Parallel Extinction (Extinction Encounters Book 1)

by T. R. Stevens

  Dominique just nodded. He assumed that she wanted to drop the subject. That worked for him.

  Garrison wondered where to draw the line on the conversations that he and Dominique had within earshot of Center. After the suit incident, and how much it had angered a certain someone, it would be wise to appear fairly candid, doing their best to give Center the impression that they were oblivious to any critical supervision.

  He hoped the subject of “Taylor on the Medallion” was immaterial to their persecutor. If this certain someone got the idea that she might even remotely be an asset to them…

  Well, I can’t un-say it. I just hope she’s okay.

  CHAPTER 47

  EVENT: DAY 15, 0430 UT

  “We’re going planetside, you’re still my prisoner.”

  It seemed the thread was thin, but Hanson hung his hopes on it anyway. He still could not see his future clearly, but he had somehow convinced the soldier that there was something else that needed to be considered here. Something big.

  Hanson had not been so strangely helpless since he was a child. Without options, he modestly placed his trust in the big man who sheparded him, without restraints, through the military docks to the Bullet platform.

  The drop to Earth seemed longer than usual.

  His captor wasn’t big on conversation, it seemed. The general had attempted to find out their destination but Sgt. Amio had simply glared him into silence. Hanson decided that he’d just as soon avoid the man’s discomfiting stare, waiting for the answer to reveal itself.

  * * *

  Bridge Cooper had done his best to settle into the basic, perma-dwell apartment that the military had “insisted” he take. He’d had several to pick from in the building, so he’d chosen one on the top floor, facing away from the Tube Nexus complex. The view was a nice one, considering the desertification of the region around the nexus; the apartment looked out on a pond with ducks and a waterfall. Mainly, he chose it so that he wouldn’t constantly be watching people departing for space.

  He’d spent some time in a holding cell when he’d first been transferred off-station. That had been disconcerting. He had received his transfer papers with no explanation of why his tenure had been moved Earthside, but, at the time, it had not seemed that important to him. His passion was his work, not where he worked.

  Being left to rot in the holding cell, no explanation or disclosure about his future, with odd, unruly men in neighboring cells, he had begun to experience a feeling that he could only term as depression.

  He missed space acutely, to his great surprise. Not his colleagues, not the station precisely. But here, the weight of gravity bore down on him steady and unrelenting. On the station, gravity was constantly changing between the simul-grav areas, the centrifugal grav areas, and in micro-grav. He was constantly invigorated by his weight shifts. It was all a retrospective realization, though; someone had popped his bubble, and sent him to purgatory.

  He’d not been off the station for such a long time, he realized, as he’d sat there in his cell a year or so back.

  Cooper had been around Toroid Alpha long enough to know a secret about it. Something not well-known and, at this time, it was unimportant to most: Toroid Alpha had started its existence as a space faring generational ship. The station would have fit, like a constriction ring, around a massive, dwarfing engine, intended to be the first of its kind: a black hole drive.

  After decades of recovery from the Obliteration, after the shake out of world governments, the project planning had been launched in secrecy.

  The near-death experience that the world suffered had motivated the cause of getting man off his single rock. Mars, then, had a small station and experimental colony, and while funds poured in towards its greater development, it could not be considered a sustainable ‘New Earth’ considering its limitations and shared vulnerabilities.

  A secret consensus between two supremely powerful corporate factions was that man needed to break free, entirely, of his roots; move off, on a one-way ticket to the stars. There would be no looking back; complete disconnection from the ancestral roots.

  It was decided, and the well-established Moon Protectorate was geared up for the most massive construction project in the history of man. The centennial anniversary of the Obliteration marked the project’s inception.

  The ship would have everything necessary for the future founding of a far-off, sustainable colony. Twenty years into the build, the consolidated government was faced with the need to explain its heavy resource demands. And so, the planned cover project, Dock Cylinder Alpha, was unveiled. The minor governmental levels and the public were kept focused on it, concealing the Toroid Alpha behind the bulk of the Moon.

  In the thirtieth year of the gen-ship’s fifty-year fabrication schedule, intense material needs forced BUMP to allow commercial asteroid-resource mining traffic from the partially completed DCA. The enforced secrecy-pacts signed by these first career-spacers were rendered unnecessary before Toroid Alpha was complete. One of the military’s research avenues, also overseen by Cooper, manifested the military’s present interstellar drive. The military never publicly labeled the ships with a “wormhole” branding, simply declining any comment on their function, claiming top-secrecy. This successful solution was also a dangerous one, but it met the need as determined by Cooper’s boss, Swan. The black hole drive R&D, which was Cooper’s passion, came to a halt.

  Toroid’s conversion to a dock, and its precarious flight into orbit, happened shortly after the initial triumphant flights of BUMP’s experimental wormhole-technology craft. The shocking reveal of the nearly completed Toroid Alpha was sold as a space dock from the get-go.

  Faced with an unknown amount of time to spend in his cell at the Nexus, Cooper had pondered on the years past. By the time of Cooper’s mysterious transfer to Earth, his involvement in the interstellar drive had become more mathematical theory than actual development work. The pre-empted black hole drive research at least had resulted in the Gravity Rejector. Its final prototype work occupied a large amount of his time for a number of years while Toroid Alpha was completed. Raking through the more recent past, and the line of potentials that might have landed him in that cell, it took him no time to see that Swan would be at the heart of it. Hindsight gave him an appreciation for his error, but he found it impossible to regret his effort to enlighten those who controlled this new space entity.

  Cooper had been quietly certain that the new station head had set him a sort of death sentence. Swan might not have known it; Cooper gave him that much credit. But to live in a jail cell for the rest of his life, despite his rich inner world, would have been intolerable. The cumbersome drag of the planet, with the weight on his psyche, together, would have eventually crushed him.

  And then, after weeks of declining health, he was escorted to the apartment complex; it housed others in the political prisoner type-class. As his escort had shadowed him, he’d internally sorted his situation as best he could. He had to turn his back on space if he was going to be prohibited from it. This had been the only apartment available facing away from the terminus.

  He kept himself as unaware as possible of the arrivals and departures of the Bullet, and it seemed that his old boss had forgot about him.

  This morning, he was already awake when the door signal sounded. It was surprising since not only did he never get visitors, but at six in the morning? He assumed it was important.

  He responded to the urgently flashing communication request. “Yes, do I know you?” It wasn’t just a polite query; the face staring back at him from the screen seemed faintly familiar.

  “No sir, I’m sorry to disturb you, my name is Sgt. Bellamy Amio. I was stationed here when you were transferred down from Toroid Alpha. May I speak with you privately?”

  “Yes, Sergeant, what’s this regarding?”

  “In person, if you don’t mind, sir?”
>
  “Very well.” He double-tapped a contact to allow entry to the main hall. After a moment, there was a knock and he opened the door to find an extremely large man filling the frame of the entrance. “Come in.”

  Amio quickly scanned the plain but neat apartment before locking on the man’s hollowed eye sockets and his intent gaze. “Thank you for seeing me like this, sir. I have a question that I’m hoping you’ll be able to help me with.”

  “Don’t know till you ask it.” Casual conversation never was Cooper’s strength.

  “Yes sir, well, I’m in a bit of a bind, and a lot of hot water if I don’t move quickly, I think. You see, I have arrested a general…”

  “You don’t say. Well, that is a big responsibility…”

  “No, sir, that’s not the problem.”

  “Really?”

  “No, it’s Admiral Swan.”

  Cooper swiftly cut him off, bringing a knobby index finger to his thin lips.

  Amio obediently went silent, waiting to understand the man’s intention. Bridge turned away and scanned his comfortable confinement, tapping the same finger to his temple as he worked something out. After one second, still not looking at Amio, he said, “Trumpeter swans, son. That’s what you’re thinking of. I’m sorry, we don’t have any type swan in the lake here, just ducks, some mallards, and I don’t know the others.”

  Amio was worried the man might be lost to senility. Cooper now returned his stare, then winked. He went to a wall console and drew a few lines across it with a bony finger, and music rose in volume until it was too loud. Amio felt just a bit thick, cursing his ineptness at this damn secrets game.

  The old man beckoned him toward the kitchen, briefly touching his lips again. He had an antique device on the counter. He took the carafe and ran some water into it. Placing it on a base, he mashed a little square button with some difficulty, and the device roared to life, making a great deal of additional noise.

  Finally, Cooper moved close to Amio’s ear and said in a low voice, “Best I can do here, they don’t give me much access to technology anymore.”

  Amio asked, “Do you think I messed up, sayin’ his name?”

  “Impossible to say. Depends on the AI. Now, as for old so-and-so—don’t get mixed up with him, my boy. Man’s bad news. Got a real bad feeling about him. Ruined my career, I’m sure.” Since Cooper had been granted his limited freedom he had been able to do a little snooping, very little, yet it was enough for him to draw dark conclusions about Swan.

  Amio now bent to the man’s ear. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that, sir, but here’s my problem. The general that I’ve arrested is making some heavy-duty accusations against the… the Bird. I’m tryin’ to find out what’s true. I gotta’ get some answers and get back up to the station by eleven-hundred hours.”

  “Okay, son, you had better talk fast. What’s got the general so concerned?”

  “Well, he basically told me that he thought that the Bird was up to some illegal activity, though he hasn’t exactly said what. I saw a screen of information that he was scrutinizin’ when I came upon him. One of the things that I saw had to do with…” he leaned down close and cupped his hands to the old man’s ear, and whispered, despite the covering noise, “Dominique Astra.”

  “Oh my.”

  “I guess you know of her. Well, it really started with a disaster aboard a Pirate Patrol. Something demolished the crew, and in a very strange way. And now, Captain “A” and a USUCC captain are going after the thing that caused the disaster.”

  “I’m getting a bad feeling here, Sergeant. What’s the bottom line?”

  “Yeah, they want this thing to attack her. What I read didn’t make sense; they want it to possess her.”

  “Possess her? Hold on now, young man. If we’re talking about the “thing” that I now think we’re talking about, our Captain may be a doomed woman. I think I know what the Bird is all about. I’d expect this sort of thing from him, but he always has his reasons. They may not be good reasons, or sane, even, but watch out if he gets wind of someone trying to interfere. And that thing that they’re after, it takes no prisoners. I know. I’ve seen it.”

  The sergeant looked at Dr. Cooper with an expression of shock. Seen it?

  “Sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, son. That thing’ll eat them up and spit them out. Military uses them to move the ships around, did you know that? Hops ‘em through spacetime.”

  The sergeant was speechless. He’d been led to believe that this was a first encounter. But Swan knew what this thing was all along. And what it could do.

  Amio’s inner urgency pushed on him hard. “Sorry sir, but I’ve got to go.”

  “Yes, yes, I understand, go on. I don’t know what you can do, but I wish you luck. Take that bastard down a few pegs while you’re at it. And watch your back.”

  “Thank you, sir, you’ve helped me out.”

  Amio left the apartment, feeling exposed the moment he was in the open. He put the feeling down to fictional paranoia. Cameras and pick-ups were his enemy, though, so he remained self-conscious and tense. He made one stop before heading over to the holding facility where he’d left Hanson.

  Their short stay qualified them for a quick blood scan instead of a physical, so he picked up the general and headed to a Med Cube. As they moved between enclosed spaces, he explained the situation to Hanson. It minimized the risk of being monitored or overheard.

  Feeling a new confidence in the general, Amio shared, “The admiral seems to have had me under heightened scrutiny. I don’t know if that’s still the case.”

  Hanson was helpful here. “I don’t think you have to worry too much. The military AI’s have pre-programmed priorities. From what we know, Bartell is Swan’s target. He was on the admiral’s radar, and BUMP’s, because of his affiliation with USUUC, probably an even greater priority since he has a previous service record with SBMMP. So you just got scooped up in the acquisition.”

  What he said eased some concerns, though it was depressing that he had not come to his promotion by his own merits. Dating the girlfriend of a listed person wasn’t his idea of climbing the ladder.

  Hanson went on, “It’s unlikely that you’ve remained under stepped-up oversight. Your association with Jest has been suspended, and your own actions have probably been judged innocent and altruistic by this time.”

  At a point in their walk where they were free of vid surveillance, he said to Hanson, “Hold out your arm, this is going to sting.”

  The general wasn’t sure what the man meant to do, but followed orders.

  Amio brought a 30 ml injector out of a pocket. “Slow-release alcohol. Straight in. Won’t kill ya.” Hanson winced as the solution went in. He began to feel it within seconds. He was ready for the blood test. The result would jive with an individual who was sobering up from a bender.

  By the time they were moving upward in the Bullet, Hanson was mildly drunk but would be lucid enough to get into the systems in station security. He was confident that he could hack the data having to do with his infraction and his arrest by the sergeant. At least, the audio could be garbled. Amio was extremely nervous about it, but he was now up against criminal activity at the highest level. He had no choice but to take some chances. It was ironic that it might be his patriotic duty to SBMMP to turn in the admiral. The man who promoted Amio would be severely demoted because of it. He only hoped that he was smart enough to avoid being caught in the meantime.

  After the data subversion, the sergeant would release General Hanson on his own recognizance and log an entry for his misunderstanding of the station rules.

  He would resume his own duties at the assigned hour, but the general’s subsequent activities in Vegas slice, if all went to plan, would be designed to assure that his spaceward tour of duty would come to a dramatic end with some brig time and a bust-down.

  It
would be far better for the man than whatever fate Swan would have crafted.

  CHAPTER 48

  EVENT: DAY 13, 1200 UT

  Her prize was within reach.

  Taylor had finally captured the attention of Chris Friday. Until now, she had not made any headway with the ensign; he was an enigma. After asking around, she knew he was available, yet none of her feminine wiles had served her. In fact, what had finally allowed the door to open had nothing to do with manipulation of any sort.

  She had approached him on many occasions, her sex appeal turned up full, and he had repeatedly, politely, excused himself after a brief, nondescript conversation.

  This time, Friday had been far from her mind, as she sat in the mess, fussing with a plate of food that she’d absent-mindedly selected out of the dispenser. Thoughts of Jennifer distracted her, the young ensign was feeling stress over her unknown mission assignment.

  Jennifer turned out to be a bit of a minx herself, and had gotten TJ’s mind off Friday, steering her into the arms of some of the best looking men aboard who were also exceptionally good lovers. It had been a sexual playground, and the two of them had been turning things upside down with their teasing ways. A couple of times they had brought the attention of the Sergeant at Arms down on themselves. The man was lenient, though, clearly desiring to be a part of the antics, but too professional to waver from his duty. He let them off with a warning to keep more of their escapades behind closed doors.

  It became apparent, as the Medallion drew near to its goal, that Jennifer was using the sex to distract herself from her own stress. Its magic had started to fail, though. Several times now, the girl had almost slipped into standard dialogue while confessing and sharing with Taylor. She had been quick each time to gently grip Jennifer’s arm, coupled with an overly loving smile, a signal to stop talking. It seemed that they could not continue this communication. It would only be a matter of time before there would be a critical slip, and Jennifer could end up in the brig. Taylor too, probably.