Truth Insurrected: Declassified

by Daniel P. Douglas

  Chapter 2

  Ambush

  Six months later…

  Apprehension gripped Sergeant Rukkali. While staring at the spherical gates ahead, he leaned toward his commander and said, “That’s some dark ink, Captain.”

  Captain Thotka-Luen just nodded.

  Rukkali unhooked the locking piston on his combat helmet and lifted it clear of his scaly head. He scratched at an irritating tick burrowing amid the leathery folds at the corner of his mouth. His intense dark eyes remained focused on the rippling surface of the hemisphere dominating the view in front of them.

  The shimmering bridgehead measured fifty meters across, typical of any other quantubridge linking the Angorgal moons. The bridges existed in multiple wormhole patterns that linked all six of the habitable moons in orbit around Sceytera. The surface of the bridge’s spherical gates was supposed to display a vision of what existed beyond, though it would be thickened and distorted, like an oil painter’s impression of the real thing. Travelers called the gate’s rippling substance “ink.”

  The bridge facing the reconnaissance force led to the Angorgal moon named Sekkalan, however, this particular sphere offered the Mokisiaan soldiers a darkness they’d never seen before. The vison of midnight black, run through with random smears of low light, caused some of the Angorgal troops from Mokisia to tremble in fear…

  The quantubridges had grown out of the need for safe space travel between the moons, eight of which had comprised Sceytera’s orbit. An asteroid collision eons ago with one of them later destroyed a second from its debris. This riddled the system with innumerable and treacherous space rocks, and led to endless, ancient Angorgal myths about sky demons whose purpose was to finish off all of Sceytera’s moons, not to mention the Angorgals too.

  But after the monotheistic Angorgals on Mokisia emerged from a long and bloody religious struggle with their divisive, polytheistic brethren, they grew more advanced. They peered at the other five moons above their heads and - out of wonder and a sense of destiny - sought to reach them someday. They hoped to find more Angorgals or other intelligent life there, allies who would embrace Nihav’s fundamental lessons in unity, strength, and peace.

  With scientific perseverance and a sense of religious mission, the Mokisiaans first established robust systems to defend against the persistent asteroid threat, a very real danger that continued to kill many inhabitants of their moon.

  They also developed spacecraft that carried explorers and some colonists to the other five moons, but at great loss. The asteroids still made space travel too hazardous and many early vessels succumbed to the danger. Those who did survive the journey found no other Angorgals or other intelligent life to greet them upon arrival.

  Colonization efforts halted. Researchers went underground. Decades passed, but some Mokisiaans persevered. To this day, many Angorgal children are named after them.

  Scientists emerged with a radical alternative that involved harnessing the power of wormholes in the form of “bridges” that connected the moons with each other. At first, the Mokisiaan space program still relied on ships to transport necessary resources and equipment to the moons. But once in place and functioning, the quantubridges changed all of that.

  Angorgals from Mokisia migrated and colonized the other moons, carrying their traditions and beliefs with them. For a while, a golden age seemed to have begun, but over time, differences ensued. The bridges could move Angorgals but not keep them connected. Outright piracy emerged from disagreements about resource allocations. Political factions formed militias.

  Subsects soon developed. Angorgals on the different moons thought more of themselves as Sekkalan Angorgals or Esmerian Angorgals and so on. The Sekkalans even went so far as to alter their natural blue-green coloring on their chests in favor of red. More and more Angorgals on the colonized moons also turned their backs on Nihavinity. Some said the sky demons were to blame. Secular officials blamed each other.

  Infiltration, subterfuge, and sabotage occurred. Not just against Mokisia, but on all moons against each other. Clashes grew into invasions and counter offensives. Alliances rose and fell. The Sekkalans and Mokisiaans fought the bloodiest battles against each other.

  Then, one day, nearly defeated, the Sekkalans retreated for the last time through the bridges on Mokisia that led to their moon. Moments later, the bridges powered down. Mokisiaan engineers tried everything, but nothing regenerated the bridges. Intercepted communications from the other moons indicated their bridges that led to Sekkalan had also fallen silent.

  That was nearly a century ago.

  In the decades since, Mokisiaan military offensives prevailed against the defenses of the other four moons. Esmeria was the latest reconquered moon, having only recently come under Mokisiaan control. Stability had returned to the Sceytera system, but at a wasteful cost in lives and resources that had saddened goodness and delighted evil.

  Then, two weeks ago, one of the bridges to Sekkalan regenerated…

  Private She’ak knelt beside Sergeant Rukkali and said, “That ink is blacker than a hell storm at night, Sarge. Looks like we’ll be dropping into the dead of space.” She’ak shivered so hard that others nearby detected it despite the bulky body armor covering his frame.

  Another private keyed into the platoon chat circuit and said, “I’ve heard a hundred rumors about recent Sekkalan bridge technology augmentations. They’ve devised ways to create rogue exit points that lead into the hearts of volcanoes and such. This is probably something like that.”

  Sergeant Rukkali turned and gave his captain an expectant look.

  Captain Thotka-Luen understood his platoon sergeant’s concerns and knew he was right. Thotka-Luen needed to head off these dangerous thoughts fast before squeamishness overran his soldiers.

  Thotka-Luen keyed the comm circuit and growled. “Stow it, all of you.” He stood, determined to inject his soldiers with an infectious dose of resolve. Sharp hisses wrapped around the words delivered by his deep voice. “Bravery is your shield and justice is your weapon. Are you ready to fight for each other and our cause?”

  “Yes, sir,” clamored through the intercom from many of the troops.

  “Remember the mission brief,” Thotka-Luen said. “Recon drones have been through the bridge and, before losing contact, have reported structures on the other side. That means urban combat right off the mark. You need to keep your heads on swivels, and watch for ambushes.”

  Most of the troops nodded while some others exchanged uncertain glances. One corporal among the unsteady ones opened his circuit and said, “Sir, we have fought in campaigns on Esmeria. We’ve also been through bridges to nearly every other moon and they never looked like this. How do we know, sir, the drones are right? What if, sir, they are wrong and we are about to leap straight into Hell itself?”

  Thotka-Luen sighed. He needed to strip away their doubts. They’d be better fighters. Making them so was his responsibility. He stepped into the middle of them and removed his helmet, exposing the end of a blue streak on his neck. It no doubt ran the entire length of his torso to the bottom of his belly. He cracked his neck, shaking his head a little to show off the arrowhead-shaped blue streak under his chin. The mark showed that his lineage was from an ancient warrior family. All Mokisiaans had blue streaked bellies and chests, but only those whose blood mingled with other warrior families had the longer, arrow-shape all the way up their necks.

  Although no enemy existed in their vicinity, Thotka-Luen’s stance in the open so close to an imminent battle achieved the desired effect: After a few submissive grunts from several of his troops, they all fell silent and focused their eyes upon him.

  “Listen to me. Yes, we are about to leap into an unknown situation. It’s what we’ve all been thinking since the moment we saw this unfamiliar scene. What do those Sekkalans, our ancient enemy, have in mind for us? Just what are they inviting us to do?”

  Thotka-Luen waved his words aside with a strong clenched fist.

  �
��But soldiers, we don’t really care about that, do we? Because we know that one hundred years ago, the red-chested devils retreated from us. We had beaten them and they ran from us. We are Mokisiaans! We hold righteous dominion over all of the Angorgal moons. If the Sekkalans try to spread their corrupt and deviant existence to our world again, they’ll all die regretting it as we march over their despicable graves. Now, when I say ‘Advance,’ I want to hear and see nothing but brave soldiers racing to be the first ones through that bridge, understand?”

  A chorus of affirmation bellowed through the speakers in Thotka-Luen’s helmet as he slammed and locked it back into place. He snarled out a hungry smile. “Once again we will conquer! And know too that we have these devils at our mercy. They set a listening post, and we caught the one who stayed behind. The intelligence sages know everything about him and the enemy’s plans by now. Of this, I have no doubt. We have the training. We have everything we need right here.” Thotka-Luen smacked the side of his assault pulse-rifle.

  The unsteady corporal from earlier offered a subdued snort. He remained concerned. “You know what they say about military intelligence officers? They’re hardly military, have no intelligence, and so they make them offi—”

  Thotka-Luen jerked his face toward the soldier. “Dare you finish that one, Private?”

  “Umm, that’s Corporal, sir. Corporal Areku.”

  “Not if you finish that sentence,” Thotka-Luen said. “I heard Major Krajenar Attazahal herself had a hand in analyzing the intelligence about the captured enemy soldier. We’ve followed the Major’s assessments before on Esmeria and she never steered us wrong. So, button up your stench mouth and stand by to move. The signal will arrive any moment.”

  While they waited, Thotka-Luen felt the ascension of his platoon’s readiness surround him. His words had steadied them, and now their training seized them. He dragged back the charging rod on his pulse rifle, a silent order for the others to follow suit.

  When they received the go-signal, Thotka-Luen hissed into his microphone. “Move by pairs and watch out for Vawot and Bhakal platoons. They’ll advance with us on our flanks. The rest of the company will follow us in. Quickly now. Once through, spread out and secure holds at the nearest junctions.”

  Fears fell away. Only professionals remained. As individuals, soldiers wavered if they had too much time to think. But once focused as a group, they stood as strong and as stable as the granite cities of their home moon.

  Thotka-Luen’s platoon, named Komodo, was one of the most reputable units in all of Paketh Company, which in turn was one of the most successful companies in the whole Quaratad legion. The platoon had grit, and they knew it. It had come as no surprise to Thotka-Luen when higher headquarters selected his platoon as the leading element in the reconnaissance-in-force through the Sekkalan bridge. He allowed himself a prideful grin as he glanced one last time over his shoulder at a thousand or more Mokisiaan troops dug into the hillsides behind him supported by dozens of mechs.

  An old tradition required the Captain to be among the first to pierce the gateway, and Thotka-Luen didn’t have it any other way. He burst through it and exited in a fleeting, but odd step-up manner induced by quantubridge physics that escaped his comprehension. A customary yet strange buzz present during every bridge transit skittered through his ears. Footing and forward movement reassured, he jinked fast right in a prepared movement and found cover behind a concrete barrier.

  In the shadowy murkiness, formations of hard steel resolved into his view.

  They had arrived inside an area with an enormous assembly of structures, just as the recon drones had indicated. Komodo’s soldiers angled down passageways, peeking around junctions.

  Thotka-Luen paused, allowing his troops to carry on with securing an initial entry zone. In the darkness, his faceplate’s infrared sensor kicked in and he soon noted the passages and corridors lacked ergonomic design. They stood tight, laced with open power cables and mechanical runs. Bays held giant pieces of heavy equipment…mining equipment. A chill shivered through Thotka-Luen as he realized the location felt like it had no soul. The place felt truly alien.

  “Sir! You have to see this!”

  Corporal Areku’s shouting shook loose Thotka-Luen from his mystified state. He hauled himself toward Areku’s position next to a porthole. Like everything else, the window seemed like a construct of pure function, meant to provide a view of an exterior communication device to confirm its proper alignment.

  But Areku’s urgency had not concerned the comm device.

  Heedless of danger, Areku ripped off his helmet and stared open-mouthed at the slim view of the vista beyond the antenna. His scaly cheeks puffed outward in pure fright. “By the holy graves of our families, we are in Hell. We are in space!”

  Thotka-Luen shoved Areku out of the way. Disbelief jolted him. The bright swell of Sceytera appeared in the distance. The gas giant and a glimmering pearl of one of her moons hovered above them as if close enough to touch. He blinked several times, trying to understand the objects that entered his view. Then, Thotka-Luen’s vision turned into an unfocused gaze. “By all that is holy, we are below a moon and—”

  Sergeant Rukkali, ever the practical soldier, cut through on the intercom and said, “Which moon? Sir, the geography…the continents…”

  Thotka-Luen forced himself to think, to break free of the shock. No one traveled in space. Why would they? The bridges allowed voyagers to move from moon to moon in safety. He struggled to breath but his knees gave out. Looking skyward, he noticed girders stretched toward the horizon in each direction. They arched upward as if supporting a transparent dome above the facility. What madness was this?

  Looking through another nearby window, a tall soldier named Private Tey’ya recognized the moon. “That’s Esmeria.” The young private was a recruit from that moon, a member of a loyalist family who had sided with Mokisia years ago.

  Tey’ya peered through the porthole again. “This doesn’t make sense.” He examined the scene further and began pointing a gloved index finger at the window. “There are giant…space ships out there. And…”

  “What? Speak up, Private,” Rukkali said.

  “Sergeant, it looks like we are on the surface of…an asteroid, and there are giant space ships out there…”

  Aboard the Sekkalan cruiser War Claw, the military staff inside its command post eavesdropped on the confused Mokisiaan soldiers. The conversation underway confirmed their ruse had succeeded. With no further need to process the enemy’s ignorant ramblings, the sensor operator shunted the audio feed that originated from a Sekkalan mining operation on an asteroid above Esmeria.

  Urhmikor Tekla, the Sekkalan Supreme Military Commander, peeled his eyes away from his subsect’s black crooked-cross emblem emblazoned a white and red panel over his head. While he focused on the surveillance monitor screens, Tekla rubbed his reddish neck and flicked his forked tongue. “Have you disengaged the provisional exit? Are you prepared to realign with our missile batteries on Sekkalan?”

  The bridge operator didn’t leave its commander’s cold demand unanswered for long. No one kept Commander Tekla waiting. If a piece of the war machine failed to provide a prompt answer, replacement protocols resulted. The bridge operator snapped out a sharp reply. “Just now, yes, sir. Ready for realignment upon order, my Commander.”

  Tekla nodded, then twitched a muscle on the comm interlink embedded in his neck. The interface between his nerves and the computer pathways implanted inside his body activated at the twitch, opening channels from within his brain. Images of sub-commanders posted on other Sekkalan warships and their moon appeared before him in his mind’s eye.

  “As expected,” Tekla said, “they sent their first wave. No doubt these are some of their best. Space them all. Open the airlocks and let them taste vacuum. Then, fire strike-rockets through our legacy bridges on Sekkalan to cleanse the immediate environment on the Mokisiaan side. That will eradicate much of their expeditionary force. The
y will be shocked and awed by our superiority. They will experience fear unlike anything they have ever known.”

  One of the sub-commanders nodded with cool satisfaction. “We could expect no less from these inferior creatures. They do not yet understand.”

  Another hissed and hummed his agreement. “Unable to reach us in space, and too fearful to enter a bridge, they will capitulate soon enough.”

  “We activate Operation Lucidity now,” Tekla said. “Preparation time is over. Our war begins here. Either they will all surrender to our path of true advancement, or we will eradicate them like the ancient plague that they are.”

  All of them snorted a torrent of vicious, cold concurrence.

  About The Author

  Daniel P. Douglas is a U.S. Army veteran who has also served as a senior analyst in the U.S. intelligence community. A long-term civil servant, with degrees in Political Science and Russian Area Studies, Douglas has also worked in the museum profession. His travels have taken him throughout the United States, Mexico, Europe, the Middle East, and the Caribbean.

  As an author, Douglas creates epic tales - of the past, present, and future - with the most unlikely of heroes, and calls upon them to join extraordinary and mysterious struggles. His characters' sometimes-reluctant choices and actions put them on a collision course with destiny and reveal unimaginable truths. In every pulse pounding, edge-of-your-seat adventure, survival means confronting personal flaws and doubts, and forging unexpected fates as inspiring new champions in the eternal battle against evil. In short, Douglas is a multigenre author who turns ordinary people into extraordinary heroes.

  Douglas explores this theme through science fiction, conspiracy, mystery, suspense, and thriller books. His first novel, Truth Insurrected: The Saint Mary Project, centers on a decades-old government cover-up of contact with extraterrestrial life. Other works include The Outworlds series, which is comprised of science fiction adventure stories set in the early twenty-fourth century at the fringe of human civilization; Green Bird, a modern-day thriller about an FBI agent racing to stop a cyber terrorist before it’s too late; and a hard-boiled, World War II era detective series called Richter’s War.

  Born and raised in Southern California, Douglas has also lived in Virginia and Arizona. He now lives in New Mexico with his family, and enjoys reading science fiction books and conspiracy thrillers as much as writing them.

  Please visit https://danielpdouglas for more information and to sign-up for Dan’s e-mail list.