The Complete New Dominion Trilogy
Page 48
Machiko shook her head, refusing to believe what she had just heard. “You’re confused, Lora. Cristian Stefánsson was dead for a decade. He comes back for a couple of weeks, and now you want to pick up where you left off with him as if nothing ever happened? We don’t even know how he got here! Or why he’s here! You can’t do this. At least not yet. I’m not even that mad that you’re sleeping with him, but… what is this? Running away together? Is that it?”
Lora continued. “My mind is made up, Machiko. Cris and I… it feels like destiny!”
“It’s an obsession, Lora!” Machiko snapped. “I never understood it! Ever! Please, just… give it time.” She kissed her lover on the wrist, an aura of desperation. “Impatience is handmaiden to despair. Don’t do this to me!”
Lora nodded slightly, tears in her eyes. “I…”
“Please. For me, Lora. I will always love you, and I’ll always be here for you, but… please. Just wait. Your patience and caution are two of your more endearing qualities. You know it makes sense.”
Lorelei Chen took a deep breath and lay back down, drawing her knees up to give Machiko more room. She shook her head. Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks now. “I’m so confused, Machiko. I’m sorry.”
“Lora, you’re only human.” Machiko squeezed her tightly. “Sometimes the road ahead is unclear.”
Chen caught her gaze, then moved closer toward her and kissed her lightly on the mouth. “I don’t want you burdened with something that’s really my problem.”
“Lora!” Machiko’s voice gained in volume and developed a little of an edge. “When we got together, your problems became my problems.”
“Yes, but Cris is so special to me. I can’t explain it…”
Machiko spitted her with a grey-eyed stare. “I know what he means to you. Listen, when we first got together, after you told me your whole story, about how this man became Lord Damarus, and all this time travel hokum… I knew full well what I was getting into. We agreed to share our lives, which means we agreed to share all of the problems as well as the joys.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “I like Cris. He seems like a good man.” She opened her eyes again. “I just don’t want you to get hurt by making a rash choice.”
For a moment they looked into each other’s eyes. Then their mouths met again, and Lora’s lips parted beneath Machiko’s.
Sparks flew inside her mind.
Love was a crazy and dangerous thing.
The next morning, Lorelei Chen combed her hair and changed out of her coveralls to full-dress uniform, feeling uncomfortable and tugging at her collar as she sat with Machiko Famasika in the hypersonic bioship that carried them to Earth Tower One.
One of Paramo’s aides met them at the docking platform, and escorted them through the immense structure to the command level suite. Thanks to newly upgraded air-filtration systems, the air throughout the building was cool and pleasant, yet had a spicy alien scent.
When they reached the Warmaster’s Chamber, they were kept waiting a quarter of an hour by a secretary until they were finally called in to meet Paramo. He was alone in the large chamber, standing at the head of a long, empty table. Chen and Machiko approached the older man and saluted.
“Commanders Chen and Famasika reporting as ordered, sir.”
Paramo smiled as he returned the salute. “It’s good to see the both of you together again. Machiko, do you have your report?”
“Yes, sir.” Machiko handed him a holocube. Paramo dropped it in a coral-like reader and glanced at the information which scrolled holographically through the air, nodding as he digested it. “So you were shot down by a Gorgon—class fighter?”
“Yes, sir,” Machiko admitted.
“You displayed stunning bravery,” Paramo continued, still reading. Next he went over her ship’s log. When he was done, his eyes lifted first to Machiko, then to Lorelei Chen.
“My warmest thanks to the both of you,” he said. “You’ve both been doing some outstanding work over the past few days. Machiko with her courage during the Battle of Sirius, and you, Lorelei, for nursing Cristian Stefánsson back to health.”
Machiko and Chen exchanged glances.
“I wish my other subordinates demonstrated this kind of initiative,” Paramo said. “I will put you both in for public commendations at once.”
Machiko flushed at the warmth of the Warmaster’s response. She felt the tension in her wire-strung muscles ease. “Thank you, sir,” she murmured, and then was surprised to see Paramo step toward her, then pause for a long moment with his eyes fixed on her. “Having you released from Daam Ka’Vosh was one of the best choices I ever made. You should be proud of yourself, Machiko.”
She nodded. “That’s very kind of you to say, sir.”
Paramo turned away, and started to pace. He was silent for a moment before continuing. “Now, the reason I summoned you both here today is because I have a special mission for you. I need my best agents for this one, due to the sensitive and potentially… dangerous… nature of the mission.”
Chen gritted her teeth. “Oh?”
He turned and looked her in the eye. “Reconnaissance, Lorelei. I want you to travel to Reria, to gather information on the enemy’s base of operations - the headquarters of the Empyreal Sun. Our intelligence network believes they have now abandoned the system as they forge their way, ultimately, toward Earth, but there may still be something useful there which we can use to prepare us for the fight against them. Perhaps some kind of technology, or weapons…”
“We’ll do it,” Machiko said, without hesitation.
Chen could only gape at her. “Yes, of course we will, but…” Her gaze returned to Paramo. “What about Cris? Surely you can’t expect us to take him all the way to Reria?”
“I will be taking care of him,” Paramo said. “Cris has agreed to accompany me to the Shadowlands, where we will both consult with the Samán of Monsula. My hope is that she… that Esme… can shed some light on the nature of Cris’ miraculous return to life, something that I’m convinced is linked to Damarus’ return. Perhaps she will know a way to defeat the Empyreal Sun, and Damarus, forever. When you return here from Reria, you will have a chance to catch up with everything that we learn. No doubt we’ll have an interesting story to tell.”
Chen stared at Paramo in cold astonishment. “Are you sure, sir?” she said. “Taking Cris to the Witch of the Shadowlands? Lord Damarus is the one responsible for imprisoning her there. If Cris enters that cave… who knows what will happen?” She suddenly tasted bitterness on her tongue, and intense anxiety.
“I am prepared to take that chance,” Paramo said as he took the seat at the head of the table, “when the fate of the galaxy is at stake.”
“Very good, sir,” Chen said. Even as she answered Paramo, her concerned eyes still rested on Machiko.
“Queen Neferneferu’aten has decided to declare that the highest state of war now exists between the Terran Alliance and the Empyreal Sun,” Paramo said.
Something in the Warmaster’s phrasing caused Chen to look up at him with concerned eyes. “Highest state of war?” she repeated. “But we’re at war already, aren’t we?”
Paramo looked solemn. “We’ve been in what you could describe as an ‘ordinary’ state of war,” he said. “The highest state of war, called Tyr’nir, has never been declared before, reserved only for when our survival as a species seems to be at stake. It means that we will declare total war against our enemy, and not cease until they have been completely destroyed - to the last individual, their names written out of history, and their ships reduced to dust floating on the stellar wind.” He placed his hands on the table top, his skin reflecting perfectly in its dark polished surface.
“So shall we do with the Empyreal Sun,” he said. “They shall become dust, or we shall become dust ourselves.”
It was a spin on a biblical quote. Lorelei Chen looked at Ammold Paramo’s determined face, and a chill ran up her spine at the quiet certainty that lay behi
nd his words.
24
SAGITtARIUS A*
On the bridge of the Daedalus, Lorelei Chen stared with some concern as the holographic displays of the Zara’moth computer interface crackled and spat, suffering intense interference. At the same time, the main viewscreen lit up with a breathtaking sight: a bright blue planet surrounded by swirling black clouds, and immense forks of powerful lightning thrashing across its entire circumference - a storm beyond all measure. At the command console, Machiko rose and spoke in an awed whisper.
“Reria.” A smile as beautiful and luminous as the planet before them crossed her face.
Chen’s expression was equally aglow with ecstasy, until suddenly she frowned, looking at the readouts in front of her. “This is incredible,” she muttered.
“Something serious?” Machiko looked at her.
“Seriously interesting, seriously fascinating; not seriously dangerous, Machiko. At least not at this distance.” Chen moved to one side, allowing her partner a clear view of the two holographic readouts.
What Machiko saw caused her to swallow dryly in the depths of her throat. One display showed stars and other stellar phenomena, not according to their output of visible light, but in gravity-wave schematics.
In the upper right centre of the screen was a dark oval shape surrounded by increasingly tightly bunched lines, like the contour lines on a topographic map. However, instead of designating altitude, these lines represented increasingly powerful regions of gravitational force, the ‘depth’ of a gravity well of immense proportions.
Chen enlarged the upper right quadrant of the display, the one containing the dark oval. Instead of moving farther apart as the scale was expanded, as did the lines surrounding nearby stars, those around the dark blotch remained as dense as before. She knew the magnification could be increased a hundred times without any white space ever appearing between the lines immediately encircling the central oval. The secondary display offered a visual representation of the phenomenon, but it was the g-wave scheme that absorbed Machiko’s attention.
The intensity of the gravitational force at the centre of the dark ellipse shape could be measured, if not designated, by the lines on the screen. The Reria star floated close by in space, its substance gradually being drawn off by the centre of powerful attraction. By measuring the speed and amount of material being drawn from the star’s outer layers, the Daedalus’ computers could estimate the strength of the invisible point in space.
They had already performed the requisite calculations. The resultant figures were displayed below the g-wave figures. Machiko noted them, let out a low whistle.
“Sagittarius A*,” she whispered. “The centre of the galaxy.”
Chen nodded. “I have never encountered a supermassive black hole before,” she said with appropriate solemnity. “It is so powerful, so vast… simply incredible.”
“The planet Reria is on the verge of being torn apart by these tidal forces,” Machiko observed. “No wonder the Empyreal Sun have abandoned it so readily. Though they chose a wonderful hiding place for their base of operations. Nobody would have ever dreamed to look for them here.”
Chen licked her lips. “I would estimate that this black hole contains the remains of anywhere from three to four million stellar masses.”
Machiko exhaled heavily, nodding slowly in agreement. “Big mother, isn’t it?”
“Only relatively,” Chen said. “One stellar mass or a million, it’s still only a point in space.”
“A good point to stay away from, though. Right out of Hell, if you ask me. Maybe you think Hell’s beautiful. I don’t.”
Chen made an exasperated sound, returned her attention to the holographic projection. In addition to the material being drawn from the surface of the nearby, doomed sun, various extrasolar material in the form of asteroids, meteoric bodies and nebulaic gas was also being sucked into the pit. As it vanished, crushed out of normal existence by the enormous, incomprehensible gravity, the material signalled its passing by emitting tremendous bursts of X-rays and gamma rays.
This radiation in turn excited the vast flow of gas pouring into the gravity well to fluorescence, generating a stunning display of visible light in many hues, predominantly reds. It was this magnificent display, and not the far more intense lower-spectrum emissions, the holographic projection was now revealing to their enthralled sight.
“You can’t be serious, Machiko.”
She shrugged. “I’ve seen a lot of people die recently. Don’t let me put a damper on your party. Enjoy the view.”
Chen went quiet. “The most destructive force in the Universe, Machiko,” she said. “Your hellish analogy is apt, if unflattering to it.”
“I’ve had several colleagues insist that black holes will eventually devour the entire Universe.” Machiko was moving her head, examining the projection from different angles. “They say that stars, nebulae, people - everything - will eventually end up down a single massive black hole.”
“When you see giant suns sucked in, to disappear without a trace, it makes you wonder.” Chen considered. “Though the Bible teaches us that the Universe runs in cycles. From one massive black hole erupts a primordial Big Bang, to form new stars and nebulae and worlds in an entirely new universe, which then are swallowed up again to form another massive black hole, which explodes in its turn, starting the whole creation-collapse cycle all over again. The Cosmic Body of God Himself.”
“The Lord Damarus Bible, you mean.”
Chen shrugged. “Hyperspace propulsion would not exist without such theories.”
Machiko harrumphed. “Give us some magnification, Lora. Just visual, for now.”
Chen waved her hand over the console, expanded the imaging of the black hole, the vanishing Reria star, and the glowing region of spatial debris tunnelling into the abyss.
“This one’s a monster, all right,” Machiko said. “Though it does possess a certain morbid attraction, I will give you that. Our priority on this mission, however, remains with the planet Reria itself.”
Chen nodded. “Of course. Despite existing in a zone of intense gravitational disturbance, it possesses a remarkable stability.”
“Shall we?”
Chen took a deep breath and stared out through the main viewscreen as Machiko eased the Daedalus through the planet’s atmosphere. For an instant, the view was obliterated as they descended into the swirling black clouds, which parted abruptly as if swept aside by an invisible hand. Intrigued, Chen leaned forward, eager to get a better view of the surface below. Savage storms and powerful lightning bursts meant that visibility was minimal through the relatively thick atmosphere.
“Surface is almost entirely covered with water,” Chen said. “But sensors are detecting artificial structures higher up in the atmosphere, in a habitable layer rich with oxygen.”
“There they are,” Machiko observed.
As the ship raced forward, impossibly large, shard-like floating superstructures brooded obscenely through the dense fog, surrounded by random forks of lightning. She altered course to intercept, bringing the ship closer to the largest of the superstructures. As they closed in, buildings and towers began to emerge, hangars and spaceports, an entire city hiding in the gloomy darkness.
“Lora,” Machiko said. There was an uncharacteristic note of urgency in her voice.
Chen looked up to see her partner remove her hands from the ship control console… which continued to move, guided by some external force. Clearly amazed, she glanced back at Machiko.
“I am no longer in control of the Daedalus.” Machiko said.
“There!” Chen cried. She stretched out an arm and pointed at the scenery below. “We’re heading for that landing pad.”
The ship cruised in, guided by Reria City’s automated system. Chen registered the tracking signatures of dozens, maybe hundreds of particle cannons as they passed, but none of the weapons opened fire.
Why weren’t they being shot down? Was somebody expect
ing them?
When the ship finally set down, Machiko was first out, followed by Chen. Immediately a bitterly cold and hurricane-force wind assailed them, making their eyes tear, rain pouring in a torrent. Before them, the closest of the large city structures, some kind of cathedral, rose into the darkness. Machiko tilted her face up to the building, squinting, using a hand to shield herself from the intense rainfall, her expression one of childlike wonder. That the Empyreal Sun could construct such majestic edifices in this violently dangerous sector of space was a testament to their dedication.
“Amazing!” she shouted, though the sound of her voice was lost on the intense acoustics of the battering storm.
Chen scanned the immediate area with a Vei’nl. She frowned. “According to this, there are no life signs here… except one.”
Machiko looked at her, surprised. “One? Are you sure?”
Chen nodded, pointing. “Ahead. In the nearest structure. It’s human.”
Machiko drew her disruptor pistol, and moved forward cautiously.
Better to be safe than sorry.
The inside of the cathedral-like building was spacious and full of massive stone pillars and exquisite ivory-like panels. Display cases lined the walls on either side of the entryway, filled with various alien trinkets and items. Obviously, they hadn’t been considered valuable enough by the Empyreal Sun to take with them on their mass exodus (perhaps they intended to come back for them later?). The floor was immaculately swept and polished, and a huge banner flanked the wide marble staircase nearby where it could be best viewed by those entering the building, which read:
“We children beg you, O Damarus, that you teach us to live correctly, for we are ignorant and live our lives corruptly.”
After an awkward pause, Machiko cleared her throat and motioned for Lorelei Chen to follow her down the main corridor. Lightning flashed outside, the bluish light shadowed in a checkerboard light-and-dark pattern cast by the faraway hanging lights. At the far end of the corridor was a double set of eight-foot-tall brass doors, brightly polished and impressive. They were closed, and while there was no indication that they should do so, Machiko found herself slowing as they approached them, her combat instincts making her more cautious than she had to be.