by Jay Allan
“Most of the time, no.” She stepped over the mud bordering the shore. “But for once, it sounds like something good.”
“The device you brought back. Hobart Evans’? It turns out they’d done some work on the ship after all.”
Electricity shot down her spine. “You’ve got its tech.”
He glanced up at the roof dome with a sigh. “Unfortunately, no. That appears to be lost for good. But Evans’ team found a written message. A copy of it is on his device. Get this—it’s from one of the Swimmers.”
“In Swimmer? So what? We’ve had a millennium to try to decode their language and no one’s come close. There’s hardly anything to work with.”
He swung his head side to side. “It’s not just in Swimmer. The alien made a copy in English, too. Old, archaic—from the era of the Panhandler Virus—but this is our Rosetta Stone. We’ve already translated it.”
“Why would it leave it in English?” Rada said, but she already knew the answer. “Because it wanted us to hear. What does it say?”
He handed her the device. “Read it out loud, will you? I want to hear it told to me. Like its author intended.”
She stood in the artificial sunlight and read. It wasn’t a long message, but its contents were dense. The ship—the vessel they’d found—was from the time of the invasion. It had been left in reserve to orbit Neptune. After the invasion had come to a stunning, shocking defeat, its crew had decided to nuke Earth. To finish the few scraps of humanity that had survived first the virus and then the war.
One alien had fought to stop them, but it had been beaten down by a rival, left for dead.
“He moved to the controls and gave the command to launch the missiles,” Rada read. “But there was nothing to be launched, because when I had woken the ship’s defenses, I launched the nukes into the system’s star.
“Confused, Tton tried again. With his back turned, I picked up the laser and I shot him until he was dead.
“Somehow, I dragged myself to medical. I did not think it could save me, but I wanted time to leave a record. One that might someday be found by those who would understand. To preserve it, I asked the ship to land on a nearby moon. It will be my tomb.
“Some will say I betrayed my people. That I am a rebel. A traitor. Fit to die on a wasteland of ice. Forsaken. Alone.
“But I know different. I know that I have followed the Way.”
Rada looked up from the device, blinking at Toman. “You’re sure this is real?”
“I’ve had the LOTR working on it nonstop.” He grinned like a schoolboy. “The paper it’s written on—it’s not human. And it’s ancient. A millennium old, give or take. Do you see, Rada? We lost the ship. The tech. But we got something worth far more.”
“A story?” She frowned. “Don’t get me wrong. It was a hero. Its story deserves to be told. But you really think that’s worth more than what the ship could have taught us?”
“Its story tells us much more than the rebellion.” Toman grabbed her by the shoulders, beaming. “It tells us that the Swimmers don’t think and march in lockstep. They’re individuals. Not all of them agreed with the decision to exterminate us.” He tipped back his head to the stars burning endlessly from the darkness. “And on the day we meet again, we may not have to go to war after all.”
-o0o-
After that, she didn’t see him for a while. Against the counsel of his advisors, he had insisted on making the story public. It sent ripples across the system. Many politicians and CEOs denounced it as fraudulent, a forged apologia from a known bug-lover. Toman sent the message to a dozen different institutes to verify it for themselves, then spent a week touring Earth speaking to citizens and leaders.
Rada continued to train. As soon as she had the fundamentals down, Val started to throw new challenges at her. Docking attempts with the thrusters disabled. Drone attacks. And then pirate assaults, with the enemy ships controlled by some of the Hive’s other pilots. Most of the time, Rada got her ass kicked, but she always went back for more.
Because she loved it. Even the defeats. She’d finally found what she’d been born to do.
A few weeks after her arrival on the Hive, she exited the simulation room and found Simm waiting outside.
“Toman’s back.” He smiled, Sphinx-like. “And he brought you a present.”
They hopped on a cart. Rada pumped him with questions, but Simm refused to answer a single one. As they took the lift to the habitation ring, he got out a blindfold, refusing to go on until she agreed to put it on.
A few minutes later, the cart rocked to a stop.
“Okay,” Simm said. “You can take it off.”
She ripped the blindfold from her eyes. Toman stood in front of her, grinning foxily. They were in a private wing of the Hive’s main port. Outside the plate windows, the Tine waited on the pad, restored and repainted.
She eyed Toman. “Where’s my present?”
He nodded out the window. “You’re staring right at it.”
Rada drifted forward. “You’re kidding. You’re not giving me the Tine.”
“Not exactly. It’s my favorite ship in the galaxy. But it is in need of a new pilot. After what you’ve done for me, I think you deserve first dibs.”
“Me? I barely know what I’m doing!”
“That’s not what Val says.” Toman socked her on the shoulder. “Come on. Take us out for a spin.”
Mind reeling, she suited up. The three of them walked out the airlock. It was only then that she saw what they’d painted on the nose: leering shark jaws.
“What the hell is that?” she said.
Toman shrugged. “Simm’s suggestion.”
“It’s like they said on Jindo,” Simm said. “A ship should match what’s inside it.”
“I’m not sure if I’m flattered,” Rada said. “But I am sure this is awesome.”
They crossed the Tine’s airlock and made way to the cockpit. Rada had been there before, but tingles rushed up and down her arms and legs. At Lonnie’s seat, she paused and looked at Simm.
He swept out his hand. “All yours.”
She buckled in. Checked the systems. Counted down. And launched. She took off from the Hive as slowly as an old man putting himself to bed, but it was and always would be the most exciting flight of her life.
-o0o-
For a long time after that, life on the Hive was quiet. Quiet was good, but sometimes, when Rada was between missions, sitting around in the grass of Toman’s micro-world, she looked back on those frantic days with something close to nostalgia.
Not that she had any desire to relive the violence and heartache surrounding the discovery of the Rebel, as Toman had christened the now-famous ship. And flying the Tine remained an unquenchable thrill. She and Simm had become a thing, too, and though he was sedate to the point of being boring, she appreciated the stability he brought to her life. She had no doubt that she was happy.
Sometimes, though, she missed the excitement of the old days.
Three years later, she got her wish. It started with a message from a woman named Jain Kayle. The message was a request to meet, nothing more.
Within days, it would change Rada’s life. Within months, it would change the balance of the Solar System.
And not long after that, it would change everything.
----o0o----
Enjoyed REBEL? Be sure to pick up OUTLAW, the next book in the Rebel Stars series.
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I write a whole bunch of sci-fi and fantasy, including the post-apocalyptic Breakers series and the epic fantasy trilogy the Cycle of Arawn. You can find the rest of my books here. Thanks for reading.
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DARK SPACE
JASPER T. SCOTT
-o0o-
BONUS!
“DARK SPACE: A CHANCE ENCOUNTER”
(A DARK SPACE SHORT STORY)
DARK SPACE:
BOOK 1
JASPER T. SCOTT
Copyright © 2014 by Jasper T. Scott
All rights reserved.
o0o
PROLOGUE
A vast backdrop of stars sparkled all around Ethan’s head, just on the other side of the nova interceptor’s thin transpiranium cockpit canopy. The stars seemed so close he could touch them, but Ethan couldn’t allow himself to be distracted by the view. He targeted the nearest enemy fighter and brought the red brackets under his crosshairs. His ears picked up the soft click of a laser lock even before his eyes registered the crosshair turning green. He pulled the trigger and held it down, pouring a continuous stream of bright red pulse lasers into his target. Then the laser charge gauges began flashing red on his HUD, and that stream of fire diminished to a slow trickle. Ethan eased up on the trigger and switched over to missiles just as his target began jinking out of line. Enemy ripper fire sizzled off his rear shields, and Ethan broke into an evasive pattern, forgetting about his target for the moment. The sound of ripper fire hitting his shields stopped, only to start again from another angle when a second junker swooped down onto his six. Ethan craned his neck to get a visual reference on the enemy fighters. They were converging on him from completely opposite directions—a pincer maneuver that was sure to get him killed.
“Ah, a little help over here? I’m caught in a vice!”
“Roger that, Five,” Seven said.
Ethan tried to hold it together as enemy fire sizzled off his shields, turning them dark green, then yellow, and finally red. Now shells plinked off his hull as the shields were unable to completely dissipate the energy of those projectiles.
The streams of enemy fire on his port side ceased, followed by, “That got him!” from Guardian Seven. Now, with only one fighter attacking him, Ethan strengthened his shields on the starboard side and circled around to line up on the enemy fighter’s tail. A few moments later he poured freshly charged pulse lasers into the twin hulls of a blocky junk fighter whose starboard maneuvering jet was already flickering dimly. Unable to evade him, the junker took heavy fire. One of his shots punched through to the reactor, and the enemy fighter suddenly exploded, sending the twin hulls flaming off in opposite directions.
“I need help!” Gina screamed.
Guardian Three came on saying, “Four enemy fighters just broke off from the main group! They’re lining up for another pass on the Defiant! Get them before—” The comm died in static.
“Lead?” Ethan quickly checked his scopes.
A second later Ithicus came back saying, “I’m all right. Got winged by a bit of shrapnel. No major damage. Those four fired off a volley of torps at point-blank range. Dumb frekkers.”
The command channel sounded in the next instant with, “Guardians, we need a better screen than that!”
“Doing the best we can, Control,” Three shot back. “We’re down by five and there are at least two enemy squadrons out here. Where are your gunnery crews?”
“Cannons are coming online any minute.”
We don’t have a minute, Ethan thought to himself. “Six, where are you?” he asked, remembering that she’d called for help. He spent a moment checking his scopes for Gina without any luck. A cold fist seized his heart, but then he found her, cutting an evasive pattern toward the Valiant, a pair of enemy interceptors pouring golden streams of ripper fire on her tail. Those two were fast for junkers—she was having trouble shaking them.
“I’m right where you left me, you dumb kakard! I don’t suppose I still have a wingmate out there somewhere?”
Ethan grimaced. He wasn’t used to working in teams. “Sorry, on my way now.” He came about and boosted with the last of his afterburners to catch up to the enemy interceptors. Once in range, he switched to Hailfire missiles and quickly dropped one on the enemies’ tails. A second later he realized his mistake as he noted the proximity between the enemy interceptors and Gina’s own nova. “Gina, get out of there! I just fired a Hailfire on your pursuit.”
“Frek you! My afterburners are tapped out! What do you want me to do?”
Ethan thought fast, even as the blue trail of the Hailfire’s primary thrusters winked out. The enemy fighters realized their peril and broke off from Gina to go evasive, but they were still too close.
“Reverse thrust!” Ethan said.
“They might lock on to me if I do that!”
Frek, Ethan thought. “Hold on!” He thumbed over to pulse lasers and targeted the distant missile, hoping he could get it before it exploded into its four smaller warheads. At this range his targeting computer refused to lock onto the missile. Desperate, Ethan raked blind laser fire over the target brackets. Nothing happened. An instant later, the Hailfire exploded in four separate directions, and Ethan felt a stab of fear. Sweat trickled into his left eye and he swiped at it with the back of one hand, blinking to clear his vision. The smaller warheads flared to life and boosted after the enemy fighters.
“They’re too close!”
Ethan could hear a tremor in Gina’s voice. “Give me a second!” he said, switching fire to the warhead arcing closest to Gina. He hit it with a lucky shot, and the resultant explosion tore into the nearest enemy fighter, drawing flames and debris from its thruster pods. Gina’s fighter rocked in the shockwave. Then the other three warheads found their marks, and the remaining two enemy fighters exploded in blinding fireballs. Ethan heard Gina scream, and then her comm cut off in static. “Gina!”
The static hissed on and Ethan felt a horrible chill creeping down his spine.
Frek! His heart pounding, Ethan checked his scopes, but they’d fuzzed out due to the proximity of the explosions. He flew through the expanding debris clouds and ignored the sound of shattered duranium pelting his fighter. His forward shields quickly dropped into the red, and he feared what that meant for Gina. “Gina!” he tried again.
Then he saw her, one of her three engines still glowing blue, the other two flickering. Her starboard stabilizer fin had been knocked off, and he could see her cockpit canopy was striated with fractures. “Gina, for Immortals’ sake, answer me!”
A moment later her voice came back to him, but she sounded weak. “I’m alive. Took a hit through my canopy. My suit’s pissing air.”
“Krak, how badly are you injured?”
“Not much blood, but breathing hurts like a motherfrekker. Maybe a few broken ribs.”
“Fly back to the Defiant. I’ll cover you.”
“I’ll never make it, not on half thrust … Too many enemy fighters.”
Ethan gritted his teeth. “Well, frek it! You’re just gonna give up and die?”
No answer.
Ethan watched the hull of the Valiant growing large before them. In his periphery he spotted the Defiant’s beam cannons opening up as the cruiser made her first pass on the Valiant’s port hangar. Eight blue dymium beams shot out, drawing rippling waves from the hangar’s shields.
A few seconds later, Ethan saw nova fighters tearing out of the carrier’s launch tubes.
“Are those our novas coming from the Valiant?” Gina asked.
Ethan shook his head. “We don’t have anyone left on board. We took everyone except for the sentinels with us.”
“So those are enemy novas. Frek!”
Ethan had no reply for that. By now Brondi had overwhelmed the six sentinels in the concourse between the carrier’s ventral hangars and he was taking control of the ship—including its considerable compliment of nova fighters and interceptors. Gina’s right. We won’t make it back to the Defiant.
No one will.
A DEAL WITH THE DEVLIN
CHAPTER 1
TWO DAYS EARLIER …
Ethan Ortane stood at the smeary viewport, looking out at space through a greasy sheen of fingerprints. His fingerprints. He placed a hand against the viewport, adding a fresh smear of grease. Here and there against the blackness of space a bright blue or orange glow of real space drives flicke
red to life as some or other ship fired its engines to change course, speed up, or slow down. They were easy to pick out against the blackness of Dark Space—the distant sector of the galaxy where humanity had holed up since the war. Dark Space was a cluster of black holes with a small pocket of semi-habitable planets and stations inside. Radiation was a constant threat, and if you weren’t in a reasonably shielded station or ship, you would be burned alive. Some of the planets were far enough away and had strong enough atmospheres that they didn’t bake in the radiation, but most were inhospitable rocks. For these reasons, and because there was only one known way in or out of the sector, Dark Space had once been a place of exile for criminals, but now it was all that was left of the once galaxy-spanning Imperium of Star Systems.
Now, the ISS was dead in all but name. Only a handful of fleet vessels had survived the war, and they were left guarding the deactivated space gate which was the only way in or out of Dark Space.
“This is what we’ve come to—” Ethan said, turning from the viewport with a sigh, but he wasn’t talking about the galactic situation. “—renting a room in the cheapest station we can find, hiding from Brondi’s collection agents until we can miraculously come up with the money to pay our debts.”
Alara offered him a pretty smile from where she was sitting on the bed, and her big, bright violet eyes shone in the wan, flickering light of the room’s sole glow panel. She had long dark hair and alabaster white skin with full red lips. A man could lose himself staring at her face for too long; it was like staring into a fire—you just knew that if you got too close you were going to get burned. Her face was to die for, and she had a body to match, but most of the time Ethan didn’t notice either.
“Hiding is still better than dead,” she said.
Ethan frowned, his eyes skipping around the dismal, boxy room. Paint was peeling off the walls; a rickety, squeaky bed lay to one side, and a low-res holo projector was mounted on the opposite wall. The room had a tiny bathroom with a vaccucleanser so small you had to step in sideways. Ethan turned back to the greasy smear of a viewport. “It’s only better than dead until someone finds us.”