The Dark Between the Stars

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Six hundred Remora fighter craft spewed out of the launching bays of the ten CDF ships. The Mantas spun and circled while the gaudy alien warships remained in perfect, precise formation. Adar Zan’nh’s warliners extended their solar-panel wings, which made them look fierce and intimidating.

  Keah just snorted. “It’s all for show, and it makes them bigger targets. Paint ’em up. Fire at will!” Then she added, though it should not have been necessary, “And don’t forget, simulated charges only.” Most had figured out already that this was a joint war-game exercise, but considering how wound up her battle group was, the reminder didn’t hurt.

  Three Manta cruisers rotated to take up blocking positions in front of the Kutuzov, which prevented Keah from firing as much as she liked, but since the object of the game was to disable and capture the opposing team’s flagship, it was strategically necessary to protect her Juggernaut at all costs.

  The other seven Mantas, meanwhile, launched a flurry of potshots at their Ildiran counterparts. Hundreds of Remoras flew out like a maddened swarm of honeybees, completely random and unpredictable.

  Keah leaned back in her command chair, watching. The bridge crew might as well learn something, she decided. “Ildirans can’t stand anything that has no pattern. By letting our pilots choose their own targets, and telling the Manta commanders to head toward the end-goal however they see fit, Adar Zan’nh can’t predict what he’s facing, nor can he formulate a defense on the fly. Believe me, this is an important lesson for the Ildirans.” She didn’t even try to hide her smile. “And I am very honored to teach him.”

  Over the next hour, the tallies of hits and kills piled up. Once Remora pilots were struck and declared destroyed, they limped back to their launching bays. For a fully realistic scenario, the dead ships should have been left on the space battlefield, where they would become hazards, but General Keah didn’t want to overwhelm the Ildirans. Adar Zan’nh could learn one step at a time.

  Although she lost five of her Mantas due to bombardment, their shields depleted, her Juggernaut was virtually unscathed. Four of the Solar Navy warliners were also offline, and the fifth one was nearly spent. The Adar’s flagship had been damaged as well, but not severely.

  When General Keah finally grew tired of the game and decided to lock up her victory, she sent a tight signal to the three nearly depleted Mantas that huddled around the Kutuzov as a defense. “On my signal, drop out of the way. You’d better clear fast, or you’ll be in the crossfire and wreck my shot.” She turned to her weapons officer. “Mr. Patton, I want all of the Kutuzov’s jazers ready to fire at once, on my command. I don’t care if it depletes our batteries. One shot will be enough—if it works.”

  When General Keah gave the order, the Mantas fell away and accelerated, leaving the Kutuzov exposed—and ready to fire. “Now!”

  The Juggernaut’s full array of energy weapons painted the flagship warliner, running down the Adar’s remaining score within seconds. Keah smiled and mouthed, “Boom!”

  After the engagement, it was her turn to invite Zan’nh over to the Kutuzov. When the Adar arrived, he was accompanied by an entourage of peskily eager attender kith who carried a display case half a meter on a side. Zan’nh presented to her an exact replica of a Solar Navy warliner, suspended in an energy field that kept it positioned inside the case.

  She accepted the gift and invited him into her captain’s suite. “My ship models sit on plastic stands, Z. This will be a very nice addition.” She set the warliner replica on her shelf in a place of honor (actually the empty place where her model of the Merrimack had sat before she surrendered it to the Adar).

  During their previous practice engagements, Keah and Zan’nh had established a tradition that the loser would present an interesting gift to the victor. So far, General Keah had given the Adar two of her favorite sailing-ship models. She had lost the first two engagements, simply because she wasn’t familiar with Ildiran Solar Navy techniques. Once she figured out the Adar’s pattern, though, she beat him in the next four engagements.

  The attenders remained out in the corridor so she and the Adar could have a private conversation. Closing the stateroom door, Keah gave him a frank assessment. “You worry too much about the show, Z.” She tossed her long hair back and regarded him with her jade-green eyes. “In a real battle you should figure out how to win—not how to show off. Do whatever it takes.”

  “For the Solar Navy, the show itself has often been the victory,” he said.

  “That may be fine in times of peace, but you were there and you remember—neither the Hansa nor the Ildiran Empire were prepared when the hydrogues started attacking planets.” She unsealed her bureau drawer with a thumbprint lock and pulled out an old facsimile journal. She held it for a moment, wistful, then handed it to him. “Have this translated by one of your rememberers—it’s an actual journal from the original General Kutuzov describing his strategic philosophy. It was written after Borodinō.”

  “You do not owe me a gift. You won our engagement.”

  “You’re my friend, Z. If I find something interesting and want to share it with you, then shut up and accept it.”

  The two of them had spent hours engaged in reenactment simulations, using the starting parameters of old Earth campaigns and then playing out the battles with their own insights. Keah was keen to see if she could do better than history’s great military commanders. Of course, she had the advantage of knowing what those commanders had done wrong, but there was nothing wrong with learning from the best.

  During the dramatic final showdown with the Klikiss fleet twenty years ago, Keah had operated entirely on instinct. She had made a name for herself that day, leaping into the bridge chair when her commanding officer was killed. Now, after decades of peace, she still remembered the heat of combat, and she didn’t want to let her guard down—which was why she also studied the Ildiran military. Adar Zan’nh was faced with a similar challenge, to keep his Solar Navy from growing stagnant.

  She opened a bottle of her favorite wine and poured them each a glass. “Neither one of us wants our military to become just a showpiece, Z.” She clinked her glass against his. She sipped, savored the smooth red wine.

  Zan’nh didn’t much care for wine, but he drank it out of politeness. He said, “Even though our wars have ended, General, the universe is not a peaceful place. There are hazards and dangers that have nothing to do with actual enemies, and our personnel need to know how to respond.”

  Keah got down to business. “I’ve identified three potential enemies that I’m forced to think about.”

  “Three?”

  She set down her wineglass and ticked them off on her fingers. “First, there may be internal struggles in the Confederation. Planets have their independence, and we have the Confederation Charter, but that isn’t going to stop squabbling. It’s just human nature.”

  The Adar seemed amused. “Human nature? Fortunately we don’t suffer from that failing. With the telepathic thism that connects us all and with the guidance of our Mage-Imperator, squabbling rarely happens among Ildirans.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Oh? Didn’t your mad Designate start a civil war not long ago?”

  “That was . . . an unusual thing.” Embarrassed, he sipped his wine again. “What is the second threat?”

  “The second threat—and my apologies, Z, but we must be realistic—the Confederation could clash with the Ildiran Empire. I don’t know how or why, but it’s a possibility. So it’s my job to make sure my CDF ships can kick the Solar Navy’s butt.”

  Zan’nh chuckled. “You can try, General, but you’re not likely to succeed.”

  “Today’s results suggest otherwise. That’s the point of war games.”

  “And the third threat?” he pressed.

  “Third, is something we can’t even guess—like the appearance of the hydrogues or the faeros. A totally unexpected enemy.”

  “We can be vigilant against such a threat. But if we know nothing about i
t, how can we prepare?”

  “We’ll have to learn that on the fly.” She smiled. “I look forward to our next mission together, Z.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  TAL GALE’NH

  The Kolpraxa headed into uncharted space, cutting through the emptiness. In the command nucleus under the open dome showing the vast universe, Tal Gale’nh let himself enjoy the sense of wonder. The unknown was so compelling.

  Outside the Spiral Arm, the stars were sparser, and space was emptier, almost devoid of light. The hundreds of Ildiran crewmembers aboard the exploration ship experienced flickers of uneasiness to be so alone, so far from the Empire. Gale’nh felt the tingle of their fear through the thism, but he was strong. He hoped that they could also feel his excitement.

  Ildirans were joined with faint racial telepathy, the thism. Their minds had a synergy, their presence was bound together in a complex mental network. Like a gossamer safety net, thism embraced every member of the race and tied them all together. And every strand led back to the Mage-Imperator.

  Gale’nh’s mother had told him stories about Earth’s generation ships dispatched centuries ago, following an astonishingly thin thread of hope as they ventured slow and blind in search of other habitable worlds. They knew their journeys would likely take more than a century. In light of what Nira’s people had done, Gale’nh thought, the Kolpraxa’s mission was not so daunting.

  Rememberer Ko’sh stood beside him. The screens showed denser stars in a river of celestial light below. “All the stars in the Ildiran Empire are there beneath us. We are so far from them. It makes the rest of space seem emptier.”

  Gale’nh raised his chin and gave the tall rememberer a confident smile. “Who else in all of history has had a grander view? Does even the Mage-Imperator have a perspective like this?”

  “A valuable insight, Tal . . . a different way of looking at the darkness to distract us all from our fear.”

  “What is there to fear?”

  “The darkness. That fear is in our genes, since Ildirans evolved on a planet always bathed in daylight. Only when we ventured to other worlds and star systems did we learn that night even existed.”

  “I’ve been to those worlds,” Gale’nh said. “I grew up on Dobro, and our camp had lights shining down. We could see the dark overhead, but I wasn’t frightened by it.”

  Ko’sh regarded him for a long moment. “Perhaps your human half gives you strength that the rest of us do not have. Your Ildiran half should remember the Shana Rei, however.”

  The others in the command nucleus glanced up from their stations with an involuntary shudder. Gale’nh drew a breath. “There are many questions about the accuracy of those stories. Rememberer Anton Colicos discovered that.”

  “That does not prove all the stories are false,” Ko’sh said. “No true Ildiran doubts that the Shana Rei were real.”

  Gale’nh had heard about the black ships that swallowed light, monstrous creatures of darkness that had englobed the planet Orryx in shadow so that it remained a wasteland to this day. He knew how the heroic Tal Bria’nh had fought against the Shana Rei using “sun bombs,” but the creatures of darkness were not defeated until Mage-Imperator Xiba’h became a faeros sacrifice, and the cleansing light drove the Shana Rei from the Spiral Arm.

  Gale’nh said, “The hydrogues were a more fearsome enemy, and we defeated them.”

  Ko’sh sniffed. “With all due respect, Tal, you do not understand the Shana Rei. They are more than black warships—they are blackness itself. They attacked the Ildiran race, and the Ildiran soul, through the thism, through our fears.” He folded his long-fingered hands together. “Let me tell you a story.”

  Gale’nh smiled. “You think I am a child to be frightened by simple tales?”

  “During the first attacks of the Shana Rei, long ago, the splinter colony of Ahlar was saved by the Solar Navy. A barrage of sun bombs drove away the black ships. The Ahlar Designate rejoiced with his people, celebrated with his nine sons and daughters.

  “But part of the Shana Rei remained behind, living in the shadows of space and the night of the world. Unseen, they struck through the Designate’s mind, blackened his hatred, fed his violence, and convinced him that his own children were evil monsters that had to be destroyed.

  “After the grand feast, when everyone was smiling and giddy, the Ahlar Designate took his children into a private room where he drew a crystal dagger and prepared to slay them all.” Ko’sh gave a grim nod. “But he was a son of the Mage-Imperator, and so he was stronger than even the Shana Rei expected.

  “The Ahlar Designate fought against the madness inside him while his terrified children watched. Eventually, he plunged his hands into a bright fire, which burned his flesh, but the pain and light and heat were strong enough to bring his mind back into focus, and he stopped himself from killing the children.

  “But he could still feel the blackness like a parasite inside. The Ahlar Designate took the crystal dagger and drew a long gash in his arms to spill out his lifeblood. And what poured out”—Ko’sh dropped his voice, knowing that everyone else in the command nucleus was listening—“what poured out was black blood. The Designate let it flow down his arms and onto the floor, while he sobbed. The children tried to make him stop, but they could see the blackness oozing out of his body. He needed to drain it all from him.

  “Finally when he was near death, the blood flowed true again, and the Designate declared himself free . . . but he was too weak to recover. Even so, he died satisfied, and the children knew the danger of the Shana Rei, as did all Ildiran people.” Ko’sh tightened his lips as he finished his story.

  “That was a brave thing to do.” Gale’nh looked at the intent Ildirans who served aboard the Kolpraxa, then turned his gaze to the sparsely scattered stars. “This ship’s crew can be brave in our own way. Just think of everything out here that has never been seen before: nebulas, stars, planets full of wonders. And as we experience it, the Mage-Imperator is with us. We are casting our racial net of thism wider. Keep studying. Keep exploring.”

  “Tal, I detect an anomaly ahead, a dust cloud or a dark nebula,” said a scientist kithman amid the ports and contacts of the Kolpraxa’s scanning devices and telescopes. “No energy signature, but it covers a wide swath.”

  The screen showed a prominent emptiness, a swatch of space without any visible stars. “Why didn’t we see it before?” Gale’nh asked.

  “There are so few stars out here, Tal, it is difficult to see whether the light is blotted out by dust or just emptiness.”

  “Then we will do the brave thing.” He lifted his chin. “We investigate.”

  Though he was just a halfbreed, Gale’nh’s Ildiran blood did come from the greatest military hero in the Saga of Seven Suns. He had not known his father, but he had studied Adar Kori’nh so intensely that he felt that the man was his mentor after all, that Kori’nh was truly part of him. And Gale’nh did his best to meet that potential. Maybe the Kolpraxa would give him a chance to make his own mark on the Saga. . . .

  As the exploration ship headed toward the anomaly, Gale’nh could see the dark nebula covering even the sparse scattering of stars, like a hole in space, an opaque cloud that eclipsed starlight. It seemed darker than the blackness itself.

  Gale’nh stood straighter at the command rail. Rememberer Ko’sh looked deeply fearful, probably frightened by his own stories.

  The scientist kithman withdrew from the network of sensors, wearing a perplexed expression on his flat and analytical features. “Tal, our sensors give indefinite readings. It is difficult to measure the extent of the anomaly when there is . . . nothing there. The cloud is not solid, not vacuum—just a shadow. But the shadow cloud has changed significantly since we first detected it.”

  “Changed?” Gale’nh asked. “How?”

  “The dark nebula is growing, and moving.”

  Ignoring the expression on Rememberer Ko’sh’s face, Gale’nh recalled his duty. “If it is unknown, then th
e Kolpraxa must investigate. That is the Mage-Imperator’s command.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  ELISA REEVES

  Elisa’s screens went blank as emergency filters blocked the surge of energy from the exploding bloaters. The concussion hurled her ship backward, spinning out of control. Garrison’s ship vanished in the blossoming flash.

  Since she’d been worried her husband might trick her, maybe even open fire with his low-power weapons, Elisa already had her shields up. That probably saved her life.

  As the cluster of nodules continued to explode in a chain reaction, her ship tumbled away, damaged and blind. Elisa couldn’t orient it, couldn’t regain engine control. It was all she could do to hold on.

  She finally managed to restore one screen, but the view was disorienting. The spreading inferno filled space, and the shock waves rippled farther and farther. Even the outlying bloaters glinted and sparked, as if in alarm.

  Her screens went to static again. Through the windowports, she could see the blast going on and on and on.

  Alarms rang through the cockpit, and her life support wavered into the red zones before secondary systems stabilized the air and light. The chain reaction continued interminably, until the inferno climaxed and dwindled as the explosions spread to the diffuse outlying bloaters.

  Half-blinded, she tried to catch her breath, astonished to be alive.

  With only a few of her sensors still functioning, she scanned the fading energy cloud, frantic. Elisa couldn’t detect Garrison’s ship, not even any wreckage. But if his vessel had been in the heart of those detonating bloaters, it would have been vaporized. That meant her son was dead!

  Anger warred with her grief. Garrison had ripped the boy away from her because he feared Sheol was a dangerous place—and he’d brought Seth out here to a cluster of unstable bombs in space. Damn him! She felt sick inside.

  Over the next several hours, the glare from the clustered explosions dissipated, but her ship was too damaged to move. Her screens remained dark, most sensors nonfunctional, and she would have to determine how many other systems were ruined. It was going to take all of her resources just to limp back to civilization.