Black Infinity

by Salvador Mercer

  As was custom, he headed to the nearest restroom to wash his hands, but this time he found an empty stall, closed the door, and sat on the seat. He pulled the lid back out from his pocket. He freed the small particle of food and managed a fingertip hold onto the small piece of the lid that dangled enticingly.

  General Wang was nowhere to be found, but the habits and fear that the man had instilled in everyone that had worked with him, or for him, were ever-present. Hun closed his eyes and willed his nerves to be calm. He had done things like this many times before, so he needed to simply maintain his composure and act. The feelings of dread and fear were strong, and he accepted those emotions without hesitation. They had kept his mind alert and cautious, which had kept him alive. Those were good enough reasons for him.

  With a tug, the topmost layer of waxy paper peeled back rather easily, and Hun saw the miniature characters inside the lid. He read them once, then twice, and then paused before reading them at least three times more. Each time, he committed a part of the message to memory. Once sure that he could recite it to himself accurately, he started the process of destroying the lid, tearing it up into as many little pieces as possible. His own toilet received the first small batch and he watched with approval as the tiny particles that had once held a message disappeared from view.

  He then took nearly a half hour to transit the entire building under the pretense of performing a health and welfare check as he deposited the remains down sinks, into trash receptacles, and even under hallway tables that he knew would be swept that evening. The last batch found its way into a paper coffee cup which had been filled and left at his desk to deteriorate. He would sip the coffee but enjoy the depredation of evidence more than the flavor of the bean.

  Hun took a moment to walk over to Captain Zhou’s desk at the rear of the console room. It was getting late, and most of his day shift had departed already. Everything was in the same order yet again. The man had disappeared in much the same way General Wang had. He took a deep breath and pulled out his cell phone and called home.

  “Hello,” his wife said.

  “It’s me,” Hun said, stifling a sigh.

  “Late again?”

  “As usual,” he began, wanting to get this part over. “I simply wanted to call to tell you that I love you.”

  There was a long pause on the other end before she responded. “I’ll keep your dinner warm for you just the same.”

  “Tell the family ... well, you know what to tell them.”

  “I will,” she said.

  Hun paused, not sure what else he could express; he was full of emotion at this point.

  She finished, “I love you, too.”

  Hun nodded, ending the call. They had discussed this scenario many times before but Hun had never been sure it would ever happen. This evening, he would ensure that mankind had a fighting chance despite their political differences. He would also ensure his family and his staff weren’t held accountable for his actions.

  He sat down at the military officer’s desk and started typing. He dearly wanted to get this set of orders off to the Divine Dragon, before he was arrested. He didn’t mind selling his life for a just cause, but he wanted to ensure the effort yielded success before paying the price.

  “WHAT IS HE DOING?” the first security observer asked his colleague as the pair watched one of over two dozen small monitor feeds from their workstation.

  The second man punched the image up from a smaller screen to their main screens with a simple click and drag of his mouse. It wasn’t clear what was being typed, but it was most certainly against protocol for the civilian space worker to be sitting at the military desk, even if he was the mission director. “What are you showing on your log reader?”

  The first man looked and watched as his screen started to scroll, then it went dead. “It just died.”

  “That’s not right,” the second man said. “Try refreshing your cache and pull it up.”

  The first man tried three times before saying, “I can’t bring it up, but I swear I saw the login for Captain Zhou before the keyboard tracker died.”

  The second man nodded. “Why would he log in as the captain?”

  “The real question should be how could he log in?”

  “Should we notify Central Command?”

  “We haven’t phoned anyone in three days—why do you want to start now?”

  The second man rubbed the sleep from his eyes, despite it being fairly early in the evening. He had started his shift fourteen hours before and had literally awoken in the middle of the night. He struggled to align his thoughts and answer his counterpart. “This is against protocol. Someone should be notified.”

  “We are,” his colleague said. “I’ll log an entry stating that Director Hun Lee has taken a seat at Captain Fan Zhou’s workstation and has....”

  The pause was awkward before the second man asked, “What? What will you log that he is doing?”

  The first man started to type and stopped at the word has. He thought for a moment, then read aloud the last of his words as he typed them: “And has commenced activity at the ... console.”

  “That’s it?”

  The first man nodded. “Why not? He is actively doing something now. I define that as activity and no one can say a proper and accurate log entry was not entered.”

  The second man narrowed his eyes before saying, “I still think we need to contact Central Command.”

  “Go ahead, then.”

  The second man picked up the receiver, and the first man held his breath. The second said, “Captain Zhou did order us to strictly observe and log until he returned.”

  The first man watched in anticipation as the other man’s hand held the phone receiver in mid-air, hovering over its cradle. He quickly spoke. “The captain could be testing us ... to see if we follow orders.”

  The pair of men had heard the same rumors as everyone else. The disappearance of the general and several key members of his staff had either thrown some elements of their leader’s command structure into chaos or paralyzed other elements with indecision.

  The second man chose indecision. “I will obey orders. Make your log entry.”

  The phone handset resumed its resting place in its cradle and the first man punctuated the entire discussion by hitting the enter button, sending their report to the centralized database, where it would sit unseen for a very long time.

  DIVINE DRAGON

  On approach to Mars

  In the near future, Year 4, Day 179

  “WHAT DID YOU SAY?” Commander Mingyu Shen asked the lead military officer on board. She only had two of them, the other four having traveled on board the Roaring Tiger.

  “We have been ordered into immediate action,” Captain Yao said, his voice full of excitement.

  “What do you mean by immediate?” she asked.

  The pair were observing the star field in front of them from the main cockpit module. Nothing had ever changed the last few months. Until now.

  The man spoke quickly again, not making any attempt to restrain his emotions. “I said, we have been ordered to strike as soon as we arrive. I have the confirmation from the general himself.”

  Commander Shen tried to control her own emotions, but a slight snort escaped before she could comment, “I’d hardly call eleven days immediate.”

  “Compared to the last one hundred, I’d say it was something.”

  “117, to be exact,” she said.

  The captain made his own sound of disapproval, something of a cross between a snort and hiss. “If you add the week and a half that we were prepping, it would be 127, then.”

  “I wasn’t adding prep time,” she said dismissively. “Either way, it’s still a long way from one hundred.”

  “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation,” the captain said. “You should not speak as you do to the ranking officer of the People’s Army.”

  “You out-rank one enlisted man,” she said, dismissive again.
The sexual tension between them was taking its toll. The pair had had a rather nasty exchange early on, and their relationship had degenerated since that time.

  “That doesn’t matter,” he said defensively.

  “The Divine Dragon will arrive operationally ready to fulfill its mission.” She fell back on simple rhetoric, already tiring of the man.

  “See to it that you do, otherwise it will not look good in my report.”

  Commander Shen allowed another snort and spoke no further. She didn’t have access to the military communications that were sent to her ship, but she usually had something from their space command sent shortly thereafter to affirm whatever orders the military was receiving. She’d read the more toned-down version of the order after she’d completed her shift checks on their systems. Those had to be done and logged in a timely manner three times a day. She’d not break with her responsibilities to share in whatever news the captain was so eager to execute.

  Captain Yao left the cockpit and returned to the main living quarters on their ship. He was happy to note that the other civilian crewmember wasn’t there, leaving him an opportunity to converse with his counterpart, Master Sergeant Yin.

  “You look the same as usual, sir,” Yin said.

  Yao nodded and drifted to a porthole to look into space. “She’s worse now than before.”

  Yin took his time in responding, allowing his commanding officer the time to compose himself. Finally, he said, “You may want to take into consideration the fact that she could still be distraught at the loss of her comrades.”

  Yao didn’t look back at the man, but nodded his agreement. “Perhaps. I think she was especially close to Commander Sun.”

  “Most likely. He seemed to treat her as a daughter.”

  “He did take her under his wing, so to speak, at least from what we saw during their training.”

  The sergeant sighed, “During our training, too.”

  Yao finally looked back at his subordinate. “Don’t tell me you’re waxing emotional, too.”

  “The man assisted us all, and with kindness,” Sergeant Yin said. Commander Sun had always been a contradiction to their commanding officer, Colonel Tsu, who was considered more of a task master.

  “Tsu did what he had to do in order to train us. I would not remember him so harshly in the future.”

  “He’s a state hero by now,” Yin stated matter-of-factly.

  “The contradictory messages leave that in doubt.”

  Both men nodded in silence and allowed time to pass as they pondered recent events. The first news was of the general’s firing and his removal as the overall military commander of the space program. That had come about from the fiasco of their commandoes trying, and failing, to board the American ship. That failure had doomed the general, until the second message.

  That had come after the destruction of the Roaring Tiger. It was a message heralding the heroic sacrifice of Colonel Tsu and the crew of their first ship as it had self-destructed and taken the Americans’ grotesque monstrosity with it. Not long thereafter, the second communique had been ordered absolved and disregarded by the Supreme Council itself. The third message had confirmed the loss of the Tiger and all crew members on board, and had ordered the Divine Dragon to continue en route until new orders arrived.

  Commander Shen had scoffed at that, asking out loud what other route they could possibly take. Her disrespect was too overt for the captain’s taste.

  “She should be court-martialed,” the captain said.

  “Who, the commander?”

  “Yes. She is insubordinate and disrespectful.”

  The sergeant shook his head. “She’s not in the military.”

  Yao waved the man off. “That doesn’t matter. She should be tried and hanged.”

  “I think they stopped doing that some time ago,” Yin corrected.

  “Fine—tried and shot, then.”

  “So, Captain Yao, are you authorized to share our latest orders?”

  The formality was an abrupt change for the men, but Yao understood that their culture often dictated the strictest protocols and behavior, especially in the military. He was pleased that the enlisted man continued to maintain discipline and order, even after so many months of close confinement in less-than-ideal conditions. With a slight grin crossing his face, he asked, “I can trust you, correct, Sergeant Yin?”

  “Of course, sir,” the man said, attempting to straighten his posture in the zero-gravity environment, an obvious sign of respect.

  “Good,” Yao said. “We will receive our target when we arrive, but I’m authorized to prepare and arm our nuclear missile.”

  Yin’s brows raised, his jaw opening slightly with the news and he inhaled sharply. “It’s that serious, sir?”

  “Yes,” Yao said. “The Americans intercepted our first attempt to destroy the alien target. They will not be successful the second time.”

  “WHAT HAPPENED UP THERE?” Engineer Xia Tai asked over the intercom.

  “You’re sure you’re alone?” Commander Shen asked.

  “Yes,” Xia said. “The captain didn’t come to engineering.”

  Mingyu nodded. The captain never went that far back in the ship unless he had to, and the systems back there never required his presence, so of course there would be no need for the man to make the trek down the rather cramped passageway. The intercom system was being used because the radio was an open mike system and was surely monitored by their military counterparts. “Nothing really.”

  “We heard the news,” Xia said. “At least, before you and the captain took your conversation private. It didn’t sound like it was going well.”

  Mingyu regretted not muting their transmitters when the captain had announced the “good news.”

  “It was nothing, really,” she lied.

  “If you don’t wish to discuss it....”

  “You’re going to ask Yin, aren’t you?” Shen accused.

  “Do you have something against us socializing?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Mingyu replied. “I simply feel that you....”

  “Go on and say it,” Xia prompted.

  Mingyu sighed. “I feel that you circumvent my authority at times with your relationship with the sergeant.”

  “You disapprove?”

  “I didn’t say that. I think that any unnecessary interaction with the soldiers is not wise.”

  There was a pause before Xia responded. “Don’t be angry, Commander. It’s just ... well ... Yin is so handsome.”

  The women continued to refer to the man by his last name only. “Yin is short.”

  “Short but stocky,” Xia said, and Mingyu thought she heard a giggle before the transmit button was released.

  “You did bypass the recorder like I asked?”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t be a good engineer if I had left it intact, now would I?”

  Mingyu thought that one over. It was nice to have a female member as part of her crew to counterbalance their military shipmates. She wasn’t sure what Director Lee had been thinking when he’d paired them together in the second ship, short staffed and with two Chinese commandoes, but she had come to like the arrangement ... despite the fact that she and the captain couldn’t seem to find common ground on almost any topic.

  “I think we can finish this conversation now. It’s degenerating beyond our professional parameters.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you, Commander,” Xia began. “I understand how difficult the ... captain can be at times, and I have to admit, it was exciting to see him excited after all this time. I sense we’re going to be allowed to do something big when we arrive.”

  Mingyu was serious, as was her intent, despite her words. “Big obviously has different meanings for each of us. I’m wary of anything that would excite the captain. I don’t think it can be anything positive—at least, not for mankind.”

  “I still think it beats sitting in our tin can waiting for others to take all the glory.”
/>   “Be careful what you wish for,” Mingyu rebuked her engineer tenderly. “Glory oftentimes comes at great cost.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do not crave the ‘glory’ of the Roaring Tiger.”

  SECONDARY MILITARY Command & Control Center

  Outside Beijing, China

  In the near future, Year 4, Day 179

  THE CONTROL CENTER looked like any other, including the Primary Command and Control Center for the People’s Liberation Army. The far wall had monitors and screens of various sizes as well as a slew of computer consoles rigged with electronic equipment of various types, all tasked with their specialized objectives and duties.

  The primary difference between this control center and any one that was authorized by the government—besides the proliferation of firearms either leaning against a console or placed on top—was that this one was both understaffed and staffed with rebels that had pledged allegiance to General Wang.

  A military officer approached the chief console where General Wang sat. “The orders were successfully transmitted, sir.”

  Wang sat stiffly, his eyes glued to the main monitor that had updated the latest telemetry data from the Divine Dragon. There was no longer any reason to display static from the Roaring Tiger. Taking his time, the man slowly brought his attention to his officer and asked, “Was the confirmation code the correct one?”

  The other man nodded. “Yes, sir, it matched the secondary set of passcodes that were distributed to our staff months ago.”

  “Good,” Wang said, nodding in approval and allowing a slight hint of a smile to cross his face. “Ensure that all communications between Central Space Command and the Dragon are intercepted and logged. I want to be notified immediately should the status of our ship change.”

  “Do you suspect something, sir?”

  “No, Colonel Bao,” Wang said. “Nothing specific, but I don’t trust the bureau, nor do I trust the space command. Director Lee has been far too accommodating to our adversaries.”