Zero Star

by Chad Huskins

  For two million years their culture developed this way. For two million years the Planet of the Wyrms was cultivated and shaped by this strange new community. The Planet had never known civilization, and perhaps it still did not, for the Wyrms were so long-lived that they possessed colossal patience, one that did not put them in such a hurry to develop cities or technologies.

  The only things they yearned to develop were their songs and their comprehension of the skies, the only thoughts they wished to have were those that investigated the deeper mysteries of the Eternal Ones.

  In time, they flew higher and higher, they explored everything above the clouds and ventured into the outer atmosphere. Not every Wyrm could achieve such heights, most of them went unconscious or died outright from the attempt, but a few were able. And those few brought back strange news: above it all, far away from the ground, it became obvious that their whole world was not flat, it was round. And the stars! So many more stars than they had ever seen, more than they had ever dreamt!

  No song could depict this new insight, nor begin to describe its beauty. Just as easily know the soul of any Wyrm as know those stars.

  Some came to believe that the stars were like Blue Father and White Mother, eggs of fire that had hatched, only these were far away. Very far. Too far to be fathomed, much less visited. But what to do with this new knowledge? What to do?

  They had long lives to figure it out. Their culture saw another shift, one that included new, speculative songs concerning the stars. They marked time by the stars now, erected mountain-sized temples to them, and adapted a system of navigation around them. They traveled far and wide, touched every shore, explored the mysteries of every cave and sea.

  Until the Star Children arrived.

  THEY CAME IN great ships, which the Wyrms saw as steel eggs, that brought them from their own star systems. The Star Children were small beings, far smaller than even the smallest Wyrm. And they spoke not in song, but in a dull, monotone, syllabic language. They came in the billions, outnumbering the Wyrms a hundredfold. They came bearing technology that spewed artificial light, with engines that spat lightning, with devices that showed every color of the spectrum and communicated over impossible distances.

  Over many hundreds of years, the Star Children learned to mimic wyrmsong. They told the Wyrms of their great journey, of how far they had come to find new worlds to explore, more life-forms to communicate with and share the joys of the universe. They came in peace, and offered the Wyrms a chance to see the universe as they did.

  Many of the wyrms allowed themselves to be taken away in the Star Children’s ships. They also allowed themselves to be augmented by artificial components, replacements for their own hearts, lungs, even their blood. These augmentations allowed them to fly in space, to live and swim in the void. There were hyper-intelligent Wyrms that learned the scientific method, and though they lacked the true dexterity to make machines as complex as the Star Children’s, they no less came to grasp the broader mysteries of the universe. Their songs became more intricate over the next few thousand years, far more nuanced.

  They spent years flying around their star system, diving into the gas giants, carrying sensors with them that allowed the Star Children to penetrate more deeply into the planets than ever before. It was a communal experience, the Star Children helping the Wyrms to understand, the Wyrms using their tough, resilient bodies to further educate the Star Children.

  Then, the day came when these augmented Wyrms decided to depart from the Eternal Ones, daring to go far from home, perhaps never to return.

  This is where Lyokh’s silent vigil over the Planet of the Wyrms came to an end. And this is when he felt himself fading away again. He felt once again encumbered by a body again. He sensed the weight of his corporeal self. The heaviness of having eyes, the weariness of having ears, and touch, and smell, and taste.

  When he opened his eyes, he was lying down, looking up at a med bot, and at a bearded face he barely remembered.

  “M…Mor…” He croaked. He licked his lips, which were as dry as sandpaper, and forced out the name. “Morkovikson?”

  The man nodded, but his words made no sense. They were too hard, too logical. Lyokh had spent the last few billion years forgetting his own name and listening only to wyrmsong. And yet he did recall how to speak, and the fuzzy, clunky names of those around him.

  Then, thankfully, the last few billion years began to fade. Like a dream that had lasted too long, it all just sort of congealed into one mass experience. Billions of years turned into mere seconds. He no longer felt the deep time he had experienced. It all passed by him in the blink of an eye. A bizarre dream, that’s all.

  And yet, he knew it all to be true. What he had seen had been real, and no mistake.

  He was aware that he was bleeding from his nose and drooling from the side of his mouth when he said, “Artemis…I need to speak to Artemis of Artemis…”

  : SDFA Voice of Reason

  Kalder watched over the next three days as the s’Dar Watchtower opened its superstructure, and bloomed like a flower in springtime. It was just how he remembered it, ages ago, after he had been rescued from that lonely planet and gone in search of answers, when he had ventured into a Watchtower and been shown his own vision, the one that gave him the notion that perhaps the Scrolls, the Items, were all just components to some larger machine spanning millions or billions of years.

  And then came the time of his entrapment, in a place where time moved differently…

  Kalder shook the thoughts away. It was the one memory he didn’t like to revisit. He’d been marooned twice in his life. The first time he’d had the Buddha man to help him through. But the second time…the second time…

  The s’Dar Watchtower began to reveal creases in its hull. Panels slid to one side, revealing dark apertures, corridors that had been hidden inside the walls for uncounted millennia. A purple light began to spread out across the panels, a glow emanating from the alloy itself.

  Everyone was rushing to record it. A few of the chroniclers he had requested to join the Crusade, as well as Zane’s researchers, were hastening to the observation deck to take pics and vids, and send them out across the pubnet. Soon, the story would come out that Sir Captain Lyokh of the Knights of Sol had gone in there, experienced some anomaly, and activated an unseen mechanism within the s’Dar Watchtower.

  Now, propaganda would be in full swing.

  Kalder had not been sure that Lyokh would experience the same kind of phenomenon that he himself had, but he had been sure that, should the captain go through it, he was strong enough to survive it.

  “You knew that was going to happen to him, didn’t you?” Desh asked. The captain stood at the window on Deck 2, watching with him. It was quieter down here, away from all the bustle happening on the observation deck. Behind them, two vorta were scrubbing the floors. It was safe to talk to in front of them, the semi-primitive humans never said anything to anyone, and none understood more than a few basic words of English Standard.

  “I knew that something might happen, yes,” Kalder said.

  “Bullshit. You knew he would activate the Watchtower.” Desh was smiling.

  Kalder didn’t respond to that. He watched as another huge panel of the Watchtower separated, floated away a distance, then turned on its Y axis and connected with another such panel that had done the same. The Watchtower, once shaped like a giant dart in space, now resembled a more intricate blade with serrated sides, while its “top” was expanding outward, pieces of it flattening into platforms, other pieces actually growing in size. Tremendous energy readings had gone off the scale, some of which had people seriously wondering about dangers to the Crusade Fleet.

  Kalder looked at the updates on his holotab. There was gamma radiation: high-energy light. Such radiation could pass through just about anything. It was hard to shield against, but most of it did no damage. Beta radiation, however, was a bit trickier. Betas were free-flying electrons. Plastic and water co
uld easily shield against betas, but if they bombarded a human body they would do damage. Alpha radiation had spiked all around the Watchtower, which was frightening because alphas did tremendous damage to living tissue, smashing apart cells like a wrecking ball.

  All of the Knights had been pulled out before the transformation began, and now only drones were permitted to go in and out, exploring the anomaly as it unfolded. Some of them had already been fried by the radiation.

  “You knew,” Desh said again.

  Kalder looked up at him.

  Desh held up his hands. “Hey, I’m not judging, but I just think you ought to know I’m not the only one who thinks that.”

  “Who else thinks it?”

  “People who don’t think providence is a thing.”

  Kalder nodded. “I’m sure they’ll be drowned out by the ones who believe this is a sign from the divine, some great ethereal sovereign who directs humanity towards a brave new future. As long as we make it seem like an accidental discovery, the weak-minded will see a spiritual predestination, for they don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “You know, for a man who seems to despise religion, you find an awful lot of uses for it.”

  “Religion can be a useful thing,” Kalder said.

  “Speaking of those types, I received a call from the Visquain of Second Fleet. General Quoden says one of our biggest fans wants to have a chat.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. The Repentant Designate has been in contact with the Senate, and they pushed her requests for audience off on the Visquain, who has now pushed it off to us.”

  Kalder sifted through his contacts, and sent a message over to Julian, informing him to set up a meeting with the Repentant Designate. “That is actually encouraging. A direct conference with her is exactly what’s needed right now. It was her man Morkovikson that rushed to Lyokh’s aid when he rematerialized in the chamber. I understand they made fast friends in Vastill, and that they’ve been working closely together ever since.”

  “You’re thinking more human interest stories.”

  “It couldn’t hurt at this point.”

  Desh nodded. “I heard that the Tulfghan Caliphate is supporting you now. And half a dozen Christer movements. And the Christers on Lyokh’s moon are suddenly talking up their ‘proud son of Timon.’ You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?”

  “No,” Kalder said honestly. “But I knew it would be only a matter of time.”

  “How could you know that Timon would hold him up like that?”

  He looked over at Desh. “You only have to get the ball rolling, Captain. If you get it rolling, and in the right direction, the momentum does the rest for you. You shouldn’t be surprised when that momentum gives it the power to smash down barriers. I expect it to smash down at least one more barrier soon enough.”

  “And what barrier is that?”

  Kalder looked at the information scrolling on his holotab, then at the Watchtower, still growing. “At present, we answer to Second’s Visquain in all military matters. I think that makes us a bit clunky in a war setting. We need to be able to make decisions without having to always defer to them.”

  Desh snorted. “Good luck with that. No way the Senate is going to let you go off half cocked and without a leash.”

  Kalder nodded. He looked at his tab and scrolled over to the reports about Lyokh. The captain was recovering from his episode. He was dehydrated, but med bots were making sure he got plenty of fluids, and the contrite brothers were overseeing him to ensure he returned to duty hale and hardy.

  “Hey,” Desh said, giving the senator a sidelong glance. “I just remembered. I saw a security bot walking through the halls yesterday. An older model, looks like the Trix you had the first time we met on Monarch. People say they’ve seen it around the Reason’s Comms One station. I’ve asked around, but no one seems to know who owns it, and I can’t find the damn thing anywhere. You know anything about that?”

  Kalder looked at the alpha readings on his tab, then switched it off. He tucked the tab inside his robe, and patted Desh on the shoulder. “You’ve done excellent work for me, Captain,” he said, and walked away.

  Desh watched him go. Said nothing.

  THE SIX FACES of the members of the Committee on the Continued Crusade floated in front of him on six different holopanes. Kalder was in his cramped office, with Julian off to one side waving talking points into the air, where they hovered just out of sight of the Committee.

  “I don’t know what to tell you, gentlemen, ladies, except that for the last forty-eight hours the Voice of Reason has experienced communication disruptions. Anomalies ranging from comm ghosts to total deactivation of the QEC transceiver have made communication with the Visquain exceedingly difficult. Incomplete messages, or else messages that are total garbage, due to coding problems from our QEC decoders. It could be due to intensified radiation from the Watchtower. Also, I understand that there were hacking attempts made against Lord Ishimoto and other ships during the Battle of Phanes, so it is possible that our network has been compromised, that a virus or worm has spread from Ishimoto into other ships of this fleet. The Ascendancy may be listening in on all QEC traffic. They may be listening in on us even as we speak.”

  Kalder watched the dismay register on each of their faces. Pennick was there, staring at the latest diagnostic report from Reason’s Comms One station. The other five senators were all either at home or taking the conference in their offices.

  “So, what are you suggesting?” asked Senator McRussell.

  “I think the time for suggestions are past,” Kalder said. “This constitutes a direct threat to national security. And, of course, it requires immediate enacting of the Barkley Protocols, which means we cannot discuss matters of tactical importance over long-range communication, not if our systems have been compromised.”

  Senator Gainer tried to speak, but coughed into his handkerchief. The man was in desperate need of a regen supply, but his underworld contacts had vanished along with his relevance long ago. He spoke haltingly, “How…are we to govern…if we cannot speak openly…about matters…of tactical and operational…significance?”

  “If we were more autonomous, it might work out better.”

  Pennick leaned forward. “You mean acting in a military capacity without the authority of the Senate?”

  “No, of course, not. It is imperative that the Crusade be answerable to the Efficiency, to the Senate, and to this Committee,” Kalder said. “But our greater national secrets lie almost entirely with the military, so I believe it makes sense to cease and desist any further reports to the Visquain of Second Fleet.”

  “No military oversight?” said Senator Notombis, who had done battle months ago with Kalder on the Senate floor. “But what if you engage in combat with an enemy force? You can’t just—”

  “I have more than thirty naval captains experienced in war at my disposal, as well as dozens of XOs, naval personnel, and the help of the High Priestess and the Brotherhood of Contrition. I’m due for a meeting today with the Repentant Designate herself, to discuss the length of her people’s stay with us. I feel confident we can do without Second’s Visquain. Besides, we are primarily an exploratory expedition, we ought not find ourselves in too many wars.”

  “Nothing like this has ever been done before,” said Pennick warily. Kalder could feel the man’s suspicion from light-years away. “Crusade Fleet would be without a Visquain, without central governance.”

  From the corner of the office, Julian waved his hand, and shot a new talking point into the air, just above the screens where Kalder could see it.

  “It actually has been done before,” said Kalder, reading Julian’s reminder. “The precedent was set exactly five hundred fifty-two years ago, during the Ninth Unknowns War. During that time of crisis, when we were fighting an unknown enemy with unknown capabilities, the Senate and the Imperator declared unanimously to allow privateer fleets to act in the stead of the Republic
Navy in defense of Republican systems. All such fleets were permitted to have their own Visquain, as long as there was at least one recognized Republican officer, either current or retired, among them. It was special permission for special circumstances, Senators, which we all find ourselves in now.”

  Pennick glanced off screen at something. Gainer coughed up a lung. Notombis looked mad about something. The others drummed their fingers or stared into space.

  “Let us think on it,” Pennick said.

  “Think all you like. But please understand that the situation is fluid, and we may lose total communication at any time. When that happens, our only options would be tightbeaming, and that would obviously take hundreds of years to reach the nearest inhabited star system. We need your permission soon, my friends. Good day to you all.”

  When he signed off, he looked over at Julian. “Well?”

  “Well done, sir.”

  “It’ll keep them busy, at least. But it all depends on Second’s Visquain now. Quoden in particular, for I sense he was the man they all deferred to. If he consents to give us control, then there will be no problem from the rest of the Visquain, or the Committee.”

  He tapped his knee, thinking.

  “How is Captain Lyokh?” he said.

  Julian waved the latest report in front of him. “Looks like he’s doing fine, but he’s still asking for someone called Artemis of Artemis. I’m told that’s our new Knight Tamer Master.”

  “Has he said much about what he experienced?”

  “From what I’m hearing, no. He said it was all clear to him at first, but now he’s beginning to forget.”

  Just like what happened to me, Kalder thought. It’s a mercy that almost all of it becomes a dream. Otherwise, one would truly believe they had lived countless eons. It would drive someone insane. Still, it needs addressing, and I should speak with him about it when I have the chance.