Rift Breaker

by Tristan Michael Savage

  On her screen, she cycled through the recorded data on the incident, shifting points of view to gain a better understanding of this new enemy. She set the time code back and summoned a view of the platforms as she knew them.

  High above the military city and the atmosphere, heavy defence platforms had dotted the world’s orbit. The array served as a blockade and had been proven effective in times past. The Tranquillian Composite had no shortage of enemies and every precaution had been taken. The platforms had been lined with a high calibre defence arsenal. Missile turrets, lasers, rail guns and pulse cannons pointed directly into the void. On top of that, the planetary radar coverage had an impressive range. The combination of weapons and radar meant that no suspicious craft could get near the world without being targeted with the appropriate weapon. The system was more than enough to bring comfort to the families of the Composite. Protection from sworn enemies, or even the natural annoyance of asteroids, was assured. Planetary radar had been constantly monitored. But despite its impressive range, on this particular day, warning was lacking.

  Behind the line of heavy cannons, not to mention the many orbital defence ships docked to the platform, the empty space had a distortion. The faults were hard to see, until the light specks appeared in anticlockwise swirls.

  The occurrences were spaced perfectly in a wall behind the platforms; too ordered for nature, too surreal for technology. Each swirl shrunk to a point and black bubbles grew against the planet’s healthy glow.

  Inside these puddles hung objects. Although visibility was low, the lights across the bodies hinted at their jagged and colossal forms. Front spikes pierced out from the blotches, evidence that this was no picture or hologram. The phenomenon was as real as the orbital defence. The warships entered efficiently and silently.

  The first casualty was a fast moving transport. Its direct and narrow path couldn’t be altered in time and it went up in a puff of green flame against one of the foreign vessels. The fleet took position, flanking one another across the sky, facing the blockade. The bulky cannons of the defence could not turn fast enough. Before they could get thirty degrees, the warships unleashed a simultaneous bombardment.

  Explosions on explosions flared up across the sky. Momentarily, the platform lit up like a shining halo, divinely marking the world for its good works, before breaking into scattered pieces of cooling slag.

  The orbital defence ships that happened to be free from the platforms, or those fortunate enough to survive by swiftly detaching, chose their targets.

  Each invading vessel released smaller fighters in aggressive engagement. In a short time, the sky of Cenyulone had transformed from a mundane operational procedure to a proving ground for heroes.

  Fleet Commander Raegar had called the meeting before the attack, which meant he knew something about the enemy. Jhaia scanned the crowd below and grew concerned at his absence.

  The padded seats of the circular auditorium sank at a steep incline. From her elevated seat, opposite the door, Jhaia could see everyone. Every now and then a sweating officer would enter and quickly shuffle to a designated place. About a quarter of the attendees were holographic. The avatars fluctuated in spectrum. The real officers sat on transmission decks aboard their ships, which were already regrouping in orbit.

  A deep tone reverberated and everyone silenced. A vertical wavelength appeared at the centre of the room. The line oscillated as a stressed voice began its brief.

  ‘Orbital defence is gone,’ it announced. ‘The overseers have come to a decision. All available vessels will rally and launch a counteroffensive.’

  The line was then replaced by a hologram of half the planet. The view expanded and focused on a particular section of the planet’s rim. The red spots indicated enemy ships; several hovered in sight, separated by vast distances across the globe.

  ‘This image is in real time,’ the voice briefed, ‘and is all that remains of planetary radar coverage. Composite forces have been taking excessive damage across orbit. As you can see, the invading forces are scattered and are systematically hunting down our remaining vessels. You will all be divided into two parties for a search and destroy mission. The enemy warships must be destroyed before they have a chance to regroup.’

  ‘No!’ A thundering voice echoed from the back of the room.

  ‘Who said that?’ the voice demanded.

  Jhaia glanced up, her feathers twitching. A heavy, winged object flipped and tumbled down the aisle stairs. It dropped to the base of the room and slid across the floor. Strands of grey smoke wafted from its beaten form. A Composite thrust pack, normally used by drop squads. The crowd looked up to the place from where it was thrown. A one of a kind, Kharla began to limp down the steps.

  ‘Your excellence,’ Raegar yelled, breathing heavily, gripping a seat to assist him down another level, ‘the mission is too dangerous. We cannot afford to hunt for them in orbit.’

  ‘I’m warning you, Raegar. You had better fall in line,’ said the overseer.

  Raegar waved his upper right hand in the air. ‘They look vulnerable, but they can regroup instantly.’

  ‘Commander Raegar. Take your place and submit.’ The overseer was yelling now.

  ‘How do you think they arrived in the first place? Look!’ Raegar yelled, pointing to the readout. He stepped down another level and Jhaia noticed blood.

  ‘Get some medicals in here!’ she yelled. Five of the officers’ assistants rushed out through the side entrance of the room talking into communicators. A few concerned whispers floated among the seated officials.

  Jhaia stretched her wings and leapt off her post, gliding to the other side of the room. She landed and raced up the stairs, catching Raegar before he could make another step on his own. He wrapped his right arms around her. Whispers and gossip erupted from the surrounding crowd. The pair made their way down the stairs to his empty seat at the base of the room where she carefully lowered him. Blood and plasma dripped from a burnt hole in his abdominals.

  Some officers left their seats to see if they could help. But Raegar’s eyes turned upward at the radar readout where a heavy cluster of enemy vessels seemed to grow larger from nothing. A step behind him, the rest of the officers eventually noticed the occurrence.

  ‘How is this happening?’ said the overseer.

  ‘Warpholes!’ Raegar boomed. The medicals arrived and knelt to look at his wound. He ignored them and stood. ‘Warpholes!’ he repeated, pacing the floor.

  ‘We cannot separate our remaining forces to survive; the enemy has limitless tactical advantages. The only way to defend our city is to place the invaders in a choke point.’

  ‘In space?’ said a young sceptical voice.

  ‘I’m talking about the Nimbus. We will use the remaining orbital vessels as a distraction; keep the invading force occupied long enough to evacuate the city, arm the Nimbus with long and short range batteries and rally all remaining forces. With limitations of gravity for them, and ground support for us, we stand a chance of survival.’

  Jhaia turned her gaze upward. The hologram had disappeared and the overseer’s wavelength remained still. Among the crowd, the officers nodded amongst themselves, particularly the older ones. Rumours of Raegar’s legend circulated.

  ‘Commander Raegar’s plan is to be in effect,’ announced the overseer. The crowd made noise. The officers unleashed their comments, delayed since Raegar’s arrival. The overseer raised his voice to speak over them and went over the new logistics.

  Raegar sat down. The medicals, finally able to work, wiped the blood from his midsection as he listened to the brief. He shot a wink at Jhaia who simply shook her head in awe. He winced at the pain. She came to his side and took one of his hands. Through his coughs and dry heaving he muttered one word, ‘Leroy.’

  Milton was awake. At least he thought he was. He had witnessed a space battle. Perhaps battle was not the appropriate word. More like a slaughter. Rift gates opened to reveal a formation of exposed Composite defences.
Vessels and platforms bloomed with multicoloured explosions. He knew this was a horrible thing but he could feel his heart brim with the sense of satisfaction of outsmarting and destroying an enemy. He felt the hunger for more destruction and an anxiousness to get to Cenyulone’s main city and level the place.

  He wore armour and tightened his grip on ancient weapons. He stood on a bridge, overlooking the planet, ordering fighters into formation. He was a pilot, and ran his fingers over his winged killer’s crystalline control surfaces.

  Milton Lance was the Xoeloid. How this came to pass he could not figure. He had access to every Xoeloid within range, which included points of view from the opposite side of the planet. Milton focused; if he was in such a position then he knew he could get his answers. He began searching minds for more information. He tried one, a Xoeloid trooper affixing a chest plate that grew over its torso and locked to the rest of its armour. He was aggressively blocked and shunned upon inquiry. A few more attempts with different minds and the same thing happened. Then he sensed another. The calm and calculated thought process beckoned him.

  ‘Can you hear me, Milton Lance?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he replied, not quite sure as to how. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘This is Reelai. Are you feeling well?’

  ‘What the hell is this? What am I, dead?’

  ‘No. You are perfectly fine. You experience symbiosis, my friend. You are sharing your gift with us and I am much appreciative.’

  ‘Gift?’

  ‘The gift of the Rift Breaker. The gift stolen from us. You are our miracle.’

  Milton felt an incredible rage brew inside. A rage he did not know what to do with. He shouted his protests but Reelai muted him.

  Then he saw himself, his own face, through a section of mineral that had been made transparent. His hair was wavy as he seemed to be trapped in a compartment of clear liquid. He stepped back — no — the one whose eyes he was looking through stepped back and turned round. Then he saw three Xoeloid scientists. Standing and watching. Then a Human walked in! Milton wanted to know more. He studied the man, his movements, his speech, everything. He was surrounded by Composite guards similar to the ones he saw on Lubric. The man was called Leroy; he was a fleet commander. Leroy examined a monitor and grinned in excitement. He approached Reelai with a spring in his step. ‘When are you planning on descending?’ he asked.

  ‘Now,’ Reelai’s voice replied.

  ‘They’re using the Nimbus you know,’ said Leroy. ‘I’ve always hated that thing. My only regret is that Raegar isn’t alive to see it go.’

  Commander Raegar, the one from Poria, was dead? Milton remembered now. He had been on Poria and then travelled to Cenyulone with Raegar. And now he was … somewhere else.

  The conversation prompted in him a sense of what was to happen. The presence of armies, waiting in dark holds, priming weapons with strong desires to slaughter; the thoughts held his heart in great disturbance.

  Reelai spoke again. ‘Tell me everything you know about the defences.’

  ‘Gladly,’ Leroy replied.

  Leroy’s explanation was cut short. Milton dropped from the set of eyes, the image of Leroy shrank and his voice faded away. Reelai swiftly banished Milton from prying into any and all Xoeloid minds. Even in thought, he was their slave.

  Milton woke … again, to blackness. A dripping sound echoed. He was standing and surprised he had free movement of his body, although he wasn’t sure if he was blind or not. He reached forward into the space in front of him. Nothing. He stepped forward and touched a surface — a tube of some kind. He found more, they were pipes. Milton followed them down a wall, trailing his hands along. A light appeared ahead. With more confidence he increased his pace, relieved he still had vision.

  Milton stepped into the weak glow of a ceiling bulb. He didn’t recognise anything. Cobwebs and dust covered pipes of different sizes running in, out and along the walls, which were lined with pale green plastic panels.

  A heavy grinding noise ahead. A sliver of light appeared further down the hall. A sliding door scraped open, its moving parts dry and dirty. Rusted particles sprinkled from its surface. A moving form cast shadows through the weak glow. Long brown digits extended into the corridor. Milton stepped back. The fingers curled around the edge of the door. With an abrupt scrape the door was thrust wide open.

  A tall silhouette emerged, inching into the light with an uncurling of fingers and a slight roll of thin arms. The creature wore a tattered light brown cloth. Milton inched back into the dark and silently crouched against the wall behind the jutting clump of pipes. He readied himself to run. The creature slowly turned, scanning its surroundings. Milton tensed. Without shifting its footing, the creature’s body twisted and its gaze snapped behind.

  Upon seeing the haunting black eyes, Milton wanted to run, but he froze. He didn’t seem to have complete control of his body. Even though the monster looked directly at him, it didn’t notice. It turned back, pivoting its large head. The creature continued down the corridor.

  Milton followed cautiously. The creature passed through a cloud of vapour spewing from a broken pipe. Milton jogged forward and used the steam as cover. He walked into the mist. Strangely the cloud was neither hot nor cold. When on the other side he found the creature stopped. It stood motionless in the corridor. Milton was about to step back when it took off at a faster pace. He went after it.

  It turned into another passage, with an unbroken focus on its new direction. This passage was narrower, the creature ducked under low sections of ceiling and slid between vertical pipes; it slowed as it disappeared into a chamber at the end. Milton peered in and found a long rectangular room. Along the wall stood bubbles of transparent plastic or glass. Ten of them, tilted back at an angle of thirty or forty degrees.

  The creature went further into the room and Milton walked slowly at a distance. Behind the dusty transparent shielding, Milton made out something. He approached the bubble. Inside the shell lay an old man. His eyes were sunken into their sockets. His flaky skin was dry and peeling. The faint glow of a readout screen above reflected on the bubble. The cracked screen showed a faint horizontal line.

  Milton stepped back. Above the other pods, the screens were all the same, except one, which had a small jump on its line. The creature had stopped there.

  Brown fingers wrapped around the sides of the container. The bubble cracked and creaked. One final crunch and the outer casing came free. The creature discarded the covering to the side and loomed over the inhabitant.

  Inside, a young Human woman lay on her back. She was about Milton’s age. She was beautiful. Her red dress, dotted with yellow flowers, loosely covered her swollen belly. The monster leaned inside the pod.

  ‘Hey,’ Milton yelled.

  The creature ignored him. Milton charged forward, not knowing what to do. He gained as much momentum as he could and jumped into the creature. He passed straight through its body and stumbled to a halt. He turned, confused. The creature was a hologram? Or a ghost perhaps?

  The creature reached in and took the woman. Everything flashed white.

  Milton stood in a different space. He couldn’t make out any walls. He glanced about to find his bearings. Looking back, he saw an image of the room he was just in. It had a circular frame around it. The border had threads of light with tongues of tiny stars licking away from it. It shrunk into a speck and disappeared.

  The woman lay on a platform; two of the black-eyed creatures emerged from the dark and flanked her. He was looking at the Vellnoa. The beings Reelai had told him about. Neither of them acknowledged him. It seemed that he, not they, was the ghost.

  The woman’s eyelids fluttered and opened. Her gaze travelled up one of the creatures. Upon seeing its face, her mouth dropped. She lifted her head anxiously. The Vellnoa took her hand. She turned over her palm and squeezed the creature’s hand tight, bringing her other up to her belly.

  She took a deep breath and looked again into its eyes. When her lung
s emptied, her head dropped and her gaze defocused. The Vellnoa rested her hand back to the platform.

  Another one of the creatures entered slowly, limping out of the darkness. Its thin brown skin sagged off its skull and thin frame. It walked with a cane made of shiny rock and wore a thick dark garment that flowed to the floor. It stood over the woman and reached forth a withered hand.

  One of the others perked up. The other one gave it eye contact, which evoked an uneasy calm. The older Vellnoa touched the woman’s belly. A glow strengthened under its touch. The old creature began to shake. Its eyes flickered between white and black and it started to violently convulse. Again, everything flashed white.

  Milton now watched over a healthy Human baby, contained in a new transparent bubble. He was startled when he saw the three other Vellnoa standing across from him doing the same.

  The older one was different. Its brown face was blemished with a few dark spots that weren’t there previously. It was somehow thinner and more wrinkled; shivering and frail, it leaned against the cane. One of the other Vellnoa came to its side in aid.

  The baby smiled. Milton couldn’t help but grin back. It reached up to him with tiny grabbing hands. When he looked up again, all three Vellnoa were staring directly at him with glistening, black, focused eyes.

  ‘Do you see now?’ he heard them think.

  The baby’s eyes sparkled with microscopic stars. He had encountered eyes like these before. With that came a revelation that struck against the core of Milton Lance’s soul.

  Twenty-four

  Raegar’s surgically welded wound stung when he moved his lower left arm. The captain’s chair of the Raticia only had two armrests, but was sufficient for the time being. The seat itself was also uncomfortable. He adjusted it many times and still he could not find a suitable position for his shape. He had also ordered the dimming of the above staging lights, as he was not accustomed to the default lighting level.