Dark Space Universe (Book 3): The Last Stand

by Jasper T. Scott

  As soon as he was finished, Lucien left the room at a run, not bothering to stop and wash his hands.

  There’s worse fates than death, he realized, as he stumbled out into the mess hall, gasping for air. Smiling ruefully to himself, he scanned the hall’s tables, benches, chairs, and padded floor mats for Addy and the others.

  While he searched for them, cold fear trickled in, stealing the smile from his lips.

  Death was so final, so desperately hopeless and empty. Whenever he tried to picture it, he imagined the empty blackness lurking behind his eyelids just before he fell asleep at night—except that this sleep would be dreamless, and there’d be no waking from it.

  Lucien shivered and shook himself, forcing his thoughts in a new direction. At least my family will be safe, he thought, picturing Theola’s gap-toothed baby smile, and Atara’s bright green eyes. That’s all that matters.

  There’d been a time in human history when the only form of immortality anyone could hope for had been for their genes to live on through their children, and maybe also, if they believed in such a thing, the hope that some immaterial part of them would live on after death.

  Lucien’s mind flashed back to the Polypuses, and he nodded slowly to himself. Maybe Garek was right. Maybe the Polypuses were souls, and maybe some part of him would live on as one of them. There were thinner hopes that a person could cling to.

  Unable to spot his crew mates from the restrooms, Lucien began walking around the mess hall, searching for them, but the room was too big and too busy with milling crowds of aliens. Everywhere he looked, exotic aliens blurred together in a kaleidoscope of color and sound.

  Then a strident voice came booming through the hall, drawing Lucien’s gaze up to the distant ceiling. He noticed dozens of black-furred avians circling up there, waiting to finish off peoples left-overs. The noise in the mess hall quieted somewhat as others stopped what they were doing to listen.

  After a few seconds, Lucien recognized the voice. It was Abaddon. Then he heard his name, followed by Addy’s, Garek’s, and Brak’s. They were being summoned back to the bridge to deal with some ‘urgent’ new development.

  Lucien’s heart raced and his mind spun through possibilities: maybe they were losing; maybe Abaddon wanted them to see that for themselves before he gave the order to retreat.

  To his chagrin, Lucien felt a spark of hope that that might be the case. He was looking for an excuse not to sacrifice himself.

  The corners of Lucien’s mouth turned down and he shook his head, pushing those feelings aside. He refused to hope for that outcome. Better that he should die so that everyone else could live. That was the only outcome worth hoping for at this point.

  Chapter 29

  The Lost Etherian Fleet

  “Shields at nine percent!” the chief engineer announced. “I need to divert power from weapons or they’re going to fail.”

  “Not yet. We need those guns!” Admiral Wheeler replied, watching on the grid as more than a hundred Faro capital ships and thousands of accompanying fighters barreled on, guns blazing in a solid wall of slashing red lasers.

  She’d already lost two thirds of her original fleet, refugees and all. Since then thousands of star galleons had come through to support her on this side of the wormhole, but every one of the Etherian ships in Wheeler’s fleet was worth at least a hundred galleons. Unfortunately, New Earth’s forces weren’t adding much to the fight, and to make matters worse, the Faros’ straggling fleets just kept jumping in. Now they had upwards of twenty thousand ships headed for the wormhole.

  “Admiral...” Her XO, Major Ward, caught her eye from the gunnery control station.

  “Something on your mind, Major?”

  “We’re going to lose our entire fleet trying to make sure nothing gets through the wormhole. I say, if they want to get through, then let them. At least we’ll have fewer ships to deal with on this end. We’ve got more than enough firepower on the other side to take care of whatever vessels slip through.”

  Wheeler chewed her bottom lip, considering the matter. Major Ward was right, of course, but if they let the Faros through, then they were going to call for reinforcements from all the trillions of ships they had waiting inside the Red Line. If that happened, they’d better hope that Etherus dropped the interdiction field so that the facets of New Earth could jump across the Red Line. If he didn’t, they’d be stranded inside with countless enemy fleets incoming, and very nearly the entire human race on board.

  “Admiral...?” Major Ward prompted.

  Wheeler turned to her comms officer. “Give the order to retreat. Have all ships boost power to their engines and shields. It’s time to lick our wounds.”

  “Aye, Admiral,” Lieutenant Sebal replied from the comms.

  “Here’s hoping Etherus is watching...” Wheeler said, glancing up at the holo dome and the stars shining overhead as she said that.

  Within minutes, the first Faro ships slipped through the wormhole. They formed up in a long line, going through single-file to squeeze through the throat. Wheeler imagined them colliding with inbound galleons along the way, but there was nothing she could do to warn them.

  Time crawled by as Wheeler watched her forces retreat, streaming away from the enemy in clumps and trickling green lines. Now that her ships had withdrawn from the wormhole, the Faros were focusing less on obliterating them, and more on recharging their own shields. They’d need to last long enough on the other side to send a message to their forces at The Holy City.

  Half an hour passed like that, with both fleets trading blows only sparingly. Wheeler’s ship, the Gideon, now had her shields back up over fifty percent, and the Faros were still lining up to file through the wormhole.

  And the interdiction field remained in place. A trickle of doubt wormed into Wheeler’s gut. By now the Faros should have been able to alert the rest of their fleet. There was no point for Etherus to keep the interdiction field up any longer. At least, not until the Faros’ reinforcements returned from The Holy City. By now Etherus should have seen what was happening and dropped the interdiction field so that the facets of New Earth and all their remaining galleons could join Wheeler’s fleet outside the Red Line.

  Her gaze strayed to one side of the battle grid, where a fuzzy grayed-out area extended off the side. That was the beginning of the interdiction field—the area that their comms and sensors couldn’t penetrate. As far as they could tell, that field extended for at least a thousand light years in all directions, which was more than enough to prevent anyone from ever trying to cross it with conventional drive systems. If New Earth wanted to fly across the Red Line without using their jump drives, it would take them thousands of years. And this battle is going to be decided in a matter of days. Etherus, where the— She caught herself before cursing. —are you...

  In that precise moment the grayed-out section of the grid snapped into focus, and Wheeler blinked in shock. Had Etherus somehow read her mind? She turned to look behind her, but he wasn’t physically present anywhere on the bridge.

  “Admiral, I’m detecting—”

  “I know,” Wheeler replied.

  And a few seconds later, the grid came alive with flashes and flickers of light as new arrivals jumped in. It took several minutes before the light faded from the grid, and by then, Wheeler saw that New Earth and its entire fleet had arrived: over half a million of the giant triangular facets of New Earth, surrounded by literally millions of the cylindrically-shaped star galleons.

  Not daring to blink, for fear that the fleet would prove to be an elaborate hallucination and vanish the moment she shut her eyes, Wheeler’s gaze drifted down to the friendly ship count on her contacts panel:

  106,435,678

  And from there, to the enemy ship count:

  27,329

  Wheeler grinned. “Helm, set course for the nearest enemy ship! All ahead full.”

  “Aye, ma’am.”

  “Major Ward—ready weapons! It’s time to press our adva
ntage.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the major replied.

  Let’s see you frekkers break our lines again, Wheeler thought. Go ahead, I dare you.

  * * *

  Captive Aboard the Faro Flagship

  Tyra sat on the deck of an empty hangar aboard the Faros’ flagship. Theola squirmed and cried in her arms. “Shhhh, it’s okay. Calm down,” she cooed in Theola’s ear, but she wouldn’t be calmed. Her diaper needed changing and she hadn’t eaten in hours.

  Tyra’s own stomach growled but she refused to focus on herself right now. She looked around, meeting the tired and resigned expressions on the faces of the crew from her five ships—some six hundred people in all—not counting Atara, who was no longer pretending to be Tyra’s daughter, and thus not being held with the other prisoners.

  Brak stood beside Tyra, a motionless gray wall of muscle, naked, but in a sexless way thanks to the Gors’ lack of external genitalia. Tyra wondered if these Faros knew that Gors could cloak themselves. If they didn’t, Brak’s ability might present them with a chance to escape.

  A sudden hush fell through the hangar, broken only by a rustle of clothing and a shuffling of feet. Tyra stood up for a better look and saw that the doors on the far end of the hangar were opening and a procession of three blue-skinned Faros were striding through. They looked like the same three that had taken Tyra and her crew hostage.

  As they approached, officers stood up and challenged them with angry shouts, but the Faros simply gestured to them with glowing palms, and they went flying. The would-be dissidents crashed into the people next to them and fell in heaps to either side of the Faros, clearing a path. Tyra watched the blue-skinned aliens proceed wordlessly through the hangar, heedless of the seething wall of humanity closing in around them. No one dared to attack them— yet. The crews’ restraint was remarkable, but Tyra feared it wouldn’t last long. She tracked the three Faros through the hangar, wondering who or what they were looking for. Then Abaddon’s glowing blue gaze caught hers and he abruptly swerved in her direction. Her heart leapt into her throat and began pulsing at a rapid rate. They were looking for her.

  “We need food and water,” Tyra said as soon as soon as Abaddon stopped in front of her. “And unless you want krak all over your deck, we’ll need access to the ship’s facilities, too.”

  Abaddon’s eyes flashed, but then he smiled and nodded to the hazy blue shield covering the broad entrance of the hangar. “All of those problems can be solved with the flick of a switch.”

  Tyra caught his meaning and glared at him. “If you were going to kill us all at once, why bring us aboard? Besides, Etherus is more likely to respond to your threats if you give him a chance to save lives. If you jump straight to killing all of your hostages, he might think that negotiating with you is a waste of time. I would.”

  Abaddon scowled and made a cutting gesture with his hand. “Enough talk! You think you can fool me? You’ve been in league with Etherus from the start. You lured us here! For all I know, Astralis left the Red Line eight years ago with that very goal: to lure us to The Holy City so that you could attack the Forge.”

  Tyra opened her mouth to deny it, but Abaddon’s hand flashed out and closed around her throat, cutting off any reply she might have made. Tyra’s lungs burned for air, and Theola struggled in her arms, her tiny hands prying at Abaddon’s fingers around her throat.

  Tyra’s vision clouded with dark spots, and a ringing began in her ears, but she battled to stay conscious. Brak loomed beside them. “Enough!” he boomed, and ripped Abaddon’s arm away from Tyra’s throat.

  Tyra sucked in a hasty breath and clutched her aching throat with the hand that wasn’t holding Theola.

  Brak gave the Faro leader a mighty shove, forcing Abaddon back a few steps. He put himself between Tyra and the Faros, and then roared at them with deafening force, every muscle in his body flexing at once.

  Tyra regained enough of her voice to warn him in a croaking voice: “Brak, don’t.”

  But it was too late. A shimmering, transparent blade appeared and flashed through Brak’s back. Tyra watched in horror as the blade slowly twisted inside of Brak, making a ragged, glowing circle. He roared in agony. His skin blackened and smoked with the nauseating smell of burnt flesh, and then his back burst into flames. The blade withdrew, and Brak stumbled away, his black teeth bared in a grimace. He was patting out the flames leaping from a matching hole in his stomach, and Tyra hurried to do the same on his back, burning her hands in the process.

  As soon as the fire died, Brak hissed in fury and spread his feet in a wide stance, his hands balled into fists. Gors were hard to kill. His yellow eyes were fixed on Abaddon, and narrowed to deadly slits.

  He was about to get himself killed. “Brak, no!” she said, and grabbed his arm to pull him back as hard as she could.

  He didn’t budge, but he did hesitate.

  Abaddon smiled. “Yes, listen to your master, slave.”

  Brak’s muscles flexed once more, and his entire body shivered with rage. This time Tyra put herself between him and Abaddon. “What do you want from us?” she demanded.

  “I’ll ask the questions,” Abaddon replied. “What do you know of the attack on the Forge?”

  “Nothing,” Tyra replied. “I don’t even know what the Forge is.”

  “Liar!” Abaddon’s blade flashed out, the air around it blurring. The tip appeared just beneath Tyra’s chin.

  She froze, eyeing the weapon carefully. The heat radiating from the blade seared her exposed skin and she had to bite her tongue to keep from crying out. Thankfully Theola could sense the danger, and she shrank away from the blade rather than try to touch it.

  Tyra’s gaze bored into Abaddon’s. All six hundred prisoners in the hangar were silent but for the occasional rustle of cloth and shuffling of feet.

  “You are lying,” Abaddon said again, more quietly now. “One more time. The truth.” His eyes flicked down to Theola, and an evil gleam appeared.

  Tyra’s whole body stiffened with rage.

  “Touch her, and I kill you,” Brak spat over Tyra’s shoulder.

  “Good luck,” Abaddon replied, his gaze not wavering from Tyra’s face. “We’re wasting time. Tell me what you know.”

  Tyra sucked in a breath. “I know as much as you. We sent out four people aboard a captured Faro shuttle to find the Forge so that we could destroy it.”

  Abaddon’s eyes narrowed and his head tilted slightly to one side. “That much is true... but you’re holding something back.”

  How could he possibly know that? Abaddon’s blade drifted down, and Theola’s eyes widened dramatically. Then she screamed as the heat radiating from the blade began to burn her face.

  “Stop it!” Tyra screamed. She lowered Theola to the deck, but Abaddon’s blade tracked her down. “That’s all I know!”

  “Who are the ones you sent?” Abaddon pressed, glancing up from Theola as she crawled behind Tyra’s legs to get away from the scalding heat of the blade.

  Tyra’s mouth gaped open. She hesitated, scrambling for a way to avoid answering that question.

  But Abaddon wasn’t in a mood to wait. “Very well.” He took a step forward, his eyes on Theola and his blade poised for a deadly thrust.

  “Wait!” Tyra said, backing away quickly and pushing Theola back. “My husband is leading the team we sent. Lucien Ortane.”

  Abaddon stopped short. “Really? That is... very interesting... go on.”

  “We sent four people. All of them disguised as Faros and capable of speaking Faro. You gave them those disguises when you used them to find the Lost Etherian Fleet for you.”

  “Yes, I remember. Is that all?” he asked, and took a final threatening step toward her and Theola.

  Tyra took another step back, pushing Theola back as she did so. “Yes! That’s all I know! I swear.”

  “Very well,” Abaddon replied, and the shimmering energy field around his blade vanished. He sheathed the transparent sword behind his back
, and nodded slowly, as if coming to a decision about something. “Consider yourselves fortunate!” Abaddon said, turning to address the crowd. Tyra took the opportunity while his attention was elsewhere to pick up Theola and put some additional distance between herself and the Faros.

  Abaddon went on, “You need no longer rely upon Etherus’s mercies for your continued survival. Instead, you will be at the mercy of one of your own kind—Lucien Ortane. If the forces attacking the Forge agree to retreat, then you will all be spared, and a cease fire will be declared with humanity. If not, then you will all be killed.”

  Shouts of protest burst from the prisoners, and they surged toward Abaddon, but he and his Elementals hovered up out of the crowd, flying impossibly above their heads and out of reach. Tyra recalled that autopsies had revealed they had all kinds of technology inside of them to allow these kinds of seemingly supernatural feats.

  Abaddon smiled down on her. “Thank you for your cooperation. I do hope for your sake that your husband proves to be as reasonable as you are.”

  Tyra shook her head. “He won’t give in. Not to save six hundred people, and not when he knows that there are trillions of other lives at stake.”

  “Are you certain of that?” Abaddon cocked his head, his glowing blue gaze suddenly dancing with amusement. “Not even when he learns that he’ll be sacrificing his wife and two daughters to win this war?”

  Tyra glared up at him, speechless.

  Abaddon nodded and flashed a smug smile. “Yes, I can see that I am right. He will think twice about killing his own family.”

  With that, Abaddon and his two black-robed Elementals all flew back the way they’d come.

  Incensed by the Faros’ threats, the crowd surged after them, reaching the exit just as the Faros hovered down for a landing.