They yanked him to his feet and carried him to the doors. The airlock opened with a groaning and grinding of gears. The guards carried him to the middle of the chamber and then they dropped him and withdrew. Hoff sat on the cold deck, hunched over and barely able to lift his head. Somehow he managed to look up just as the doors began to close. He found himself staring directly into the black lens of the news crew’s holocorder. He tried to rearrange his face in a smile for the sake of all the millions of people across Dark Space who would be forced to watch the recording later.
He knew he was going to die. If he hadn’t let his wife convince him to give up his immortal life, not long from now he would have been resurrected in a cloning tank somewhere aboard the Valiant, the state of his brain saved and transferred to a new body just before he died. As it was, however, he was finally about to see whether or not he still had a soul, and whether or not such a thing even existed.
The airlock doors shut with an ominous boom, and the news crew went on recording through the transpiranium panels in the tops of the doors. Red emergency lights began to flash, and a warning siren wailed, indicating that the airlock was about to be opened without depressurizing it first. Hoff knew he had only seconds left. In that time, he managed one last gesture for the camera and the citizens of Dark Space who would soon be looking on in horror.
He gave a salute.
With that, the doors behind him burst open and he was sucked out into space.
* * *
Hundreds of klicks from Karpathia City, Destra Ortane stood on the bridge of the Baroness, studying a map of the city with Captain Covani and a hulking Gor—Roan’s son, Torv. This would be the most daring raid they had planned yet. Until now they had just been sending out teams of cloaked Gors to cause mayhem and hunt the Sythians’ new slave soldiers, but the Sythians had merely responded by increasing the rate at which they were taking civilians and turning them into slaves for their fleet. As soon as they had realized that, both Destra and Covani had been forced to admit their strategy was counter-productive. They were killing the very people they sought to protect.
A week had passed since the occupation began, and it was beginning to look like the best form of resistance would be to do nothing. They needed to keep the Gor fleet hiding in Dark Space supplied and ready for when Atton returned with reinforcements from Avilon.
If he comes back, Destra thought grimly. Hoff had told her at the last possible minute that there was a chance the Avilonians wouldn’t let him leave Avilon once he arrived. If that happened, Destra would go find Atton herself. Hoff had left her with the coordinates to get there, and she had every intention of using them if it came to that.
“We’ll have to make a low pass over the warehouse after our teams on the ground open it up with detlor charges,” Captain Covani said, interrupting her thoughts. “Soon as those supplies are exposed, we can get a lock on them with our grav guns and haul them in.”
“What type of supplies are we looking at?” Destra asked.
“Foodstuffs, but that’s what we need most anyway. A fleet flies on its stomach—especially a Gor fleet,” Covani added, sending Torv a wry look.
Torv missed the remark. He was staring out the forward viewports. With his helmet on, it was impossible to see the alien’s expression, but Destra imagined a faraway look in the Gor’s eyes. “Torv,” she said quietly. “Do you think you could have your people on the ground get to that warehouse and set the charges for us?”
Torv’s giant head slowly turned, and he stared at her with the big, glowing red optics in his helmet. “They are leaving.”
“What? Who is?”
“The Sythianss,” Torv hissed. “My créche lord tells me that they leave the entrance of Dark Space.”
Captain Covani turned to stare at Torv. “All of them?”
Destra blinked. “If that’s true, then we need to make our move now.”
“Wait . . .” Torv replied. A moment later, he went on, “Not all of them leave . . . a cluster—one fleet.”
“How many fleets do they have?”
“Your human fleet, which is now in their hands, and half of another cluster with no command ship.”
Covani frowned. “Can they fight without a command ship?”
“That depends,” Torv replied.
“On what?”
“Whether their masters let them.”
“So, if they trust their crews to fight, then they will, and we’ll still be outnumbered.” Covani shook his head.
“But they’ll be vulnerable,” Destra said. “Perhaps more vulnerable than they ever will be again.”
“And what happens when the rest of them come here? They could be here tomorrow, or in just a few hours. They have to be on their way. If you think the Sythians are vulnerable, just think how vulnerable we’ll be after we’ve exhausted ourselves fighting their rear guard. If we try to face them head-on now, the resistance will be over before it has even begun. We need to wait for reinforcements. When they arrive we’ll be in a much better position to take back the sector.”
“Fine, but we should at least send a team of Gors to get the admiral out. You saw what they’re doing to him.”
Covani shook his head. “We’ve already discussed this, Madam Councilor. If we use Gors to get the admiral, the Sythians will know the surrender was a ruse and that the Gors are still on our side. I can’t risk that the Sythians will take that out on the people of Dark Space. Besides, if the rescue fails, which it almost certainly will, then the Sythians will do more than just torture the Admiral. They’ll kill him.”
“What if they kill him anyway? He’s your commanding officer!”
“And he’s your husband. I can appreciate that you’re having difficulty putting your personal feelings aside, ma’am, but my commanding officer wouldn’t want me to rescue him at the expense of the very people he’s trying to protect. The admiral planned for it to be this way. We have to have faith that his plan will buy enough time for reinforcements to arrive. If it doesn’t, then we’ll try to arrange a rescue for the Admiral before we abandon Dark Space. Until then, I have my orders, and you have your husband’s wishes to respect.”
“I’ll be sure to tell the admiral you said that when he gets back,” Destra replied with a thin smile. Turning to Torv, she asked, “Where are the Sythians going?”
“I do not know this,” he replied.
“Begging your pardons, Mrs. Heston and Captain Covani—” Destra turned to see the comms officer staring up at them with wide eyes and a pale face.
“What is it, Lieutenant?” Covani snapped.
“The Sythians just released another one of their . . . motivational holocasts.”
“Put it on the main holoscreen.”
“Yes, sir. . . sorry, ma’am,” he said, glancing at Destra before punching a key on his control station. She had only a moment to wonder about that apology before she understood. The main viewport turned opaque and then a scene appeared and she found herself staring at a familiar man—or at least she thought he was familiar. It was hard to tell if it was him through the mess of dirt, blood, and stubble which had turned his face a ruddy brown. The blood-stained white uniform gave him away, but the look of abject horror on his face made him look like an entirely different person. Destra gasped and shook her head. She remembered the first time she’d seen her husband after the Sythians had gotten hold of him. They’d pointed to him as a symbol of humanity’s defeat. And now . . . Hoff looked worse than ever. What possible point could they be trying to prove?
Kaon began to speak, and subtitles appeared at the bottom of the projection. Destra shook her head, horrified by what she was seeing and hearing. They were going to kill him. Then she heard Hoff explain that his Lifelink implant was deactivated and her eyes blurred with tears. If she hadn’t made him do that, then he might still have lived through this. As it was, however, he was about to meet a very definite end.
Kaon turned away from the camera to look at the guards who held Hoff be
tween them, the subtitles on the screen ordering them to open the airlock and leave him inside.
“No!” Destra cried.
But by now Hoff was already dead. With the time it took for data to travel from one end of Dark Space to the other, this newscast was at least several hours old. Destra saw her husband look up and smile at the camera revealing a row of bloody, crooked teeth. Red emergency lights began flashing all around him, and an alarm began to sound. He raised his arm slowly, deliberately, and gave a sloppy salute to the camera.
Then the airlock doors opened behind him and he was ripped off the deck and sucked out into space.
Destra watched, horrified, as the dwindling speck that was her husband vanished against the stars, and then the outer airlock slid shut and he was gone. The transmission ended there, but for Destra it would never end. It was already playing on an endless loop inside her head. She felt strong hands on her shoulders.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Captain Covani said quietly.
Destra turned and collapsed into his arms, sobbing.
“I hate them!” she screamed with a sudden, explosive force which surprised even her. Destra pushed away from the captain and shook her head, sending tears pinwheeling from her eyelashes to the deck. “Frekking skull faces! They’ve taken everything from me! They took everything from all of us!” she said, turning in a slow circle to address the bridge crew. “When will enough be enough? When will we finally get our revenge for what they’ve done?” Crew looked up from their stations, their expressions blank and full of horror.
“We’re lucky that we’re still alive and free,” Covani whispered. “Revenge will have to wait.”
Destra shook her head and made her way wordlessly from the bridge. On her way, she shot an acid look at the lieutenant manning the comms station. “Make sure my daughter doesn’t get a chance to see that. No news feeds in the mess or any of the common areas.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The bridge doors swished open and then shut behind her. Her body was physically trembling with rage. She would have her revenge. Sooner or later she would find a way to make the Sythians pay. Just a few more weeks, she tried to tell herself. A few more weeks and reinforcements will be here. Then she would hunt Kaon down and throw him out an airlock.
Chapter 19
Two weeks later . . .
Two more days, Ethan thought, admiring the view from one of the Vermillion Palace’s balconies. Far below, the bright turquoise of the Argyle Sea sparkled in the sun. Semi-tropical islands dotted that expanse, overgrown with vegetation that was all the colors of the rainbow. Fluffy white clouds sailed by close below their cliffside vantage point. Two more days and they’d be back to reality. Thanks to the Sythian occupation, it was an even harsher reality than they’d had to endure in the past.
Hoff had been executed for all the sector to see. Citizens were being taken by the thousands every day. They were taken from their beds at night, or taken off the streets in broad daylight. People were being enslaved left and right to serve in the Sythian fleet, without warning or explanation. Initially those reports had been seen on the news nets, warning people not to trust the Sythians. The invaders had promised to leave Dark Space in peace, but they were leaving it in pieces. No one was safe. After the first such report had aired, no further outcries had been heard from the press. They were feeling the weight of the Sythians’ rule, just the same as everyone else. The only truly free press humanity had left was the one which could be heard whispered from one ear to another.
Ethan tightened his grip on his wife’s shoulders and shot her a wan smile. “Did you enjoy your honeymoon?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood.
It was the wrong question to ask.
Alara raised her eyebrows and shot him a bland look. That was her don’t be stupid look. The Vermillion palace had its own water, power, and food supply—enough to last for months without replenishment, so they hadn’t suffered any of the worst effects of the Sythian occupation, but being stranded for a month in a luxurious hotel whilst they knew the rest of humanity was suffering one of the worst times in human history had been more than enough to ruin their honeymoon.
The blockade had been lifted, for what that was worth, but where could they possibly hope to go? Ethan wasn’t sure. Without a cloaking device and a hold full of red dymium fuel, they wouldn’t get far. As far as he knew cloaking devices had never been adapted to ships as small as his Trinity, and red dymium fuel was still restricted to the fleet, which was now controlled by Sythians, so they were just as stuck as anyone else in Dark Space.
“What if they take us next, Ethan? What’s going to happen to our baby?”
“Let’s hope the drafting stops soon. They only have so many ships, and if they expect us to be a renewable source of crew for the future then they’ll have to leave the majority of our population alone.”
“The majority. How many do you think they’ll take before they have enough?”
Ethan thought back to the initial invasion and how many Gors had been in the Sythians’ fleet. “Assuming they haven’t brought any new fleets to our galaxy . . . they’ll need to take at least a few million of us to replace the Gors.”
“A few million? Our entire population is a few million!”
“Just over ten,” Ethan corrected.
Alara shook her head. “This is a nightmare. Maybe we should leave.”
“No, you were right,” Ethan said. “There’s no way out and nowhere for us to go. We have to lie low. We can find a safe place to hide somewhere out in deep space until they’re done abducting people.”
“I’m tired,” Alara said suddenly. “I want to go back to our room now.”
“Okay,” Ethan replied, turning away from the view and walking back inside the palace.
When they got back to their room, Ethan waved his wrist over the identichip scanner and held the door open for Alara. He walked in behind her and turned to shut the door behind them, but as he moved to do so, there came a thunk and it bounced back into him, as if something had been wedged between the hinges. “What the frek . . .” Ethan muttered, trying to push the door closed once more. This time it bounced more violently back into him, and he heard a familiar hiss. Ethan’s hand automatically dropped to his gun belt, but he wasn’t wearing one.
Then the air before him shimmered and a hulking shadow appeared. Fear struck Ethan like a hot knife. He backpedaled into the room, and the shadow advanced. Then Ethan realized the shadow was too big to be human. The glowing red eyes and glossy black armor were Sythian construction, but the dimensions were all Gor, and the Gors were allies now.
“Who are you?” Ethan asked, stopping to stand his ground before the alien.
It warbled something at him which he didn’t understand. He wasn’t wearing a translator.
“Ethan, what’s going on?” Alara called. Then Ethan heard her scream right beside his ear as she came to see for herself. He turned to see her stumbling away from the Gor who had barged into their room.
“Stay back, Kiddie—what do you want?” Ethan demanded of the alien.
“It’s not what he wants,” a familiar voice answered. Ethan noticed the door swing shut behind the Gor, but not what had shut the door. “It’s what I want,” the voice went on. Then the owner of that voice stepped out from behind the hulking alien and Ethan found himself staring into a familiar pair of blue eyes. His ex-wife’s eyes.
Ethan’s eyebrows shot up. “Destra? What are you doing here?”
“Hello, Ethan—Alara,” she said, nodding to each of them in turn. “We need to talk.”
* * *
High Lord Shondar watched the timer hovering in front of his command chair. Soon his ship, the Gasha would arrive at the coordinates for Avilon. The real coordinates. As of two weeks ago when Shondar had left Lord Kaon and Dark Space behind, Lord Quaris and the 2nd Fleet had still been missing. Perhaps they would never be heard from again. That was unfortunate for Quaris, but it gave Shondar a chance to s
teal the glory. Now he would be the one to discover the lost human sector of Avilon. He would be the one everyone praised when he returned to the Getties, and he would be the one they rewarded. Never more would he be forced to live on harsh, inhospitable worlds like Etica, Caas, or Ramad.
Before the invasion the Sythians had been left with but one option—expand or die from sheer scarcity. Like Lord Kaon, Shondar came from a harsh world. Kaon’s world was dark, watery, and cold, while Shondar’s was dark, rocky, and cold. Both were equally bleak and pitiless in Shondar’s opinion. The ultimate honor was to live on Sythia in Shangrila. There the word scarcity didn’t even exist. There was no pain or suffering. Not even death could touch the chosen, because they had ways to extend their lives even beyond the average thousand years of life which most Sythians would see. No more cloning. No more mind transfers. No more niggling doubts as to whether or not they really died when they were reborn. He hadn’t been engineered to live on Sythia. None of them had. They had been born to live on cold, inhospitable worlds where none of the chosen would dare to go, but in Shangrila, even that could be changed. There were ways of altering the body without touching the mind—expensive ways.
Those nettlesome details would all be taken care of when Shondar returned from war. All of that and more had been promised to him—to all of them—as payment for risking their lives in service to the Coalition. Few who were immortal would risk an untimely death—or for that matter the chance to be killed permanently if one died too far from the nearest command ship. The behemoth-class cruisers were the only places in the Adventa Galaxy which could receive their brain scan data and use it to resurrect them in a new body. Transmission time for such data was near-instantaneous, but limited in range to just over a thousand light years, depending on interstellar interference. Shondar knew he was pushing those limits by flying so far from Dark Space and the other fleets, but the prestige he stood to earn by being the first to engage the Avilonians was too tempting to pass up.
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