Darkness: Book One of the Oortian Wars

by Iain Richmond

  Under the bow of the Anam Cara a bright white light flashed its peaceful banter to all that could see it, paused for a moment and started again.

  “Battle-Net sweep complete.” Commander Shar’ran shook his head. “There are no vessels within its scanning range.”

  Ensign Holts spun toward Falco. “Sir, the signatures remain twenty klicks off starboard. They are moving with us.”

  Falco felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. His chest tightened, posture straightened, particles of dust sifting through the air the size of boulders, the hint of steel on his tongue.

  “Standard protocol, Commander Shar’ran. Seal all compartments, Code Yellow combat ready.” Falco issued the order that had never been given off planet by the United Nations Navy outside of drills.

  “All hands accounted for, all crew at their posts, Captain,” Shar’ran stated.

  Falco gained strength by having the man at his side.

  “Commander, charge the rail guns, load missile tubes.” Falco realized the chance of hitting an object in space that emitted the heat signature of a human body with a missile was ridiculous at best, impossible at worst. Either way, protocol would be followed.

  The Interceptor was a smart missile. Damn Israelis could engineer anything these days, but the Interceptor was special. The brain of the unit was an electro-optical imaging infrared pursuer. Linked to the Anam Cara’s Battle-Net, it would optically scan for targets and lock on for the terminal chase.

  All the weapons officer had to do was give it the okay. Long gone were the days of flying up the tail pipe of your enemy or waiting for the red box to flash before you could unload a chain gun.

  Having two Interceptors ready to fire made everyone feel a hell of a lot better about their chances if scouting for anomalies turned to fighting the Russian Federation or the Euro-Arab League. Why would either break a peace treaty that made them all incredibly wealthy in mineral rights? And we all share the same technology which is another reason why the peace treaty holds. We would pick up a vessel indicator and the heat signatures are too small or faint to be probes or even an elite unit in combat suits. This shit does not add up.

  “Rail guns charged, tubes are hot.” Commander Shar’ran sat straight as a board.

  “Lieutenant Wallace, maneuver Delta 7, put the Emergency Beacon on auto cycle and continue sending a friendly hello on the COM-Sat. Ensign Holts, full heat scan, tag all hits on the overhead display and give me an update when you are through.” Clockwork, Falco thought, with the distinction of reality over simulation.

  He always wondered how he and his green crew would react when a possible threat came kicking at their door. Those twenty-four recruits were as green as they come, and their captain, the youngest in the Navy, but they would all rise to the challenge… he hoped.

  Ensign Holts broke the silence. “Four distinct energy signatures continue to move in sync with the Anam Cara, Captain. When we initiated Delta 7, they matched us course change for course change. Further analysis shows they are replicating our maneuvers .0000007 seconds before us.”

  Falco flinched. “Before us? That’s impossible. Delta 7 is based on an ever changing, encrypted algorithm. We don’t even know the course adjustments.”

  “Agreed, sir, but based on the data, the four heat signatures are imitating our movements before we make– Ensign Holts froze, red lights flashed.

  The Battle-Net lit up the Bridge.

  Four streaks of fire erupted off the starboard side of the Anam Cara.

  Captain Falco’s voice had a life of its own.

  “Lieutenant, full burn, swing us portside. Commander, can you get a lock?”

  Shar’ran’s fingers flew over the controls, eyes darting from screen to screen and back to his hologram. “Battle-Net can lock the energy bloom. So far, they are holding position, but energy signatures are growing stronger.”

  the Darkness

  the Void

  Territorial Border (the Veil)

  LOR floated above the charging iron beast, startled by its instant increase in velocity as it gave up its predictable pattern of course changes.

  Closer towards the territories they push, our presence is known. LOR finished his thoughts to the clans and sent the order for his four warriors to release from their burn and ride their energy waves to silence the voices and destroy the iron beast they hid within.

  Empathy? LOR felt a loss at the thought of slaying the iron creature, but join his warriors he would, when the moment was right. Soon I will fulfill my Oath and enter the Realm of Warriors.

  12

  the Black Wall

  Bridge of the Anam Cara

  “Evasive maneuvers, Lieutenant, manual override,” Falco ordered. Falco had a machine gun style of barking orders under duress. It comes down to human uncertainty, tough to mimic, he hoped.

  “Yes, Captain,” Wallace answered and switched to his favorite ‘seat of his pants’ techniques.

  “Get us to MACH 20, lieutenant.” Falco turned toward Shar’ran. “Speed of incoming hostiles?”

  “MACH 15 and increasing, sir.”

  “Fire off the countermeasures, see if they bite.”

  “Counters away, Captain.”

  Falco had to put distance between the Anam Cara and the threat. The Anam Cara’s full-burn had bought them time, but she was all-out, close to her max engine speed while the four hostiles were still accelerating.

  “Lieutenant Wallace, give her a little push.” Falco watched the dots closing in on his holo-feed.

  Wallace ignored the bright flashing warning lights and forced the engine beyond its engineered limits. A slight tremble rolled through the deck, the main engine straining to drive the Anam Cara beyond her pursuers.

  “Sir, hostiles have passed through the countermeasures, slight deceleration, back in pursuit and accelerating. MACH 17… 17.5…” Commander Shar’ran’s voice held steady.

  Surviving conflict was nothing more than a lesson in controlled terror. Govern your emotions and you always had a chance. Captain Falco had learned that the hard way as a scared combat grunt in the concrete jungles of Moscow during the Uprisings. The scar that ran from hip to shoulder blade was a constant reminder of the consequences of uncontrolled fear. Those who kept their shit together, usually got to play again.

  “Commander, positions?”

  “Fan-like spread, 100 klicks aft and closing slowly, sir, estimate fifteen minutes to collision.”

  “Collision?” Interesting choice of words, Falco thought. Ramming speed?

  “Keep them behind us, Lieutenant.” They were gaining on them and Falco wasn’t ready to open fire on an unknown threat or before confirming it was a threat. Nothing had been fired, no damage, just a chase for now.

  The Anam Cara had created a bit of distance between her pursuers and had her aft rail-guns in an advantageous firing position. Falco was quickly losing the alternative of a peaceful outcome with every kilometer of space that fell behind them. Charging into a massive field of dark matter or dark energy was not an option. Unleashing the rail-guns could not be undone, but actions with hostile intentions required a response. The black wall ahead of them now consumed most of his holo-feed.

  “Listen up! We’ve bought ourselves a little time. Here's what we know. ‘They’ have not fired on our position, there are four confirmed objects, each with an estimated mass of a combat suit traveling at over MACH 18 and increasing. They have not answered any of our attempts at contact, nor tried to communicate with us on their own,” Falco paused, “that we know of. Their signatures or lack of are not detectable or known by our systems. Could the Russian Federation, Euro-Arab League or anyone else have created new weaponry and somehow put them in our path without us knowing it? Thoughts.”

  He watched his officers perform under challenging circumstances, each hiding fear in their own way, each seeming to conquer it. Falco was proud. Station Pluto’s COMs were not online yet. They were on their own.

  Commander Shar’ran was
the first to interject, “Their weapons may be close range only, as their size indicates little room for ordnance, possibly handheld rockets.”

  “Could be nothing more than early warning probes gathering data,” Lieutenant Wallace stated.

  But for who or what? Falco thought. “Lieutenant, continue pushing data packets to Admiral Chen at Station Pluto, they'll get the data the second the COM-sat is up. What’s our current lag time with the station?”

  “Fifteen to thirty minutes depending on debris interference.” Wallace pointed out his cockpit windows. “Lots of it in this area, lots of metals—”

  “Then lots of interference,” Falco finished, “I’ll count on thirty. Ensign Holts, I need your best analysis and I need it now.”

  Holts pulled her stare from her multiple data feeds. “Possibly biological in construction, sir.”

  Falco met Ensign Holts gaze and waited for her to continue.

  the Darkness

  the Void

  LOR

  Flames erupted from the back of the vessel. It shot forward at a surprising speed, leaving the Warruqs out of position. LOR sent an order to chase and turn the beast away from the Territories as it had not lashed out, but was moving towards the home worlds.

  LOR switched to his private thought-stream. I have underestimated these creatures and the beast in which they travel. A symbiotic relationship or just a slave to the voices within… LOR felt a kinship with the iron beast. Its thoughts were comforting, its mathematical purge a pleasing spattering of the ancient tongues, but it refused to answer them or maybe it could not. He watched it moving closer to the edge of the territories and the Darkness, closer to the Creators. His warriors were gaining, but the distance was too great and he had failed to change the invaders’ course.

  Destroy it we must. LOR opened a thought-stream to all the Warruq outposts and sent an order for reinforcements. A lone Warruq from another clan, positioned on the frontier, received the order and crossed into the Darkness. Inside the protective, shielding mass, just beyond the charging vessel still in the Void, a pair of Prox stirred from hibernation and readied themselves.

  13

  the Black Wall

  Bridge of the Anam Cara

  “Twelve minutes to contact, if they continue to increase speed at their present rate.” Commander Shar’ran paused. “Captain, the Battle-Net detects no weapon signatures.”

  Falco noticed his commander’s right hand had found a home, close to the firing controls. “Continue to monitor them, Commander. Do not engage the Battle-Net unless you have an imminent threat.”

  “Ten minutes to contact.”

  Falco turned back to Ensign Holts. “Biological? How is that possible?” He looked down to his holo-feed and back to Holts.

  “According to our scanners, everything beyond the bow has a structural density ranging from muscle, cartilage, even the fibrous inner layers of a tree, to plastics and iron—”

  Lieutenant Wallace jumped in from the pilot’s seat, “These ‘deep space objects’ homing in on us, now pushing MACH 20, are organic?”

  Falco looked toward the back of Lieutenant Wallace’s pilot’s chair. “Our scanners give equivalents when they do not have a definite match in the database, Lieutenant,” he emphasized the last word, “please continue, Ensign.”

  “Propulsion may be a sort of methane engine based on the vapor trail and no, Lieutenant, I am not suggesting they are living. Our limited data’s closest comparison to that segment of the object is to certain biological structures.” Holts turned, raised her hands off the data pad and leaned forward at her station. “Now this is unusual. Bow of these objects has immense density. Scanners have yet to place an equivalent.”

  “Not feeling any better, Ensign. Anything else?” Falco watched the hologram and the chasing dots closing in.

  “My theory is only as good as the data we have. Our sensors are designed to search the big picture, not analyze small entities, but these ‘objects’ do not fall perfectly into the historical database of our sensors, sir.” Holts paused then continued, “Based on their movements, they are pursuing the Anam Cara with purpose or programming.”

  “But from where? They’re too small to carry enough fuel to be out here on their own. They must have launched from something we can detect. Could the Russian Federation or Euro-Arab League create this type of technology?” Falco scanned the bridge. “Or anyone else? The Tibetan space program is leaping ahead or maybe the New Americas? We know little of their space program and its progress.”

  “No, the New Americas struggled to finish the Mars Station, barely have the tech to keep it up,” Holts stated. “Besides, the UN has kept a close watch on anyone who could fling a satellite into space since the Korean Empire Conflict ended.”

  “There are no known, potentially hostile forces beyond the Mars Station. Treaties are in place with the Russian Federation and Euro-Arab League.”

  “Eight minutes to contact, Battle-Net tracking their heat signatures.” Shar’ran’s hand was now centimeters from the firing controls.

  “That is not possible.” Ensign Holts breath came fast and shallow. “Captain, the objects are now close enough for full scans. Scanners have found an equivalent for a small section or the tip of the bow.”

  “And?” Falco did not like the look on his science officer’s face. It was new. It was fear.

  “Material from a neutron star.” Holts eyes continued to scan the incoming data as the bridge of the Anam Cara fell silent.

  “What does that even mean? It's like dense stone? Ensign Holts, based on the data, can these objects crack the hull?” Falco scanned the steel, reinforced bulkheads and imagined the exit wound.

  Holts spun her chair and now faced Falco. “One gram of material from a neutron star would weigh about two million metric tons,” she stated with an unnerving calm. “Even if these objects had a fraction of that, they would not crack the hull, they would punch through it.”

  “Each of these,” Falco pointed to the tiny red dots on his holo-feed, “objects, could weigh ten times as much as 10th Fleet’s biggest dreadnought?”

  “Our scanners can only detect the possible presence of the material, or something like it, not the amount,” Ensign Holts said. “If the scanner database does not find a match, it gives us the closest material to it. The closer they are, the better the data from our scanners.”

  Falco had heard enough. “We treat them as weapons. Commander, can you fire a warning shot? If there is a starship hiding out here, they will be monitoring.”

  Commander Shar’ran scanned his screens. “Locking on only the heat bloom, sir. Running their trajectory through the Battle-Net to see if we can safely fire ahead of their position without incident.”

  Falco took a deep breath, exhaled. “Find a way to slow them down, Commander, and find it fast.”

  Commander Shar’ran held up one hand. “Captain they have decelerated. Now maintaining our present speed.”

  For the moment Falco thought. “When did they match our pace? Before or after you ran a firing trajectory through the Battle-Net?”

  Commander Shar’ran scanned the Battle-Net data. “Deceleration occurred the moment the Battle-Net calculated the objects’ trajectory.”

  “Anam Cara is beginning to waver, Captain. She is redlining the main engine and burning through fuel at an accelerated rate. No guarantees how much longer she can maintain her current pace,” Lieutenant Wallace boomed from the pilot’s chair. He sat rigid and focused, as the red hue of the lights from the Anam Cara’s warning systems grew more intense, creating an eerie glow in the cockpit while the boat pushed her limits.

  “Incoming data packet. High priority.” Lieutenant Wallace waited for the message to be decrypted.

  "If Station Pluto can send data packets, they are obviously receiving our updates?" Falco hoped the COM-Sat was up.

  “Admiral Chen is readying the Viper battle group. Receiving updates sporadically, COM-Sat close to being fully operational.” Wall
ace paused. “Battle group underway in two hours. ETA thirty hours at max burn.”

  “Keep sending the data, Lieutenant, give the battle group as much information as we can.” Falco looked at each officer on the bridge. “We take care of our crew, our boat and we go home.” Falco left it at that. “Lieutenant Wallace, initiate protocol ZULU ECHO 5.”

  Wallace repeated the order to the Captain and grabbed the com. “All hands, ZULU ECHO 5, I repeat ZULU ECHO 5, this is not a drill.”

  The crew of the Anam Cara donned battle suits, complete with oxygen helmets and rations. Compartment doors magnetically sealed in case of a hull breach. The crew prepared for a potential combat situation, but had no idea what form it might take and with what or whom it could be with.

  They were moving closer to the endless face of the dark wall and Captain Jack Falco had nowhere to go.

  the Void

  Defending the Territories

  Warriors of the Territories, maintain the enemy’s speed and continue to push the voices closer to the Veil of the Darkness. The Prox are preparing to meet the invaders. LOR switched back to his private thoughts.

  The clan of Prox appeared after the latest update sent by the Creators. They were part of the defensive forces stationed within the Darkness. LOR had never had contact with them before. They were different than his Warruqs. It was told the Prox had cunning and a thought process closer to that of the Creators themselves and their design was new. LOR first detected the existence of the Prox a few million cycles ago. They were juvenile in history compared to his Warruq Clan, but their cunning was necessary and powerful. The Prox needed to be watched, respected and never trusted.

  LOR analyzed the incoming numbers and opened a thought-stream to his warriors. We do not have the fuel or speed to overtake the iron beast, but we can drive the invaders closer to the waiting Prox and their vessel’s inevitable destruction, silencing the voices forever. He closed the stream.