The Dying Light

by Sean Williams

  Disisto nudged Roche forward, and she stepped inside. Haid, moving cautiously so as not to activate the restraining field, did likewise.

  Her first impression upon entering the room was of spaciousness and grace. Her second was of clinical efficiency, as though the room served as a laboratory when riot used for meetings. Her third was less analytical, relying mainly on the data her sense of smell provided.

  Cylindrical light fixtures suspended between the floor and ceiling cast a pure, white light on the room’s three occupants.

  “Greetings, Commander Roche,” said the first, a Pristine standing on the far side of the desk. His hair was white, where he had hair at all. He was so small and his skin so waxy that Roche guessed his age to be over one hundred standard years. His movements, though, were far from infirm.

  “You would be Rufo,” said Roche.

  The professor raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. “I see Gered has briefed you.” His eyes then fell upon his security head, who shifted uneasily beneath the stare.

  “Some,” said Roche, noting Disisto’s discomfort. “Nothing of consequence.”

  “Anyway,” said Rufo grandly, “I welcome you to my home.”

  Roche eyed the two Kesh standing to either side of Rufo; neither looked particularly welcoming, even for a Caste not given to pleasantries. Both wore formal uniforms of office, with leather surcoats and boots over black bodysuits that bulged with muscle.

  “Your home?” said Roche.

  Rufo moved around the desk to greet her. At close range, he seemed even smaller. “I finance and run this establishment. My employees are under no illusion as to who pays their bonuses—although I like to believe that I am a fair taskmaster.” His piercing, bright blue eyes darted to Disisto. “Would that be a fair comment, Gered?”

  The security officer nodded smartly. “More than fair, sir.”

  Rufo smiled and moved back around the desk. “Introductions, then. Morgan Roche, your name we know, and that of your companion, Ameidio Haid; Gered filled me in as well. But you two have not met all of us, yet.” He stopped upon reaching the first of the Kesh, and reached up to place a hand on one massive shoulder.

  “This is Lieutenant-Doctor Haden B’shan, my second in command.”

  The Kesh officer bowed, his hairless head catching the light; his tough skin was predominantly yellow, but with blotches of blue and purple in symmetrical patterns, like ink blots, scattered across every visible surface. Where ears would have been on a Pristine, two dark-colored membranes a thumb’s-width across were visible.

  “I am honored,” he said in a surprisingly high-pitched voice.

  Unable to think of anything appropriate to say, Roche bowed also. She was slightly surprised by his words: Kesh were not normally so gracious to members of other Castes, particularly ones they hardly knew.

  Haid on the other hand, slowly placed one fist on his chest and said: “Do-tri’sk en sh’ante ruk.”

  B’shan smiled, the moist inner lips of his mouth appearing for an instant. “Du. Impressive.”

  “Some time ago I served with a squad of Kesh commandos on Nirr,” Haid explained.

  “Which family?”

  “G’rodo.”

  B’shan nodded. “They were a noble lineage, prior to their excision from the N’Kor Republic.”

  “I always felt the Dictatrix could’ve shown leniency in their case.”

  The other Kesh made a noise in his throat that sounded like gravel underfoot. B’shan nodded again, this time with solemn dignity. He stepped back to draw attention away from himself, the soles of his leather boots squeaking on the floor as he did so.

  “And this,” Rufo continued, “is Field Officer Shak’ni.”

  Shak’ni was taller than B’shan, but thinner. His face was etched with fine birthmarks in a bright shade of red, like veins. This time, the bow was begrudging, barely a nod. Shak’ni’s eyes met Roche’s only briefly as she returned the gesture, his contempt for her as palpable as the smell of his Caste filling the room. He didn’t waste nods on a greeting, and Haid too said nothing.

  Moving back around the table, Rufo returned to a position directly in front of her and Haid.

  “Together,” he said, “Haden and I have been scouring this system for evidence of the warrior that wrought such destruction upon it.”

  “I guessed as much,” Roche said, glad they’d finally arrived at the topic that most concerned her. “I’m keen to analyze your data.”

  “And I am keen to analyze yours.” Rufo’s stare held hers firmly. “I presumed that’s why you had came here. Crossing the Gauntlet is a feat not undertaken lightly.”

  “You know about that?”

  “Of course. The various technological experiments performed by advanced Castes prior to Transcendence were a fascination of mine during my youth.” Rufo stopped, as though a thought had just struck him, then continued: “But it would make more sense to explain from the beginning. Please, take a seat.”

  He waved a hand, and five white chairs rose out of the seamless floor in a ring around the circular desk. Roche hesitated for a moment, then took the one nearest her. Haid sat beside her; the two Kesh sat opposite them.

  “Gered, if you would be so good as to wait outside, I will summon you when Commander Roche is ready to leave.”

  Disisto nodded, turned and left the room. Synnett followed close on his heels.

  “Now.” Rufo took the remaining seat. As he did so, the holographic tanks lining the walls and on the desk flickered to life. Color and movement surrounded them: scenes of distant worlds and stations, only a handful of which Roche recognized; strange texts in unknown hieroglyphs; the faces of dozens of people of all Castes and types, lecturing silently,

  “I have many interests,” said Rufo, “but foremost of them all is the past. History and the flotsam by which we gauge it has fascinated me ever since I was a child. From the age of four, I devoted my life and, upon my father’s early death, a considerable fortune to the pursuit of such knowledge. But for such relics, and the resources my father left me, many of my childhood dreams would have gone unrealized.

  “For instance—” He stood abruptly, pointing at the ceiling above the desk. From the center of the roof descended what appeared to be a sculpture no larger than Roche’s hand, or a fossil cast in amber. Roche was unable to tell what it was, exactly, even when it had come to rest a meter above the desk.

  “Give us a hint,” said Haid, his artificial eyes focusing closely on the object.

  “This,” Rufo went on, his hands held out before him, “is my most prized possession. It was plucked by these very fingers from the wreckage of a spaceship ten times older than any of the existing civilizations in this region.”

  said the Box.

  “It is a data-storage device built by none of the known Castes, past or present,” said Rufo at the same time. “The information it holds has never been fully translated, but it contains words written before even the most ancient Caste is known to have inhabited the stars.”

  “How is that possible?” Roche asked when she had the overlap straightened out.

  “Clearly there are gaps in our knowledge,” Rufo explained. “At least four Primordial Castes precede the earliest confirmed records we have. We call them Castes A, B, C and D, for even their names are unknown.”

  “But they are Human?”

  “Of course, Commander. It is an established fact that no other intelligent species ever conquered the stars.” Rufo spoke as though to an ignorant child. “Apart from this, all we can say for certain is that these Castes disappeared many hundreds of millennia ago. There are relics scattered here and there for those who care to look, but not enough to build a coherent picture of what their societies were like; not even enough to convince most universities to teach the facts that we have uncovered. I have devoted my life to expanding th
at pool of knowledge, and a few others along the way.”

  Realization dawned on Roche, then. “You’ve found some ruins, haven’t you?”

  “I was led to believe so,” Rufo said. “Mok, the only moon of the Kukumat-Murukan double binary, is said to hold a fabulous collection of artifacts that have yet to be catalogued. Regrettably, the unfortunate business in this system has prevented us from examining the site. You see, I am not so involved in my work that I will ignore Human suffering when it occurs in front of me.”

  “And what exactly have you done about it?” asked Haid with a hint of skepticism.

  “As much as you, so far,” Rufo replied, clearly resenting Haid’s reproving tone. He faced Roche. “I have removed my station to a safe place and dispatched smaller vessels to survey the damage.”

  “And you haven’t intervened?”

  “How could I do anything other than study what has happened here? That is the area in which my skills lie; I am neither tactician nor warrior. I decided that the long-term interest of the region would be best served by intelligence rather than valor.”

  “And what have you found?” Roche asked.

  Rufo sighed and returned to his seat. “I have seen things in these last two weeks, Commander, I never expected to see. Things that... Forgive me.” Visibly distressed, he leaned back in his seat and signaled for B’shan to continue.

  The Kesh stood. “Understand, Commander Roche, that we on Galine Four are not allied to any military service. Therefore, if at any point during what I am about to tell you, your training suggests an alternate interpretation, please do not hesitate to interrupt. We will welcome your input.”

  Roche nodded, not wanting to discourage his mistaken assumption of her origins: while the Ana Vereine was camouflaged as a COE warship, it was safer to reinforce that impression. “Your rank is honorary, then?”

  “A title, no more, left over from my adolescence in the service of the Dictatrix. I am an academic first and foremost, now.” Noticing her glance at Shak’ni, he added: “My fellow Kesh is acting as a liaison between Galine Four and the N’Kor Republic. Prior to our arrival here, we were researching several sites in non-Pristine territories.”

  “Understood,” said Roche. “Please, continue.”

  B’shan moved closer to the table. The Gil-Shh’ana Fiche retreated back into the ceiling as a large display flickered into life. In the tank appeared a scale map of the orbits of the five innermost planets of Palasian System.

  “You are no doubt aware how it began. A COE courier, Daybreak, en route to Gorund Sef picked up a single life capsule not far from here and disappeared shortly thereafter. Two days later, it reappeared on a course for Guhr Outpost, broadcasting an emergency beacon. The outpost’s commanding officer sent a tug to intercept Daybreak and bring it in for repairs. Subsequent to that, the base reported being under attack, then it too fell silent.”

  “Yes,” Roche interrupted. “A battalion of Marines was sent to investigate. The pictures brought back by the one surviving ship showed the inhabited bases in Palasian System in flames.”

  “By the time Daybreak was recovered, it was already too late,” said B’shan grimly. “The emergency beacon was a distraction; the crew had been dead for a day before it was even sent. The... person responsible commandeered the tug sent to intercept it, and, in conjunction with a small asteroid he had already diverted from its orbit, destroyed Guhr Outpost before its commanding officer could realize what had happened. The asteroid collided with a medical vessel parked in a refueling orbit, and sparked a chain reaction that resulted in the ignition of the outpost’s entire fuel reserves.”

  Haid whistled. “No wonder the crater was so big.”

  “Bear in mind that much of this is supposition extrapolated from the small amount of evidence left behind at the scene, plus flight data from several of the derelicts we recovered and some faint observations recorded by various installations scattered through the system. We can’t even tell how many people were involved in the attack. But given that only one person was rescued from the life-support capsule, and that the chain of events begins at that moment, we have assumed that this single person was alone responsible for what happened here. I know this seems unlikely, and we have no images of this person to prove any of it—or even ascertain his identity. Unfortunately, we can only work from the data we have, and that isn’t much. I would hate to give you the impression that we know exactly what occurred, when at best all we can offer you are theories.”

  Roche nodded, indicating for him to continue.

  “From Guhr Outpost we have traced the tug’s movements to Gatamin, where it changed course and headed further in-system.”

  “How did its pilot know where to go?” Haid asked.

  “The tug, naturally, contained detailed navigational charts showing every settlement in Palasian System. Relevant targets were easily located.” B’shan rotated and expanded the map of Palasian System. “Geyten Base was hit next. The Armada base knew that something had happened to Guhr Outpost, but didn’t have enough details to react in time. Barely had they readied two ships to investigate, when the enemy struck.”

  “We received pictures from Cemenid just before we arrived here,” Roche said. “We were unable to locate the Armada base at all; the moon appeared to have disappeared.”

  “Precisely.” The view in the central tank changed to show Cemenid—a bloated gas giant almost half again as large as Jagabis, with a violent atmosphere that appeared orange in Hintubet’s red light. Three visible moons were ringed in green, plus a dark patch in the cloudscape. The image became grainy as the view zoomed in to focus on the dark patch. “This scar in Cemenid’s atmosphere does not appear in any navigational records; the fact that you did not notice it suggests that it is no longer visible at all.”

  “Are you suggesting ...?” Roche began.

  “That the image here”—B’shan pointed at the dark patch in the central tank—”is the impact site of the moon which was once the home to Geyten Base.”

  Roche glanced at the Kesh: his expression was serious. “The whole moon—?”

  “Disturbed from orbit and sent into the atmosphere.” B’shan changed the view again, this time to one showing wreckage in orbit around the gas giant. “We have discovered a large number of fragments corresponding to plate- armor commonly used to protect prowling mines from major impacts. It’s my opinion that at least two were conscripted by the pilot of the tug on his way through the innermost dark-body halo. They are massive enough to shatter a small moon, or to deflect it from a stable orbit. Furthermore, their security is light and their AIs are simple to reprogram.”

  Roche pictured the prowling mines—each larger by a significant factor than Galine Four itself—barreling down on the unprepared Armada base. At that speed, little would have stopped them. The base personnel would hardly have had time to evacuate, let alone save any valuable military hardware. The destruction of the base had, once again, been conducted with chilling efficiency.

  B’shan added: “We suspect that this incident is related to the ambush of the Armada battalion sent to investigate the distress call broadcast by Guhr Outpost sixteen days earlier. The Marines had been in the system for a week, as best we can tell, but disappeared around that time.”

  Roche nodded. That made sense. It fit in with the little COE Intelligence had told them, anyway.

  “So where did the tug go from there?” she prompted.

  “Actually, it probably wasn’t there at all. Once the mines had been reprogrammed, there would have been no need for its pilot to have been present. That explains why, only a short time after communication with the base was lost, it caused an alert at Aro Spaceport when it tried to land without authorization.”

  “I can’t believe they’d let it land after everything that had just happened,” said Haid.

  “They didn’t. Port authorities destroyed it when it refused to respond to a third warning.”

  Roche frowned. “They destroyed it?�
�

  B’shan nodded. “But the pilot was no longer on board. His tactics were uncanny: he was never where anyone expected him to be, always one step ahead. He skipped from Daybreak to the tug when there was only the slightest chance that Guhr Outpost might have guessed he was aboard; then, barely after the authorities on Aro had learned about events at Voloras and Cemenid, he’d already left the tug and sent it to act as a distraction while he went about his real business.”

  “Which was what?” Haid said.

  “While Aro Spaceport mopped up the debris of the tug—believing they had destroyed the threat to the system with it—the pilot was using two prowling mines and the resources they contained to set up the next stage of his attack. It must have been during this time that he built the gas-guns and the targeters left behind in the derelicts; he certainly would have been hard-pressed to do it later.”

  “That makes sense,” Roche said. “It also gave Aro Spaceport time to let their guard down.”

  “It would seem so.” B’shan called up a map of the orbits around the major moon of Jagabis. “What he appears to have done in the end is to bring one of the prowlers into close Aro orbit by swinging it past Jagabis on a tight, elliptical orbit that kept it well out of view until the last minute. Then, once it was in place, it fired cutting lasers onto Emptage City, shattering the dome. It also used a flotilla of scavenger drones to attack the ships docked at the midpoint of the orbital tower. At the same time, the second ship came in by a different route and severed the orbital tower entirely.”

  “How?” said Haid.

  “Simply by colliding with it,” said B’shan, “and wrenching it out of its moorings.”

  Roche concentrated to follow the icons moving through the main screen. “The aftershocks of the collision would have destroyed any ships still attached to the tower. Hence the derelicts.”