by C. Gockel
Nebulas, it was not just humans. The Dark did not like machines. When it was done with humans, it would come for his kind. It knew who he was. Would it seek him out in particular? His eyes fell on Volka. Or worse, would it seek out Volka in particular?
Once Volka had told him heaven and hell were real places. It had been a metaphor, and what were metaphors but succinct abbreviations of wilder, bigger concepts? In this moment he understood. Hell was now.
24
Heaven on Fire
Galactic Republic: System 5
Sitting aboard the Merkabah, Alaric found himself staring out at the Net-drive’s glowing sphere, holding his breath. Solomon was perched on his shoulder, and the werfle’s whiskers tickled his cheek. The Net-drive’s glow disappeared, and in the holo before him was the Republic planet under siege. The Merkabah was on the side of the planet opposite Time Gate 5 and New Grande, the planet’s major city. From here, everything looked peaceful.
Luddeccea, Earth, and even Libertas were beautiful from space. In a sea of darkness, vacuum, and death, they were fragile refuges. This planet was very different from those other planets. For the most part, it was snow and ice, but across its surface were vivid cracks of blue and verdant green—the canyons and seas that allowed human habitation without domes or artificial grav. His skin heated and his jaw got hard. It was another of mankind’s rare and fragile refuges, and it was in the process of being stolen.
He glanced at all the ship’s readouts. The jump had been a success. All systems were fully operational. For once, no alarms had sounded when the Net-drive had engaged. More importantly, they were not being greeted with phaser fire.
Scanning the scene outside, Alaric ordered, “Transmit our arrival and give the all clear.”
“Done,” said the weere priest at the Q-comm.
Alaric released a breath. The first joint operation of the Luddeccean Guard and the Republic was about to begin. They would beat back the Dark together—they must. And then, maybe, there might be some trust between them, perhaps trade of goods and ideas.
“Ensign Murad,” Alaric asked, “Have you been able to connect with Admiral Mitchel?” They were breaking protocol and connecting directly to the man’s mind.
“I…I…” Murad stammered. “Yes, sir!”
Someone else said, “The other two ships have arrived.” Alaric nodded to the speaker, and then said to Murad, “Put Mitchel on the comm.”
“Yes, sir,” Murad replied.
What did thoughts sound like over a comm? Could words ever keep pace with thought? Alaric always found words clumsier and cruder than the pictures that merged with words, numbers, and instinct in his mind.
There was a moment of static when Alaric swore every man held their breath, not knowing what to expect. A robotic voice? Spinning in his seat, hand on his earpiece, Murad nodded at him, letting him know the connection had been made.
“Admiral Mitchel?” Alaric asked.
“Speaking. Captain Darmadi?” The voice was masculine and grizzled, the latter was faintly comforting. Was it real or imaginary? There had to be lines of code that turned Mitchel’s thoughts into sound—it might not be Mitchel’s real voice—it could be anyone’s, or a voice “augmented” to be more authoritative.
“The same,” Alaric answered. “We have your coordinates and can provide cover.”
“Good. In a few minutes, we’re going to be attracting a lot of company. Do you have access to holo readouts aboard your vessel?”
The man was skipping through the pleasantries. He had Alaric’s respect for that. “We do.”
“I’d like to be able to sync it with my ship’s computer. As we identify members of the Local Guard who have been infected, we can share that data instantaneously.”
Alaric didn’t ask how they could identify the infected. Solomon had informed him through sign language that Mitchel was a “pet” of Al-whalid, a werfle member of The One. Like the werfle that kept Volka as a “pet,” Al-whalid could interface with Republic computers via the ether. Al-whalid, and other members of The One, would input the data on the infected into the Republic’s computers.
To the weere priest, Alaric said, “Sync our holos to their data.” The holo projector and comm had been designed with the potential for viral sabotage in mind. Even sophisticated Republic viruses and worms couldn’t hop across connections that didn’t exist.
Solomon slunk from Alaric’s shoulder and scampered over to an empty seat. He stretched on top of it and appeared to go to sleep, though Alaric knew that he would be aiding Al-whalid with the detection of the Dark.
The weere priest sitting closest to the werfle looked askance but didn’t protest. Archbishop Sato had informed high-ranking members of the clergy, military, and government that werfles were possessed by demons trying to earn their way back into God’s good graces through service to God’s chosen people. Alaric had always thought of Sato as apolitical, but that theological justification was a fancy political maneuver if ever he’d seen one. The One were pleased to be considered on par with demons, who they saw as above humans in the scheme of things. Luddecceans were predisposed to think the creatures demonic—so the justification didn’t go against any long-held beliefs. If his crew were less than pleased to work with demons...well, they didn’t have a choice.
“Switching navigation holo to Mitchel’s data,” the weere priest intoned.
The holo flickered, and the image of the Merkabah and her two companions appeared in blue. Another ship labeled as Admiral Mitchel’s Prydwen was a glowing triangle on the planet’s surface. The planet itself was delineated by scant blue lines in the shape of a sphere—like an architectural rendering. On the other side of the sphere was a similarly simplistic rendering of the time gate. A quarter of the gate’s outer levels were highlighted in red. And there were blurs of red, blue, and gray surrounding it. Ominously, three red triangles were skimming along the planet, approaching the Prydwen’s position.
Over the comm, Mitchel said, “This ship is over a hundred years old, and I’m still warming her up, boys.”
The Prydwen was the Admiral’s private restoration project. As Alaric understood it, the crew were the other restorers, all members of Mitchel’s local Veterans Legion. Elderly perhaps, but at least not green.
“We’ve got them for you,” Alaric said. “Helm, let’s drop in behind the admiral’s visitors.”
Over the comm, Ran said, “Right behind you.”
The other captain echoed the sentiment.
The Merkabah began her descent. Their quarries, when they came into view, were not infected System 5 Guardsmen, but battered vessels that could only belong to pirates: a planet-trawler, a cutter, and a light cargo vessel. None were military craft. All had weaponry that had obviously been cobbled together.
“They’re hailing us,” Murad declared.
“On comm,” Alaric said. If they were newly infected and seeking help, they were dead; Alaric could not escort them to Time Gate 1 for treatment. But maybe those men wanted to offer some service in their final hours. He would allow that.
A rough voice crackled on the bridge. “Captain Darmadi and all who follow you: The only way to peace is through us.”
“Cut transmission, Mr. Murad,” Alaric ordered. Jaw tightening, he remembered Alexis raving and in agony while in the infection’s clutches. “Tell the others we’ll take the trawler.”
To the men at the phaser cannons, he said, “Prepare to give them peace.”
Minutes later, the first skirmish was over. The Luddeccean LCS craft swept over the remains of the pirate vessels smoldering and steaming in the ice below, and the Prydwen’s hangar came into view—or rather, didn’t come into view. All that could be seen from outside were snow drifts. The only way Alaric knew of the hangar’s existence was because of its glowing presence in the holo. Switching to hover engines, the Luddeccean LCS craft swept into a protective circle around the Prydwen’s location. On a vid screen showing the Merkabah’s stern, Alaric watched as s
now drifts appeared to melt away, revealing a vertical shaft.
Mitchel’s voice buzzed on the bridge. “Should have known Luddeccea would step up to the plate. Always used to get my best recruits from your system.”
It was meant to put his people at ease, but of course it didn’t. It reminded everyone aboard that Mitchel was over a century in age. He saw his men eye each other nervously, but none said anything.
Once more, Alaric found himself holding his breath, focusing on that vertical shaft. They needed Admiral Mitchel to rally uninfected troops, and they needed him to be on a System 5 ship, so no one suspected he was under Luddeccean duress—but how much could they expect from an ancient hobby ship with ancient weapons? The Luddeccean Atlantia Class Corvettes had been based off the Prydwen’s Aves Class. The Luddeccean Atlantia Class vessels hadn’t been maneuverable enough to be effective—a design flaw in their hover system—and there had been issues with their torpedo bays. If the clunky Luddeccean vessel had been based on the ship Mitchel was about to fly—
There was a flash of light on the vid screen, and for a moment, Alaric’s instincts screamed “weapon,” but then there was a collective intake of breath on the bridge as the Prydwen came into view.
Someone whistled.
Someone else whispered, “She’s a beauty.”
“Thank you,” Mitchel said, and there was a smile in his voice. “I’ll be sure to let her know you say so.”
Let her know? Alaric’s eyes widened. Of course, the ship’s computer was likely a true AI. He found himself scowling. Not at that, but at how beautiful the Prydwen was. She was long and sleek, with small but serviceable wings that would give her lift if her hovers gave. The only irregularities in her surface were the gun turrets above and beneath her fuselage, but even those were smooth as water droplets. She was lightspeed capable, and coppery time bands hugged the contours of her hull from nose to tail. Between the bands, the Prydwen was the color of snow in evening—pink, purple, and blue—and sparkling the way the snow around her did. She was camouflaged, just as the suits the Republic had lent his team were. Alaric wasn’t privy to all Republic tech; however, he knew that camouflage was modern. “That is not a late-century paint job she has,” Alaric said, sounding annoyed to his own ears. Or jealous.
Mitchel chuckled. “Well, we certainly hold to tradition here, but we’re not averse to everything new.” A muscle in Alaric’s jaw jumped. The concept was anathema to his people’s philosophy. There was a moment of silence that stretched too long, and then Mitchel said, “We’re ready to proceed. System 5’s ships are attacking one another. It’s chaos near the gate.”
Alaric surveyed his readouts, and then met the eyes of his crew. The weere priest nodded. “The Merkabah is ready to assist,” Alaric said. The other Luddeccean captains checked in. The Prydwen maneuvered so she was at the lead and rose toward the sunset.
“He’s beginning his transmission,” Murad said.
“Put it on comm,” Alaric said.
“System 5 Local Guardsmen, this is Admiral Billy Mitchel aboard the Prydwen. We can identify what ships are controlled by your enemies—”
He was transmitting across an open channel. He had to, in order to reach the uninfected members of the local security forces. The Dark knew they were coming.
Minutes later, as they rose through the layers of atmosphere and above the clouds, Alaric gazed out at the scene before them in shock. System 5’s Local Guard ships were firing on one another—which he had expected. What he hadn’t expected were the other ships delineated in gray in the holo. They looked to be unarmed, civilian craft. One was 200 meters long and 30 meters wide. Time bands down her length attested she was lightspeed capable. Hover engines on her keel attested to her ability to travel in-atmosphere, though she had no wings. She was too sleek to be a cargo ship. She had long windows down her sides—some stretching several decks, each a potential vulnerability. She had no discernible weapons. In the holo, she was one of the ships delineated by gray, though in the view screen she was chrome, with decorative lights flashing down her sides.
Ran’s voice cut across the bridge. “What is that large vessel?”
“That,” Mitchel said, words clipped, “is a pleasure yacht—the Bernadette.”
A pleasure yacht large enough for a small colony? Alaric was appalled.
Mitchel continued. “Raif Wu, her owner, didn’t abide by the prime minister’s call not to evacuate. Neither did some of those other ships—”
Alaric’s chin dipped to his chest, and his hands tightened on his armrests.
Ran said what Alaric was thinking. “I suppose it wouldn’t be appropriate to get them out of the way by shooting them out of the sky?”
Mitchel barked a laugh and said in an ominous tone, “Unfortunately, no.” The ominous tone was gone when he said, “Some of those smaller ships are just caught in the crossfire. Many went up to help before the no-fly order went out.”
Alaric barely heard. A small mining vessel, colloquially known as a “tick,” latched itself onto the Bernadette. Ticks had equipment that could cut through rock and metal, allowing them to latch onto asteroids and ships in vacuum. The tick was red in the holo...soon all aboard the Bernadette would be infected.
He saw other ticks highlighted in red, flitting through the scene, attaching to other chrome, luxury craft, preparing to infect people who were undoubtedly wealthy, important, and connected…who would know things. Soon the Dark would know those things, too, because some wealthy, important people had not obeyed orders to stay put.
Alaric’s hands tightened on his armrests.
This wasn’t a joint human venture. This was every man for himself.
25
Every Machine for Itself
Galactic Republic: S5O12
The planet S5O12 had a few moons. Sundancer was hidden behind the closest. The scientists were putting on her armor. It fell around Sundancer’s transparent hull like a dark veil, blotting out the stars. In Dr. Patrick’s holo, their destination appeared: a highlighted area at the equator of S5O12 where Reich Enterprises was located. The highlighted area wasn’t regular. It spread out from a central hub in a pattern that looked like a many-armed pentapus—only the arms sometimes had branches that intersected one another. The branches were thickest near the central hub and thinned as they spread. They were more geometric than a pentapus’s limbs, and Volka found the pattern—or lack of it—vaguely sinister. “Is it really so large?” Volka murmured. “Or are you exaggerating the size so we can see it?” S5O12 was the size of Luddeccea or Earth. The highlighted area looked to be the size of a whole continent.
Sixty stood beside her. “It is large. Nearly the surface area of Earth’s moon. However, the station only has a population of about 144,000. Most of its inhabitants aren’t people.” His voice was inflectionless, a data dump. There was no incredulity or condescension.
“Who is it inhabited by?” Volka asked.
Sixty shrugged. “Machines. Reich has been a hub of time band and ship manufacturer for more than one hundred years. I don’t think there are any AI, though. James?”
James, Young beside him, walked over and shook his head. “No AI. Reich Enterprises has never employed us. Their board has always held that machines have external loyalties to the gates, and that the goal of gateless travel was not in the gates’ interests. They’ve publicly stated that the gates have been purposely holding us—well, humans—back on that front.” James frowned. “Reich may have been right.”
Volka’s mind caught the word “us” James had used. He thought of himself as part of humanity, but also acknowledged himself apart. Did all machines think so? She looked down at her wrist. She didn’t think that Bracelet thought of herself as part of humanity, yet she still cared about humanity, or at least was willing to fight the Dark. Not all machines thought the Dark threatened them.
Young said, “You ready to go, Volka? Carl seems to be asleep.” The werfle had curled up in a helmet in front of the holo.
Volka bit her lip and felt her stomach turn over. She couldn’t do that again. And yet, she wasn’t sure how she was doing it to begin with.
“Volka?” Sixty asked. Volka flushed. To Young, Volka said, “Sundancer’s ready, Lieutenant.” Even if she wasn’t. Volka turned her focus to the holo, willed the ship to get closer to S5O12, and felt the press of gentle acceleration. They rounded the moon and Volka held her breath, expecting to see approaching fighters. But none came.
“No welcome wagon,” said Ramirez.
Jerome said, “No one is answering our hail.”
“That’s not necessarily bad, though, is it?” Dr. Patrick asked. Volka’s ears went back.
“Do you feel the Dark?” Sixty asked.
Tilting her head, eyes focused on the holo, Volka tried to feel the Dark. “No…I just…feel…empty.”
Sixty shifted his position and his arm grazed hers. “It’s been a long day,” he suggested. Her eyes broke away from the holo and found him staring down at her. She wanted to tell him she didn’t feel empty about him—just in case he’d misunderstood—but the bridge was crowded.
“Volka, does Sundancer feel anything?” Young asked.
Volka shook her head. “She doesn’t sense the Dark. If she did, we all would know it.” Under her breath, she murmured, “That should be a good thing,” and shivered with unease.