THE DEEP LINK
by
Veronica Sicoe
The Ascendancy Trilogy
Book One
Copyright © 2015 Veronica Sicoe
All rights reserved.
Edited by Michael Matheson
Cover art by Adriana Hanganu
Alien illustration by Tony Camehl
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
The Deep Link - Chapter 1
Dear Reader
About Veronica Sicoe
Acknowledgments
1
We drop out of FTL like bugs smacking a windshield—unexpected and hard.
"Incoming transmission," the AI says. "Unregistered frequency. Want to receive it?"
But I'm still wrestling with the godawful fugue that follows each Jump. Feels like I've been pressed through a scrap shredder, from the inside out.
"Taryn? Do you want to receive the transmission?"
"Hold on a damn sec!" I rub my face and reach for my mandible pendant in an old reflex. Then check the readings on the nacom embedded in my wrist. We dropped out six million clicks shy of target.
What the hell happened?
At FTL speeds we're just a property of spacetime, not actual matter. We're like a message, transmitted to preset coordinates. We can't just pop up somewhere else! Yet something snapped us right back into real spacetime. Nothing we know of can do that.
I drop the milky containment fields around our three chairs, and stare. The fields coalesce on the Transiter's floor, forming a sheath of artificial gravity. It helps me ground myself, 'cause what I see before me almost knocks me down again.
An alien head swirls in the middle of our tiny deck—a projection awaiting response. It's dark green and unshapely, with two eyes that glow like fireflies on a mossy rock. It stares right through me.
"Keep it paused," I tell the AI, then sit back down, struck by dizziness.
I look over at Bray, who's supposed to be leading this improvised mission, but he's still wrestling nightmares. Jade mumbles something, grimacing, eyes tightly closed. I'm the only one awake. I study my vital signs on the nacom. Pulse is stabilizing, brain activity smoothing out. I'm almost clear. Almost focused.
Given that it's my fiftieth Jump in twenty-one years, it's amazing I'm still intact. No insanity yet. No disabilities. That's quite an achievement for someone with no access to Confederacy medi-care. If I were more reasonable, I'd be worried stiff about losing my mind with each Jump. But all I care about is flying out, making contact with a new alien race.
"Shit, the aliens!"
Bray jumps out of his chair and almost falls over. He gasps, catches me looking at him, and rubs the fright out of his face.
Jade squints at the alien head, then stares at both of us in turn. I shrug uneasily.
Bray accepts the incoming transmission.
The alien face splits open down the middle and a large, scarlet tongue rolls out in a gush of stretchy spit. It gnarls something in a throaty voice that the AI can't interpret, and we can't understand. We stare back at it, still dazed by the fugue, which is kind of stupid since we're the welcoming committee. A covert, illegal one, but still.
The alien waits for a reply, scrutinizing us. I squirm uncomfortably in my chair.
It gurgles slowly, inhaling its own slime, and says in coarse English, "No input go now," then the projection winks out.
What the fuck?
Did we mess up already? Should I have said something, done something upfront? I'm the xenospecialist here, after all. But the aliens I'm familiar with—the insectoids I grew up with in the Mazan hives—are neither spaceborne, nor do they speak human languages at first go. In fact, the Dorylinae don't speak to humans at all.
Bray ruffles his mohawk. "Replay transmission."
"Certainly," the AI responds.
As he watches the projection again, Bray's expression settles into the gloomy mien he's had since I met him a week ago.
For some reason, everyone in this motley crew I've joined—except for Jade—seems to think Bray is some sort of driving force. Maybe his restlessness makes him look eager, or maybe they think his ice-blue stare and constant tension denote strong personality. But he's just a killjoy in a white shirt and pressed pants. And his constant anxiety wears me out.
"They're basically telling us to fuck off," Bray says.
"What now?" Jade asks.
"Communication with aliens is always a give and take," I tell Bray, assuming a professional air. "I've been doing this all my life, and our best chance is to be open and forthcoming. We should make the next step."
Bray huffs his dismissal.
Jade shrugs. He looks exhausted and confused, so unlike the kid I once knew. That pudgy, obnoxious brat with stubborn brown eyes has somehow turned into a tall, lanky man with a tired but thoughtful gaze.
"We can't go back empty-handed," I insist. "The Ticks are so close behind they're breathing down our necks. We have to make contact first, before the Trust Military Corps sends in their minions and fucks everything up. You know how they deal with aliens. Just think of the Dorylinae."
Both of them avoid my gaze.
"Let's fly out and talk to them while we still can."
Bray snorts and turns his back to me. "Cynthia, are we in scanning range?"
"No," the AI responds. "The unidentified vessel is still in a low orbit around Xi Scorpii B. If I dispatch the probes now, they will be too close to the star to function properly for longer than two minutes. This won't suffice to gather the data we need to estimate their level of technology."
"Damn it!"
"Let's fly to them," I repeat. "Goad them into a conversation. We'll find out much more that way."
"Or get blasted to bits," Bray snaps. "No. We stay put, deploy half the probes and wait. Maybe try to contact Preston, see what he's got to say about this."
"No can do, genius," Jade says. "The Ticks could intercept our com signal and figure out where the station is, and then everyone's fried."
Bray taps his foot on the grated deck.
"It's a contact mission," I remind him. "Let's go make contact. You flew all the way to Tau Ceti to pick me up so I can talk to those aliens. That's my fucking job—what you wanted me here for, right?"
"Preston wanted you here. You're still an outsider to me. You can do all the talking you want, from here, after we get the probe data."
"She's not as much of an outsider as you think," Jade says. "I've known Taryn since we were kids. Her parents died in the Raids back on Maza, like my dad." Jade throws me a sideways glance. "She not exactly a fan of the Ticks either."
"But she's not part of our team."
"Who cares? Her experience with aliens is more important."
Bray huffs again, avoiding my gaze. I can't quite figure out his motives yet, but frankly, I don't care. I'm here for my own reasons, not to vy for a spot in their little resistance, or whatever the hell they teamed up for.
"We wouldn't still be here if the aliens wanted us gone," Jade says. "We're not exactly armored in this husk."
Bray glares at him with resentment.
"The Ticks are bound to find the alien ship soon," I say. "Maybe they already have. And if they get to them first, forget about peaceful encounters or forging alliances."
Jade looks at Bray. "She's right."
"I don't care what either of you thinks!" Bray clenches his fists. "Preston gave me this mission, and I say we don't move a damn click."
My cheeks start to burn and my
pulse picks up speed. "You're not fit to lead anything. You're a fucking coward."
Bray's jaw twitches. He balls his fists.
"Hey, cool it." Jade grabs his shoulder.
Bray knocks his hand off. "We can't risk everything just cause some bitch popped out of Preston's ass and wants to run my show. We never should've rushed out here without proper prep."
"What prep?" Jade snaps. "It's a first contact, for fuck's sake. We don't have experience with that."
"I do," I say.
"Come on, Bray, let her handle this."
"Enough!" Bray turns away. "We're staying put, and that's that."
The fuck we are.
Bray replays the alien transmission, and I bring up the containment field around my chair, muffling everything out. I plug my nacom into the left armrest with a hair-thin com line. As I close my eyes and fall back against the foam, I call up the unique sequence of images, concepts, and connotations that makes up my personal ID. My cortical synet instantly connects to the Transiter's on-board computer.
A datascape forms inside my visual cortex. It displays my vital signs, our current position, and the state of the electromagnetic cocoon wrapped around the Transiter. The AI immediately queries my purpose.
Bray and Jade still argue at the periphery of my awareness, muted by the containment field. I get busy circumventing the AI.
Years of hacking and fiddling with Tick surveillance equipment back on Maza pays off. The maintenance simulation I code captures the AI's attention for a matter of seconds. It's all I need. I hack the Transiter's nav system and set it on an intercept course.
"Okay—fine," Bray yells as though through a cloth. "Let's go get ourselves killed."
The Transiter picks up speed while I wrestle with the AI. I don't get a chance to check my trajectory calculations before my virtual vision turns red:
WARNING
IMMINENT COLLISION
The Transiter's autonomous emergency system kicks me and the AI off the controls and takes over. I'm left dazed, my mind still spinning with half-finished code and course vectors.
A shrill alarm blares through the containment field.
Bray and Jade dive into their chairs and pull up their fields. The computer orders us to brace for impact, then displays the view from the bow and my breath stops.
An enormous, tear-shaped vessel grows directly ahead. Its surface a quicksilver sea, quivering in anticipation, approaching fast and dwarfing us, smothering all hope of escape.
In a single sucking motion its surface concaves to stretch around us like a cavernous maw, and swallows us whole.
Everything goes dark.
2
Blinding whiteness pierces my eyelids. I wince and turn away, but the light is everywhere. I cover my face and squint between my fingers instead.
"Hello?"
The acoustics sound familiar. I'm still inside the Transiter. But where is the Transiter?
"Taryn?"
"Jade... You okay?"
"Yeah." He groans. "What happened?"
I feel my way to the connection hub on my armrest. The wire's still plugged into my nacom, but I have no feed from the AI or the embedded systems.
My head is pounding as my eyes adjust to the brightness and the basic contours of the deck fade in. Chairs and people glimmer like distant shadows in a snowstorm.
"Turn the damn thing off," Bray says.
"It's not our lighting," says Jade. "Everything's offline."
"What the fuck did you do?"
I know he means me. "Let me check." I unplug myself and stand up, spread my arms out and take a couple of steps toward the hatch. I bump my forehead against the curved ceiling and cuss.
I feel my way along the wall, counting cubbyholes, and finally open one with a soft click. A bundled skinsuit drops and rolls toward the triad of chairs in the middle of the deck.
Bray jumps out of his chair. "What are you doing?"
"You're not thinking what I think you're thinking, are you?" Jade wobbles toward me.
I shrug, and watch the suit unfurling, my eyes slowly adapting to the light. "We need to check things out." I pull down the zipper of my jumpsuit.
"You're not going anywhere," Bray snaps.
"Since everything is dead inside the Transiter except us, I'd say the aliens don't consider us a threat." I shrug the jumpsuit off and tie my unruly black hair into a tail. The jumpsuit hangs loosely from the curve of my hips, already revealing some of my childhood scars.
"The light is probably a scanning tech," I say. "We must be inside the alien ship, so I'll go greet our hosts."
I bend over, push the jumpsuit down to my feet, and unfasten my boots. Then kick it all off and stand tall, butt naked and trying not to shiver.
Both guys stare. There's a brief tug-of-war between Bray's gaze and mine. His falters. I win.
"You've got a point," Jade says. "Two, actually, aiming right at me."
"Oh shut up." I chuckle and pick up the unfolded skinsuit.
Bray heads for the hatch, making a point of walking around the back of his chair instead of by me. He opens a control panel on the wall and runs basic diagnostics, while Jade checks the computer console.
"Fan-fucking-tastic," Bray mutters. "All sensors are fried. Probes and photonic meshes too. Even our shielding. Every goddamn system is fried."
"Except for gravity and life-support," Jade says. "At least there's that."
I don the carbon-gray skinsuit and the adaptive weave melds to my body. I start toward the hatch. "Let's go meet our new friends."
"Not so fast," Bray says. "We've got to bring the backups online. We need to encode a message and get it to Preston—warn him the aliens are hostile, and prep for the—"
"Hostile? You're kidding, right? We're alive and well. It's obvious they're not hostile. They may just be curious about us."
"We've got no idea what they did to the ship, or what they'll do to us."
"AI's fried too," Jade says. "Down to backup firmware, and that's worth jack. We're stuck here."
"Well I'm going out. You two can either suit up or stay here until the air runs out."
"I'm game." Jade edges toward me along the curved wall.
I wait on Bray.
Gaze still pinned on me, he yanks another skinsuit free.
I grab an oxy-mask from the cubbyhole and get moving. My suit's molded to every curve and angle of my body, thermo-regulating and supplying adequate pressure. I seal on the transparent mask and it expands to encompass my whole head and closes around the neck of my skinsuit. I breathe into it until my lungs adjust to the regulated flow.
When the guys are done suiting up, I open the hatch.
Our Transiter is suspended a meter above a shimmering black floor, in a large, inscrutable bay. As my eyes adapt to the darkness beyond our ship, details begin to resolve: the bay is round, enormous, and empty—apart from three aliens staring back at us.
For a damn long moment no one moves.
The massive aliens stand lit by the glow enveloping the Transiter. Their bulky bodies are humanoid and covered in muscle, with two arms and two legs all thick and heavily jointed, each ending with long, black talons. They're covered in a sort of green fluff, neither garment nor fur, that barely softens their strength. They stare at us quietly with bioluminescent eyes, as if through tiny visors.
I take a deep breath and jump out the hatch, and land a meter away from the suspension field holding the Transiter. The alien ship's gravity drops me to my knees. I rise with difficulty, standing on shaky legs, and face the greeting party.
The alien in the middle heaves its hefty limbs and steps forward. It's not much taller than me, but considerably stronger. Probably weigs a ton. We'd stand no chance against them on foot. I try to stay calm, to keep my breathing even.
The alien opens its vertical jaws, revealing its slimy, bright-red tongue.
"All out," it says hoarsely.
Nobody moves.
"You heard it," I say over my s
houlder. "Get down here."
The guys balk, but jump anyway, and struggle to get upright again. I don't turn to watch, afraid of breaking eye contact with the alien. I soak up every detail and micro-movement, to get a better picture of what we're dealing with.
There's six marks on the alien's face, two between its eyes and two on either side of its jaws. Each as big as a thumbprint, hairless and smooth, the color of bleached leather. They remind me of burn marks. Might be battle scars, or indications of rank. No way of telling yet.
The closest alien spreads its bulky arms, and extends four black claws on each hand. The others take up positions around us, flanking us.
"What are you doing?" Bray asks. "We're just—"
"Don't resist them," I say, my gaze locked on my alien counterpart.
"Okay, oh-kay!" Jade shouts.
I hear a scuffle and have to force myself not to turn and look.
Bray is panting, fighting. "Let me go! We're just a greeting party. We're peaceful. Let go! "Taryn, stop them, do something!"
"Try to stay calm," I call over my shoulder. "Cooperate."
"We're gonna die because of you, you stupid—No, please!"
There's a brief rustle in the darkness, then everything falls silent.
The alien in front of me drops a heavy hand on my shoulder. Its talons press into my suit, testing my muscles, and I freeze. It grunts and nudges me to go right.
I start walking. It falls in beside me, guiding me to the bay wall. The glow from the suspension field holding the Transiter doesn't carry here, but I still notice there's something off about the curved walls. The texture's wrong.
At our approach a doorway opens in the wall, like a tear in a rubber sheet. I catch my breath as the opening expands, revealing a metallic sphere hovering above us. It's half a meter in diameter, reflective like the hull of the ship, and seems weightless. Something about it makes my hairs stand on end.
It follows us as we pass through the doorway. My reflection gleams in the sphere's exterior, upside-down: dwarfed by the alien beside me, I feel frail and flimsy in my skinsuit.
The Deep Link (The Ascendancy Trilogy Book 1) Page 1