Origin Equation

by Charles F Millhouse

  Amazed, Colin asked, “What...?”

  Da’Mira looked behind Colin, expecting to see Quinton there, then she leveled her eyes on Colin, said, “We can’t leave the others. Their still on the station.”

  It was Colin’s turn to look behind him, but it was doubtful he was looking for Quinton. “We can’t stay here,” he said returning Da’Mira’s gaze. “In any second there will be Orlanders coming through that door. I don’t think they are going to look the other way while we look for your brother.”

  “Don’t patronize me, Colin McGregor. If it was your sister somewhere on this station, you’d tear this place apart looking for her. Don’t give me that bullshit.”

  Again, Colin looked behind him. Several Orlander troops appeared and he shoved Da’Mira forward, saying, “We don’t have time for a debate.”

  Da’Mira lost her balance as she fell into the small four seat shuttle. She pushed herself up on the flats of her hands, but not before Colin climbed over her, sealing the door behind him. Weapons fire slammed into the shuttle’s hatch. “How dare you, shove me like that,” she hissed, scrambling to her feet.

  “If I were you, I’d strap myself into a chair,” Colin said as the ship’s turbines whirled alive.

  More gunfire impacted the shuttle, and Da’Mira slid into the seat next to Colin, pulling the safety harness around her. “I should have never taught you how to fly a shuttle,” she said.

  “If you hadn’t, I’d be pressing a lot of buttons to see what would happen,” Colin replied.

  The weapons fire stopped, and a series of muffled thud, thud, thuds, came to the ship’s door. Da’Mira looked to the back of the shuttle to find two Orlander men beating on the hatch.

  “It’s pressure sealed,” Colin said. “They won’t get through that.”

  “Are we going?” Da’Mira asked.

  “Now you want to leave?”

  “If they have a high yield explosive device, like the one that blew a hole in the wall, they’ll get through that door,” Da’Mira explained.

  “I see your point,” Colin said as his hands danced over the holographic controls.

  Da’Mira lunged forward as the shuttle’s retro-jets fired and shoved the ship backward, away from Evergarden. The Everhart platform grew smaller as the ship was propelled away. Suddenly, the body of an Orlander soldier slammed into the ships front window.

  Da’Mira jumped in her seat and made a low whining sound.

  “Jesus,” Colin grimaced, leaning forward to see where the body floated off to.

  “He must have been one of the men hammering at the door,” Da’Mira relaxed in her chair. “Poor soul.”

  “Just be thankful that...”

  An intense flash filled the shuttle’s front window, and a ribbon of energy cascaded away from Evergarden as the space platform erupted in a brilliant blast of condensed hydrogen. Flecks of fire appeared as escaping oxygen vented outward, to be snuffed by the vacuum of space.

  “NO!” Da’Mira screamed. The light from the flash burned at the back of her skull and she threw her arm up over her eyes for a brief second, but pulled it away to watch the platform disintegrate, and fall slowly toward the Earth. Colin said something, but she didn’t hear him, her eyes transfixed on the dying habitat, her thoughts on Quinton, and the others left aboard.

  Da’Mira held in the urge to cry. She refused to think the worst about the fate of her brother. There would be time for that later. Right now, she focused on what she knew. Quinton was alright, she kept that idea alive in her, it was the only way she was going to face the days to come. She collapsed back in her chair, still reeling from what had happened, thinking about those who didn’t make it off Evergarden. Wondering what caused such an explosion.

  It was going to be alright... she repeated over and over. It was going to be alright.

  “Son of a Bitch,” Colin exclaimed.

  Da’Mira barely had enough time to react when from out of nowhere a Monarch shuttle slammed into the side of the ship. It thrashed her about in her seat. “What the hell...!” she exclaimed.

  “For fucks sake,” Colin bellowed. He fisted the controls in front of him, fighting to turn the shuttle from the sudden onslaught.

  Two more ships appeared and barreled toward them. Colin threw the controls forward and the shuttle dove straight down.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Da’Mira shouted.

  “It’s called, do or die, Lassie,” he replied holding the controls down tight.

  The curve of the Earth came into view and Colin turned the ship toward the planet.

  Da’Mira gripped the handrailing in front of her, and warned, “You’re going in too steep. We’ll burn up for sure.”

  “We have to keep those attacking shuttles off our backs. In case you didn’t notice, they intend on killing us.”

  The front window sheened a bright red and glowed a shimmering white. Da’Mira tightened her grip on the railing, and screamed, “If you don’t pull us up, we are going to melt.”

  “Hold tight,” Colin cried out. “It’s about to get a lot hotter.”

  The Forgotten Planet, Majestian

  In High Planetary Orbit, the Tannador Explorer ship, Requiem

  November 4, 2442 – Earth Time

  Debris from the exploration ship Seeker drifted in high orbit of the unknown planet. Scans of the wreckage detected no lifeforms. Tighter probes of the debris field found human DNA located floating outside the destroyed vessel. There were no survivors.

  The crew on Requiem’s command deck stood in silence as the scanning technician reported his findings. Some personnel whispered to one another, but overall the mood on the ship was glum. The Xavier ship was always treated like the enemy, but to find its entire complement dead changed that outlook. They were human after all. And human life was a commodity that shouldn’t be squandered.

  There’s not a lot of us left, Charles Long thought. He stood at the back of the control room and watched the crew’s disposition. Where there wasn’t a very high morale to begin with, it had lessened since the ship approached the planet.

  Requiem was as ready as it ever would be. In a few short days, the crew had transformed the explorer ship into a fortress. Though not as powerful or protected as a warship, the crew might have a chance of survival if and when they encountered Uklavar, and his army. Yes, the ship was ready, but the crew isn’t, Charles worried.

  Requiem followed the Seeker to an uncharted sector of space, to a planet that looked as if it belonged in a dream, more than reality. The blue planet shined like a beacon. Slick like glass, it looked like a marble – a bobble dropped from a sack and suspended in the black of space.

  More than anything, Professor Charles Long wanted to take a shuttle down to the planet. The archeologist in him begged to explore. It was a rich, untapped resource. But Charles refrained from listening to the voice inside his head. Although beautiful, the world was toxic. Rich in helium, hydrogen and methane, nothing could survive there, yet the ship’s scanners detected a single human lifeform on the surface. Against all scientific reasoning, something was living down there. It didn’t have to be said aloud, but it stood to reason that Uklavar was responsible.

  The ship’s scanners didn’t have a way of detecting the horned beast. His biological chemistry was largely unknown, but the consensus from the scientist aboard was, that for a human to be alive on the planet, he would be involved.

  This had to be Uklavar’s final destination. With the Seeker destroyed, the blue planet must be where his army was located. Charles grimaced, they failed to stop him, though in reality he wasn’t sure how they were going to do that in the first place.

  “What do we do now professor?” Navaho Night asked.

  Charles turned toward her. Navaho looked tired – dark rings circled her cobalt eyes and her raven hair was tattered and frail. She, like the rest of the crew had put in countless hours since what happened on Shin’nor’ee. He owed everything to them, and he hated to ask more from them,
but his only reply was, “We wait.”

  “What for?” Spencer asked. “We can’t go down there, and if he freed his army there’s no way to fight them. We should run, run and warn the Earth.”

  Charles loosened the collar of his shirt, tugging on the tie that felt like a hangman’s noose. Spencer was right, and he had no right to ask the crew to wait. Earth had to be warned, but would that be a mercy – preparing them for slaughter. Defeated, he replied, “Not just yet. There’s no reason to insight panic. There’s nothing the Earth can do to fight the creature. But there might still be a chance.”

  “You’re delusional,” Spencer blurted out. His brow tightened. He was just as tired as the rest of the crew. His grey-green eyes had dulled, and his vibrant skin tone had become lackluster. “I’m sorry Professor, but we need to be rational.”

  “And you don’t think I am?”

  “No, Sir, I don’t. We should flee while we have the chance.”

  Navaho stepped in closer to Charles, and asked, “What are you waiting for Professor?”

  Charles looked at the destroyed Seeker through the monitor and said, “So many have died since we freed Uklavar. All of this is our fault. Their blood is on my hands.”

  “You couldn’t have known what was going to happen,” Navaho said in a convincing tone. “You’re... we’re archeologists, it’s our job. If we didn’t do it, someone else would have.”

  “Are you saying it was preordained that Uklavar was freed?”

  Navaho tightened her voice, punching her point forward, she said, “I’m saying none of us had a choice. We are victims of circumstance.”

  “You’re waiting for something else, aren’t you?” Spencer asked. “Or someone else.”

  “There’s still a human on that planet. By all rights they should be dead, but they aren’t.”

  “You keep saying they, but you really mean, she, don’t you, Professor.”

  “Are you talking about My Own?” Van Xavier had stepped into the conversation. Charles hadn’t noticed the short boy standing off to the side. He was easy to forget, not because of who he was, but because of his timid demeanor.

  “After what she did, you hope she’s alive?” Navaho asked.

  “We don’t know the whole story,” Van injected.

  “Hyta told us what My Own did in the Origin chamber, before she died,” Spencer said.

  “Hyta wasn’t finished telling us the whole story before she died. There had to be more,” Charles concluded.

  “You’re not so much delusional, as a fool,” Spencer said flatly.

  “Stop it,” Van shouted, his voice exasperated and nervous. All eyes on the command deck went to him. “Even if it isn’t My Own on the planet. We should save whoever it is.”

  “That’s bold words coming from you,” Spencer declared. “She might have had something to do with what happened to the Seeker. Those are your people dead over there.”

  Van’s expression became serious and for the first time his mental incapacities faded. He sharpened his words like a well-honed knife and said, “We are all humans. No one is better than another. Not Xaviers, or Tannadors, or scientists, nobody. That is why the human race is near extinction and our home world dead. Because we couldn’t stop fighting enough to fix our most important problems. Now we are faced with an impossible conundrum and if we don’t work as one race, with one goal, we will perish.”

  The crew stood in silence, shocked at Van’s sudden normality. His words stabbing them deep. It was difficult to hear, but his harsh reality was true, nonetheless.

  “I never heard more powerful words, Van,” Navaho said.

  “Van... I,” Charles didn’t know what to say. “How did you come up with...”

  “I may not be as smart as most of you,” Van said. “But I read. Those words weren’t entirely my own. I borrowed most of them from a poet, a hundred years ago named, Robert Trudeau. They are just as meaningful today as they were when he wrote them.”

  Charles’ lips thinned into a smile and he said, “That they are, Van.”

  Spencer stepped forward and said, “I’m sorry Professor. I’m...”

  “It’s alright, Spencer. We are all standing on the edge of the knife,” Charles replied.

  “What do we do now?” Van asked.

  Charles held his breath and looked at his new companions. With the deaths of Jonna and Hyta and his longtime friend still in a coma, Charles had never felt so alone. He could hear his friends tell him that the life of one person, although important, wasn’t as important as saving an entire race. Uklavar wiped out most life in the galaxy a thousand years ago. He shouldn’t have the chance to finish what he started.

  The decision was difficult, but not surprising. Earth had to be warned now, while there was still a chance. Before Charles could give the order, a crewman shouted, “Something is happening.”

  All eyes went to the monitors. The blue planet shimmered into a rich milky texture – a caerulean haze glazed around the sphere.

  “Have you ever seen the likes?” someone in the room said.

  “The planet is increasing in size,” the scanner technician said. “Its mass is growing exponentially by the second. It won’t be long before it reaches us.”

  “We need to go,” Spencer said.

  Charles stepped down to the center of the room. He eyed the large monitor at the front of the command deck. “What’s its mass?”

  “It’s growing four-thousand pounds a minute and increasing. It’s beyond twenty-four thousand square miles but most of that is liquid now.”

  “Do we have recording probes onboard?” Charles asked.

  “Two,” the technician replied.

  “Launch them to study this phenomenon, and prepare to open a wormhole jump, we’re going home, to Earth.”

  “Probes away,” the technician reported.

  “Spinning up the wormhole engines,” the pilot said.

  The whine of Requiem’s engines vibrated throughout the ship. “Take positions,” Charles ordered and strapped himself into a chair. He reminisced how Hyta hated to wormhole jump, and recalled he wasn’t too fond of it either. Before he could give the order to jump, a strange box appeared near his chair. He immediately thought it a weapon of some kind. He drew a breath to warn everyone, but held it when the words, I AM ORIGIN> echoed through the deck.

  Charles unstrapped from his chair and went to the box, said, “Origin?”

  No reply.

  Charles cleared his throat, and asked, “You are Origin?”

  I AM ORIGIN> the voice thundered again. Several members of the crew gathered around in amazement.

  Charles studied the box. He reached for it, but a low resonated static shock zapped him. He jerked his hand back and laughed at the sudden surprise. “You are Origin?”

  I AM ORIGIN>

  “How did you come to be here?”

  No reply.

  “Damn it, Origin, this isn’t the time or place for games. How are you here...?”

  Still, no reply came from Origin.

  “The wormhole engines are spun tight,” the pilot reported. “If we don’t jump soon...”

  With no more time, Charles stood away from the supercomputer, and turned to give the order, but inhaled a surprised gasp.

  “Hello, Professor.”

  Charles’ flesh chilled as if he was on an ice planet. He eyed the woman in front of him. Her skin was darker, with little age lines drawn along the curvature of her face. Her hair was longer and lighter in color than he remembered. But it was the glint in her eyes that told him he was looking at My Own.

  My Own didn’t have to say another word. It was written on her face. It was true – the time they dreaded was here, Uklavar freed his army.

  “Professor...!” Navaho shouted. “The monitor...”

  Charles turned on the heel of his boots to the nearest monitor. Out of the blue mist surrounding the planet, a fleet of enormous warships appeared. They steadily moved toward Requiem, engulfing the explorat
ion ship as if it were the size of a tiny escape pod.

  Charles’ heart swelled, he couldn’t swallow, and he couldn’t draw a breath. Forcing out the words, he said, “Pilot, open the wormhole... JUMP... jump, before it’s too late!”

  Requiem turned – the engines powered to full. A slip in space opened in front of the vessel and the ship hurdled into the wormhole. Its mission clear. Warn the Earth at all cost, and prepare the human race for the greatest war in the history of mankind.

  About the Author

  Charles F. Millhouse is the author of more than twenty books in the Science Fiction/Fantasy/New Pulp genres. A storyteller/dreamer since childhood, Charles published his first book in 1999 and he hasn’t looked back. A pioneer in Independent Publishing, he patiently waited for technology to catch up with his visions and with the advent of Print on Demand and the Ebook craze, Charles created Stormgate Press in 2006 to further his publishing endeavors.

  In 2012 Charles published the first of his highly successful new pulp series, Captain Hawklin and the Skyhook Pirates. He followed that up with a Supernatural Western, the New Kingdom Trilogy and finished his space adventure series, Talon’s Epic.

  In 2020 Charles will release Captain Hawklin and the Ghost Army, the eighth in his New Pulp Adventure Series.

  Connecting with readers, Charles focuses on providing highly entertaining, adventure and thought-provoking stories for those people who enjoy a well-crafted prose.

  contact stormgatepress@gmail.com