by T. R. Harris
Now he gave the order to launch the gravity probes. There was no time to waste.
* * *
He’d spent several hours listening to the excitable, yet nervous, Olypon leader give his recital on the Milky Way galaxy. That was a term the Humans associated with the home galaxy, one of thousands of such named references. It was now the common nomenclature accepted by a thin majority of races, content in having a neutral name for something they all shared.
Then he set to work absorbing computer data relating to the history and technological base of the galaxy. This was a huge amount of information, containing not only data on a handful of worlds, but on thousands.
Kracion was in awe of it all, thinking how in such a short time he had been the catalyst for all that had taken place over the past four thousand years. Without his influence, the Alliance of the Klin would still be a fledgling grouping of civilizations, one of many, yet none reaching galactic scale in the time allotted. His intention had been to speed up the interaction of the races, a circumstance that would hasten the creation of the Apex Being. It worked. Now the galaxy was a mixture of thousands of species, many aware of the others and associating across the star lanes. Without Kracion, the Milky Way would be only a vague shadow of what it was today, with tens of thousands of years still to go before reaching maturity.
Yet the data he was accumulating was limited to the speed of the primitive computers in use. He could absorb the information much faster than it could be disseminated. Therefore, his study was not complete when time came for him to leave the confines of the Dysion Void and begin his quest for Solis, the artificial world of the Aris.
Although he’d been out of his encasement chamber much longer than this in the past, there were far too many unknowns in this galaxy to make him feel secure. His pride prevented him from considering these unknowns as threats, but that was what they were as long as he remained in his current state. In the past—both distant and recent—he had not feared death as much as he did now. It was simply his destiny. He would do his job and then return to his chamber, to be awaken in another hundred thousand, or even a million years beyond. He had lived for billions of years, yet in tiny increments. Whether the experiments of the Privileged could produce the results as expected was a question he seldom pondered. If they did or didn’t it would have very little impact on him. His kind had not been included in the first round of immortality should the time come. They would be rewarded only later, if there was any immortality left to be spread around.
And that was why he took matters into his own hands. As the mutant Panur had said, Kracion was not a young Aris. He had been when he began his long journey, but even in the encasement chambers, the body still aged. And his frequent awakenings only subtracted more years from his existence. Gone were the maintenance centers where new organs, joints and skeletal features could be provided. The Aris had gambled their future on the creation of a single immortal being. Now all Kracion had was what was left of his natural life…unless he could learn the secret of immortal assimilation. He was sure he could figure it out, once the equipment was before him. He also had the knowledge that the eighteen surviving Aris within Nunki’s class had achieved their ultimate goal. They were now immortal, and hopefully, off on some eternal quest for all knowledge and understanding.
That was great for them, but not Kracion. He had grander plans.
Physically, he was just like every other Aris. What worked for the Privileged would work for him. Now he had possession of the Apex Being—as well as a backup. And knowing that immortals really did exist and the technology was available for passing that miracle on to others, gave Kracion an emotional thrill like he’d never experienced before.
Yet that was tempered by the startling fact that he could be denied his destiny in one of a million different ways in this chaotic galaxy. As of now, he was just like any other living being, susceptible to death, premature or otherwise. And now he was in a strange universe which he was only now beginning to understand. And the more he learned, the more paranoid he became. If ever there was a place full of innate danger, it was the Milky Way galaxy.
* * *
The outer rim of the channel had been cut through using the small, yet powerful gravity mines. Now Kracion ordered his flagship forward, until it was only a thousand miles from where the wisps of nebular gas became thicker, more noticeable.
“Charge the wave drum,” he said to the bridge crew.
They knew their jobs; he’d been drilling them in the process for several days, once it was discovered what was required to breach the barrier.
Computer screens showed dials and graphs as energy built up within the gravity generators. The focusing rings had been modified, re-tasked. Now the moment was here.
“Fire!”
The gravity wave burst out from a point several hundred miles in advance of the warship. It was unidirectional, creating tremendous force heading away from the flagship. The invisible blast struck a portion of the Dysion Shield, pressing it away, yet filtering throughout the entire depth of the barrier. An entire section of the wall moved away, following the weakened points from the gravity mines. A huge mass of the gas and debris left the Shield, maintaining the tubular form until it was thousands of miles beyond the outer wall and into clear space. When the wave dissolved, the gases spread out, creating another small nebula next to the dwarfing magnitude of the Juddle.
A channel was now open in the Shield, circular and straight, as if bored out with a drill. It was three thousand miles in diameter, enough to allow a span of five starships abreast to transit on minimal gravity drive without overlapping. Kracion only had twenty-one vessels to move through. At least at this time. The Olypon would post sentries at the opening to guard against any uninvited entry. Then when his full fleet was in the Milky Way, this would be their avenue into a wide, new universe. He would meet up with them in the near future. And when he did, he would fulfill his destiny, as the one true god of the galaxy…an immortal god.
13
Captain Curt Lyon stood aghast at the scene before him. The immense cloud of gas and debris had erupted from the wispy wall of the Juddle Nebula like a giant solar flare. It had come without warning, filling the space before his nineteen-ship-squadron, stopping them in their tracks.
“Maintain position,” he commanded. “What are we looking at, Mr. Jansen?”
LCDR Steve Jansen was the science officer aboard, something that was a necessity for galaxy-traversing starships, rather than a tribute to Star Trek. There were just too many unexplained things happening within interstellar space.
“A powerful concussion wave accompanied the outburst, captain,” the junior officer reported. “It’s dissipated by now and the gas cloud is expanding.”
Lyon checked the charts. “That’s the wall between here and the Dysion Void. Any breach you can see?”
“Still looking, sir. Our instruments are all screwy at the moment. There’s a lot of static electricity resulting from the gas cloud.”
“Are we blind, Mr. Harvath?” the captain asked the navigator on duty.
“In the direction of the nebula, sir, but the screens are clearing. This appears to be a temporary effect.”
Captain Lyon propped an elbow on the left arm of his command chair, placing his chin in it for stability as he thought. His unit was on a mission to enter the Juddle Nebula at Tel’oran for a guided transit to the Dysion Void and the planet Olypon. Aboard was a small group of diplomats, along with a larger team of commandos. They were tasked with researching a supposed trans-dimensional portal within the Kryils system. If the facility was as suspected, then the diplomats were to attempt a negotiated agreement to shut it down pending a comprehensive study of its purpose and threat level. If that failed, then Lyon had the authority to send in the commandos. This would cause an uproar within the Expansion, but that was for others back on Earth to sort out. They were still six days from entering the Void—a legendary location for the Human military—and one which L
yon remembered from his days as a boot lieutenant twelve years ago. He wasn’t part of the force that breached the barrier to take on the Kracori, the Klin and the Juireans, but he had share vicariously in the pride of the victory. He was anxious to see the place first hand.
But now this. He didn’t know how to react to the anomaly, which at this point was all it was. This was probably another of those natural phenomena common throughout space, even if his science officer was at a loss to explain it.
“Sir, I’m picking up gravity signatures mixed in with the gas cloud,” announced his weapons officer.
“Within the cloud?”
“More on the other side, partially hidden from us at this point. The number and intensity is climbing.”
Lyon began to see what was happening. A section of the barrier wall had been blasted out…and now starships were emerging from within the Void.
“Sound General Quarters!” he ordered. “Set Condition One, all hands to their battle stations.”
The bridge exploded in a symphony of organized chaos. Each sailor donned specialized radiation gear and placed breathing masks around their necks in case of atmosphere loss. The lights dimmed, replaced by red illumination and the glow from monitoring screens.
“Disburse the fleet, fan out in three sections.”
“Sir, image becoming clearer…twelve, no fifteen ships on screen. They are of an unknown configuration with energy batteries armed. Now twenty, twenty-one bogies. They are moving to engage.”
“Shields at maximum. Do not fire unless fired upon. We don’t know they’re intent.”
“It’s pretty obvious what their intention is,” his XO whispered from the weapons station.
“We’ll wait to verify, Mr. Roberts.”
Lyon scanned the tac screen. He had three sections of warships, consisting of two rows. His command ship was placed to the rear, behind the central formation. There were nine ships facing the enemy, their weapons charged and outer doors open.
“They’re slowing, sir, coming to face us, range one hundred thousand kilometers.”
This was easily within the range of the flash cannon. Lyon also had a full complement of gravity torpedoes, as well as an assortment of ballistic weapons which could be used closer in. Although his numbers were small, he commanded a formidable force. All he needed now was to learn the intentions of this unknown—
The first row of Human warships suddenly exploded, lighting up the space forward of his command vessel. Lyon was confused; they’d received no notification of shots being fired.
“What the hell just happened?” he yelled out.
“Unknown sir, but we just lost half of our units. They…they simply exploded.”
“Full back!” Captain Lyon ordered. “get some distance between us and the enemy.”
Back-wells were initiated, pulling the surviving ten Human warships from the static line they’d been maintaining.
“Update!” he commanded. “I received no warning of shots fired.”
Commander Daniel Roberts was at the weapons console, hovering over the shoulder of a chief petty officer. He turned to his captain. “There were no shots fired by the enemy ships. Nothing at all.”
“Well something destroyed my ships! What was it?”
“Sir! Enemy ships advancing. They’re closing, sir.” Lyon could hear the panic in Lieutenant Harvath’s voice.
“Evasive action. Open fire with everything we’ve got. Lay down a screen.”
The ship bucked, as powerful plasma bolts lashed out from the command ship. On the tac screen Lyon saw that all his ships were doing the same. Then came the vibration of ballistics being released, millions of tiny metal ball bearings traveling at tens of thousands of kilometers an hour. They were each miniature meteorites, capable of passing through diffusion screens with impunity and causing catastrophic damage to anything they came in contact with.
The torpedoes were launched as well, smart weapons that would lock on enemy targets and not give up until they were either destroyed or reached their destinations.
Then three more of his ships disintegrated.
“What the hell is happening?” Lyon called out to no one in particular.
“Three more ships off-screen. Now two more.” This was his Executive Officer reporting. His voice had more anger than fear in it.
“Give the order, Mr. Roberts. Full retreat. Enter deep gravity-wells at the earliest opportunity. Get us out of here.”
“Aye sir. Navigator, come about. Set course for one-one-six, down twenty. Full—”
To the five remaining ships in the Human force, the command ship simply exploded on their screens. Yet they had little time to consider the consequences. Each ship was on its own, running for the cover of deep gravity-wells. Two made it, while another three disappeared from the monitors before they could enter the wells.
Of the nineteen ships of Task Force Alpha Green, only two got away. They remained in deep wells for six light-years before stopping to assess their situation. The enemy ships weren’t following. As Commander Alex Steele of the UFS Greenville caught his breath, he sent all pertinent data in a burst message to Earth using a CW link. Within minutes, the full extent of the tragedy was being transmitted around Phoenix Command and the halls of the Pentagon in Columbia.
Everyone who saw the data pack was at a loss to explain what happened. Seventeen warships of the Human fleet had simply exploded, and with no corresponding incoming from the unknown enemy ships.
As the initiator of the mission, Admiral James Warner, assistant to the Joints Chiefs of Staff, was one of the first to receive the data pack. He was in Columbia at the time, in his office, enjoying a mid-day snack at his desk. Now he sat in stunned disbelief for a moment before opening a comm line with General Paul Sharp in Phoenix. It was eleven in the morning in the desert.
“I’m sending you a data link, Paul,” said the admiral. “It seems our little exploratory mission to the Juddle Nebula has met with disaster. Seventeen of the nineteen ships have been summarily destroyed, and we can’t figure out how. It seems Captain Cain’s warning about this Aris thing is coming true.”
“What do you mean you can’t figure out how?” Sharp asked, himself stunned by the news.
“The ships just blew up, and without any fire coming from what I assume were Aris ships.”
“Cain said the Kracion had a fleet of Klin ships with him, as well as Olypon. He also talked about the genius of the Aris. This could be the first indicator.”
The image of Admiral Warner was one of worry. His skin was pale and he kept running his finger between the pages on the screen of his datapad, reviewing the report. “This is some shit, Paul. We have the computer records from the two surviving ships that got away. We should know more once they’ve been gone over.”
“And Cain? Any word from him?”
“Nothing, not since that first contact.”
“Seems we probably should have listened when we had the chance.”
“We did send a force,” Warner barked. “What more could we have done, considering what little we had to go by? And this attack took place outside the Dysion Void. There was no way we could have been expecting something like this.”
“Outside the Void?”
“That’s right,” Warner acknowledged. He huffed. “That’s about all we do know, the location of the attack.”
“We also know that if what Adam was saying is true, this Kracion bastard is now out of the nebula and into open space, and with a weapon system we have no counter for. I say you get a hold of your boss and tell him to get everything we have on alert. And get him to get the fucking Juireans off their asses, too. This happened in their space. And, Jim, see if we can find Cain. He knows more about this alien than any of us.”
“I’m on it, Paul. And in the meantime, look over the data with your scientific perspective. This is a technological breakthrough, which is right up your alley.”
14
Kracion didn’t care that most of his crews
were in the dark as to what just happened. They had been part of a glorious one-sided victory against the forces of the birth-galaxy, yet very few had an understanding of the event. There were the loaders, of course. They had packaged up explosives that were then sent to the cargo bay of the flagship. After that, they didn’t know what happened next.
The captains of the twenty Klin warships had gone where ordered and took up positions fronting the Human vessels. Then the enemy ships began to explode. The Klin had not been ordered to fire, only to pursue once the enemy retreated. The flagship came forward as well. And then more of the Human ships exploded. Only two managed to gain entry into deep gravity-wells before the attack—if it could be called that—was called off.
Kracion then gave the commanders a course to follow, and the twenty-one unscathed and victorious warships set off for one of the minor spurs of the galaxy. None of the Klin knew this island of stars, only vague references to the Alliance Cluster and the mythical world of Klinmon. There were rumors that Klinmon no longer existed, stories that circulated days before they were ordered to accompany the god-being into the birth-galaxy.
Yet with this stunning victory, the Klin of the fleet were feeling a sense of accomplishment and pride, not from their own actions, but from those of Kracion. Everything he’d done to this point had succeeded. And now they were bolting through space, heading for an unknown destination, yet with purpose and intent known only to him. And who were they to question their god?
* * *
It was a confused mass of sparkling energy that Adam ordered the Mustang Sally into after Kracion’s gravity blast cut an impressively large and smooth corridor through the Shield wall. Although there were a few Olypon ships around, the Klin were gone, having bolted into the opening in groups of five. Now Adam followed.