Ix Incursion: The Chaos Wave Book 2

by James Palmer

  “We do,” said Zarl, and he and Tarl heaved themselves up out of their joint seat and toward the rear of the Snark.

  Hemlock checks the ship’s environmental readings, getting the atmospheric content, and pressed a button on his suit gauntlet that extruded a rebreather mask around his face that resembled a black, form-fitting balaclava. “The air is much higher in nitrogen content than either of our species are used to,” he said.

  “Once the Archive scans our biology, it should make the air and gravity more to our mutual liking,” said Drizda.

  Zarl and Tarl came back with a pile of pressure suits in their outstretched arms, but when they saw Nightshade’s rebreather mask they tossed one of them aside. Drizda look hers, an older Draconi design, and began the awkward movements required to put it on. Zarl and Tarl’s suit was necessarily twice as complicated, as it had been modified with a second neck ring and a larger breathing assembly. But the twins managed to climb into it with practiced ease.

  Once everyone was ready, Zarl extruded the ramp and they climbed down out of the Snark to stand where no sentient beings had been since before Drizda’s people lost their ability to fly and Hemlock’s kind were still swinging from the trees of Earth.

  The gravity felt a little weak at first, but soon it was something Nightshade recognized as approximating Earth normal. The air smelled fresher too. He removed his rebreather. “Air’s all right now,” he said. “That was quick.”

  Zarl and Tarl removed their helmets, tasting the air with their tongues. “A bit stale,” said Zarl.

  “But it will do,” added Tarl.

  Drizda removed her own helmet. Their voices made strange echoes in the vast space. “Over there,” she said, spotting a triangular portal. It opened as they drew close, startling her. Old stories about the banished souls of those who had disgraced the Egg Mother came back to her.

  To their relief, lights flickered on in the long corridor that greeted them on the other side of the doorway, identical to the Archive she had visited with then Commander Hamilton when they were trying to solve the mystery of the Swarm probes. “This way,” she said, taking the lead.

  They proceeded to walk an incredible distance around what Drizda could only surmise was the outer perimeter of the pyramid’s bottom starboard side. After much searching, they finally found a door that led them into the interior of the gigantic structure. This too was quite similar to the first Archive Drizda had visited, though without the creature comforts of the many human scholars and scientists who lived and worked in it to plumb its secrets. This structure felt more like an empty tomb filled with the ghosts of the implacable beings who had created it.

  “Any idea what we’re looking for?” asked Hemlock, his voice taking on a strange timbre in the vast space.

  “The Archive’s central computer core,” said Drizda, hefting the Progenitor Icon in her hand.

  “Someone could get lost in here,” said Hemlock. “For years.”

  “There’s a heat signature over there,” said Zarl.

  “It wasn’t there a moment ago,” said Tarl.

  “Do you sense it?” they asked in unison.

  “Yes,” said Drizda. “I do. It must be a part of the Archive waking up in response to our presence. Let’s go and investigate.”

  The four of them walked across the vast central space, a huge open area. The Archive Drizda had visited with the humans had been full of research cubicles. This one was empty save for pylons that rose up out of the floor at random intervals. She counted them; seventeen. A prime number. She wondered if that had any special significance.

  They stopped at a large sphere at the far end of the central space. It was issuing a faint hum. Hemlock touched it with gloved fingers. “It’s slightly warm.”

  Drizda stepped up to it, examining it. There was no decoration, no instrumentation, and no visible seams. She slid her hand across it. Nothing. Thinking, she placed the Icon against the sphere’s surface, and something started to happen.

  The sphere turned around as it split open, like an egg. Inside, dull blue metal gleamed as ancient instruments flickered to life.

  Hemlock whistled. Zarl and Tarl jumped back and bared their teeth at it. Drizda simply stared.

  “That’s a neat trick,” said the Black Ops ninja. “What now?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” said Drizda. “Human scientists figured out how to interface with it. I’m sure we can.” Inspecting the alien control panel, she noticed something interesting: A triangular depression that seemed to be the exact dimensions of the Progenitor Icon. She placed the object on it, and something amazing happened.

  They heard a series of ethereal musical tones, as of an eerie piping along a wide range. This, Drizda knew, was the language of the Progenitors. The air filled with a tinge of ozone.

  “Something is—” began Tarl.

  “Waking up,” Zarl finished.

  The twins raised their weapons in expectation. Nightshade took a defensive stance, a nanocarbon truncheon suddenly in his hand.

  “We have nothing to fear here,” said Drizda, though she had no idea how she could possibly know that.

  She felt strange, like something was rifling through her mind, picking her thoughts apart. She remembered Commander Niles describing a similar sensation when communicating with the Swarm probe. Perhaps the musical tones of the Progenitors weren’t their only form of communication. Maybe they also had psychic abilities, and had somehow imparted them to their machinery.

  “Yes,” Drizda breathed, her voice barely a hiss. She felt as if they were in the presence of something. Random thoughts came to her in great rapidity, a stream of gibberish. Thoughts, words, sensations, feelings. She sensed it was all being cataloged and interpreted by the Archive. When the machine finally spoke, it was hardly a surprise.

  Greetings, sentients.

  Zarl and Tarl whirled around, staring up at the ceiling. Hemlock focused his attentions on the alien control console. “Who was that?”

  I am the consciousness of Sigma Prime, said the disembodied voice. It sounded more mechanical than something uttered by an organic being, and Drizda thought she knew why.

  “The Archive is talking to us?” said Hemlock.

  “In a manner of speaking, yes,” said Drizda. “It learned Standard by probing my mind telepathically. Amazing.”

  Yes, and by scanning your quantum communications. A much lower order level of communication than I am used to, but we will make due. Now. How may I help you?

  “You said you were the consciousness of Sigma Prime,” said Drizda. “Explain.”

  I was once a biological entity called Sigma Prime. As Prime, I was entrusted as the guardian of the Arkon.

  “Arkon?”

  The device that awoke me.

  “Ah,” said Drizda. “Your essence is stored in the Progenitor Icon. So your race learned how to upload your consciousness into machines?”

  Yes. Though the right was only reserved for Primes.

  “Do you have full control of this Archive?”

  I will in a moment. Wait. There. Yes.

  More lights flickered on, and they heard the hum of distant machinery coming to life.

  One moment please, while I get my bearings.

  Sigma Prime was silent for several minutes. Hemlock paced in front of the control panel. Zarl and Tarl muttered to each other in that secret pidgin language they shared.

  Incredible, said Sigma Prime at last. I have compared the last tabulated star charts with the current stellar alignments. This Archive is over one million of your standard years old.

  “Uh, yes,” said Drizda. “That was our assessment as well. We have discovered several such Archives. They have revealed much about your people, yet we still have many questions.”

  “None of which we can get to right now,” Hemlock interrupted. He stared at Drizda and said, “We need to tell it what’s going on out there.”

  Drizda nodded. “Sigma Prime. We are in great danger. The Chaos Wave has retur
ned.”

  Silence for a long moment, then: Yes. I have been monitoring your communications. This is dire indeed. My own people were unable to stop them.

  “We believe your people created a weapon known as the Light of Ages. Is this true?”

  Yes.

  Drizda and the others exchanged excited glances.

  “Can you take us to it?”

  No. You do not possess the key.

  “Key?” Drizda tapped the Arkon where it sat plugged into the console. “Yes we do. It’s right here.”

  The Arkon is not the key. Only the key is the key. You do not have it.

  “How could you possibly know that?” asked Hemlock, annoyance in his voice.

  Because this Archive scanned you upon entering. None of you are the key.

  “So the key is a person?” asked Drizda.

  Correct.

  “Where is this person?”

  I do not have enough information to answer that question.

  “What does the key do?” asked Tarl.

  The key allows entry. The key awakens the Light. Without the key there is no Light. There is no entry.

  “Now the damned thing’s speaking in riddles,” grumbled Hemlock.

  I am not a thing, Sigma Prime corrected. I am sentient, as are you.

  “OK,” said Drizda. “I vote that we remove the Icon or Arkon and take it to Commander Hamilton aboard the Zelazny as planned.

  That will not be necessary. This Archive is capable of interstellar flight.

  “What?” said Zarl.

  “Huh?” said Tarl.

  This Archive is capable of interstellar travel, Sigma Prime repeated. Where is this sentient designate Commander Hamilton now?

  “I’m not sure,” said Drizda. “Is there any way we can get news of the human fleet?”

  Hemlock nodded. “Sure. There must be some way to access Q News. Sigma Prime, you’re monitoring the quantum information network through the Q-gates, correct?

  Yes. Good on you for discovering it. I commend you for your cleverness.

  “Just access it, please,” said Hemlock. To Drizda he said, “Most fleet movements will be a matter of public record, especially in the mass exodus we’re going through. People need to know when to get the hell out of the way of these invaders.

  They call themselves the Ix, Sigma Prime offered helpfully.

  “Whatever,” said the Corporal. “Just get us eyes and ears on the situation.”

  In a few moments they heard the crackle of tachyon noise as a torrent of disembodied voices filled the vast space. An announcer was nervously reading off a number of casualties from the planet Lethe, then began listing the ships that had just arrived in the Sundra system to await the alien armada’s arrival. On that list was the Zelazny.

  “That’s it,” said the Corporal. “Take us to Sundra.”

  I am unaware of any world with that designation, said Sigma Prime.

  “It’s the Archive’s star charts,” said Zarl.

  “The Progenitors didn’t call these planets and stars what we do,” said Tarl.

  “They’re right,” said Drizda. “We need some current star charts.”

  “The Snark has everything we need,” said Tarl.

  “Good,” said Drizda. “Go and get put them on a data stick. Corporal Hemlock and I will try to rig up something Sigma Prime can use to access them.”

  Zarl and Tarl trotted off in the direction of their ship. Drizda looked at the console and said, “Sigma Prime, prepare for interstellar travel.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four:

  Evacuation

  Leda watched through the main viewer as the last of the long evacuation vessels the Solar Navy Corps of Engineers were printing in orbit around Sundra were being completed. Already freighters had been pressed into service as people movers, bringing Sundra’s denizens to the evac ships. According to reports from the surface, many of the colonists didn’t want to leave their home. Riots were breaking out all over the planet. Leda felt sorry for them. They were scared. Most of them, she knew, had probably never been off world before. Leaving everything they knew was a scary proposition for them, even if it was no longer safe to stay on Sundra.

  Leda let her mind wander. She could feel the Ix—the Chaos Wave—getting closer, though she didn’t know how it is possible. Eager for a distraction, she scanned the command deck and saw McGregor standing over his workstation, concentrating on something. She walked up beside him.

  “How’s that star map coming?”

  McGregor turned toward her, startled. “The algorithm I’ve created takes long range telescope data from multiple planetary installations and cross references star charts going back to the beginning of human interstellar travel,” he said, as if that explained his progress.

  “Great. How’s it coming?”

  “I have four of the seven narrowed down,” he said. “I should have the last three within a few hours, though that could take longer if we get into another battle. Most of the tightbeam bandwidth I need has been allocated toward ship to ship communications.”

  “That’s to be expected, Lieutenant. Just do the best you can.”

  “Yes, sir,” said McGregor and went back to collating data.

  Leda turned away from him with a sigh. She hoped Drizda was somewhere safe and could sit tight for a while.

  “Sir,” said Gunner Cade. “Long range scan picking up a large influx of objects heading in-system from the Q-gate.”

  “Display,” ordered Leda, taking a seat in the Captain’s chair. Captain Hamilton was resting up in his quarters for the big show.

  A stream of light poured from the ceiling, coalescing into a tactical wireframe of the Sundra system. Sundra, its sun, and the other celestial bodies it shared the ecliptic plane with were in gray, while blue bars represented the the Zelazny and the rest of the fleet were represented. The incoming ships were once again yellow triangles. And there appeared to be just as many as had plagued them at Lethe. Leda inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly, while Cade counted the bogeys.

  “Sir,” said Brackett from the communications workstation. “Corps of Engineers reports evac ships are finished and fully functional.”

  “Great,” said Leda. “Alert the Captain, please. And get us a tightbeam lock with those evac ships.”

  “Evac ships,” Leda said. “This is Commander Niles of the railship Zelazny. Proceed on escape vector two zero niner niner on my mark.”

  Beyond the confirmation from the newly minted evacuation ships, there was something else, just beyond the periphery of normal hearing, normal senses. The alien chatter of the Ix, like the drone of a million insects somewhere in the dark. All other sound tuned out until the Ix were all that was left.

  Leda shook her head to clear it, and everything came back into focus. Captain Hamilton was standing beside her.

  “Am I late for the party?”

  “We wouldn’t start without you, sir,” said Leda, rising from his command chair.

  Hamilton took it. “Sitrep.”

  “We’re getting ready to escort the evac ships out of the system and toward the Q-gate,” said Leda. “Hostiles approaching. Ten thousand kilometers above the ecliptic and closing.”

  Hamilton appraised everything, then said, “Evac ships, this is Captain Hamilton. You are go for full burn on escape coordinates. Spread out as much as you can. We’re right behind you.”

  He looked toward the gunner. “Lieutenant, keep those things off their asses.”

  “With pleasure, sir,” said Cade eagerly. The young lieutenant was never more in his element than when he was blowing something up.

  “Divert as much power as you can to the deflector grid,” ordered Hamilton. “Our job is a simple one, get those evac ships out of here alive. Escort them as far as the gate.”

  Leda rose from her own seat to stand next to the Captain. “I can feel them out there,” she whispered.

  Hamilton nodded, his eyes still on the tactical display, the viewer image of t
he closest evacuation ship, and a myriad other things that consumes a captain’s attention during a battle.

  Leda rubbed her right arm. It was itching, burning. Whatever the nanocircuitry was doing in there, it had been pushed into a frenzy by her proximity to the Ix fleet.

  “The Ix will be within attack range in four standard minutes,” said Hudson.

  “Perfect,” said Hamilton. “That means we can also attack them, which the fleet will do momentarily. Hudson, get us to the Q-gate. Stay behind the evac ships. Gunner Cade, give those colonists some much needed fire support.”

  “You got it, Captain,” said Cade as he maneuvered the virtual controls for the Zelazny’s ion cannons into position.

  Leda looked around, astonished. A hundred lights from holographic heads up displays, tactical wireframes, and weapons controls blinked in the air around them, while the air filled with tachyon noise and the voices of dozens of people on all the other ships in system. But just beyond that was the cricket noise of the Ix, filling her mind with chaos. She squeezed her eyes shut, opened them. The feeling had passed, at least for the moment.

  “Keep me apprised of the battle,” said Hamilton. “Evacuation ships, this is Captain Hamilton. “You’re doing great. We’ll have you out of here soon.”

  “It’s at least a standard hour to the Q-gate at their current speed,” Leda advised. Hamilton nodded. “Hopefully the fleet can keep the Ix busy enough that they won’t worry about a few escaped ships.”

  “I’m hoping the Ix will keep their ire concentrated on the planet below,” said Hamilton.

  “Fleet closing with the Ix now, Captain,” said Hudson.

  “Fleet reports heavy casualties,” said Brackett as she listened to comm chatter. “We’ve lost the Ellison and the Bradbury.”

  Hamilton gritted his teeth, his hands balled into fists. Leda could feel his frustration. He wanted so much to be back there with the rest of the fleet, even if it might mean death. She placed her hand on his shoulder, squeezed, and let go. He looked at her. “I know we’re following orders, but dammit, it still feels like we’re running away.”