04 Dark Space

by Jasper T. Scott

  “Ethan, what’s going on?” Alara called. Then Ethan heard her scream right beside his ear as she came to see for herself. He turned to see her stumbling away from the Gor who had barged into their room.

  “Stay back, Kiddie—what do you want?” Ethan demanded of the alien.

  “It’s not what he wants,” a familiar voice answered. Ethan noticed the door swing shut behind the Gor, but not what had shut the door. “It’s what I want,” the voice went on. Then the owner of that voice stepped out from behind the hulking alien and Ethan found himself staring into a familiar pair of blue eyes. His ex-wife’s eyes.

  Ethan’s eyebrows shot up. “Destra? What are you doing here?”

  “Hello, Ethan—Alara,” she said, nodding to each of them in turn. “We need to talk.”

  * * *

  High Lord Shondar watched the timer hovering in front of his command chair. Soon his ship, the Gasha would arrive at the coordinates for Avilon. The real coordinates. As of two weeks ago when Shondar had left Lord Kaon and Dark Space behind, Lord Quaris and the 2nd Fleet had still been missing. Perhaps they would never be heard from again. That was unfortunate for Quaris, but it gave Shondar a chance to steal the glory. Now he would be the one to discover the lost human sector of Avilon. He would be the one everyone praised when he returned to the Getties, and he would be the one they rewarded. Never more would he be forced to live on harsh, inhospitable worlds like Etica, Caas, or Ramad.

  Before the invasion the Sythians had been left with but one option—expand or die from sheer scarcity. Like Lord Kaon, Shondar came from a harsh world. Kaon’s world was dark, watery, and cold, while Shondar’s was dark, rocky, and cold. Both were equally bleak and pitiless in Shondar’s opinion. The ultimate honor was to live on Sythia in Shangrila. There the word scarcity didn’t even exist. There was no pain or suffering. Not even death could touch the chosen, because they had ways to extend their lives even beyond the average thousand years of life which most Sythians would see. No more cloning. No more mind transfers. No more niggling doubts as to whether or not they really died when they were reborn. He hadn’t been engineered to live on Sythia. None of them had. They had been born to live on cold, inhospitable worlds where none of the chosen would dare to go, but in Shangrila, even that could be changed. There were ways of altering the body without touching the mind—expensive ways.

  Those nettlesome details would all be taken care of when Shondar returned from war. All of that and more had been promised to him—to all of them—as payment for risking their lives in service to the Coalition. Few who were immortal would risk an untimely death—or for that matter the chance to be killed permanently if one died too far from the nearest command ship. The behemoth-class cruisers were the only places in the Adventa Galaxy which could receive their brain scan data and use it to resurrect them in a new body. Transmission time for such data was near-instantaneous, but limited in range to just over a thousand light years, depending on interstellar interference. Shondar knew he was pushing those limits by flying so far from Dark Space and the other fleets, but the prestige he stood to earn by being the first to engage the Avilonians was too tempting to pass up.

  Ultimately, Shondar had decided to take almost half of his fleet—105 warships and a skeleton crew of slaves. His mission wasn’t to take planets or to somehow conquer the Avilonians. They had been forewarned—the Avilonians were too strong for that. Thus, he would gather intelligence data that would later be used by the other lords to conquer Avilon. Shondar would come back with them when the time for that honor came.

  Turning his gaze away from the timer counting down to the Gasha’s reversion to real space, Shondar studied each of his crew in turn. Here were the twelve Sythian operators who tirelessly kept watch over the Gasha’s automated systems and helped give orders to the drivers, each of whom was the commander of one slave ship. They kept in constant contact with the slave captain and his crew, but from a distance, safely ensconced aboard the command ship, which would stay cloaked behind enemy lines. Still, if something horrible befell the command ship—as had happened recently with Kaon’s Sharal—then immortal or not, all 270 Sythians on board would go down with their ship, either to be reborn aboard the nearest command ship, or to be lost forever. In this case most of the drivers had stayed behind in Dark Space with their ships, so the Gasha only stood to lose the 105 drivers who were needed, plus its 12 operators—and one high lord, Shondar thought.

  He felt a horrible heat creeping down his spine. He couldn’t recall clearly what it was like to die, but he knew what it was like to be reborn. Even after more than five hundred orbits had passed, he could still remember the awful rush of heat coursing through his brain, the violent spasm as all of his muscles twitched in the same moment, and the identity-stealing reminder that his previous body had just died. That triggered the suspicion that perhaps he wasn’t really alive anymore, but merely a clever copy of his old self which had in turn merely been a copy of the iteration that had preceded him. That chain of doubt went so far back it boggled the mind. Shondar remembered being overwhelmed with a strong urge to kill himself just to stop the madness.

  But of course, that wouldn’t end it. It would just start a new iteration of life.

  Thankfully those first few moments of self-doubt and existential questioning never lasted long. The initial confusion and horror passed. Shondar had been told that everyone dealt with resurrection in their own way, and that not everyone suffered the same ill effects from the birthing process. Sadly, Shondar was not one of those lucky individuals.

  A raucous noise erupted, tearing into Shondar’s thoughts and drawing his attention back to the fore. It was the ship’s reversion alarm. But it was too soon for them to have arrived. Then the deck shuddered and lurched underfoot. The swirling streaks of light which accompanied superluminal travel abruptly vanished from the simulated star dome that covered the Gasha’s bridge. Yet instead of seeing stars and space as Shondar had expected, now all he could see was a pure, unadulterated black.

  “What happens?” Shondar demanded. “Where does the display go?”

  “The star dome is functioning perfectly, My Lord,” the operator in charge of engineering reported.

  “Sensors show we are pulled out of the light stream inside of a dark nebula,” the sensor operator added. “We cannot see any suns because their light is blocked by the particles of the nebula.”

  “Where are we?” Shondar was already pulling up a star map at his command control station so he could see for himself. A glowing hologram of the Gasha’s surroundings appeared floating in the air before him. He saw their destination marked on the map, still over three light years distant, and he hissed angrily. “What causes this delay on the path to glory? Chart a course around the obstacle!”

  “I . . . cannot, My Lord,” the operator at the helm replied. “We are in the middle of the gravity field which does pluck us from the light stream. We cannot re-enter it until we move beyond the field.”

  Shondar couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had to take a moment to calm himself. “Why do our sensors not detect this field and drop us out of the light stream before we land in the middle of it?”

  The operator at the engineering station gave a strangled whimper which Shondar recognized as shame. He had no excuse.

  “Are the sensors operating effectively?”

  “I go to find out, My Lord,” engineering replied.

  “Do so. Navigation, make us to leave this field as quickly as possible that we may continue on our way. When your path is ready, tell me how long this . . . unfortunate incident will take to correct.”

  “I already calculate this, My Lord,” navigation replied.

  “Then? How long? I must report our progress to Lord Kaon.”

  The navigation operator took a suspiciously long time to reply, and Shondar was about to yell at him again. Just as he was taking a breath to do so, the operator replied, “The shortest path out of the field is to take us . . . five to six o
rbits, My Lord,” the operator said in a quiet voice.

  Shondar thought perhaps he was asleep and dreaming. Something this terrible could only happen in a nightmare. If it would take that long to leave the gravity field, then Shondar and his crew would not only not be the ones to have the honor of discovering Avilon, but they would not have the honor of conquering it either.

  The war would be long over by the time they escaped the snare which had interrupted their journey.

  * * *

  “We should go sit down,” Destra said.

  Ethan’s gaze flicked from her to Torv and back before he nodded. “Right. Follow me.” He turned to find Alara standing behind him, her eyes wide, her jaw slack and hanging open.

  “What’s going on?” she whispered as he took her hand and led her further into the suite.

  Ethan shook his head. “I think we’re about to find out.”

  They reached the living area of the honeymoon suite—an enclosed balcony overlooking the Vermillion’s worlds-class view. Ethan led them to the love seat and sat down with Alara. Destra came and sat opposite them in an armchair, while Torv remained standing by the front door.

  “I’m sorry to surprise you like this, but there was no other way to contact you without risking that the Sythians find out.”

  “Find out about what?” Alara asked.

  Destra spent a moment studying them each in turn, and Ethan studied her back. She looked terrible. There were dark circles and puffy bags under her eyes as well as a skein of wrinkles he’d never seen before. This was no-frills Destra, with no makeup, no skin treatments, and no age defying tricks at work. Like that she looked much older than her 45 years of age.

  “I need your help,” she explained. “As you probably already know, the Sythians executed Hoff.”

  Ethan winced. With the shock of seeing Torv and then Destra pop up out of nowhere, he’d forgotten all about Hoff. That explained Destra’s neglected appearance. “I’m sorry, Des,” he said. “I can only imagine what you’re going through.”

  Alara leaned forward and reached across the small table between them to touch Destra’s hand. “We’re both sorry. I can’t imagine losing Ethan.”

  Destra offered her a wan smile. “No, it’s not easy, but Hoff isn’t the first husband I’ve lost,” she said, her gaze finding Ethan once more.

  Ethan’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Hoi, Des, if that’s why you’re here . . .”

  “No, I haven’t come to intrude upon your newly-wedded bliss by telling you I want you back. Even if that were true, this isn’t about me. We have far greater concerns than my own personal burden of grief. Every day, thousands of people are going through exactly what I went through as their fathers, husbands, mothers, wives, and even children are taken without warning or excuse and turned into obedient slaves for the Sythians’ fleet. Not only will our loved ones not come back to us, but they are no longer even the same people that we once loved. For all intents and purposes those slaves are as dead as Hoff right now. Humanity is at its end, Ethan. There is no coming back from this unless we defeat the Sythians soon. I’ve been working with the Gors to destabilize the Sythian occupation and slow them down, but it’s not working nearly as well as we had hoped.”

  Ethan’s eyebrows shot up. “So you’re behind the Gor raids?”

  Destra brushed a lock of dark hair out of her eyes and turned to study the view from the indoor balcony. Ethan followed her gaze. It was a relatively overcast day, so what they saw from the balcony was a carpet of white clouds stretching out beneath a bright blue sky. “One human cruiser escaped,” Destra explained, “as well as all of the Gors. They are now our only hope to defeat the Sythians.”

  “Ironic,” Ethan said.

  “Yes, the same aliens who defeated us and slaughtered us by the trillions are now going to be our saviors.”

  “I suppose it’s one way for them to make amends. So that’s why you’re here . . . to ask us to join your rebellion?”

  “No. We’re not actively recruiting. We have enough trouble supporting our numbers as it is. I’m here because of Atton.”

  Ethan felt a cold spark of dread in his chest. His heart began to pound. “What do you mean? Is he okay?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know?!” Ethan said, rising from the couch.

  Destra raised a hand to stop him. “Let me explain. Before Hoff surrendered to the Sythians, he sent Atton on a mission to get help.”

  Alara looked puzzled. “From who? I thought we were the only survivors.”

  Ethan already knew what she was talking about. “From Avilon.”

  “Yes,” Destra replied. “The Avilonians are the only other surviving humans we know of, and although even Hoff hasn’t—hadn’t—been back to Avilon for countless centuries, he did get them to help his refugees in the Enclave by providing much-needed supplies. Avilon itself is rumored to have a population in the trillions, with a fleet every bit as strong as the Imperium once had. Their technology is more advanced than either ours or the Sythians’, so if anyone can help us, it’s them.”

  “Then why didn’t they?” Alara asked.

  “Why they didn’t help us before is a mystery, but it’s too late for recriminations. Regardless of their reasons for staying out of the war, our need has never been greater, so we had to take the risk. The worst they could say is no.”

  “Yea, and then kill Atton for invading their precious privacy,” Ethan put in.

  “Hoff assured me they are not like that, but he did warn that Atton might not be allowed to leave. That’s why I’m here. Atton should have been here weeks ago. I need you to go look for him and while you’re there, make one last attempt to convince the Avilonians to help us. They should know that the Sythians are looking for them, and that by leaving us at the Sythians’ mercy they are only making them stronger. Our invaders now have a free source of slaves, food, fuel, munitions—even shipyards which can build more ships for their fleet.”

  “I doubt they can produce Sythian warships. . . .”

  “No, but they can build human ones, and our ships are no weaker than theirs.”

  Ethan turned to his wife. She was busy chewing her lower lip. “What do you think, Kiddie?”

  “I’m pregnant, Ethan.”

  “You’re what?” Destra said. “When did you find out?”

  Alara shot her a quick smile. “Just before the wedding.”

  “Well . . . congratulations.”

  “Thank you . . .” Alara turned back to Ethan with a pleading look. “What if they don’t let us leave? Where will we live? What will we do for a living? We don’t even know what life is like there!”

  “It can’t be any worse than life is here,” Destra replied. “Freedom is worth a whole lot of hardship.”

  “There’s just one thing I don’t understand—why are you coming to me? You said a human cruiser escaped. That means you have at least 24 Nova pilots you could call on for a mission like this.”

  “Yes, and then I would have to clear it with the captain of the ship. He’s getting restless, Ethan. Hoff told him support the Gors for just a few weeks, until reinforcements arrived. In the case that those reinforcements never came, he was told to rescue as many people as he could and leave. If the captain finds out about Avilon, he won’t just send another envoy to look for Atton and appeal to the Avilonians for help—he’ll take all of us there.”

  “Is that such a bad thing?”

  “I’m not sure we would all be welcome—particularly the Gors—and I’m not willing to abandon either them or Dark Space yet. We might not be able to stop the Sythians, but we can make their lives more difficult. If you don’t return within a few months, however, we may have no choice but to follow you to Avilon.”

  Ethan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “This is a lot to think about.” He turned to look at Alara once more. “I need to know what you think about this.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know what to t
hink about anything anymore, Ethan.”

  “Neither do I, but I’m not sure we have a choice.”

  “We could stay,” Alara suggested.

  “Yes, we could, but we’ll have to live under the constant threat that either one of us could be taken. Even if we aren’t, we’ll have to raise our children knowing that as soon they turn sixteen they’ll be drafted into the Sythian fleet for the next five years. I’m not even sure the kids who return will be the same ones who left, and who knows if the Sythians change their minds and decide to keep our children indefinitely?”

  Alara bit her lip and shook her head. “How will we get there? We can’t leave Dark Space without a cloaking device, and even then, our ship isn’t loaded with high grade fuel. It won’t get us very far.”

  “There’s a Gor cruiser waiting to carry you out. The Sythians won’t see you while you’re under the cover of the Gors’ cloaking shield. As for the fuel problem, before you go, we’ll load your ship with red dymium fuel as well as any other supplies you might need.”

  Ethan tried to contain the surge of hope now swelling in his chest, waiting to see Alara’s reaction. She eyed him for a long moment, uncertainty warring on her face.

  “What do you say, Kiddie? One more adventure before we settle down?”

  She hesitated a moment longer before, but at last she nodded. “All right.”

  Ethan grinned. Turning back to Destra, he asked, “When do we leave?”

  Destra returned his grin with a wan smile. “Right now.”

  AVILON

  Chapter 20

  One week later . . .

  Captain Loba Caldin paced up and down the bridge of the Intrepid, passing back and forth in front of the crew stations and the bridge viewports. Every now and then one of her officers would look up from what they were doing and cast her a worried glance. She could read their minds. They were wondering if their captain had gone space sick already.

  But she wasn’t skriffy from spending too much time cooped up in space. She was worrying endlessly over a question which had no obvious answer. How had they ended up stranded in a gravity field if their SLS fail-safes were working flawlessly? There were only two possible answers to that question, but neither one of them made any sense. Either the fail-safes had stopped working temporarily at precisely the wrong moment, or else the gravity field hadn’t existed until they’d already flown into it. With respect to the space-time continuum, the latter option was impossible, and the former was just stupid. No one was that unlucky.