MissionSRX: Deep Unknown

by Matthew D. White

  To make such a massive gamble, Fox thought, the aliens must have had a fairly good idea what sort of creatures the Earth would produce. It was another disconcerting reminder that their hosts knew far more about them than they did in return.

  Omega led them into a darkened conference room off the main hallway. The space was dominated by a massive table surrounded by chairs, arranged in tiers up the surrounding walls. Twelve additional aliens stood waiting at attention on each side of the passage.

  While we have some time before we reach the fleet, I’ve called on some of our analysts to pull information at your discretion on our capabilities and status.

  Eyes fell on Grant as he scanned the team. “Alright,” he commanded. “I want information on the enemy. What’s the latest on their movement towards Earth? Where are they staging? Commander Fox, find our armament and get their input on tactics. Kael and Sergeant Mason, get the brain dump on ground combat. Scott, Mr. Harris, start getting spun up on their technology development.”

  As quickly as he gave the orders, the aliens around the table began bringing up displays of unknown data and symbols. Panels in front of Grant, which materialized from the air, became as solid as any screen in the human inventory and showed a series of pictures of the various fleet ships and their engagement ranges.

  A pair of the aliens approached him while the screen continued to scroll through more gibberish. Commander, it is our honor to assist you in whatever you require. We can translate any information regarding force development for the Fleet and the enemy.

  Grant glanced over the screen. “Our best guess is that the Aquillians, our last opponent, drew these things to Earth. I imagine they’re staging somewhere close. I want to know where they are, how they found us, and what capabilities they have. We saw a few different types in the last battle and I don’t need surprises.

  The aliens processed what he had said as Grant kept thinking. “Actually, can you find anything on the cubes?”

  Both creatures looked back at the soldier for clarification.

  “I’ve found black cubes, about three meters to a side, which are textured and covered in runes. They’ve been filled with some kind of dark, thick oil with little emasculated aliens floating in them. They keep showing up, and I want to think they’re connecting our enemies together.”

  That may better be saved for Omega, one responded. On the topic of our foes, we have limited knowledge due to your system’s relative isolation, but we have been able to process data collected and stored by your ship during prior engagements.

  Together they continued with the investigation.

  6

  Three seats over, Scott poured through documents as quickly as the scribes could read them. With the societal shifts not applicable, he instead focused on simply the race’s development of space travel. Their reach was far beyond what he had expected.

  Having invested in their exploration of the universe for extreme durations of time, Omega’s people rode a spiral of technology improvements that opened the door to interstellar along with intergalactic travel.

  They had started with similar methods as to what humanity had discovered, but their increased processing power allowed them to continually command more exact navigation. How they now did their calculations was anyone’s guess; Scott was nearly afraid to ask the question.

  “What was the weapon we recovered?” Othello broke in and asked the nearest alien. “The small box they used to take their own lives.”

  The scribe quickly scanned the record of the Flagstaff’s recovery and stopped at an image of the black object resting on the ship’s deck. This one? he asked.

  “Yes,” Othello nodded. “What is it? They had it secured with the other artifacts on the station.”

  That is a weaponized fleshbomb. Our enemy has experimented with several compounds that are devastating to organic matter and specifically carbon based life forms. The barrel applies a charged chemical that destabilizes cellular structures and causes the victim to literally melt. Properties of the weapon can be modified to allow for quick or slow disintegration, whether the objective is execution or torture as well as adjusting for different species.

  The miner watched Scott’s eyes grew wide again. “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. Change the subject,” Scott said. “How are we going to use your ships? Your control systems?”

  Their guide nodded with interest. It will not be as difficult as you may imagine. Knowing that you would be different from us, we kept the operations backbone extremely flexible. Every conversation you’ve had with us has been recorded and used to translate the graphical elements and built-in functions.

  Several of the components onboard the Patriots have been physically prototyped to resemble devices on your ship, but we also maintain extensive use of virtual controls.

  “Virtual controls? Like, touchscreens?”

  In a way. The alien pressed a hand against the active table between them and a perfect representation of a QWERTY keyboard illuminated the screen. As they watched, the keys appeared to rise up out of the tabletop to construct a three-dimensional, glowing replica of the object.

  Scott’s hands waivered above it. “And I can type on that?”

  Of course.

  The engineer pressed a series of the virtual buttons, feeling an identifiable physical contact as well as an audible sensation. Without thinking, he slid the keyboard sideways. In a precise response, the object moved as realistically as any other piece of hardware.

  “That’s incredible,” Othello remarked.

  “I agree,” Scott replied. “Before we deploy, I want to get some familiarization with the bulk of the Patriots’ equipment. Whatever training you think will help us along, I want to know about it.”

  ***

  “Commander Grant, you might find this interesting!” Major Kael shouted down the table, catching the other soldier’s attention. He waited for the other man to approach and then pointed to a series of images on the nearest screen. “We’ve got eyes on a few of their troops.”

  “Do tell.” Grant looked down with arms folded.

  “From what we can tell, they used a mix of Aquillians along with their own forces for the operation. They worked together to take Mars but brought an elite force to attack your convoy. Our hosts here seem to think the objective was to both test our response and have a deniable way of stealing Aquillian gear. I can’t imagine they’d need it though.”

  “Not bad. At least that helps explain their motives.”

  “Exactly. Also, since most of the ships that went for Earth were Aquillian, it’s likely they were using them as cannon fodder. Same thing with the attack on Extortion.”

  That’s correct. Whether the ones on the ground knew it or not, it is unlikely they expected any survivors of the engagement. They most likely lured your previous opponents out with the bait of a coordinated assault before leaving them to die.

  “It’s a good thing we were there. They could have done a whole lot more damage if word had to get all the way to Sol Charlie.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Grant muttered, looking at the images of alien faces, defiled by battle. “What do you think their next move will be?”

  It will depend on their calculations, but it is likely they will continue to build up their forces and obliterate your planet with one decisive strike.

  Grant nodded and ground his teeth. “So worst case from what I’m hearing is they overwhelm or miss the fleet entirely and destroy Earth without much in the way of defenders. If we can intercept them, what can we expect?”

  If you deploy with five to six of the Patriot battleships, it would be critical that you surprise them and absolutely eliminate every trace of their formation. If they learn our ships did it, they will know we are now allied. That will open our civilization to attack across the cluster and also invite our enemy to mobilize all of their dark desires. If you do it quick, they will likely pull back their forces to regroup and assess the situation. It would buy us more time than simpl
y frightening them away.

  Fox shook his head from his seat to the side, still trying to make sense of their current change of fate. He felt like they were strapped to a roller coaster, simply along for the ride and ready to plunge into oblivion. The others obviously felt it as well; he could see it in their expressions. Although the soldiers were more disciplined, the civilians masked their fear beneath a thin façade of enthusiasm. “There’s really no turning back on this; is there?”

  No. The war has already begun.

  Once again, stillness fell on the room. Scott looked between the officers for a sign of relief but found nothing on their faces.

  “Before we go any farther,” Grant said while looking back at the blue-suited leader, “you keep calling them ‘The Enemy’. Do you have a name for this alien race? While we’re at it, what do we call your race?”

  “The closest we got from one was ‘Veer Phesrix.’” Fox added.

  That sounds like it is the name of their unit, but we will investigate it further, one of the scribes replied first.

  Correct, Omega confirmed. The names we have for ourselves are nothing you’d find pronounceable. I think it’d be best for everyone if you would invoke your outstanding naming convention which you used for the Aquillians.

  “From Earth’s constellations?”

  Yes. It will make this revelation more accessible to your people when the time comes.

  “So what do you suggest?”

  Considering the maps your astronomers have constructed over the ages, along with the relative vectors to some of our recognizable galaxies, we are of Lyra and our foes are of Cygnus.

  Grant shared a glance with the other officers. “Lyrans and Cygnans. I guess I’ve heard of worse things.”

  Beside them, Scott nodded along. “It’s a similar convention, but you also mentioned being from another galaxy…”

  Multiple galaxies, actually. There is nothing that would bridge that sort of angular difference from your planet. We both have our own little corners in your supercluster.

  “Holy shit,” Kael muttered. “We still have people dying in hurricanes on Earth along with a half dozen barely-sufficient colonies and you count your empire in multiple galaxies? And you still need our help?”

  “I think that’s exactly what they’re saying,” Fox responded.

  “And you believe them?”

  “We’re alive when we don’t have to be. We also haven’t been fed to their engines or kicked out of their airlock,” the commander continued.

  Kael looked between Fox and Grant, who cut him off before he could question any more.

  “It’s my call. Get back on task and let’s figure out a way to keep Earth under control. We’ll worry about the rest later,” Grant snapped.

  Othello had watched the exchange in silence from the sideline before leaned forward, adding, “Don’t count us out before we even get started. Besides, sometimes it only takes the smallest effect to have a massive influence.”

  ***

  The discussions continued extensively as the battleship plotted its course to the fleet’s staging area. While a few comments were made as to the time or distance, Omega let them pass, saying simply that there was safety in isolation.

  With what the aliens described as a “few hours to go,” their host dismissed the gathering and the Emissary guided the team to state rooms to rest.

  They took another lift to the top floor of the command deck which placed them in the center of a circular room, surrounded by paneled walls and metallic doors.

  Grant didn’t quite know what to make of the scenario, but went along as his mind was thoroughly exhausted from the day’s adventure. His door slid aside nearly silently on a linear actuator, and he walked through into a small hallway as did his companions in their respective facilities.

  His immediate question again was how the aliens knew to furnish such an area for humans. Surely their physical information about his race was rudimentary at best, requiring extensive modification in the short time since they arrived.

  To the side was a small seating area, with more of the conformal benches arranged around a low table. There were no visible light sources, aside from a smooth glow emanating from the edges of the coffered ceiling. Farther down, the walls were adorned with empty, fixed shelves.

  At the end was a platform that resembled a bed, below a massive spherical window that cut two hundred degrees across and all the way to the roofline. Grant stopped to stare into the endless abyss of folded space, pitch black aside from the occasional glimmer of starlight. Before him, the battleship’s main deck stretched out reaching for infinity.

  Still staring out, he collapsed onto the silk and foam block, feeling nothing until being awakened by a knock at the door.

  ***

  Grant shook his head to get away from a pounding headache then looked back up to the open sky. “Who’s there?”

  “It’s Gordon.”

  “Come in,” he offered, with half of him not wanting to talk to the ship’s commander and receive another lecture. He heard the door slide aside. Oh well, it was too late now.

  Fox walked down to the end of the room and took a seat on a bench to the right beside the window.

  He stared out silently until Grant’s nerves got the better of him. “Did you need something?”

  “I woke up a little while ago. We’ve probably got twenty minutes before the ship drops back out.” He paused. “I just keep thinking about how much this changes everything we’ve worked for.”

  Grant groaned. “Don’t you get all nostalgic too.”

  “That’s not what I mean. Have you ever been to the Earthbound Starship Gantry?”

  “No, can’t say that I have.”

  “They have the largest factory complex on the planet. It’s where they built all the frigates and battleships.”

  “I thought they assembled them in orbit.”

  “No, that’s a common misconception. Only the carriers and capital ships were built in orbit. They build the ships on tracked bases that move the shells between stations. They literally start with a frame on one end and fly a ship off on the other.”

  “Something like the old-school launch vehicle bases?”

  “A few times bigger in each direction, but yes, similar to mobile launcher platforms with crawlers to move them.” Fox continued, leaning back, “At the northern end of the complex is a range where the completed ships are launched. When I received my charter, I was invited out along with a skeleton crew to drive it off the lot, so to speak.”

  “A skeleton crew?”

  “Yes, and a few of the builders, just in case it should crash and burn. I remember when I took my seat on the bridge and looked down the nose, I felt invincible. A few minutes later they used a lift to jack it thirty degrees into the air.” Fox paused and stared out into the black nothingness, lost in the distant memory. “I ignited the engines and blasted off through the evening air into the darkness. At that moment I thought I was standing at the very limit of human ingenuity.”

  “Fascinating. And now?”

  “And now I find it was all for nothing. It’d take generations for us to hold a candle to these things… Lyrans, I guess,” Fox corrected himself.

  “I wouldn’t go that far.” Grant shook his head, still staring at the sky and avoiding additional eye contact with the other commander. “There’s no doubt the Lyrans had to spend a few millennia crawling their way out of Mother Nature’s little pit of hell. They’re just farther along than we are. Regardless, Omega seems to have faith in us. It might be misplaced, but maybe he knows what he’s talking about. As for our history, I can’t imagine a species getting to the stars any other way. We all have the responsibility to push the train along.”

  “That’s a good way to put it.”

  “Someone smarter than me described it that way. I personally doubt it’s our technology that’s gotten us here today; that’d be of no use to these creatures. It’s got to be something else; our ingenuity, re
solve, our drive, probably not even that; something that Omega and his people cannot fathom. It’s possible we’ll see problems differently, strategize movements in unprecedented ways. Use…” Grant stopped, instantly deep in thought.

  “I’d concur with that. What’cha got?”

  “You said the Flagstaff can be operated by a skeleton crew?”

  “Yes. There’d be little maintenance done, fewer weapons and all that but it can be flown.”

  “Let’s bring it into battle.”

  “Alongside these?” Fox scoffed, “The Flagstaff’s a joke compared to this thing and your plan would be to swap one of them out? We’d be giving up a huge advantage!”

  “Sure, that’d be perfectly logical; I do not doubt you. What I’m saying is that maybe the surprise and false intelligence we could plant would be enough to offset the difference in capabilities.”

  Fox shook his head. “I really hope it doesn’t come to that. Let’s see what else they have in store for us before we make any rash judgments.” He stopped as the floor below his feet shuddered for a moment.

  Gentlemen, please prepare for our arrival. The Emissary’s voice cut through the two men’s minds.

  “Well that’s just mildly creepy,” Grant remarked.

  “No kidding. I hope he wasn’t standing on the other side of the door all this time.” The commander looked around the room, as if to spot their alien guide hiding in a corner. “I wonder how far they can communicate like that.” Fox looked to the window as the swirling black warp was instantly vanquished by a brilliant burst of light that quickly dissipated. In its place were the combined lights of a billion stars, spread cleanly across the horizon as a perfect backsplash to the alien operation in the foreground.