Dark Space- The Complete Series

by Jasper T. Scott

  Destra felt a stab of regret for Captain Covani. She hadn’t been responsible for his death, but she felt guilty anyway. She’d argued the Gors’ case, but as it turned out . . . He’d been right to fear them.

  Destra reached the nearest bank of lift tubes and rode them all the way up to the bridge. As she left the lift tube and hurried down a short corridor to the bridge, she listened for Torv’s footsteps. The only ones she heard were her own. Maybe she’d lost the Gor along the way . . .

  As she reached the doors to the bridge, the deck shuddered under foot, and something below decks groaned ominously. Destra’s eyes flew wide and her breath froze in her chest—

  They were under attack.

  She passed her wrist over the scanner, and the doors swished open. The scene that greeted her on the other side was shocking. A huddled group of officers stood at the Captain’s table surrounded by half a dozen armored Gors. A few glossy black helmets turned her way; the sunken eye sockets of their skull-shaped helmets glowed bright red in the dim emergency lighting.

  Destra hesitated, arresting her momentum before she stumbled into them. Were they expecting her? Then the air shimmered ahead of her and Torv appeared. His unarmored gray torso blocked her view, and she heard him begin hissing at the others.

  “The Matriarch arrives! Show her the respect she is due!”

  The armored Gors bowed their heads to her as she approached.

  Encouraged by that, Destra squared her shoulders. “Release them,” she demanded, pointing to the huddled group of officers. If she was supposed to be an authority figure for the Gors she would have to act the part.

  The circle of Gors opened up and their human prisoners walked cautiously out, eying their captors.

  Destra stopped one of them, grabbing him by the arm. “Where is the captain?” she whispered.

  The man regarded her with wide, glassy eyes.

  “Lieutenant!” she snapped.

  He blinked and turned to point at a bloody corpse lying on the deck beside the captain’s table.

  Destra eyed Covani’s body with horror. He looked like he’d been mauled by wild animals.

  The deck shuddered again, and a damage alarm sounded, bringing Destra back to the moment. “Everyone to your stations!” she called out, clapping her hands together.

  The crew scrambled down from the gangway. Destra turned to Torv and gestured blindly to the Captain’s corpse without looking at it. “Have your men clean up their mess, please Torv. It’s bad for morale.”

  Torv turned to hiss something at the armored Gors, and they carried Covani away.

  Destra turned in a quick circle, surveying the crew. Fortunately the captain was the only one dead, so she wasn’t missing anyone. There didn’t appear to be an XO on deck, however. She walked up to the Captain’s table, trying to ignore the sticky smears of blood around it.

  “Report!” she called out. “What are we looking at?”

  “Sythians, Ma’am . . . an entire fleet of them!” gravidar reported.

  “Aren’t we cloaked? How are they shooting us?”

  “I don’t know . . . we’re not radiating anything our sensors can detect, Ma’am.”

  “Well they have to be able to see us to shoot at us, so we must be radiating something!” As if to emphasize her point, the deck shuddered once more. “Raise our shields and take evasive action!” Destra said.

  “Yes, Ma’am!”

  Destra studied the grid rising from the captain’s table, trying to make sense of the mess of red and green contact icons there. She had zero experience with command. Suddenly she understood Covani’s point about him being better equipped to lead them to safety. Despite her lack of experience, she did notice one thing that seemed odd. As she watched, a green friendly contact appeared out of nowhere, right beside the Baroness.

  “Contact!” gravidar reported. “She’s friendly, venture-class! Looks like she’s shielding us from the bulk of the enemy fire!”

  “They’re trying to hail us,” Comms reported.

  “Well hail them back!” Destra shook her head, feeling overwhelmed and bewildered. She leaned heavily on the captain’s table, studying the friendly warship. It lay in the enemy’s line of fire, sacrificing itself to shield them from harm. Destra wondered about that. The ship’s designation flagged it as the Tempest.

  She didn’t recognize the name.

  Suddenly one of the crew began yelling and shouting. Those exclamations were soon echoed by others on deck, and Destra spun around, trying to find the source of the fuss. Everyone was staring at the entrance of the bridge, where the air was shimmering as though something were de-cloaking there. A sound like rushing water roared through the air, and then came a strong gust of wind. Destra was staggered by it, but even more staggered by what she saw next.

  A group of four officers appeared out of nowhere—three men and one woman, all of them wearing ISSF uniforms, and their eyes were glowing.

  Destra blinked a few times quickly. Recovering from her shock, she started toward them with a scowl. “Who are you and what are you doing on my ship?” As she drew near, she noticed that one of the men was wearing two gold stars on his uniform, marking him as an admiral.

  Suddenly all four of them raised their weapons and took up a defensive stance, their backs to each other’s, their eyes and gun barrels warily tracking through the room.

  The admiral spoke, “Tell those skull faces we can see them skulking around, and we will open fire if they don’t stand down and reveal themselves immediately!”

  Destra called out. “Torv! They’re friends!”

  The air began shimmering again, but there was no accompanying noise or blast of wind. Gors appeared all around the bridge. Torv was standing right beside her, thick arms crossed over his chest and slitted yellow eyes scanning the quartet of newcomers.

  “Who are you and how did you get on board my ship?” Destra demanded as the newcomers relaxed their defensive stance.

  The admiral breezed by her without a word of explanation, hurrying toward the captain’s table.

  Destra caught up to him. “Hoi, I asked you a question!” she said.

  “I’m taking command of this ship,” he said.

  “Not without the Matriarch’s permission,” Torv hissed.

  The admiral turned to regard him. “What did he say?”

  “He said you’d better ask nicely first,” Destra explained.

  The deck shuddered again, and engineering reported, “Hull breach on deck twelve! We’re not going to take much more of this!”

  “Seal it up!” the admiral ordered. Turning to her, he pointed out the forward viewport and said, “We don’t have time for pleasantries or explanations. I know what I’m doing. Let me save you first, and then I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

  She hesitated just a split second longer before she nodded and gestured to the captain’s table. “Be my guest.”

  The admiral turned and walked up to the captain’s table, frowning as he stepped over the bloody smears Covani had left to mark his passing. “What happened here?”

  “We don’t have time for explanations, remember?”

  “Very well. Helm, plot a blind jump out of here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We have a fleet of Gors with us. They can’t follow a blind jump,” Destra objected.

  The deck shuddered once more.

  “Shields at 74%!” engineering reported.

  “And you can’t survive much more of this. Comms—contact the Tempest, inform them of our plans and tell them to make their own jump out.”

  “You intend to leave my people behind,” Torv said, stepping up on the other side of the table.

  Destra translated.

  “Multiple contacts inbound!” the gravidar operator interrupted. “It’s the Gors!”

  Destra watched the unidentified admiral and Torv glaring at one another across the captain’s table.

  “Your people communicate telepathically—directly fr
om one mind to another—don’t they?” the admiral asked.

  Hiss.

  “Yes,” Destra translated.

  “Then you can tell them where we end up. If we don’t leave now, they’ll be on their own anyway, because we’ll be dead.”

  “Very well. Do not jump further than the distance that light travels in ten orbits or I cannot contact them.”

  The admiral looked to her once more, and Destra translated for him.

  At that, the Admiral called out, “You heard the skull face! Make that blind jump a short one.”

  Destra winced. “Don’t call them that,” she whispered.

  The admiral shot her a bewildered look, but said nothing. She could read his expression easily enough. His eyes said it all. The Gors would always be skull faces to him.

  “The Tempest just jumped away, sir! We’re exposed again!”

  The deck began shuddering in earnest. Destra’s gaze fell upon the grid once more and she saw flashing streaks of purple light streaming out from the enemy fighters and slamming into their aft section.

  “Aft shields at 67%!”

  “Helm! Where’s that jump I ordered?”

  “Our SLS drives are still spooling, sir!”

  “What? What have you all been doing out here? You should have had your drives spooled long ago!”

  “We were otherwise occupied,” Destra put in.

  The admiral shot her a glance.

  “Incoming missiles!”

  “Take evasive action!” the admiral ordered. “Why aren’t our gunners firing back?”

  “They’re in stasis,” Destra explained.

  “Stasis? What are they doing in stasis?”

  “Brace for impact!” gravidar called out.

  They all grabbed the captain’s table, and Destra fiddled with the emergency grav field generator on her belt, just in case artificial gravity failed. The lights dimmed and a loud roar of simulated explosions filled the air.

  “Damage report!”

  “Aft shields holding at 43%! Minor hull breach on four! Coolant leak in the reactor room. We’re down to 75% power.”

  “Helm! We need to jump!”

  “One more second!”

  “Here comes the next wave!”

  Destra scanned the grid and she saw a sparkling wall of Sythian missiles rushing toward them from one of the larger Sythian warships. The first missile reached them with a titanic boom! Ten more followed, one after another.

  Boom!

  Boom!

  BOOM . . . !

  “Helm!” the admiral bellowed to be heard over the roaring of the explosions. “Where’s that jump?”

  “Aft shields at two percent!”

  “Jumping!”

  Destra looked up and saw the flashing gray clouds of the nebula turn to a blurry gray streak as they jumped to SLS.

  “Stay in SLS for half an hour. Project our exit coordinates and start plotting a second jump from there. We don’t want the Sythians tracking us from our jump trajectory. We’ll have to confuse them with multiple jumps.” Destra saw the Admiral’s brow grow lined as he turned to look at Torv. “The Sythians could follow your people to us. Their jump drives are the same speed as yours. Ours are twice as fast, so we can lose them. You can’t. We can’t afford to rendezvous with your people.”

  Torv hissed loudly and looked away from the admiral. His slitted yellow eyes bored into Destra’s instead. “You lie to me! You say we follow, but you leave us to die!”

  Destra translated that, and the admiral shook his head. “I didn’t lie. I simply didn’t have enough time to think about it in the heat of battle.”

  Torv’s expression flickered and his eyes seemed to darken. Destra had a premonition of violence, and she took the admiral aside.

  “Sir, we can’t abandon the Gors. They’re our only allies, and their fleet is too valuable to sacrifice.”

  “What would you have me do? Better that we lose them than all of us die together.”

  A loud hiss drew their attention back to Torv. He bared razor sharp teeth in a terrifying grin. “You repay our sacrifice by taking us to Noctune.”

  “What did he say?”

  Destra translated.

  “What?” The admiral shook his head. “That’s in the Getties! Why the frek would we go there?”

  For the first time Destra heard one of the other men who’d come with the admiral say something. She was shocked when she realized that he wasn’t speaking Imperial Versal.

  Suddenly the questions she’d been holding back since they’d mysteriously appeared out of thin air all came flooding back. The admiral replied to his subordinate in kind, using the same language.

  “Who are you?” Destra whispered, momentarily ignoring Torv’s hissing.

  The admiral turned to her. “We’re in the middle of a diplomatic negotiation. Try to keep up.” He turned back to Torv. “We will take you and the other Gors on board this ship to Noctune, if that’s what you want.”

  Torv went on hissing at them. As soon as he was done speaking, he looked away—from both of them this time. Now even she was unworthy of his sight. Turning to the admiral, Destra translated, “Torv says that will be good enough, but that humans have no honor and cannot be trusted. The alliance is at an end.” There’d also been a more personal note about her not being worthy of the title of Matriarch, but she chose not to translate that part.

  “Fine with me,” the admiral grunted, turning away. “Engineering, how are repairs coming along?”

  “They’re not. Our crew is in stasis, sir.”

  “All of them? Someone had better start explaining something soon.”

  “We’re critically low on supplies,” Destra said. “Stasis was a way to make them go further.”

  “I see . . . and the blood stains?” he stamped the floor under his feet.

  “The Gors didn’t see eye to eye with our captain. They wanted him to take them to Noctune.”

  The admiral’s head came up suddenly and he fixed Torv with a deadly look. For his part, the Gor still wasn’t looking at them.

  “The captain refused, and they killed him.”

  Destra nodded. “I was in stasis at the time, but they tell me he killed a few of them first.”

  “So where are the bodies?”

  Destra shrugged. “The captain’s was here when I arrived. I asked the Gors to take him off the bridge.”

  The Admiral’s gaze turned to her and she felt suspicion pouring off of him. “So you were the one calling the shots after this little mutiny of theirs?”

  “They . . . wanted to put me in command, since I was willing to take them to Noctune. They called me their Matriarch. Until now.”

  “I see, and who are you?”

  “Councilor Heston.”

  The admiral blinked at her. “Heston?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re not by any chance related to Admiral Hoff Heston, are you?”

  “I’m his wife.”

  “His wife?” the admiral asked, surprise evident on his face.

  “You knew him?” she asked, wondering at the man’s sudden interest in her.

  At that, he stuck out his hand. “Admiral Bretton Hale. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ma’am.”

  Destra eyed his hand a moment before taking it; they shook briefly. “A pleasure to meet you, too . . . whoever you are,” she said, releasing his hand to cross her arms over her chest and regard him with a skeptical frown. “I was under the impression that my husband was the last surviving admiral from the Imperium.”

  “I fought beside him in the fifth fleet, during the exodus. Back then I was a Captain. My ship became . . . separated from the rest of the fleet during our evacuation from Roka Four.”

  Destra’s eyes lit with sudden understanding. Then she recalled something she’d witnessed a moment ago, and her frown was back. “Your accent is Imperial, but you speak another language. I’ve never heard it before.”

  Admiral Hale nodded. “We’re from a place cal
led Avilon. Perhaps your husband told you about it?”

  That news went through Destra like a lightning bolt. Her pulse raced; her palms began to sweat; she broke out in goosebumps all over. “Avilon? It’s real? Has anyone arrived there recently? Imperials?” The admiral began shaking his head, but Destra barreled on, “A young man, by the name of Atton Ortane. He’s a fighter pilot, a—”

  “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know, Ma’am.”

  The woman standing behind the admiral shot him an impatient look. “Sir, we don’t have time for this.”

  Destra sent her a scowl. “You have children?”

  “No, Ma’am.”

  “Then you wouldn’t understand.”

  The woman’s cheeks bulged for a hasty retort, but she let that breath out with a sigh, obviously thinking better of it. The admiral turned to her, “You have command for now. Leave the crew in stasis. With all of the recent changes in command we could have another mutiny on our hands if we’re not careful.”

  The woman eyed him for a moment longer before nodding reluctantly. “Yes, sir.”

  Destra saw the Admiral’s eyes flick to Torv and from him to the other Gors standing around the bridge, leaning against the walls and watching them all from the shadows. He said something else to his executive officer then, but it was whispered and spoken in that foreign language of his. To that, she nodded, and she began eyeing the Gors, too.

  Admiral Hale turned back to her and said, “We have a lot to talk about, Mrs Heston. Is there somewhere more private we can speak?”

  Destra nodded. “Follow me.”

  She led him off the bridge, down the hall to the Captain’s quarters. Once there, they locked the door behind them, and both sat down—her behind the desk in the captain’s chair, him in front of it. Destra listened for what felt like an eternity as the Admiral told her the most impossible story she’d ever heard.

  He told her all about an AI god called Omnius and his resurrected empire of humanity. They were interrupted a few times as the woman the admiral had left in charge of the bridge called them on the intercom to ask for further orders.

  By the time the admiral finally finished explaining everything to her, they’d dropped out of SLS not once but twice, and were now waiting for the Tempest to arrive at their rendezvous.

  Admiral Hale went on to explain the difference between Nulls and resurrected Etherians, saying that Nulls were not networked to Avilon’s AI god, so he couldn’t keep an eye on them or tell them what they should and shouldn’t do. When he explained that he and the others with him were part of a Null resistance movement, something occurred to her, and she interrupted him.