The Dark Between the Stars

by Kevin J. Anderson

  When all CDF ships were in position and waiting for the Solar Navy to arrive, Keah grew impatient. She suggested to the three Grid Admirals, “Why don’t you loosen up, run some flight patterns?”

  “Good idea, General,” acknowledged Admiral Harvard, as if the thought had never occurred to him. The other two H’s joined in.

  “But I thought we were running an exercise against the Ildirans, General,” said Admiral Haroun. “What sort of flight patterns do you want us to run?”

  Keah sighed. If they got into a real space battle, Keah hoped she wouldn’t have to look over their shoulders and tell each one where to point the jazers and when to push the firing buttons. “The problem with the Solar Navy is that they’ve been too set in their ways, but now they’re trying to be more nimble and adaptable. You can do the same.”

  The Three H’s directed their ships into separate groups, as if this were a formal military parade. Hoping to show these desk admirals how it was done, she sent out a fleet of her own Remoras. Maybe she’d pretend to launch a turncoat attack, just to rile them up.

  Then a real threat intervened.

  Out at the fringe of the system, her Remora patrols discovered a disturbance—an emptiness like a tear in space that began to spew out a thunderhead of dark dust. General Keah felt a chill when she saw the emerging shadow cloud: she had seen this before.

  She sent an emergency signal to all ships. “No time for practice. This is real.” She ordered the Kutuzov’s systems to be powered up. “I am assuming control of the battle group. We head out to see what we can do against that shadow cloud.”

  Admiral Handies transmitted back, “General, the Ildiran Solar Navy isn’t here yet. Shouldn’t we wait?”

  “No, dammit!” When she and the Ildiran warliners had pursued the black robot vessels, that shadow cloud had taken them by surprise. As part of their preliminary training, she had required all the crews on every CDF vessel to review the briefings on that previous encounter. “I want to figure this out, but keep a good distance.”

  The Juggernauts and Manta cruisers raced toward the edge of the system. The dark, shapeless mass looked like an amoeba made entirely of midnight. She kept her eyes open, studying it.

  A message came over the comm from Ron Tamblyn at Plumas. “General Keah, what’s going on up there? Is this part of the simulation?”

  “Better if you just stay where you are, Mr. Tamblyn. We have a problem.”

  On the bridge, her green priest sat shivering next to his potted treeling. Nadd was always cold aboard the Kutuzov, and now he seemed nervous as well. “General, shall I inform the worldforest network what’s happening?”

  “Go right ahead. But nothing’s actually happened—yet.”

  As soon as she said the words, Keah knew she had spoken too soon. From within the folds of the ever-expanding black nebula, three gigantic shapes appeared, composed of a different, more solid type of darkness. A trio of long hexagonal cylinders thrust like blunted knives out of the dark nebula.

  Then, like buckshot, dozens of smaller ships streaked out of the shadow cloud, accompanying the black hex cylinders. Keah immediately recognized the design of the smaller vessels. “Those are bugbot ships!”

  Admiral Harvard transmitted from his Juggernaut. “General, should we send a liaison ship forward? Try to communicate with them and ask their intentions?”

  The black robot ships roared toward the CDF ships in attack formations.

  “No, Admiral Harvard, we will not. Shields on full, prepare to fire jazers.”

  Her crew aboard the Kutuzov reacted more swiftly, since they had experienced this before. She could only imagine the confusion aboard the other three Juggernauts, and she hoped her Grid Admirals would learn and respond quickly. There wouldn’t be time for on-the-job training.

  The black robot ships opened fire first, and Keah heard the impacts against her shields, saw the flares on the display screens. “Return fire, Mr. Patton! Hit them with everything, and then hit them again.”

  “My pleasure, General,” said the weapons officer.

  The order was transmitted across the battle group. Though out of practice, the other CDF warships unleashed such an enthusiastic flurry of jazers that dozens of shots hit the robot ships, destroying one by dumb luck. The angular vessels spun and reeled, changed course, and raced forward again at accelerations too intense for any biological form to survive.

  “Can’t say if any of those are the same bugbot ships that escaped from Dhula, General, or if they’re fresh ones,” said Sensor Tech Saliba.

  “We know what the bugbots are capable of. Best solution is to wipe them all out—just to be sure.”

  “Trying to do just that, General,” said Patton.

  Looking lethal, the huge hexagonal cylinders continued to glide out of the shadow cloud. The hex ships displayed no lights, windowports, engines, or apparent control systems—no vulnerabilities. The Kutuzov’s bridge screens flickered, her systems faltering.

  “Shields are losing their integrity, General!” called Tactical Officer Voecks.

  “Open fire on those hex things. That’s what’s causing the problem.”

  Retargeting, the flagship Juggernaut launched an intense jazer volley, but the jacketed energy beams struck the obsidian cylinders and reflected harmlessly off the angular surfaces.

  The Kutuzov’s bridge began to shake and rattle as more internal systems failed. Meanwhile the robot ships harassed the CDF vessels. One of Admiral Haroun’s Mantas accelerated toward the nearest hex ship, shooting repeated jazer blasts and a fusillade of railgun projectiles. But as it neared the black vessel, the Manta trembled, then began to tumble wildly. The Manta captain transmitted a distress signal. “We’ve lost control! All systems have gone haywire.”

  The unfortunate Manta struck the nearest hexagonal cylinder. It crumpled, ricocheted off, and exploded. The fires and shock waves from ignited ekti chambers slammed against the black hull and were absorbed.

  Keah seethed. “Now would be a good time for Adar Zan’nh to show up with his warliners.” She picked four Remora pilots and sent them an urgent message. “Head out of the system at top speed along the Ildiran inbound vector. Intercept the Solar Navy ships, inform them what’s happening—and tell them to haul ass. They’re probably planning some fancy arrival parade.”

  Her green priest clutched his treeling and continued to report. As she listened to the tangled, overlapping transmissions from other ships, Keah heard an increasing edge of panic in the reports. Their weapons seemed to be having no effect whatsoever on the hex vessels.

  “Keep firing as long as our systems hold out,” she told her crew. “Target the damned bugbot ships—at least we can blow them up.”

  They fired additional rounds, but even the Kutuzov’s weapons began to fail. The targeting was misaligned, and numerous shots misfired. Two more black robot ships were destroyed, but Keah knew she didn’t have much time before her entire battle group fell apart.

  NINETY

  EXXOS

  Walled off and frustrated, Exxos could only watch the battle from within the entropy bubble. The Shana Rei would not let him participate, and so they trapped him—protected him—in his own isolated pocket universe.

  Given time, the robots would learn how to manipulate the physical laws of that sub-universe, perhaps even create matter, shape existence to their own desires. The black robots could be gods. They could be masters.

  All in due time. First they had to survive the Shana Rei . . . and preferably destroy them, along with all sentient life, so they could have the universe to themselves.

  At the moment Exxos was more interested in the clash taking place in the Plumas system. That small Roamer settlement should have been an easy target to annihilate, just like Eljiid. Exxos had not expected to find the human military ships there. Nevertheless, he was excited by the opportunity to unleash the destructive power that the Shana Rei alliance could generate.

  How he longed to be part of the battle, not
just trapped here, but the capricious Shana Rei had kept him apart—either as a hostage, or a distant commander. He wasn’t sure which. The creatures of darkness left much to be understood. Their thought patterns were different from anything the black robots had previously encountered, and the Shana Rei were not inclined to explain their rationale.

  They had singled him out as leader of the black robots, unique among them, and he accepted the role. Although the robots themselves were identical in their basic structure and programming, each one had personal experiences assimilated over thousands of years. But he could only watch as his comrades soared toward the human battleships in new vessels the Shana Rei had manifested for them. The modified ships should have been sufficient to obliterate an undefended Roamer water-pumping station.

  Imagining the potential of their incomprehensible benefactors, Exxos had redesigned the robot attack craft. The Shana Rei were devoid of knowledge about physics, science, engineering, but they could create matter in whatever form they desired, so long as they had a basic pattern. The robots understood the structure of ships, the mechanics of engines and propulsion systems, the layout of electronics, circuitry paths, weapons systems. Exxos convinced the creatures of darkness to create enhanced ships according to new plans.

  And now they wouldn’t let him fly as part of the attack.

  The Shana Rei drained energy from the vacuum and also created huge hexagonal cylinders, traditional shadow ships such as ones they had used in their previous appearance millennia ago. The effort of creation caused them pain; even in his entropy bubble, Exxos could hear the Shana Rei moan and scream. That pain transformed into anger and violence, which they unleashed at Plumas.

  With robot battleships in the vanguard, the black hex cylinders loomed forward. The CDF Juggernauts and Manta cruisers struggled to meet the attack, but were unprepared. Exxos listened to the dance of radiofrequency chatter, heard the defiant General declare revenge against the hated black robots. But Exxos understood that revenge went both ways, and he intended to hurt the CDF for all the destruction they had visited on his fellow robots in times past.

  The robot ships hammered the CDF shields with unexpectedly powerful weapons, draining the energy reserves of the human vessels. They were reckless; they took risks and inflicted great damage. The robots targeted one Manta with their bombardment until its shields failed and the engines exploded. And they continued, relentless in their goal. . . .

  A rippling inkblot appeared inside his entropy bubble, hovering before him with a staring singular eye. “This must end soon.”

  “It will. Look at our success so far.”

  The CDF released weapons in a flurry against the robots, but they did not know how to deal with the Shana Rei. Their very proximity to the black hexagon ships caused significant disruption in the human vessels. Electrical and mechanical systems began to fail, and they lost control. A Manta cruiser careened into one of the giant hexagons, but left no mark on the black hull.

  The Shana Rei had overwhelming power—that much was obvious—yet even as they moved toward the Plumas moon, the creatures of darkness were desperate to withdraw and fold themselves back into the fabric of space.

  Just a little longer.

  Exxos possessed a database of all the worlds and races that needed to be destroyed. The Shana Rei claimed that some minds were a brighter fire than others; some thoughts hacked like sharp blades, while others were mere annoyances. The Ildiran thism was among the worst, as was the worldforest mind with its green priest telink network. Exxos would gladly destroy it all. Removing this human infestation at Plumas, as well as the CDF battleships, were just small steps toward that goal.

  From inside the entropy bubble, the Shana Rei said in its pulsing voice, “Victory here will silence a few small whispers, but what drove us from our void is a far more powerful enemy—an intelligence that has only begun to awaken.”

  NINETY-ONE

  ZOE ALAKIS

  Tom Rom was late.

  If any other employee missed a scheduled return to Pergamus, Zoe Alakis would have been annoyed. But Tom Rom was never late, and that made her worried.

  He was an independent man. She had no chains on him, nor did he want any. His loyalty to her was a bond that could not be broken by the pull of two opposing black holes, and even Zoe didn’t know how she had earned such devotion. He was also diligent and should have been back from his trip to the Ildiran sanctuary domes four days ago.

  His last contact had been from Ulio, where he’d stopped to refuel and resupply, and he had added a code phrase to his message to let her know he would make a brief trip to Vaconda, as he had many times before.

  But he should have been back days ago.

  Zoe contemplated sending out searchers to trace his route from Ulio, but if Tom Rom didn’t want to be found, no one would ever track him. What if he was hurt? Or lost? If it would help, she might even leave her sterile dome and go after him herself. Only for him. But that would be a last resort.

  Her concerned thoughts were interrupted by a message from Orbiting Research Sphere 12—Dr. Hannig’s lab. The scientist looked worried, and his bristly white hair had a distinct sparkle of perspiration. “Ms. Alakis, we’ve had a . . . slight problem.”

  Zoe’s eyes hardened. With the dangerous work on Pergamus, there was no such thing as a “slight” problem. She even momentarily forgot about Tom Rom. “What sort of slight problem?”

  His chuckle held an undertone of anxiety, so she knew not to believe his dismissive attitude. “It’s probably just an administrative error. Nothing to worry about, but I wanted to let you know.”

  Her expression turned icy, her voice even colder. “Details, please.” She leaned closer so she could watch his face.

  “As you requested for the library, Ms. Alakis, we finished our work with Tamborr’s Dementia, isolated the virus, purified it, and stored it in capsules. One of our notebooks states that we had twelve vials, but our final inventory lists only eleven. We’ve double-checked it, and I just wanted you to know there was an accounting error in our original submission.”

  “An accounting error.” Zoe didn’t even try to hide her skepticism. “Your team has never had accounting errors.”

  Dr. Hannig chuckled again, that awkward nervous titter. “There’s always a first time. I’ve reprimanded my team and will launch a full investigation. When cleaning up the lab, we did find the twelfth vial, but it was empty.”

  “You mean it was spilled.”

  “No, of course not!” Hannig sounded more nervous now. “Absolutely not. I’m positive.”

  Zoe frowned and thought, Meaning, “I don’t think so.”

  In its natural state, according to Hannig’s report, Tamborr’s Dementia was very difficult to contract, but Hannig’s work had isolated and concentrated the virus. If that vial had spilled, every member of the research team would be infected now. The symptoms would manifest within a few days.

  Dr. Hannig’s words petered out, and he fell silent, staring at her on the screen, as if hoping. Zoe stared back without responding. Rules were rules, considering the extreme hazards of their work. There could be no room for flexibility, no possibility for compassion. Another example of why she refused to befriend her researchers.

  Hannig’s voice came out as a hoarse whisper. “Please!”

  She made up her mind. “Dr. Hannig, I want to thank you and your team for your years of service. We have copies of your documentation, as well as an archival sample of the Tamborr virus, which we’ll seal away in the Pergamus library. Your work will not be lost.”

  The panicked researchers gathered around Hannig on the screen, shouting. “At least wait a few days, see if we show any symptoms! You’ve got to be sure. You can’t just—”

  “Protocol is protocol,” she said. “You all signed on to it. You’ve known from the very beginning.”

  “But it’s just a damned counting mistake!” one of the scientists cried.

  “We have to be sure. Thank you for under
standing.”

  Zoe muted the voice pickup, because she had no interest in hearing desperate excuses or pleas. From her desk, she initiated a full decontamination protocol for ORS 12.

  Hannig would know how much time he had. The magnetic charge at the heart of the station would take fifteen minutes to build up enough energy for the gamma-ray burst, which would release five times the amount of energy needed to destroy any known virus or bacteria. Just to be sure.

  She supposed Hannig would try to rip apart the control systems to access the central magnetic canister, but he couldn’t possibly do it in time. If he was an honorable man, he would accept his situation and not further damage the ORS. The station would be put back to good use after she sent her teams to clean up and repair all of the systems.

  She watched her screen, saw the power buildup in the ORS core. She blocked the comm screen, even though Dr. Hannig repeatedly sent requests for communication.

  The gamma-ray burst ended that, vaporizing all organic matter inside the sphere, down to every individual cell and the smallest virus. Afterward, the ORS would be subjected to twenty-four hours of thermal decontamination to cook away any remnants. And after that, the hatches would be opened to vent the station to space, leaving the chambers in hard vacuum with temperatures near absolute zero. That should be sufficient to make it a safe environment for the next team in the ORS.

  Fortunately, because all of her research groups were isolated, no one else even needed to know about the disaster.

  She called up her files to review the applications of other scientists who might be candidates for the new research team. She scanned down the names, read their specialties and accomplishments. Hannig would be difficult to replace, she knew, but she would have plenty of time to find someone. Her cleanup crew would take a week to scour and then reequip ORS 12 for further research anyway.