Gravity Storm: Age of Expansion - A Kurtherian Gambit Series (Shadow Vanguard Book 1)

by Tom Dublin

  Jon Rey stared at her as if she had just asked him to juggle handfuls of sand underwater. "Can't you tell?" he questioned. "It's gone crazy!"

  "I can see that," replied Bay Don, "and feel it, as well. What I mean is, why isn't the weather under control?"

  "What? Who are you, and why are you down here?"

  Bay Don pulled aside the front of her coat, revealing her official government pass, dangling from a lanyard around her neck. "I am, or rather was, Tor Val's personal assistant," she said, flatly. "And I really need to know what's going on."

  Jon Rey glanced down at her hand, causing her to remove it from his arm. Despite her concerns, the lab assistant didn't take her release as an excuse to immediately break for freedom. "We're desperately trying to figure that out," he admitted. "No-one really knows."

  Bay Don's eyes flicked around the room, looking from person to person. "Where's Yan Mil?" she demanded. "Surely he must be able to explain why things have gotten so bad all of a sudden."

  For the first time since they had begun their frantic conversation, Jon Rey's eyes softened. "You don't know."

  It was a statement more than a question.

  "Know what?" asked Bay Don.

  Turning to look around the laboratory himself, Jon Rey spotted the person he was looking for and called out, "Zeb Lok, I need you for a moment."

  Glancing up from a sheaf of papers at least as thick as the manuscript for a high fantasy trilogy of novels, Zeb Lok's eyes widened in surprise.

  "Bay Don!" he cried, quickly striding over to shake her hand. "No-one told me you had an appointment."

  "I don't," Bay Don replied. "I didn't know I was coming myself until I set off. I've been busy with the committee arranging Tor Val's funeral."

  "You're on the funeral council?"

  "Sadly no," said Bay Don. "Although they are letting me sit in to confirm any details they're unaware of. Favorite blooms, that kind of thing."

  "Ridiculous!" spat Zeb Lok. "You've been her best friend for years. You're more like a sister to her than a secretary."

  Bay Don felt her eyes well with tears. She blinked hard in an effort to stop herself from crying - something she had been doing without warning several times a day ever since the accident.

  "My relationship with Tor Val is a discussion for another day," she said. "But I need to know that the weather will be back under control in time for her funeral. I can't, no... I won't let her final journey through Taron City be marred by climate chaos. It has to be sorted by then."

  Zeb Lok and Jon Rey exchanged a glance. "We can't guarantee that," the senior lab assistant admitted. "I'm sorry."

  "But, why not?"

  "Because we don't know what's gone wrong ourselves!"

  "We're trying everything we can to bring the system back under control," Jon Rey explained. "But, without knowing what caused this problem in the first place, we're just shouting into the dark."

  "Then, what about Yan Mil?" queried Bay Don. "He designed this system, surely he'll be able to work out what has caused it to malfunction."

  The two men shared another look. "This is why I called you over," said Jon Rey. He turned back to Bay Don. "Excuse me, I must return to work."

  Zeb Lok waited until Jon Rey had left, then he took Bay Don aside, lowering his voice. "Yan Mil can't be here at the moment," he said softly. "He's upstairs, in his apartment."

  "Upstairs?" questioned Bay Don. "But wh-"

  "His wife is dead."

  Bay Don's hand shot up to her mouth. "Vix Mil?"

  Zeb Lok nodded. "I'm afraid so."

  "Wh... What happened?"

  "She was mugged," replied Zeb Lok. "Heading home from the lab after paying a visit to Yan Mil. Some guy with a knife jumped her and stole her purse. The medics say she might have survived if she had received prompt treatment, but she wasn't found for several hours. She bled out."

  Now tears did fall down Bay Don's cheeks. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

  Zeb Lok rested a hand on her shoulder. "It happened the evening of Tor Val's accident. We figured you'd had enough bad news for one day." He gestured around the room. "Then all this shit started, and I guess no-one thought to bring you up to date. I'm sorry."

  "I'm not blaming you," said Bay Don, pulling a handkerchief from her coat pocket and using it to dry her eyes. "How is Yan Mil?"

  "That's just it," replied Zeb Lok. "We don't know. He locked himself in the apartment he occasionally uses when he works late, and hasn't come out. We've tried calling, knocking on the door, video calls. He just asks us to leave him alone."

  Bay Don sighed. "I understand that, but he can't-"

  WUMPH!

  Everyone in the room clamped their hands over their ears as the air around them seemed to solidify for a second. Then, as if pressed down upon by some invisible hands, they began to fall to the ground.

  Screams and cries for help added to the already oppressive levels of noise flooding the room.

  Bay Don and Zeb Lok hit the floor at the same moment.

  Bay Don tried to force herself up with her hands, but found she couldn't move. It was as if someone was standing on her back, forcing her down.

  "Wass... ging on...?" she murmured, suddenly scared that she was unable to even speak properly, so great was the pressure bearing down on her.

  "Ah... dunno..." answered Zeb Lok, trying hard to re-angle his head so he could look around the rest of the laboratory. But, he couldn't move either - and all the other people seemed to be suffering in exactly the same way.

  All he could see was the bank of television screens upon which the rolling news channels were being broadcast. Television screens which now erupted with plumes of electrical sparks as they collapsed in on themselves.

  Shards of glass and pieces of plastic rained down on the scientists lying beneath the sets. The terrified lab techs tried to slide themselves away from danger but, like everyone else, were completely unable to move.

  Around the rest of the room, computers imploded, table legs buckled, and glass containers shattered. Pipes burst, spraying jets of water across the trapped employees.

  Within seconds, the room began to flood, adding to the sense of panic. There may have only been a few inches of water on the ground but, now that everyone was being pressed to the floor and unable to even lift their heads, that's all that would be needed to cause them to drown.

  Bay Don struggled to inch her fingers closer to her pocket in an attempt to reach her communicator. If she could just manage to press the emergency call button, she might be able to summon help.

  Just then the ceiling collapsed.

  Alma Nine, Taron City, Channel Three News, Dressing Room 1

  Shards of glass rained down as the dressing room's mirror - and all the lightbulbs surrounding it - exploded.

  Although Cal Car had no idea at all what was happening, he was thankful that whatever invisible force was pressing him hard against the floor had knocked him off his chair face down.

  The sharp pieces of glass could embed themselves in the back of his head and neck with his blessing, so long as none of them attempted the lacerate his well-known face.

  His passport to his TV career.

  Cal Car's mentor - a much-loved, experienced news anchor he'd had the good fortune to work under back on Malatia - had paid the ultimate price as a result of superficial damage to his face.

  As an attempt to reverse the natural signs of aging, the anchor had opted to secretly undergo cosmetic surgery, paying well above the going rate to find a doctor he could trust not to go running to the press.

  Following a supposed vacation, the anchor had returned to air with skin so taut and blemish-free he could barely form any facial expression besides the now constant look of mild surprise.

  As viewing figures slumped, the anchor became a figure of ridicule on social media sites with satirists and members of the general public alike poking fun at his new, static appearance.

  The more the anchor denied he'd been under the knife, t
he faster new cruelly-edited pictures of him flashed from screen to screen as people shared the fake photographs with their friends and family.

  It wasn't long before the news channel he had worked at for decades decided to let him go, citing the anchor's failing health as the reason for replacing him with a younger, more flexibly-faced newscaster.

  The truth, however, was that the man was now a laughing stock. And the handful of loyal viewers who refused to join in with the mockery said they missed his former, wiser face. The face of experience. The face they knew they could trust.

  Cal Car had lost contact with his former inspiration when he boarded the spaceship Dessia, determined to become a popular television personality in the Malatian's newest colony.

  The last he'd heard, the former anchor was eking out a meagre living by writing erotic novellas about a brilliant journalism professor and his harem of willing, nubile pupils.

  As much as Cal Car suspected he would be able to pen any number of similar pieces of smut, he had no desire to test out the theory. And so, as the ceiling above him creaked and groaned threatening to give way, he kept his priceless face pressed into the dressing room's aged carpet.

  Alma Nine, Taron City, Central Hospital, ER

  Pol Tod tried her hardest to ignore the screams coming from all around the emergency room as she dragged herself, inch by inch, under the bed of the patient she had just been treating.

  The man on the trolley above her was balding, obese, and had been cursing loudly as she had tried to explain that his years of heavy drinking and eating nothing but fast food had been major factors in this, his third heart attack.

  She had been futilely extolling the virtues of a healthy diet and regular exercise when some overwhelming force had pushed her to the floor.

  Her patient had cried out in pain at first, but his caterwauling had swiftly faded away until, as far as she could tell with the deafening cacophony from all around the department, he finally fell silent.

  Pol Tod managed to pull herself beneath the metal frame of the hospital bed. She wasn't 100% certain why she felt the need to take cover, but the sound of smashing glass when whatever this was had first started was accompanied by a dimming of light in the room.

  If the large fluorescent tubes fixed to the ceiling where somehow being torn from their fittings and cast down on the people below, she wanted to get out of harm's way.

  Of course, her first thought was for the safety of the ER's patients but, as she was unable to get to her feet, she opted to keep herself safe so she would be able to return to providing care if and when whatever was causing this opted to let the bizarre and terrifying situation end.

  She fought to keep her panic under control. Ever since the night she had battled to save Tor Val's life, the medic had suffered from regular bouts of uncontrollable anxiety.

  She hadn’t slept since, hadn’t eaten and was suffering with agonizing migraine headaches.

  Her work began to suffer.

  After discussing negative reports concerning mistakes she had made in the field - the first ever such accusations that had been made against her - her superiors had taken the decision to reassign her to a position in the ER. The move they claimed, was a temporary one and would help ease the unbearable pressure she was clearly working under.

  In reality, they wanted Pol Tod somewhere where they could keep a close eye on her.

  Concentrating on her breathing, Pol Tod finally felt the potential panic attack begin to subside. Yes, whatever was happening was scary, but she appeared to be safe and unhurt, despite her inability to move very far.

  Just then, the man on the bed began to groan again. He was alive! Pol Tod was making a mental checklist of tests to run on the injured individual when all this was over when, with a screech of breaking metal, the bed frame she was hiding under collapsed.

  The full weight of both the bed and its vastly overweight occupant slammed down on top of her.

  Pol Tod had endured her last panic attack.

  17

  ICS Fortitude, Bridge

  The ship bucked and pitched like a rodeo steed, the thankfully recently reinforced metal hull screeching as it protested loudly to the sudden, unnatural movements.

  And, all the while, Alma Nine grew bigger and bigger ahead.

  Jack, Adina and Tc'aarlat gripped their respective consoles tightly in an effort not to be tossed around the bridge like a dried pea inside a referee's favorite whistle.

  "What. The. Fuck?!" demanded Jack, trying to make himself heard over the sound of the ear-splitting alarm. "Solo, I'm talking to you!"

  The E.I.'s avatar appeared on screen, looking as calm as ever.

  "I'm sorry, Captain Marber," she said. "I'm not certain I understand the question. Which element of our current situation are you referring to?"

  "ALL OF IT!" yelled Jack, ducking as Mist's water dish was dislodged from its spot to the right of Tc'aarlat's position and flew across the bridge. It hit a metallic storage closet fitted to store ammunition for the group's new collection of weapons and shattered into several pieces.

  "Why is the ship behaving like this?" Jack roared.

  "I shall be pleased to answer your query," replied Solo, "but first I must ask each of you to return to your seats and fasten your safety belts or harne-"

  "SOLO!" all three crew members bellowed together.

  The E.I. made a noise that, to the untrained ear, may have sounded like an exasperated sigh. Tc'aarlat made a brief mental note to ask Solo to teach him how to do it.

  "The ICS Fortitude is currently being struck by a string of what appear to be gravitational waves," Solo explained.

  Adina twisted the upper half of her body to look up at the screen, but not daring to release her grip on the navigation console. "What?! That's impossible!"

  "I'm afraid I must disagree," countered Solo, "it is an entirely possible situation. If two black holes or two neutron stars were to collide nearby, the result would be the exact phenomenon we are now experiencing."

  Tc'aarlat took up the interrogation. "And, have they?"

  Solo blinked. "Have they, what?"

  "Have two black holes or two neutron stars collided nearby?!"

  Solo was silent for a brief moment, then replied: "No, there is no evidence to support that scenario."

  "Then it's impossible!" repeated Adina.

  Solo faded from view. Now, the entire view screen was filled with the image of the planet below. Continents and coastlines were clearly visible, and getting closer by the second.

  "Well, something's causing this," shouted Jack. "And, if we don't figure out a way to- SOLO, SWITCH OFF THAT GOTT VERDAMMT ALARM!"

  Solo spoke without returning to the screens. "But, then how will you be aware that we are engaged in a potentially dangerous predicament, Captain?"

  "WE'LL DO OUR BEST TO REMEMBER! NOW SWITCH OFF THE ALARM BEFORE I FIND WHICHEVER ONE OF YOUR CIRCUIT BOARDS IS CONTROLLING IT AND BLAST IT INTO OBLIVION!"

  The Captain turned back to his colleagues. "IF WE DON'T-"

  The alarm quickly silenced, leaving just the groans and screeches of the ship itself to contend with.

  "If we don't find a way to deal with this, our career as spies is going to be very short indeed!"

  "Anything in mind?" questioned Tc'aarlat "Before that mind ends up as little more than a reddish smear on the planet's surface, that is."

  "I have," announced Adina. "It's risky, but it's the only thing I can think of."

  "Go for it," Jack responded.

  Adina took a quick, calming breath then called out. "Solo, on my command, please rotate the ship 90 degrees to starboard."

  "Yes, Adina," the E.I. responded.

  Tc'aarlat frowned. "That's it?!" he barked. "Your risky idea is to make a quarter turn to the right?!"

  Adina nodded. "Whatever's causing these gravitational waves, we're flying straight into them. And they're pounding us. If Nathan's team hadn't reinforced the ship's structure, we'd have been torn apart by now
."

  Tc'aarlat's mandibles spread wide. "So, what will-"

  "Let her speak!" Jack commanded.

  "I know that," responded Tc'aarlat. "I just think it's a clear case of too many cocks spoil the broth!"

  Jack shook his head, sighing. "Go on, Adina..."

  "Obviously, I'm guessing..." Adina continued.

  Tc'aarlat opened his mouth to comment, but the warning look he received from Jack made him reconsider.

  "...But if we can somehow work with the movement of the waves, we might be able to harness the energy they're producing and use that to our advantage to help us land safely."

  Despite the situation, Jack found himself smiling. "You're suggesting we surf down to the planet's surface?"

  Adina grinned. "Essentially, yes."

  Jack shook his head slightly. "That's the most utterly insane maneuver I've ever heard anyone suggest, let alone attempt. But, we're about to come to a very sudden and extremely violent stop, and it's the only idea we've got."

  He winked to Adina. "Do it!"

  Tc'aarlat increased his grip on his console and screwed his eyes closed. "Oh, shit!"

  "OK, Solo..." began Adina. "Begin the turn... now!"

  The ship began to shudder even more as the barely audible bow port side thrusters fired. On the screens, the view of the fast-approaching planet shifted slightly to the left.

  "I think now's a good time to take Solo's advice about the safety belts," Jack shouted as he reached back for his newly-fitted chair, strangely disappointed that he was only going to enjoy it for what was promising to be a particularly short trip.

  Beside him, Tc'aarlat strapped himself into the co-pilot's seat - once he'd swept the long, purple cloak aside and prevented it from blocking access to the strong steel buckles.

  Reaching up, he lifted Mist from his shoulder and held her firmly to his chest. "It's OK, girl," he soothed to the trembling bird. "Everything's going to be alright."

  SQUAWWW!

  Tc'aarlat scowled down at her. "Yeah? Well, what was I supposed to tell you? The truth?!"

  Adina fought to reach for the harness fitted to the back of her own chair, and clicked the cold, metal clip in place. Turning to watch the coastline of whichever area of land was below them give way to a vast blue ocean edged with pure white spray, she allowed her thoughts to wander back to her Uncle Yousuf in his room at the care home.