by C. Gockel
He glanced at Sinclair, the android that had destroyed the time gate that had nearly destroyed his homeworld. Alaric had been told his whole life a crack team of Luddecceans had destroyed the renegade gate—the Galacticans had so much access to truth.
“Why wouldn’t they believe my wife?” Alaric asked. She’d had the Dark in her mind. She’d know more than anyone, and he found himself angry on her behalf.
Sinclair raised his glass and frowned. “It’s too … unbelievable. A mind-controlling entity intent on destroying humanity? Galacticans have been taught since they were young that their minds are their own, that we—my kind—can’t control them. They believe their minds are safe from …” He took a sip of his drink. “… anything.”
Alaric felt heat rising under his skin. “I was dead a few hours ago; that is unbelievable.”
Sinclair shrugged. “Volka should be approaching the rendezvous point—we can stay here, or I can take you back to your room.”
Alaric half-stood, prepared to leave, but his eyes fell on a large, dull, holosphere at the end of the bar. He looked around. The walls were milky white, and glossy, probably made of polymerized moon dust. The furniture was mostly metal and bolted to the floor. But the edges of tables were rounded smooth and polished by bodies. The bar was comfortably full with patrons, but not packed. He looked around the room at men and women talking and laughing aloud, which in the Republic was a sign of familiarity—they weren’t guarding their conversations with the ether. The place wasn’t so different from the pub near his parents’ homestead.
“No, let’s watch it here,” Alaric said.
Lifting an eyebrow, Sinclair turned to the dull holosphere and the device lit from within and flickered through a dozen channels. The bartender said, “Who turned that on?” At that instant, the channel resolved, on a yellow gas giant Alaric wasn’t familiar with. The shadow of a small moon was a dark blotch in the scene. A steady female voice said, “Our delegation is approaching the rendezvous point S13O14.”
“No, no, no,” the bartender said, walking to the holo, waving a rag. “You want politics, you listen to it over your own ether.”
No one else seemed to notice—conversations and laughter continued to swirl around the pub. The bartender touched his temple and focused on the sphere. It suddenly occurred to Alaric that maybe the Galacticans didn’t believe in the Dark because they saw it through the ether in their minds. It must be like a dream to them. Maybe if they just watched.
“I need it on,” Alaric declared, loud enough to be heard by everyone. The bartender stopped and turned to face Alaric. Still, all the other patrons remained oblivious. The bartender scowled, his lips parted as though to protest. Before he could say anything, Alaric continued, “I can’t ether it. I’m Luddeccean.”
Conversation in the pub stopped. All eyes shifted to him.
A woman in a blue dress, tighter and shorter than would ever be worn outside of a Luddeccean brothel, said, “Are you that captain?” Her neural implant flashed. “The Luddeccean from System 5 … and System 33?”
“He is,” Sinclair answered.
The woman’s neural implant flashed again.
A man wearing coveralls who would have fit in on Alaric’s homeworld except for the gold plate in his temple, said, “Let him watch it.”
From the holo, the same calm woman’s voice said, “Preparing rendezvous pod now—”
Alaric raised his glass to the man in coveralls. The man raised his own glass back and turned away, but not back to his conversation, to the holosphere. Alaric tipped back his glass and waited for the slaughter.
13
Charon
Galactic Republic: System 13
“Preparing the rendezvous pod now,” Rushi said, narrating the scene. The Marines were checking out the small, two-person craft on Sundancer’s bridge. Smaller by half than the tiniest “mini-cars” in New Prime, it was just large enough for two and seemed as sturdy as a soap bubble. Volka stood close to Rushi and the ambassador as the Marines worked. Volka had Carl in her arms. He wasn’t wearing his sausage suit and had been quiet and unusually snuggly the whole trip.
Jerome, the Marine’s comm expert, said, “The moon base is in visual range.”
Sundancer’s armor was on, and her hull couldn’t become transparent. Volka surveyed the scene outside on the holo projector brought along for her and Sundancer’s benefit. They’d free-gated into the system and were on the far side of a moon orbiting the same gas giant as the rendezvous point. The rendezvous location was an abandoned Republic research station on another moon they were rapidly approaching.
A singular light winked from the moon’s shadowed surface. “Receiving hail,” Jerome said.
“Answer, and put it on holo for Volka, too,” Young said.
The holo scene switched from the exterior view to a life-size holo of a man. Carl shivered in Volka’s arms and whispered, “Infected.” Volka swallowed her own bile. The Infected man was youngish with jet black hair, but extremely gaunt with dark circles under his eyes. He wore an expensive-looking business suit that hung on his frame. “We welcome you, Ambassador Zhao,” the Infected man said. “We are so pleased that a member of Republic Diplomatic Corps will be joining us.” The Infected man smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes, and even in the holo-view Volka could see a sheen of sweat on his brow. She felt like she might vomit. Sundancer’s interior dimmed. In her arms, Carl squeaked plaintively. Someone muttered a swear. Even Dr. Patrick, the only person in the room who had argued that this mission might succeed, went pale.
“I am looking forward to it,” Zhao replied, bowing low.
Young put a finger to his lips. Jerome nodded and said, “You’re clear to speak, Lieutenant. He can’t hear anything we say.”
Young rounded on Zhao. “Are you sure you should go alone?” The lieutenant’s body was strung tight as a bow. Sending Zhao and Rushi in alone had been Young’s only objection to this plan. When he’d voiced it, Zhao had replied, “If I go with Marines, it will be perceived as an act of aggression.” It hadn’t been a lie precisely, but the whole truth, the real truth, was that the old ambassador just didn’t want any life but his own to be forfeit.
“Ambassador Zhao, they will infect you,” Carl said.
Zhao sighed, smiled, and scratched the werfle behind the ears. Bending close, he whispered so quietly Volka knew no one else would hear, “Don’t worry. My brain is full of holes. They won’t learn anything from it, and as soon as I become feverish, all my cybernetic memories will be wiped.”
Beside Zhao, Rushi said, “All data will be recorded by my Q-comm and relayed to Time Gate 1 and the galaxy. We have made contingency plans for my body’s destruction.”
Volka bit her lip. Carl shivered violently. The ship’s interior got darker, making the man in the holo light brighter and more lifelike. He was still smiling in exactly the same way he’d been a few moments ago, as though he were caught in a freeze frame.
“Do we know who he is or was?” Lieutenant Young asked.
Dr. Patrick whispered, “It’s Matt,” and all eyes shot to him. Dr. Patrick gulped. “I mean, Dr. Matthew Cordoba. We’re acquaintances. I went to school with him. I saw him at a conference just seven months ago. He’s … changed. He’s thinner … tired … wrong.”
There was a beat of silence and stillness, and then, straightening, Zhao said to Jerome, “I’ll speak to him.”
Jerome touched his temple and nodded at Zhao.
Bowing again to the man in the holo, Zhao said, “I look forward to our meeting. I’m sure it will be enlightening for everyone in the Republic.”
The man that had been Dr. Matthew Cordoba rolled forward on his feet. Volka could swear she could see him salivating. “Yes, yes, we expect to learn much from you.”
Volka clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from vomiting. Carl squeaked piteously. Zhao smiled beatifically and bowed lower.
Jerome cut the holo.
Young said again, “Are you sure about th
is?”
Dr. Patrick said, “I support this in theory, however…” His gaze went to the place where the holo of “Matt” had flashed on the bridge.
The tension was high, and Volka felt it in every cell in her body—the emotion that connected everyone on the bridge and the ship. She was afraid to speak for fear she’d pull those connections and tie them to her will.
Zhao’s smile faded; his body shrank. “I am sure, but Rushi—”
Rushi’s focus was on the pod. “I am coming with you, Grandfather.” The android’s words sounded like a promise, a threat, and a declaration of love.
Zhao’s eyes got shiny and he stuttered, “Very … very … well.”
Rushi slipped an arm under his, and Volka couldn’t miss how he leaned on it for support.
Who were these two? How had Rushi become Zhao’s grandchild? Was her fierce love for her grandfather something that had been programmed or learned? Rushi was a blank, but Volka found herself slinking along the threads that connected her to Zhao, seeking some knowing of the man, but she found nothing there but determination and love for his granddaughter, both somehow enough to tame his nearly incapacitating terror. Her breath caught.
The two entered the tiny pod, Ramirez standing at attention just outside the door.
Carl’s voice whispered in her mind. “Zhao’s in the later stages of his disease. His mind is rapidly deteriorating. Soon he’ll lose the ability to control bodily functions.”
The pod door slid shut as smoothly as oil.
Ramirez turned and saluted. As he did, all the other Marines followed his lead. Dr. Patrick stood back, his expression lost.
“Do you think he’ll live that long?” Volka asked silently.
“No,” Carl replied.
Volka sighed. “We need to move back to the aft compartments and allow Sundancer to open the bridge.”
The Marines dropped their hands to their sides and began filing away, Dr. Patrick, carrying the holo device, walking between them, less rigidly. Volka took a step, and Carl spoke into her mind, “Wait, Volka, there’s something I want to do.”
Halting, Volka whispered, “What?”
“Mind control,” Carl whispered.
Volka’s lips parted, about to protest, and then she stopped, overwhelmed by her hypocrisy.
“I’m going to take away his fear,” Carl said. “Will you help me?”
She hesitated only a heartbeat but turned back. “How?” she whispered.
“Think of what makes you happiest,” Carl replied. “I’m thinking that thoughts of dead rats and naps are probably not the greatest joy for humans.”
Volka swallowed and bit her lip. Rats brought her happiness, too, but she took Carl’s meaning. What in her human half brought her the greatest joy? Her eyes rose to the ceiling, and her heart reached for Sundancer … and Carl, Sixty, Mr. Darmadi—Silas, Alaric. For an instant, time and space disappeared and everyone she loved felt as close as if they were standing beside her. Her heart leaped—buoyed higher by that feeling. If there was no time and no space, that meant she was not limited to the loves she had now. Volka closed her eyes, and her mother and father came to her heart, too. They were all connected, forever and ever, beyond time, space, and death. The sensation was breathtaking. Heaven was here and now.
“Ah,” Carl said. “That is perfect. Open your eyes, Volka.”
Volka opened her eyes and found Zhao looking over his shoulder at her, smiling beatifically again. They were connected, too. She felt the threads between them as a solid force.
“Time to leave the bridge,” Carl whispered into her mind.
Volka nodded to Zhao, tears hot in her eyes, and walked off the bridge, picturing the pod exiting for Sundancer as she did.
A few seconds after the door of the aft compartment whooshed behind her, Jerome said, “They’re off.”
Dr. Patrick put the holo projector on the floor. Light sprang from it, and Volka saw the tiny pod gliding toward the moon base. And then her eyes blurred. The scene changed to inky black, and Volka shivered. Carl squeaked in shock and terror. Volka blinked and saw the moon base again. The inky black she’d sensed with her heart.
“What is it?” Young asked.
“Danger!” Volka said.
“Incoming!” Carl cried. “Six ships.”
Dr. Patrick said, “Nothing on scopes—”
Red stars appeared around Sundancer in the holo, shimmering and slowly solidifying into ships. Volka felt sick again: they were filled with the Dark.
Young said dryly, “Well, we’ve found six of Reich’s ships.”
“They’re firing phasers at us.” The voice was Sharon Rhinehart’s. She was in another compartment, but her voice came through the holo projector. Orange yellow flared in the holo. Sundancer was wearing her armor, and bits of it burned away around them. The material stretched to fill the gaps, but Dr. Patrick said grimly, “Our armor will be gone in two minutes.”
Young cursed under his breath.
Over the holo device came Zhao’s words. “Do not return fire. We come in peace. Retreat.”
“One minute until we lose the armor,” Dr. Patrick said.
Volka’s skin prickled. Phaser fire couldn’t hurt them even without armor, but without armor they would be vulnerable to other weapons.
“The ships have weapons of the Dark,” Carl squeaked. “Zhao wants us to leave. I’m taking us home.”
“No,” Young said, “Take us to where the ships came from!”
This was their chance. Volka focused, trying to imagine the pathway of the ships that had just emerged in red pearls of light.
“We shouldn’t just leave Zhao,” Jerome said, and a few of the other Marines echoed him. “We could free-gate around these ships and—”
Sundancer and all inside her turned to light. When they were solid again, Sundancer’s hull became so dark Volka thought they were in a nightmare. But then she blinked and realized that the lights of electronics around her were still blinking, and if she squinted, she saw fuzzy, tiny pinpricks of lights in the distance outside the ship. Sundancer’s hull wasn’t dark; she’d made herself transparent, and they’d been “here” before. Or a place like here before.
“Where are we?” Young demanded.
“The edge of the universe,” Volka whispered.
Carl squeaked. “They free-gated in from somewhere that isn’t their base.”
Young muttered, “That would have been too easy.”
Volka felt the hair on the back of her neck threaten to rise. “They’re following us.” Around Sundancer, four red spheres began to glow, and Volka felt the Dark’s presence oozing along the threads that bound the universe together, ready to suck them in. Sundancer had free-gated here, without her armor. If the Dark’s ship fired, they were dead.
Before she could say, “Get us out of here!” Shadows leaped from the ships toward them.
14
Luddeccean Intelligence
Galactic Republic: Time Gate 1
Alaric drummed his stylus against the bar. The holo was from the perspective of one of the passengers on the small pod. He wasn’t surprised when the Dark’s ships free-gated around Volka’s tiny craft, surrounding it, leaving no room for escape. The Galacticans in the pub were surprised—with the exception of Sinclair.
“How did they do that?” a woman asked.
Someone beside her said, “They just came out of lightspeed really close is all.”
Alaric frowned. No ship came out of lightspeed so neatly, but then someone exclaimed, “What are they doing? Isn’t that an act of war?”
“Only if they fire on the Republic ship,” someone else responded.
An instant later, phaser fire erupted from the Dark’s ships, engulfing Volka’s craft.
There were gasps around the pub, and someone declared, “It is an act of war.”
Alaric almost exhaled in relief. Finally, they understood.
There was a flash of light, and Volka’s ship vanished.
&n
bsp; “Wait, is it that ship that doesn’t need a gate?” someone asked.
“Sending in that ship might be perceived as an act of war on our part,” a man said haughtily.
“It didn’t fire,” a woman protested.
“It wouldn’t need to. The ship itself is a weapon,” the haughty man replied. “Fleet has turned what could have been a peaceful rendezvous into a war.”
Arguments erupted, but Alaric had stopped listening. “Where are they?” he asked Sinclair.
The android’s eyes were vacant, and then his head snapped backward. “They followed the ships to where they came from.”
“How?” He didn’t expect an answer. It had to be Galactic classified tech.
To his surprise, Sinclair responded. “We don’t know. The ship—Sundancer—can follow recent jumps. These ships had jumped from an uncharted location. They are …”
His head jerked back. “Ambushed. They don’t have armor.”
Alaric’s blood ran cold. Volka’s ship was susceptible to the Dark’s weapons without its armor. If they were somewhere uncharted, there would be no rescue.
Sinclair’s head jerked side-to-side in a robotic motion too fast and too forceful to be human. “They’ve returned.” His eyes got wide. “Something is wrong.”
“Show me!” Alaric demanded, looking toward the holo. In its glow, he saw the ambassador’s pod had docked. The door was sliding open. A man with sweat on his brow and an eerily frozen smile leaned in and gave the ambassador an openmouthed kiss on the lips. Pulling back, lips grimacing, the Infected man said, “You’ll join us now.”
