Crimson Worlds Refugees: The First Trilogy

by Jay Allan

  Not that it will do them much good. If Shangri la is a dead end—or a trap—then it’s all over…

  She knew sixty-odd ships—low on weapons, on food, on fuel—had no real chance to survive, not if Saratoga was destroyed and Shangri la proved to be a bust. They had staked all on finding the world Almeerhan had promised them. If that had been a lie, or if the ancient planet had been taken by the Regent and turned into a trap, she knew the fleet was through. Even Compton’s sacrifice…no, she corrected herself, his efforts…had been in vain. She wasn’t ready to give up on Compton, not yet. But that didn’t matter, not if Saratoga was about to die.

  “It’s definitely some kind of weapon system, Admiral. We’re getting readings, satellites activating…power generation, in excess of nine hundred petawatts.”

  “Group A, forward one-tenth thrust. Group B, full thrust, directly away from…”

  “Energy discharges, sir. Some kind of weapon.” Krantz was as cool and professional any officer as West had ever known, but now she could hear the fear in his voice. “We can’t even get an accurate reading on the energy level.”

  She felt her body tightening, preparing for the end. Any weapon with that kind of power would vaporize Saratoga with a single shot. This is the end, she thought. But nothing happened. Not to Saratoga.

  “Report,” she snapped, staring around the flag bridge.

  “Admiral, the Leviathans…”

  “What about them?” She looked down at her own screen, and her eyes went wide.

  “They’re gone, Admiral. Destroyed.” Krantz’ tone was overcome with shock.

  West stared at the display. “Gone? What the hell…”

  “The weapons targeted them. One shot each.”

  A Leviathan? Destroyed with a single shot? What the hell have we run into here?

  “The scanners have it all, Admiral. Preliminary data suggests some kind of massive particle accelerators. All four Leviathans are gone.”

  West felt like she’d been punched in the gut. The Leviathans that Command Unit Gamma 9736 had given them represented at least half the remaining firepower of the fleet. At least they had. Admiral Compton had taken two with the rearguard…and the others had just been destroyed like they were nothing.

  “Any signs of recharging? Targeting locks?” Why haven’t they hit any of the other ships? Do they rate us not dangerous enough?

  “Negative, Admiral. The satellites have powered down. If I had to guess, they are on some kind of standby. They didn’t target or fire at any of our vessels. Just the Leviathans.”

  West shook her head. You damned fool, she thought, anger at herself growing with every passing second. Why did you bring the Leviathans forward?

  It was beginning to make sense to her. If Almeerhan’s people had built this world, the Regent’s ships would have been the enemy…and the defense system would have been programmed to recognize them as threats.

  “Of course,” she muttered. “I just threw away the four most powerful ships we have.” Her voice was soft, she was mostly talking to herself. She felt waves of self-recrimination. She tried to imagine the fury she would level at a subordinate who had done what she just had.

  “We have definitely been scanned, Admiral. But the weapons are still on standby.”

  She shook her head quietly. There will be time for self-loathing later. You have work to do now.

  “Bring us in slowly, Commander. All weapon systems powered down, no sudden course changes.”

  “Yes, Admiral. Executing.”

  “And open all channels. Instruct the AI to begin transmission of translation protocols. Let’s see if we can communicate with whatever is down there.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  From the Research Notes of Hieronymus Cutter

  I’ve been sitting at my workstation for thirty minutes, trying to think of something to write. I am about to lead the landing party down to Shangri la, arguably the most momentous step ever taken by a human scientist. I feel I should have something profound to mark the occasion. But all I can think of is my fatigue, the toll of nearly two years of constant battle and flight. And one other thing…the terrible injustice that Admiral Compton is not here to see this day. Is he out there somewhere, on his way here even now? Or is he gone, never to be seen by us again. I know what I want to believe. But I have spent my life analyzing data, and that leads me to a conclusion I resist with everything that makes me human.

  Landing Zone X-Ray

  Planet X108 IV – “Shangri la”

  The Fleet: 91 ships (+2 Leviathans), 21946 crew

  “Atmospheric scans confirm earlier readings. Almost Earth-normal…air composition, temperature, plant and animal life. It’s a virtual paradise down here. The Superpowers would have started a war fighting over a world like this.” Cutter walked along a grassy knoll, looking out over an idyllic valley below. At least the green growth under his feet looked like terrestrial grass—and the preliminary readouts suggested it was almost identical to its Earth cousin.

  “Very well, Dr. Cutter. But I want the landing party to remain suited up. Certainly until we’ve completed an intense scan for toxins and pathogens.” West’s voice was skeptical, as usual. “Especially since we’re already battling somewhat of an epidemic up here on the fleet.” Her tone changed, became darker. The mysterious disease that first appeared on Snow Leopard had spread to more than twenty other ships, all vessels serviced by the same freighter or visited by someone from an infected vessel. We can’t take a risk that traces of the disease that killed the Ancients are still down there, that they have mutated into something dangerous to us.”

  “Yes, Admiral. I agree.” Cutter did agree, at least his rational mind did. But this world was so beautiful, so perfect…he felt the urge to shed his armor, to breathe deeply, fill his lungs with fresh, non-recycled air. A Marine fighting suit was an amazing bit of technology, nuclear-powered, capable of sustaining life in any environment, even deep space. It offered its wearer enormous protection in battle, and its built-in trauma system could treat all but the most severe wounds. But he had to admit, his suit smelled a little too much like Hieronymus Cutter, and it made the blue skies of this world, and the fields of wildflowers rippling in the gentle wind, that much more appealing.

  “Hieronymus,” West continued, “we need to know for sure this whole thing is legitimate, that what Almeerhan told you is true. If this is some kind of trap…”

  “It’s not, Admiral.” Cutter’s response was sharp, brittle. He understood West’s caution, but he knew Shangri la was real. He couldn’t explain it, but he just knew. He’d had extensive contact with the preserved essence of the ancient alien back on X48 II, and he didn’t doubt anything he’d been told. His analytical mind was trained to be critical, to question anything unproven. But there wasn’t a reservation in his mind. Not about this.

  “I hope you’re right. Because, between you and me, I don’t know what I would do if it was. We’re low on fuel, and our factory ships are going to grind to a halt unless we get the chance to stop somewhere and mine some new resources. Even the food supply is in trouble. The epidemic has affected two of the agri-ships.” The fleet had converted four massive freighters to food production, growing a variety of carefully engineered algaes and hydroponics. Their production didn’t produce anything terribly appetizing, but they supplied enough basic nutrition to feed the fleet’s survivors. But with two out of four quarantined, food was going to become a problem. Quickly.

  “I’m sure I’m right, Admiral. I can’t explain it, but you know me well enough to realize I’m not prone to frivolous beliefs.”

  “No, Hieronymus, you are not. But be careful anyway.”

  “I will see that our scans down here are extremely thorough. That is my expertise. And you get ready to face whatever comes through that warp gate eventually. Because we both know Admiral Compton just bought us a little time and nothing more than that.”

  West was silent for a few seconds. “Yes, Hieronymus…we both k
now that. And I will. Carry on.” Then she cut the line.

  “Dr. Cutter, this is Major Frasier. We found something, sir. I think you should come over here as soon as you can.” Cutter had told Frasier to call him Hieronymus at least a dozen times. The Marine had complied, at least when they were off duty. But in the field, Frasier was the textbook Marine…and Cutter was in command of the landing party. That would require respect in any circumstance, but Hieronymus Cutter had been adopted by the Corps. He was one of their own now, and he always would be…from the moment he’d risked his own life to defend a group of wounded Marines, facing almost certain death in doing so. Many things were said about the Corps, but no one questioned it had a long memory…for injuries done to it and for services rendered on its behalf.

  “I’m on my way, Connor.” Cutter might be an honorary Marine, but his adoption hadn’t bestowed any real discipline or formality on him. Connor Frasier was his comrade, and the lover of his closest friend and informal sister, Ana Zhukov. He thought of the Marine like a brother, and he had no intention of wasting time with a lot of “major” bullshit.

  Cutter had sent Major Frasier and his Marines to scout and secure the immediate area. He didn’t expect the Marines to find any hostiles, but he was looking for something. He didn’t know what it was—he hadn’t fully completed his translations of the data retrieved from X48 II—but he was sure he’d know it when he saw it. And the Marines were very thorough. If there was something there, he knew they’d find it.

  He walked along the ridgeline, heading toward Frasier’s position. It was about five klicks, and he found himself moving quickly. Not running, exactly, but certainly jogging. A smile slipped across his face. He remembered bumbling around in his armor the first time he’d worn it. He’d struggled enormously simply to remain standing, to walk slowly without toppling over.

  Maybe I really am a Marine now…

  He shook his head.

  Yeah…at least until the shooting starts.

  He turned to the right, his eyes shooting up to the projected display inside his helmet. Connor Frasier was a small blue dot on the map…and there was something else too. A red square, some type of construction. Cutter felt a wave of excitement, and he hurried his pace.

  He walked through the low-lying valley, looking back and forth at the hills on either side. There were trees scattered around, and expanses of white and blue flowers. The planet really did look like Earth, or at what Earth had probably looked like before the Superpowers and their predecessor nations had devastated so much of it with war.

  He climbed up a small rise, and when he reached the top he could see Frasier, surrounded by half a dozen Marines…staring at something.

  Cutter kicked up the magnification of his visor and took a closer look. He felt a wave of excitement the instant his eyes settled on it, and he continued forward, quickening his pace even more. It was an obelisk, perhaps four meters tall, smooth, white, built from some kind of stone that resembled Earthly marble. He’d never seen it before, never even imagined something like it. But it was familiar nevertheless, and he knew what it was. He couldn’t explain it, but he was sure.

  He trotted up the rest of the way, his eyes locked on the monument as he ran. His mind raced. How do I know what that is? But he did know. And he knew what to do.

  “Dr. Cutter…” Frasier stepped away from the obelisk.

  “Have you seen any activity from the obelisk, Connor? Any flashes of light? Movement?”

  “No, sir,” the Marine replied, glancing back at the monument for a few seconds. “But look at it…it looks new, like it was built yesterday. If that thing is half a million years old…”

  “It is.” Cutter stood and looked over Frasier’s shoulder. The rest of the Marines were doing the same thing. There was something about the alien artifact, something hypnotic. It was affecting them all. But Cutter pushed the distraction aside and walked right up to it.

  It was smooth, its surface polished to a sheen that brightly reflected the morning sunlight. It was almost blinding. Cutter stepped up onto the base, his eyes glancing at the projection in his helmet for an accurate measurement. He’d guessed a little over three meters square, and he was right…3.14159. Pi. The dimensions of the pediment matched the constant pi.

  Is that to support communication? A way for visitors to begin to understand the race that had built the amazing construction? Any advanced species would have discovered pi, they would understand that this was no arbitrary measurement.

  Cutter stared at the obelisk, his head moving slowly, looking over every centimeter. There was nothing…nothing but the smooth, utterly seamless surface. It didn’t make sense. There should be something, a symbol, a mark of some kind. He knew it. He couldn’t explain it, but he’d never been surer of anything in his life. He took a step forward, reached out and touched the marble. The sensors on his armored glove fed back data…temperature, composition, texture. The stone was smooth, not a single imperfection, at least none his sensors could detect. It was almost identical to Earth marble, the same within ten decimals. But there was something else, a substance, a force? Whatever it was, his suit’s AI couldn’t identify it. And he had no idea either. He was missing something. He knew there was more to the obelisk, and he stood and stared, probing his own mind, analyzing everything he’d read in the data unit he’d brought back from X48 II, everything Almeerhan had told him.

  He looked down at his arm. Of course. DNA. They manipulated our DNA, made it a copy of their own. That’s how they would know…

  He heard Admiral West’s words repeating in his mind, her orders. The landing party was to stay in their suits on full life support. The Admiral was right, he knew. There were people dying on the fleet, victims of some mysterious disease. He knew what she was thinking…and he agreed. It was the disease that had destroyed the people of the First Imperium, a newly mutated version—probably created by the Regent—one that infected humans. If they weren’t careful, it could kill everyone on the fleet. It was already threatening thousands, and only the quarantines West had ordered had stopped the spread.

  But he knew what he had to do. It would violate West’s orders. It would trap him on the planet, at least for the foreseeable future…and possibly forever. The intensive scans West had ordered would take days, and if they found anything, even an uncertain hint of some kind of pathogen…

  Or the disease could be here…one breath of the air of this world could be fatal…

  But he didn’t believe that. He had no basis to be sure about anything, but he was nevertheless. He stepped down from the pedestal, and walked a few meters. Then he stopped and turned back.

  “Open armor,” he said softly.

  “Negative,” the AI replied. Mission parameters do not allow for deviation from full life support protocols.

  “Override,” he said. “Authority, Cutter, Hieronymus, Colonel.” Cutter had joined the fleet as a civilian, a scientist, but he’d quickly become one of the most important of its personnel, more responsible for its survival than anyone save Admiral Compton himself. After the Marines adopted him, Compton had signed a commission, making him a colonel. It was honorary, at least partially, but it was also intended to allow him to exert command over other fleet officers. Cutter had an almost blank check from Compton, and everyone knew that. The rank just made it official. But it had also been entered into the fleet’s information network, giving him the authority to overrule the AI’s mission orders.

  “Scans of planetary atmosphere and surface are still incomplete. Are you sure you wish to override mission parameters?”

  Cutter paused, staring at the obelisk. “Yes,” he said. “Override. Open armor.”

  He could hear the familiar cracking sound, the scrape of metal on metal as the locking bolts in his armor slid aside, and the suit popped open like a giant clamshell.

  He felt the air from outside, cool, refreshing…and he closed his eyes for a second.

  “Hieronymus!” It was Frasier, and his voice was
as panicked as Cutter had ever heard it. “The atmospheric scans are…”

  “It’s okay, Connor,” he said, his voice calm, placid. He was more certain than ever he was doing the right thing. “I have to do this.”

  Frasier stood completely still, a dark silhouette against the bright sunlight. Cutter knew his friend was horrified, worried about him, about what could happen to him if the scans found something in the atmosphere, the dirt, the water. And stunned that Cutter had violated Admiral West’s orders. Frasier was a Marine, and the son of a Marine, and he took orders from superior officers to be something akin to the word of God. But as much as Cutter had been taken in by the Corps, obedience didn’t run in his blood as it did with his adopted brethren. Besides, it was an open question if he was subject to West’s orders anyway, at least outside of a battle. Compton had given him virtually unlimited authority to do as he saw fit in conducting research. And as much as he—and West and most of the others—were deathly afraid Compton was dead, no one had dared to utter such words, or to supersede any order the great man had given.

  “It’s okay, Conner,” Cutter said softly. “I know what I’m doing.” He stepped out of the armor. The sun beat down on his skin, the breeze soft refreshing. He leaned back, looked at the sky, nothing but a few puffy clouds breaking up the sea of unbroken blue. The breeze was cool but not cold. He couldn’t recall the last time he felt so content.

  He moved to the back of his armor, to the small storage compartment, and he popped it open. He pulled out a gray jumpsuit, stepping in and zipping it up. He looked back at Frasier and the Marines, standing dead still and watching him. Their visors blocked their faces, but Cutter imagined the looks of horror hiding beneath the silvery masks.