Rubicon Crossing

by Ralph Prince

  “If the food doesn’t kill us,” Will said, wishing there had been time to test samples of the supplies for contamination. “I don’t want to sound pessimistic, but our chances don’t look good. The two of us can’t do this alone. We should start teaching some of the Underdwellers to use the rifles.”

  “You’re probably right,” she admitted. “Why don’t you grab the spare weapons and get a couple of volunteers. On the plus side, the Underdwellers seem to be able to see in the dark as well as we do with our goggles. I think that might be another benefit of the nanites.”

  “I’ll try to think of something to give us an advantage,” he said. “I only wish I had access to Iva instead of just my wrist computer. Her tactics algorithm might even be able to find a way for us to survive this. No matter how tough I make the levels in my game, she always seems to find a way to defeat it.”

  “I wouldn’t count on the computer to save us,” Jackie said, knowing how much Will hated that term. “I would give just about anything to have Don here with us, but with his injuries, it’ll be weeks before he’s up and around. Maybe we should have just attacked the Tants with the ship.”

  CHAPTER 17: Unwelcome Guest

  The soft summer breeze swept over him as he rested in the sweet-smelling grass next to the lake. The air resounded with gentle music and the lively chirping of playful birds. He felt delicate fingers lightly caress his sun-warmed face, as the aroma of flowers and her enticing perfume tickled his nose. He opened his eyes and met the gaze of her intense, dark blue eyes smiling down at him. Her mouth formed a silent “I love you” as he sat up and she drew in closer for a kiss. He closed his eyes in anticipation.

  Suddenly, the warm sun felt searing on his flesh, the sweet bouquet gave way the macabre odor of smoke and burning flesh, and the sounds of nature were replaced with a cacophony of agonized screams. He opened his eyes to the sight of fields of fire surrounding them; but still, she smiled lovingly at him.

  Terrified, he frantically searched for any means of escaping the encroaching inferno, but it seemed the entire planet was on fire. Springing to his feet, he grasped her hand, but it burned to the touch, forcing him to let go.

  “What’s wrong, Donald,” she asked. “Don’t you know that everything you care about dies?”

  In horror, he watched her face began to blister and bubble as flames erupted from her skin, veiling her in a halo of flames. Before his eyes, the conflagration consumed her, leaving nothing but gray ash that scattered to the sweltering wind, echoing her final words. It was like a—

  Nightmare! It had only been a nightmare, Don realized as his eyes snapped open. But unlike his usual nocturnal forays, he wasn’t reliving tragedies from his past; it seemed more like a premonition of impending doom. As his mind began to clear, he found himself surrounded by the hazy dimness of night simulation mode. Struggling to move, he became immediately aware of the stiffness in his muscles, and the sharp pain in his abdomen. Abandoning any effort to sit up, he let his head sag back into the soft pillow.

  How much had he dreamt, he wondered, closing his eyes to suppress the pain and better focus on his thoughts. Had the ship entered a black hole, or was that part of the nightmare? Had there been a planet, or a woman named Karen?

  Opening his eyes again, he surveyed the room until he found the object of his search: Karen knelt next to the bed, her head resting upon her folded arms. She slept an uneasy sleep. Reaching out with a pain-numbed hand, he gently stroked her soft hair; the touch reassured him she had not been a dream.

  She raised her head slowly, her eyes blinking in an effort to focus. Suddenly, they opened wide. “Donald!” she cried, grasping his hand. “You’re awake.”

  He smiled up at her, seeing, even in the subdued lighting, her tear-streaked face and tangled hair. Never before had he seen such a beautiful sight. “Did you miss me?” he asked weakly.

  “Oh, Donald,” she said, climbing onto the bed and kneeling over him. “I was so worried about you. I sat with you, waiting for you to wake up, not knowing if you ever would.”

  “Shh,” he hushed, drawing her down into his embrace. “Don’t even think such things. I couldn’t leave you; who would answer all your questions?”

  “I love you,” she sighed, kissing him on the cheek.

  “I love you too, Karen,” he responded, “but I’ve got to talk to Jackie. The Tants will be attacking again soon.”

  “They already are,” Karen said, rolling to the side and folding her legs to sit next to him on the bed. “Jackie and Will left to help my people about six hours ago.”

  “Six hours?” Don moaned as he sat up; the pain was nearly unbearable. “I’ve got to—”

  “No,” Karen cried, grasping his shoulders. “Jackie told me to keep you in bed until you were better.”

  “Not while my crew’s in trouble,” Don protested, throwing off the covers and sliding from the bed, his hand covering the bandaged wound. “I’ve got to try to help them.”

  “How?” Karen asked as he staggered across the room to the closet. “You can hardly walk. Please Donald, lie back down.”

  “I’ve got to do something,” his voice said from within the closet. He emerged wearing a pair of pants, and holding a space force t-shirt in one hand. “I’ll just check with Iva, and if she says they’re okay, I’ll go back to bed. If they’re not okay, I have to try to help them in any way I’m able.”

  “But—” she began to protest, and then decided arguing would be pointless. Donald was as stubborn as Dillon had been. “Okay,” she said, joining him at the closet’s entrance, “but at least let me help you; you look as though you could fall at any second.”

  “I think you’re right,” he said, leaning against the bulkhead before pulling the shirt over his head. Then, with his arm around Karen for support, he started for the door.

  “What did Jackie do to me anyway?” he groaned as the door slid aside. “I’m burning up, and my head feels like it’s about to split. Come to think of it, so does the rest of my body.”

  “She called it a transfusion,” Karen said as they began the painfully slow trip toward the bridge. “She took some of my blood, and put it in you. She said it was probably your only hope for survival.”

  “Oh wonderful,” he said, clasping his free hand over the knife wound to suppress the pain. “I just hope her cure doesn’t kill me.”

  “Captain!” Iva greeted them as they entered the bridge. Her full-form hologram materialized beside the co-pilot’s station, causing them both to pause and stare. “You look awful.”

  “Thanks,” he replied, gesturing for Karen to help him to the tactical station. “You look … taller.”

  “How?” Karen asked, taken aback by Iva’s appearance.

  “The holo-emitter,” Don explained through labored breaths as he slumped into the tactical station’s chair. Sweat beaded heavily upon his pale face as he rotated the chair toward the control console. “She’s using it to make an image of a body out of light—like the scene she showed us of earth.”

  “You really should be in bed,” Iva observed, moving as close as the holo-field would allow. “I detect that your injuries have only begun to heal.”

  “Status report,” Don said, struggling to catch his breath.

  “Your pulse is rapid,” Iva replied, “your body temperature is high, and I sense you are in great pain.”

  “Not me,” Don said angrily, nearly doubling over from the pain. “The battle.”

  “Heavy casualties,” Iva reported. “Almost exclusively Tants. All the fighting has taken place in the main tunnel leading to the inner complex, which is the only reason I’m able to scan them. The Tants have yet to penetrate the inner chambers. Fighting has momentarily ceased, but the Tants have the exit well-guarded. It seems the Tants cannot get in, and the Underdwellers cannot get out.”

  “What about Jackie and Will?” Don asked, his strength beginning to return. “Are they all right?”

  “They—” Iva’s voice broke off sud
denly as the lights dimmed and the room was filled with a high-pitched shriek.

  Covering their ears, Don and Karen found themselves on the verge of unconsciousness before the sonic assault subsided.

  “Karen!” Don called. His concern quickly diminished as she grasped his arm.

  “What was that?” she asked, her ears still reverberating from the sound. “It was like in the Tant’s tower, but much worse.”

  “Captain Donald Benjamin Garris,” a baritone voice addressed him from behind. The resonating timber of the voice sent an icy chill down the captain’s spine.

  Don spun the chair toward the utterance as Karen’s fingers dug deeper into his arm. She let out a startled gasp.

  Before them, where Iva’s image had been, stood a tall figure shrouded in dark robes. Its arms were folded across its chest, and its cowled head showed nothing but shadows for a face. Its appearance was the embodiment of death.

  “Iva?” Don asked doubtfully.

  “Your agent is on hiatus for the time being,” the hooded intruder stated. Its cold intonations revealed no hint of emotion. “But I assure you it has not been damaged.”

  “Who are you?” Don demanded, wishing he had the strength to rise to his feet. “And what have you done to Iva?”

  Karen tensed and positioned herself protectively at Don’s side.

  “Relax, Captain Garris,” it replied with an air of authority that made it seem more a command than a request. “I am merely employing your agent’s structure and interface in order to communicate with you. Its mind was the only one sophisticated enough to house a portion of my intellect without sustaining damage. I compliment you on its construction; I was not aware of such technological advances on the earth you arrived from. I assure you once again, it has not been harmed.”

  “Donald?” Karen asked nervously, unsure what to do.

  “It’s okay,” Don assured, his attention never wavering from the shadowy form. “It’s just an image, and it can’t hurt us. How do you know we came from Earth?”

  “I have scanned your agent’s memories while it slept,” it explained. “I know all about you and your crew. I’ve been watching you since you began interfering with—”

  “You still haven’t told me who, or what, you are,” Don interrupted, angered by the being’s casual responses. “Or what you want.”

  “Who, or what, I am is of no consequence to you,” it replied. “Let it suffice to say I am an Overseer. I oversee the development of this world. My objective is simple: I have come to tell you to leave.”

  “I can’t leave,” Don said, leaning forward and causing the sharp pain to return. “Our ship is damaged, and two of my crew are out there helping the Underdwellers fend off the Tants.”

  “I know of your situation,” the Overseer stated, dispassionately. “Your agent has already solved the problem of repairing your ship, and as for helping the Underdwellers, as you call them, nothing you do will be of any consequence to them. The battle they wage can have no winner. All you will accomplish by remaining here are the deaths of you and your crew. I do not wish that.”

  “Even if I did believe you,” Don said, “we have nowhere to go. We haven’t been able to locate Earth.”

  “The planet you came from no longer exists,” said the Overseer. “In fact, nothing remains of the universe you once knew.”

  Don sat stunned by the Overseer’s words, wondering if he was still trapped in a bio-mend-induced nightmare. He didn’t want to believe what the Overseer said, but somehow its emotionless claim left no room for doubt.

  “Donald?” Karen asked, unable to fathom the magnitude of the Overseer’s revelation. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, Karen,” he answered in a detached tone, despondently slumping back into the chair. “How can that be?”

  “Do you have any idea what happens when you open a wormhole within the accretion disc of a black hole?” The Overseer queried. “Neither did I, until you did it. You tore a rift in the fabric of space-time, and somehow managed to survive a trip through it. You have traversed billions of light-years of space, and billions of years of time.” For the first time, the Overseer’s voice displayed something resembling emotion: it was awe. “This galaxy was still forming when your earth was swallowed by its sun over two billion years ago. You can never return to your home, nor can you remain here. You must leave this planet, but the female will, of course, have to remain here.”

  “If what you say is true,” Don said slowly, having little doubt, “then we have nowhere to go. Why should we leave here?”

  “Because,” replied the Overseer dispassionately, “this planet has been scheduled for termination.”

  PART 3

  CHAPTER 1: The Leader of the Tants

  The hot morning sun beat relentlessly down upon Oaklander’s solemn face as he stood looking out across the wind-swept streets of the shattered city, with two armed bodyguards hovering attentively, but discreetly, nearby. Behind him stood the crumbling building beneath which the Underdwellers cowered in fear. For years, as the leader of the Tants, he had sought out their subterranean lair, and now that he had finally located it, it proved unbreachable due to the interference of one man; a man named Garris.

  His hatred of the Terran surpassed even his hatred of the Underdwellers. Never before had he been bested in single combat, but now his entire body painfully reminded him of his recent defeat. Had it not been for the balcony breaking his fall, he would have died; such a fate would not have been nearly as intolerable.

  Maybe he was getting old. Maybe the years of complacency as the unchallenged ruler of the Tants were making him soft. Whatever the case, he had to vindicate himself before others saw it as a sign of weakness. Weakness would be his undoing.

  He was descended from soldiers, great warriors from a time before the world fell into ruins. Even as a child, Oaklander was taller and stronger than children several years his senior, a trait that served him well in the brutal world he was raised in.

  His people were nomads who traversed the storm fraught wastelands, searching for a place to settle. Guided by ancient maps, they moved from city to city. Most turned out to be in complete ruins or overrun with feral beasts, so they moved ever onward. Over time, their numbers fluctuated as they found scattered survivors who joined their ranks, and disease, disaster, or starvation dwindled their numbers. Among those lost was his mother, who died before Oaklander reached his tenth year.

  His father, The General, was the leader of their regiment, and the fifth in his lineage to hold that title. It was he who trained Oaklander in armed and un-armed combat techniques with the hope that his son would succeed him someday.

  The General was a kind and fair man, offering aid to all they encountered who did not oppose them. He followed the old ways, where those in need were given assistance and food if there was any to spare. Often, taking in these refugees meant the soldiers would go hungry, as there was seldom enough food to go around. As he grew older, Oaklander saw that the old ways were no longer working.

  Then came the day they encountered a new city. The General accompanied Oaklander as he led a scouting party into the ruins; it was his father’s idea of a “rite of passage”. If Oaklander performed well in the test, it would mean he was a step closer to earning leadership of the regiment.

  They found the city teeming with survivors who lived in loosely organized clans, fighting over what resources they could pillage from the ruins. Their first encounter with the inhabitants resulted in violence, which was quelled, but at a great cost. Over half of the scouting team was slain, and The General was injured.

  Oaklander suggested the city could be taken by force with nominal losses. The General disagreed and said the risk was not worth the potential gain and they should move on. He had failed his father’s test.

  Rage smoldered within Oaklander. He knew the city could be taken. His father had grown weak over the years, and his willingness to let non-warriors have equal shares of the provisions was making them
all weak. He could not return to the wilderness when a city ripe for the taking was within their grasp. To survive, the regiment needed a strong leader who was not afraid to fight. Someone who would take the mantle of command by force and lead his people to prosperity. Oaklander could be that leader.

  When he returned to the regiment alone and battered, he told the tale of how they were ambushed and his father was slain. He told how with his dying breath, The General had asked his son to take leadership and avenge him. He rallied the remnants of the regiment and marched into the city.

  Over the next several years, he united the scattered tribes of surface dwellers, crushing all who dared oppose him. He brought order to the Tants, and set forth laws to govern them. Under those laws, any Tant could be leader; all they had to do was challenge and defeat the current ruler in single combat. Many had attempted to depose Oaklander in the early years of his reign, but none had succeeded. In recent years, none even dared challenge him. The combat was to the death, and few were ready to confront him on those terms. Besides, he had a contingency plan to quell any would-be usurpers.

  “Master,” said a low raspy voice from behind him, jolting him from his reflections. It was the unmistakable voice of his advisor, Stitch. He wondered how long he had been standing at his back.

  “Have they yielded to my demands?” asked the leader, his dark eyes still fixed on the blowing gray dust that choked the city.

  “No master,” Stitch replied, relieved the other Tant hadn’t turned to face him, “but they must soon. They cannot have enough food to survive long. We will starve them out of their hole and drive them into the wastelands forever.”

  “Garris said they had food,” Oaklander growled, recalling the Terran’s offer of peace. “If he spoke truthfully, we are wasting our time. As long as he lives, he will defend the Underdwellers with the blue flame.”

  “But surely he is dead,” the smaller Tant insisted. “My blade bit deep, and my aim was true. You battle an enemy who is already dead.”