How bad is it?”
“Bad?” The man pressed his hand on his chest, shuddering. “My vegetable stew is not bad!” He frowned and sniffed the plate suspiciously. “Is it bad?”
“I meant the crash,” Ray said weakly. “I believe I was in one.”
“Ah.” The old man’s face brightened and he passed the plate to Ray. “Some of the trees are burnt and I found a dead fox, but the forest will recover.” His face saddened.
“I mean the crash,” Ray said impatiently, but the man looked confused. The injured captain closed his eyes, calming himself down. He probably owed his life to this man and the small courtesy of allowing him to have his crazy way with their dialogue wouldn’t hurt. He changed the subject. “Are you a hermit?”
“Me? No,” the man replied, He turned to a pot on the floor and poured some stew for himself. “I try to stay away from the city, though,” he admitted.
“Where did you find me?”
His savior raised his head and looked around the tent with his thoughtful brown eyes. After a while he pointed the chair. “There. It was an hour’s walk to the chair.”
Ray raised his eyebrows, smiling. “The chair?”
Shadows Bear No Names (The Blackened Prophecy Book 1) Page 5