Dark Space- The Complete Series

by Jasper T. Scott

  “We must climb down,” Torv said. As she watched, he lowered himself into the hole, using his arms and legs to push against the walls and slow his descent. Thick cords of muscle stood out on his arms as he slid down into darkness. Destra shook her head and called after him, “I can’t do that!”

  Torv gave no reply. He’d already dropped out of sight. Destra turned and came face to stomach with another Gor, this one armored and glaring down at her with the glowing red optics in his helmet. She held her ground, determined not to be afraid.

  The Gor held out his arms and hissed at her. “Climb on, human.”

  Destra blinked up at him. Hesitantly, she climbed up his torso and wrapped her arms around his neck. Then the Gor eased them down into the chasm, just as Torv had done. Unlike Torv’s silent descent, this Gor’s armor scraped long furrows into the ice, making a noisy screech all the way down. The chasm abruptly widened at the bottom, and they fell for the last ten feet, landing with a noisy crunch.

  The icy ground shuddered with their landing, and little bits of snow fell from the ceiling, glittering in the light of Destra’s glow stick.

  She climbed off the Gor and struggled to find her footing. Here the ice was slick and smooth underfoot. They were standing in some type of cavern, crisscrossed with a maze of strange, leaning pillars of ice that connected the floor to the ceiling and opposing walls to each other. Destra wondered if this area had been dug like that for a reason—to prevent cave-ins perhaps.

  Then she noticed how smooth the walls and floor were. Absent were the Gor’s claw marks. Her eyes narrowed at that, and she wondered how the Gors had dug this tunnel if they hadn’t used their claws. Realization dawned, and suddenly she saw all those leaning pillars of ice for what they really were—

  Twisted girders and fallen beams. They were coated with ice, but otherwise too straight and angular to be either natural or carved by Gors. The walls and floor weren’t gouged with Gor claw marks because they hadn’t dug this tunnel. This one was formed by the crumpled shell of an ancient skyscraper.

  “Torv!” Destra said, looking around for him.

  “Yess?”

  He was standing right behind her. “Do you know what this is?” she asked.

  “It is Noctune. Are you feeling well, Matriarch?”

  “No, I mean . . . this!” She gestured to their surroundings. “Your people didn’t dig this tunnel, Torv.”

  “No. It is a natural opening in the ice.”

  Destra regarded the Gor with a wild grin. “It isn’t natural, either. You’re standing inside the ruins of an ancient civilization. Your civilization, Torv, and probably ours, too.”

  The Gor’s expression grew slack and he turned in a slow circle to study their surroundings. “I do not see any . . . ruins. Only ice. And we only meet humans when the Sythians force us to fight and kill you. How can you say that humans once live on Noctune?”

  Destra’s smile broadened. “Why else would Gors be bipeds? You are humanoids with two eyes, ears, arms and legs. You have hands with opposable thumbs. If you had evolved all on your own, it would be a great coincidence that your species so closely resembles ours.”

  “I do not understand,” Torv said.

  “Just trust me. We’re your creche mates, Torv. We always have been.”

  Torv hissed at that. “Then the Sythians force us to kill ourselves during the war. This only adds to the blood price that they owe.”

  “Yes,” Destra agreed. She decided not to mention that the Sythians were also related to both Gors and Humans. Instead, she put a comm call through to the Tempest, intending to inform the admiral of her discovery.

  The only answer was a crackle and hiss of static, followed by an error beep and an audible announcement from her comms: “Connection failed.”

  Destra grimaced. There must have been too much interference. She called up to Sergeant Cavanaugh instead, but again, came the static followed by the error tone and explanation.

  Feeling a sudden pang of worry for Atta, she tried to contact her daughter. When the connection failed for a third time, she tried running a diagnostic to determine the problem.

  “What is wrong?” Torv asked.

  “I can’t reach anyone on the comms,” she said.

  The diagnostic reported the cause of the problem as unknown interference.

  “Frek,” she said, and glanced up through the dark chasm over their heads, wondering if the ruins were somehow responsible for that interference. Then something occurred to her. Gor telepathy was supposed to work on quantum principles, and it had an incredible range—up to ten light years.

  Destra turned to Torv. “Can you contact your creche mate, the Gor we left on the surface? There’s something wrong with my comm system.”

  Torv hissed at her. “I cannot, my Matriarch. That is why we must search for survivors rather than simply call out to them. The tunnels interfere with our ability to communicate unless we are very near to one another.”

  “I guess that explains why I can’t contact anyone . . .” Destra went back to peering up at the dark chasm over their heads. “Is there any way you can get me back to the surface?”

  “We must keep searching for survivors, my Matriarch. There is no time to waste.”

  “What if we run into trouble?” she asked, trying a different approach. “We’re all alone down here, and I can’t call for help.” Having said that, Destra realized that the rest of the Gors hadn’t joined them at the bottom of the chasm. “Where are the others, Torv?”

  “They go to hunt. The crechelings shall not survive if they do not eat soon. The others remain to guard the entrance of this tunnel and make sure that nothing stalks us from behind.”

  Struck with a sudden insight, Destra said, “Can you tell one of them to go back to the transports?”

  “Yess, but why?”

  “Have him go tell my daughter that I’m fine. Tell her that I will be out of touch for a while, but that hopefully I’ll see her soon. Then tell her that we’ve found the ruins, and they should all join us down here. The Gor you sent will show them the way.”

  “I tell them, but we cannot wait for them to arrive. We must go on.”

  Destra nodded. “That’s fine. I’ll go with you. That was our agreement.”

  “You have much honor, my Matriarch. We shall not soon forget your concern for our fate.”

  “Let’s keep looking,” she said, and began picking her way carefully across the slick, icy floor.

  Twice she slipped and fell, sending sparks shooting up her spine. The third time a strong arm reached out and picked her up by one arm. Destra’s shoulder popped painfully and she cried out. Torv grunted and slung her over his back. She wrapped her arms around his neck. Despite her throbbing shoulder, she found she was grateful for his intervention. For the first time in what felt like forever she was able to catch her breath and rest her burning legs.

  Destra eyed the icy girders and beams as the Gors ducked and climbed over them. She scanned their surroundings, drinking in every oddly-shaped lump on the ground, trying to imagine what lay underneath the layers of ice.

  They spent a long time negotiating the cavern before coming to the end of it. The ground sloped away sharply beneath their feet, and the Gors jumped down into what appeared to be another, lower level of the ruins. Here the ceiling was close to their heads and the space between the walls was much narrower.

  Claustrophobic.

  Destra began to notice the sound of her anxious breathing reverberating inside her helmet. Ice-covered debris crowded every alcove and aisle. Here and there Destra noticed a return of the Gors’ claw marks, where they had been forced to widen the narrowest spaces. As they walked through just such a space, Destra noticed that the ice had been dug away, all the way down to the rusted alloy beams of the ruins.

  Destra climbed off Torv’s back to get a closer look. As she waved her glow stick around, she began to pick out familiar details. There was an overturned chair, legs poking up out of the ice; a des
k; a scrap of blue cloth; and a small gleaming bit of metal, half-buried in the ice. Something red and shiny glinted in the center of it, catching her eye. Destra walked up to it and went down on her haunches to see what it was.

  It was a pendant. The shiny red part was some type of gemstone. Destra grabbed the protruding edge and tried to pull the pendant from the ice. It refused to yield. Setting her glow stick down, she used both hands and put her back into it.

  Suddenly the pendant broke free and she fell over. Destra sat up and held the artifact up to the light. The edges were worn down, but it was still vaguely recognizable as a six-sided star.

  Destra blinked at it in shock, suddenly realizing what it was.

  “What is that?” Torv asked.

  “This?” Destra asked, turning to Torv with a broad smile. She shook the pendant at him for emphasis. “This is proof that humans used to live here, Torv. It’s a Star of Etherus.”

  “A star of . . .”

  “An Etherian symbol,” Destra explained. “A symbol of our god.”

  Chapter 34

  “Connection failed, sir. There’s too much interference.”

  “That’s impossible. What interference?” Bretton asked.

  The comms operator shook his head. “I don’t know what to tell you, sir. There’s some type of disruption field emanating from the entire planet.”

  “A naturally occurring disruption field . . .” Bretton’s tone made it clear what he thought about that.

  “Maybe, maybe not. The ruins aren’t natural. Perhaps there’s more than just rubble buried beneath the ice.”

  Bretton frowned. “Contact our team on the surface and see if they’ve heard from the councilor.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Moments later the reply came back, “No, sir, they haven’t. They’ve been trying to reach her, too.”

  “How’s their excavation going?”

  “Slow. They’re still at least twenty feet away from the ruins, sir.”

  “Send them the councilor’s coordinates and tell them to go investigate. The tunnels the councilor found will get them to the ruins faster, anyway. Just make sure you warn them about the interference. I don’t want to lose contact with everyone down there.”

  A moment later the comms operator replied, “They acknowledge your orders, sir. They’ll let us know when they arrive at the specified coordinates.”

  “Good.” Bretton spent the next half an hour pacing the deck and waiting for the ground team to make contact once more. When they finally did, they explained that they had run into a Gor messenger from the councilor’s search party. She was okay, and she’d found the ruins.

  Bretton ordered them to make their way cautiously into the tunnels and see if they could catch up with her. Another twenty minutes later the Tempest received a static-filled message from Sergeant Cavanaugh saying that they were about to drop out of comms range. No sign of the ruins yet. Bretton ordered them to continue, but to send someone back to the surface with an update as soon as they found the ruins.

  Bretton sighed, resigned to more waiting. He began to question his decision to stay aboard the Tempest. Space was empty. They’d been sitting out in the open for hours, their shields powered, their jump back to the rendezvous in the Adventa Galaxy pre-calculated. Farah was no doubt equally anxious and bored on her end, waiting aboard the Baroness for him to return.

  Thanks to the Sythian ambush in Dark Space, and Captain Picara’s suicidal plan to warn the Avilonian fleet, she would not be joining them there.

  Bretton scanned the contact report at the bottom of the grid. Still no sign of Sythians. He turned away from the captain’s table, about to retire to his quarters—

  Then a loud siren split the air. Bretton’s heart leapt against his sternum with a painful thud. It took him a second to recognize the siren as the enemy contact alarm.

  “Red alert!” he roared. The lights on deck dimmed to a bloody red, and Bretton hastily spun back to the captain’s table. Space was already crowded with enemy contacts—hundreds of them. Dozens more were appearing with every second that passed. The classifications were unknown, but Bretton could recognize the shape of those warships anywhere. His eyes flew wide and he gritted his teeth. “Jump away! Jump away!”

  The deck rattled and shook with a mighty boom as something exploded against the Tempest’s viewports. Too late.

  The world washed away in a dazzling flash of light.

  “Avilonians, sir!” someone shouted over the roar of the explosion.

  “Helm! Get us out of here!” Bretton roared.

  “I can’t! Their disruption fields are already powered. We’re trapped!”

  Another explosion shook the deck and Bretton’s eyes flew wide with horror. Omnius must have been watching the refugees they’d picked up more closely than he’d thought.

  “Full speed ahead!” he said. “Head for the planet!”

  The deck shook once more, and this time it didn’t stop shaking. The roar of explosions went on endlessly, seeming to echo all around them. The bloody glow of emergency lights flickered on overhead.

  “Shields at 46%! Dropping fast!”

  “We’ll never make it to the planet, sir!”

  “Hail them! Tell them we surrender!”

  “They’re not responding!”

  Bretton blinked, shocked by the sudden turn of events. This couldn’t be how his life finally ended.

  Then a still, small voice echoed inside his head, saying, You chose this, Bretton, remember?

  It took him a moment to recognize that voice, and another moment to realize what that meant.

  It was impossible. He’d been de-linked! Yet somehow Omnius was speaking to him anyway, reaching out across more than a thousand light years to taunt him one last time. The booming roar of explosions faded to insignificance in the wake of that revelation.

  It’s not too late to repent, Bretton.

  His eyes narrowed and he turned in a dreamy haze to watch people fighting for their lives all around him while he just looked on, wide-eyed and staring, unable to believe the extent of his own naivete. Of course it couldn’t be that easy to just de-link. Why would Omnius allow rebel Nulls to hide right under his nose on his planet, using the freedom that he gave them to plot his demise?

  That would be uncharacteristically stupid of him. Bretton realized just how futile all of it had been. There could be no freedom from Omnius. The only freedom from him was in death, and the AI who-would-be-god had already found a way to cheat that.

  You’re very smart for a Null, Bretton. Why should I let the Nulls have the freedom to spoil paradise for all of my other children?

  Why don’t you just kill us if you’re not going to set us free? The choosing is pointless! My son died for nothing, you heartless bot!

  Not everyone shares your dramatic view of life—give us freedom or give us death! No, most people would rather live, even if they claim they want to die. That’s why the majority of Nulls become Etherians on their death beds. The memory of their miserable lives in the Null Zone serves to keep them in line for the rest of eternity. If I did away with the Null Zone and The Choosing, how could I educate all of those recalcitrant fools who cling to their freedom and individuality as if it’s actually a good thing?

  Bretton shook his head, aghast.

  People need the constant reminder of what their freedom brings to keep them working together for the common good. Sooner or later, even the most rebellious Nulls have a change of heart, and as for the few who don’t, well . . . why should I let them die? That wouldn’t be very loving of me, now would it?

  What are you talking about?

  You can’t get away from me, Bretton. Soon, you’re going to wake up on Avilon, alive and well, but . . . better-adjusted than you used to be.

  Cold dread danced around the edges of Bretton’s awareness, but he refused to believe his growing suspicions.

  Omnius ended his willful ignorance with what he said next. I’m going to make you a drone,
Bretton. Don’t worry, at least you’ll get to see your son again. Like father like son, they say. He was even more rebellious than you.

  Bretton let out an inhuman roar, screaming at the top of his lungs. His crew turned and stared at him.

  “Sir?” one of them asked.

  He shook his head, unable to voice his rage or to explain what Omnius had just revealed to him. What would be the point? They were all going to find out soon enough.

  “They’ve stopped firing for the moment, sir,” the operator at the engineering station said. “Shields are holding at 10%. We might make it to the planet if they hold their fire long enough . . . Perhaps we should have the crew standing by at the escape pods just in case.”

  “Give the order,” he croaked.

  They won’t make it, Omnius said.

  Suddenly Bretton remembered his people on the surface, and then he wished he hadn’t. Omnius could read his thoughts.

  Yes, they’re out of range. Unfortunately the same interference that cut them off from you has prevented me from locating them so I can shut them down.

  Shut them down . . . Bretton shivered. Omnius thought of them all like bots that he could turn on or off at a whim.

  It doesn’t matter whether or not I kill them. They’re trapped on an inhospitable world with only a few short-ranged transports to escape. Sooner or later they’ll die. If they’re lucky it will be of natural causes. If they’re not, the Gors will eat them.

  You’re a monster.

  I’m a god.

  No, you’re not. We created you.

  Did you? Do you even know where I come from, Bretton?

  Bretton recalled what Avilonian history said about him. You were created by Neona Markonis. She thought we couldn’t create an intelligence greater than our own, so she networked thousands of people together and they created you.