by Rupert Segar
Chapter 27: Devastation by land
Anton Pierre and jumped out of the grey doorway joined together by a piece of rope. “Devastation,” said the master voyageur kneeling beside the portal and brushing sand off a flat stone embedded in the ground. He examined the marks written on the unnaturally smooth surface. “No-one has been here in two years.”
“But, master,” said the apprentice, “I thought voyageurs marked Dylan and Captain Isoko’s departure every year.”
“Maybe there are too few of us now,” said Anton ruefully. “Nine hundred years is a long time to keep faith.”
“But every one on Dakota and the colonies is brought up with stories of Captain Isoko, Dylan and Chief Engineer Mojo Blanc. Every child dreams of being one or other of them.”
“How many become voyageurs like you, Pierre?” said Anton, writing their mark on the rock slab. “Many dream of exploration and adventure but most prefer the easy life on Dakota. Following the ways of our ancient Indian forefathers, trekking across the deserted worlds of the galaxy involves self-sacrifice and hardship. Come, Pierre, we’ve a couple of hours walk ahead.”
Anton adjusted his backpack and started walking. The apprentice hastily picked up his pack and caught up. The desert terrain was largely flat. The ground underfoot was an unusual mixture of granite and limestone flags. Once, Devastation had been covered with oceans but today it was a largely arid world. All three doorways were equally spaced along the equator. Fortunately for Pierre and Anton the journey from the first to the last doorway was less than 20 kilometres. However, the door in the middle was their destination.
Most worlds with doorways have just the one single grey oval. About one in ten doorway worlds have a pair of portals but only one world had ever been discovered by the voyagers with three doorways. Dylan the Devoted divined the purpose of the central door. He had passed through it and returned after travelling through a few of the portals beyond. For Dylan, the journey had only taken a few hours. However, when he returned to the planet, two months had passed. Dylan announced he had discovered the doorway to the future and said he would go there to find the alien builders.
Many of the first generation of voyageurs volunteered to accompany Dylan on his expedition. Even Mayor Mojo Blanc said he would be willing to go. But Captain Isoko ruled that no-one could go except Dylan and herself. The Captain explained travelling to some far flung future, then returning to the present represented too high a risk. The colony on Dakota could not sustain the loss of too many key individuals.
More than one hundred voyageurs gathered to see the pair off. With so many of the Métis explorers gathered at one place, a week long party commenced. The flat plain in front on the grey ovoid looked like a medieval village with a riotous assortment of tents and tepees. Every one of the shelters was made of ingeniously light materials. The doorways would only ever allow those who passed through to carry about thirty kilograms in luggage including their clothes. If a voyager packed more, the doorway would simply not work and the jumper would pass through the grey ovoid as if it was just so much smoke. The limit on metals was even more restrictive, less than a kilogram, so all tools had to be multipurpose and made of lightweight alloys.
After seven days of celebrations, a jaundiced crowd gathered in front of the portal. Captain Ewoma Isoko and Dylan Moran stood on a dais in front of the grey oval doorway. Most of the farewells had been made the evening before. Now, looking out at the bleary eyed crowd, Captain Isoko could see the revellers had no appetite for more long speeches. Still she would have to say something, but she would keep it short
“Proud Métis Voyagers and former crew members,” she said “For the past fifteen years we have explored the pathways between the doors. We have ensured the safety of our homeland, Dakota. Our new colonies on Bordeaux and Lakota II are prospering. A new generation of children are growing up in the traditions of their French and American Indian forefathers. Crew and Métis have grown together and grown strong.”
There was a cheer from the crowd followed by laughter. Captain Isoko looked over to see a young voyageur couple. The young man was pointing out his pregnant wife’s swollen belly and bowing to the crowd. His beautiful wife, called Charlotte the captain remembered, took offence at being used as an object of fun and cuffed her husband over the head with her staff. The husband continued acting the fool, clasping his head unnecessarily and staggering about like a circus clown.
“Voyageurs!” said Dylan stepping forward. A hush quickly fell over the crowd. They called him Dylan the Devoted and he was worshipped by the voyageurs. The now middle aged astronomer had almost single-handedly discovered how the switching of the gateways worked and had mapped most of the pathways between the doors. As a result, explorers from Dakota had managed to encircle the galaxy and return home safely.
“Voyageurs,” he repeated more quietly. The crowd were silent. “For fifteen years, we have travelled between the doorways but questions remain unanswered. Why is every world with a portal deserted? Why, other than doors themselves, have we never found any sign of the builders? And why did they leave?”
“For fifteen years we have sought those who created the doorways. I believe that we will never be truly safe until we know why they left. Now, we are going to travel to the future to find them. Today we set out to uncover their secrets, tomorrow we will bring home the answers.”
The crowd cheered and yelled. Captain Isoko and Dylan each raised an arm. Tied between their wrists was a golden rope. The decibel levels of the cheers reached new heights as the unlikely pair, the elegant tall black Namibian Captain and the portly, middle aged astronomer turned and jumped together. The doorway yawned to swallow them up and, in a flicker, returned to the normal metre wide oval face. With the doorway looking impassively over the crowd, the cheers quickly faded.
The voyagers had one more night of revels. The next day, full of anticipation, they all assembled again. Dylan the Devoted said his calculations indicated they could come back within 24 hours. The crowd waited but the pair did not return.
After three days, nearly half the voyagers had given up waiting and departed by one of the other two gateways. After a week, only a dozen dedicated disciples remained. After a month, the handful who had stayed decided to test the gate themselves. Nothing happened. They tried leaping into the doorway again and again but always passed through as if the oval was just so much grey smoke. The portal no longer worked.
Exactly a year later, Dakota time, a memorial service was held. A two-metre high stone was carved out of the indigenous granite rock and erected next to the malfunctioning doorway. The planet was renamed Devastation.
+
Nearly one thousand years later, Anton and Pierre stood before the memorial stone. It’s once gleaming side and inscriptions were now weather worn and encrusted with moss and lichen. The two voyageurs had their heads bowed in reverence when they heard the sonic boom. Both turned round to face south, not sure what they were looking for. It was Pierre, the young apprentice, who first spotted a glint of sunlight on the vessel’s short stubby wing as it emerged from behind a rain cloud. As he pointed out the vessel to Anton, the shuttle banked and turned, beginning a large spiral path decelerating and descending towards them.
The two voyageurs stood quietly as the shuttle landed only 20 metres away. A large ramp folded down to the ground from the rear of the vessel and a a broad shouldered woman with brown hair emerged holding her hands open, palms upward and walked towards them with her eyes downcast.
“The gesture of peace,” said Anton unstrapping his hunting knife and staff and placing them on the ground before him. “We should reciprocate.” During the long history of expansion throughout the galaxy, different human cultures would often meet on far flung worlds. The protocols for such encounters had long been established. Although the Métis had been isolated for a millennium, the voyageurs still taught the customary greetings.
The two men and one woman met face to face and an overture of rapport bega
n. Though her standard Terran accent sounded harsh to the voyagers, they were able to understand. And even though the voyageurs used many words the woman was unfamiliar with, they were able to communicate.
As the shadows lengthened, Yelena went back to the shuttle and brought out some ration packs. The three humans broke bread together and toasted a new friendship. Yelena decided it was time to introduce the pod and set it on the table.
“We have not dared use such machines, computers with personalities, since our colony vessel was shipwrecked by a malfunction,” said Anton while Pierre looked on at the pod nervously.
“I am not a personality,” said the pod. “I am an entity, a truly conscious individual.”
“It sounds as if you were yet another victim of the Plague,” said Yelena, ignoring the protestations from the pod. “The Great Plague destroyed nearly every AI in the galaxy and left billions of worlds stranded without hyper-flight. Billions are still stranded. The Explorer Cult, which aims to re-unite humanity, has still to reach many regions, like this one on the edge of the galaxy. From what you say, your home world and colonies remain cut off. But it looks like you’ve discovered something that’s going to kick hyper-flight into a cocked hat,” said Yelena.
“You mean this,” said Anton, unfurling the plastiflex map of the galaxy showing the network of thousands of interconnected solar systems. The pod showed its excitement by levitating above the sheet and scanning it with a laser.
“If you can fly, why do you get me to carry you all the time?” asked Yelena.
“Levitation is a lot of effort,” said the pod easing back down onto the table. A holographic image of the galaxy appeared above the plastiflex map, with the network of doorways added to it.
“Now you’re just showing off,” said Yelena.
The image of the galaxy began to expand and turn with the vast majority of stars falling out of the field of vision. The process finished with barely more than fifty stars in view.
“This is the Chimera sector,” said the pod. Seven of the stars were connected by green or yellow threads. “I believe the stars shown on the voyageurs’ chart are the seven systems we came here to investigate.” All seven stars were tagged and numbered C1 to C7.
“OK, pod, this is where we are, Chimera 6,” said Yelena pointing at the image of the star. “Unlike the rest, we’re connected to all the other systems. Four green threads and two yellow.”
“The yellow mark the routes from this central gate,” said Pierre shyly. “They are paths mapped out by Dylan the Devoted before the door closed.”
“So, you can no longer travel to C7 or C2?” asked Yelena. Anton shook his head.
A striped sphere appeared floating next to the holographic map.
“Sorry to interrupt your fascinating discussion,” said a voice coming from the rotating sphere. “I have just determined that the Emperor’s fleet has arrived at Chimera 1.”
Chapter 28: Stowaway
On board Orion, the Emperor’s fleet ship, Art found he could walk the corridors with impunity. No-one seemed to question someone wearing a medic’s uniform. Still, he was acutely aware that it was only a matter of time before his escape was noticed. He was looking for somewhere, anywhere, to plug in.
Art roamed the lower decks. Anywhere near the bridge he knew he would be subject to a security scan. But down below, his badge pass, stolen along with the uniform from a locker in the medical interrogation cell, allowed him the freedom to roam anywhere.
Art opened a door marked Engineering Control Section 6. In the crowded cabin, five heads turned to look at him. Two other engineers were lying back in cradle seats looking upwards. Clearly they were plugged in.
“Waddya want, medic?” said the engineer nearest to him.
“Someone concussed?” said Art. The engineers looked at each other. “Control section 5,” added Art quickly.
“Nah, wrong room, next deck up,” said a female engineer dismissively waving Art away.
Two decks up, Art found a smaller room for sensor maintenance. Inside there was just one officer, a young woman sitting upright, but clearly plugged in to the chairs headset.
“Hey, no access in …” she said as Art sedated her with the injection gun. He moved her slumped body into a reclining chair. She looked as if she was sleeping on shift, a courts marshal offence but common practice on some naval ships. He thought the sight of the officer would be a distraction if anyone came in. Art sat back in the seat and felt his widgets connecting. He also felt something in the back of his head like a boa constrictor uncurling.
On military ships, all neural connections were coded. Every officer’s set of widgets would be adjusted to give access to particular systems. Only those at the rank of captain or above would be able to plug in anywhere. Normally, Art would never expect his civilian widgets to work on a naval ship, except for the voice in his head which said otherwise.
“Working to connect, de-encryption nearly complete.”
Art felt as if there was a ball made of elastic bands behind his eyes, and every single band was twisting. A bright sensorium of lit panels popped up to surround him. Art’s experience as a navy trainee pilot allowed him to identify the symbols and gauges. All he could see were the power sources, monitoring gauges and generators for the sensors. Well, I guess it is the sensor maintenance room and what you see is what you get, he thought to himself.
“It appears that all the systems on this vessel are kept strictly separate,” said the voice in Art’s head. “But I am working on it. Ah, there are quality control samplers for all the sensor channels. Accessing…”
The maintenance panels surrounding Art dropped to the floor and the space beyond was illuminated with moving images darting this way and that. For nearly a minute, Art forgot to breath as he realised he was observing one hundred destroyers, two hundred and fifty cruisers along with hundreds of shuttles and postal mail ships. The fact that postal ships were a part of the Kargol navy was a very badly kept secret. The royal fleet and attendant vessels were in normal space sailing towards an unnamed planet.
Art looked forward to where, as a pilot, he would expect to find information about speed course and destination. There was nothing there. “Where are we?” he said
“As I have already stated,” said the voice inside his head, “the Orion’s sub systems are kept quite separate. I managed to find a connection between the sensor maintenance network and the sensor data stream itself but navigation, power, arms and everything else are eluding me.”
“I thought you had a bag of tricks to deal with stuff.”
“So far, I have over-ridden security protocols to give you access to both sensor maintenance and the sensor data stream,” said the voice sniffily. “I am now working on access to other subsystems but it is difficult.”
Art looked back at the planet the fleet was approaching. The sensorium expanded the image until it was the size of a large beach ball only a metre away. An object appeared to be hanging above the planet in geostationary orbit. No, according to the data tag attached to the object in the sensorium, it was slightly lower. Nevertheless, the object was keeping itself in position above a fixed point on the equator. As Art watched, a postal mail ship approached the object in a powered orbit. It disappeared. A small shuttle approached the object from the other side. The data tag identified it as coming from the Cruiser Atlas; it had a crew of four, a full set of torpedoes and was fully fuelled. It too disappeared.
A bright red light began to flash in the sensorium and there was a wailing. Two door panels rose from the floor, they looked as if they were made of oak and were very ornate. The panels reminded Art of a simulation of York Abbey on Old Earth. A pair of wrought iron, medieval door knobs twisted, the panelled doors parted and in walked Colonel Garth, the Emperor’s enforcer .
“Ah, there you are,” said Garth with a menacing grin leaning towards Art. “You’ve had us quite concerned.”
Art thrust the injection gun towards Garth’s face but his hand past s
traight through the Colonel’s head.
“I’m afraid I’m merely a security projection in your sensorium but don’t worry there’s an old friend there to help you out.”
There was a click behind Art’s head and he was back in the control room. A large hand grabbed his wrist forcing him to drop the injection gun. Art turned and saw a grinning dog faced man with a snub nose.
“Well, what have we got here, my little runt?” he said leering at Art.
Chapter 29: The Door Opens
Yelena and Anton stood side by side in front of the unmoving grey oval their heads bowed. Pierre flanked by Becky and Lea stood behind, their hands clasped. To the side, just in front of the memorial stone sat the pod
“On this, the nine hundred and thirty first anniversary of the expedition,” said Pierre with solemnity, “we remember the sacrifice of Captain Isoko and Dylan the Devoted.”
The pod levitated one metre off the ground and projected a hologram of a striped sphere. “Sorry to interrupt,” said the mechanical voice seeming to come from the hologram, “but there is a marked change to two doorways, one up here in geosynchronous orbit and the other where you are. Both are showing fluctuating levels of flux ions. The orientation of the ions are changing, first right-handed then left handed and back again, and the intervals are getting shorter.”
As the ship was speaking, eight long ragged claws extended horizontally out of the centre of the grey oval, opened up like a flower, bent right back and gripped the edge of the oval. The metal legs flexed and a lobster like body emerged. The creature stood rigidly on the face of the doorway. Electrical charges shot between body and claws. The bolts of multi-coloured lightening ceased and the metallic crustacean swung its body back into the grey oval pulling its ragged claws behind it.
