Darkness Rising

by C. Gockel

  Helm declared, “We’ve lost our rudder, our wing flaps, our spoiler, horizontal stabilizers—”

  The weere priest, eyes on the wave, whispered, “Five seconds to impact…”

  “Keep counting,” Alaric commanded. “Torpedoes be ready for my signal.”

  In a shaky voice, the weere priest continued, “Four…”

  The archbishop’s voice joined in. “Three.”

  Sinclair and Young added their voices to the count. “Two.”

  The wave filled their vision. “One,” Alaric whispered. The ship spun around, hull screaming, but it didn’t sink, and water didn’t come pouring in. Because it wasn’t 2,460 tons of water anymore—the water was being drawn into the singularity.

  “Fire!” Alaric commanded. The whole ship shuddered with the launch and shot out from the wave.

  “Engage hover, keep us seven meters above the water!” Alaric commanded, gazing at the holo, seeing the last torpedo lurch toward the shuttle. Between it and them, giant globules of water were being sucked into the beam, sea life swirling within them. Rivulets on the periphery of the globules escaped and flowed back into the sea. “The singularity weapon is utilizing a pulse beam,” he heard Sinclair murmur.

  Alaric’s attention was riveted to the singularity weapons sucking up thousands of tons of water—would it be enough to “distract” it from the missile? Alaric held his breath.

  “Trying to keep her on target, sir,” his man called.

  “I know,” Alaric whispered.

  At that moment, the Merkabah must have been seen out of the wave’s grip because the shuttle’s pull on the water stopped and reoriented to the missile. The torpedo veered away from the shuttle’s fuselage and missed its target, but in a split-second that seemed to hang in time, it collided with the portside wing. Orange light from the resulting explosion behind the Merkabah turned the water red. There were cheers from everyone on the bridge, and Alaric heard them echoing up from the rest of the ship as well. Lieutenant Young was looking at him with wide eyes. Alaric was vaguely aware of Sinclair saying to Kenji, “Did he and Noa go to the same flight school?” and the archbishop’s laugh.

  “Lift us now!” Alaric ordered. His body slammed against his seat back, and open sky came into view. “Chart us a path out of this storm.”

  “Aye!”

  Dr. Bower said, “Captain, Trina can give you a location that is as far from the infection site possible, out of visual observation range of the gate, and hopefully free of psychotic wildlife. Someplace we can land.”

  “We would appreciate that,” Alaric said. He could feel his pulse beating in his neck and tasted adrenaline on his tongue. There was a scream from the left wing.

  “Captain,” Helm said. “We’re losing our port hover. We need to land now.”

  Ran declared, “Closest dry land is twenty-five kilometers away, due east.”

  “Take us there,” Alaric ordered.

  “That will put us within observation range of the gate in twenty-five minutes and thirty-three seconds,” Trina said.

  “Heaven help us all,” the weere priest declared.

  Alaric thought they didn’t need help. The shuttle’s attempt to “save” them from the wave had proven something to him. The gate wanted his ship. He had one more weapon left—the self-destruct. If it came to that, he would use it. It would end them all quickly, but he thought of the beasts they’d seen turning on the Galacticans and imagined it happening on Luddeccea.

  It was Luddeccea and the Republic that needed heaven’s help.

  In the split second before the stun took effect, Volka saw Russo’s face contorted in fury—lips drawn back, eyes wide, eyebrows high, face red—he looked like demons in the Three Books. She saw her future in his eyes, her mind blinded by the contagion. She rolled to the side but knew it wouldn’t be enough. She waited for the inevitable crash of his body on hers.

  It never came. There was a grunt from behind her and a loud thunk.

  “Miss, miss, are you all right?”

  It was Davies’s voice. She uncovered her head with shaky hands. Davies was huffing above her, her crutch in his hands and held like a bat. Russo’s body was crumpled on the opposite side of the hallway at Volka’s feet.

  “Yes, thank you,” Volka whispered.

  Davies smiled. “If you hadn’t stunned him—”

  Sirens wailed, and the ship rocked violently. Throwing the crutch aside, eyes on the stunned Russo, he smacked a hand onto the nearest cell’s control panel. Struggling to her feet, Volka was only half up before Davies picked her up by the waist like a sack of potatoes and threw her inside. A moment later, he dived beside her and they both slammed against the wall.

  “What’s happening?” Volka cried, but no one answered.

  Sirens filled the ship. The bridge was dark, except for console lights and the twilight outside the window.

  Helm cried, “The port hover is—”

  “Turn off hover on both wings,” Alaric commanded. “Full power to bow hover, stern hover at five percent.” There was a sudden drop in volume around him and the ship’s descent intensified. Without the hover on port and starboard, the wind buffeted them wildly, the deck rising and falling at alarming angles.

  “We’ve lost a quarter of both wings—” Helm said. “I don’t think we can land it with only—”

  “We can. There’s snow ahead,” Alaric declared. The white blanket on the shore was brilliant blue in the light of the planet’s single moon with gently rising drifts. He hoped they were drifts. “We can land.” He didn’t know that, but Helm said, “Yes, sir!” with what sounded like renewed confidence.

  Alaric exhaled, never more grateful for that stunt of landing on a snowy street on Libertas. Smacking the general comm beside him, Alaric declared, “All crew, brace for impact.” The words were barely out of his mouth when the stern touched down and the bow thudded into the snow a moment later, knocking the wind out of him. The ship bounced, skidded across the snow, plowing through drifts for what felt like an eternity, and when it stopped, Alaric wasn’t aware of it. It was only when Priest Ujk cried, “Archbishop, are you all right?” and the elderly man groaned and said, “Well done, Captain...and helmsman,” that he realized they’d done it.

  Alaric’s chest swelled at the archbishop’s words, but his eyes went to the window. “We need to fix our hover engines. Ran, have Siddhartha put together a repair team. Grayson will have to provide cover.” They only had so much ammunition, and, “They’ll all need environmental suits.” Which would hamper the mechanics’ maneuverability and delay repairs. Maybe the enemy’s desire for the Merkabah would give them time enough for repairs—if they could hold off wildlife.

  “On it,” said Ran.

  “Captain,” Young said. “My team can help with the hover engines.”

  Alaric’s mind jumped at the possibilities. Young, in particular, could be invaluable if his hands-on experience was real.

  “We can’t trust your team,” Ran said. Turning to Alaric, he said, “The other android tried to warn us about a weapon. There is something they haven’t told us.”

  Alaric drew back in his seat. Ran was right. “I want a decon team sent with a security detail to the brig, and I want the android brought to me as soon as possible.” The room briefly lost focus. “And the weere and Davies, too…” He swallowed. There had been a breach. “...After the doctor clears them with the rapid-test kit and whatever other precautions he deems necessary.”

  “We’ve landed,” Davies said. He was pressing Volka into the floor—she hardly noticed—her leg hurt too much to care about anything but her pain.

  He got up quickly, and some of the pressure and the pain abated. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said, blushing from his neck to his hairline. “I knew if we stayed in the hall, we’d risk more exposure to the bug thing, whatever it was, if Russo got tossed around.”

  Carl’s voice was in her head a moment later. “He is right. Do not leave your cell until the cleanup crew a
rrives or you’ll be waffles.”

  Volka’s brow furrowed.

  “Toast. I mean toast. Russo was bouncing around like a tricycle...I mean ball. Ball. Blood and spit everywhere out there, and Darkness.”

  “Ma’am?” said Davies, looking nervous. “I didn’t mean to be improper.”

  Volka blinked up at him. “You did nothing wrong.”

  His shoulders fell, and he held out his hand. “I should offer you a hand-up, ma’am.”

  This was what respect felt like. This was what it was to be the weere of a powerful man. Volka held out her hand and let Davies help her to her feet. Over the intercom came the sound of footsteps, and then men in bulky Luddeccean environmental gear passed by the glass, dragging a still-unconscious Russo. A moment later, they came down the hall firing liquid from hoses. “It’s alcohol or bleach,” Davies said. Releasing her hand, he dropped a bed from the wall for her to sit on. Nodding at her as she sat down, he stepped to the side. He had been exceptionally kind, even if he did so partially out of fear of Alaric, and she wanted to ask him about the hint of a Libertan accent she heard in his voice, but the door whooshed open and two Luddecceans in environmental gear came in, bearing what looked like cotton swabs, but they were bright blue. One of them spoke, and instead of being a man, it was Walker’s voice she heard. “We need swabs of your bodily orifices. If those test results come back clean, you’ll get an alcohol shower. Volka, you can stay here with me, but you’ll need to strip.”

  “Davies, you’re with me,” said the doctor.

  Dr. Walker put a yellow plastic sheet over the door, and then began her tests. It was as unpleasant as it had sounded, but when the swabs didn’t turn white, Volka didn’t really care about the alcohol that was sprayed over her body. After the doctor gave a final rubdown with a blue cloth to “detect any residual pathogens” and that came back clean, she was given more clothing to wear of the exact same style as before, and a new crutch.

  She stepped out from behind the yellow curtain when she was done and was immediately assailed by Carl’s happy squeaks and Sixty saying, “I’m going to be culturally insensitive.” Before she knew what was happening, he’d scooped her up like he had before when he’d taken her to the sickbay. “You’re not infected,” he said, his warm breath rushing between her ears.

  Sitting on his shoulders, Carl’s head bobbed. “I thought that you weren’t, but oh, Hatchling, I was afraid to hope! I’d kiss you, but I’m venomous.” She scratched him behind an ear, and he purred and wrapped his sharp claws around her hand. Volka's eyes got hot. Together with Sixty and Carl, she felt Sundancer’s absence more keenly, but she was more grateful than ever for the two’s presence. They were almost a family.

  On the floor, Isssh sniffed disdainfully, and Volka rolled her eyes at how ridiculous he sounded.

  Isssh’s voice hissed in her mind, “I am not ridi—”

  “Definitely ridiculous,” said Carl, aloud.

  Isssh hissed back, “I’ll have you—”

  But he was cut off by a guard saying, “You’re to report to the captain immediately,” his voice gruff.

  Craning her neck in alarm, Volka said, “Where is Davies?” But then she saw him past the gruff man who’d just ordered them to see Alaric. Davies’s eyes were wide, scandalized, and focused like a laser beam on 6T9’s hands on her body.

  “Maybe you should put her down,” Carl whispered.

  Sixty’s grip tightened, but his voice was contrite when he asked, “Do you want down, Volka?”

  Her leg was killing her. She’d banged it around too much in the last few minutes. She’d appreciated the crew’s respect, but right now she didn’t need respect, she needed a lift.

  Sixty had washed up quite a bit since he’d last carried her, but along with the scent of oil, plastic, and human male, she could still smell Walker in his hair and around his ears. He was her friend though, willing to be scandalous for her sake, and for this journey, the rest didn’t matter.

  “No,” she said. “Don’t put me down.”

  Sixty needed to check his chronometer. The six minutes and thirty-three seconds he’d waited for the rapid-test results had seemed to drag indefinitely. Now, the walk to the bridge, with Volka in his arms, was going too quickly.

  He heard footsteps, and someone shouting, “Move, move, move! We need those hover repairs yesterday.” The deck was sitting at an odd angle as though it had parked with its nose up and tilted sideways at a ten-degree angle.

  There was an elevator to the bridge—but the guards directed them to stairs—and Sixty was grateful for the extra time. They were nearly to the final step when Volka gasped, “Sixty, did they take Eliza’s ashes from you when they locked you up?”

  It was the sort of thing she’d think about.

  “Would you believe that when I told them they were archbishop Sato’s great-great-great aunt’s ashes, they didn’t want to touch them?”

  She smiled. “Our superstitiousness, politeness, and respect for authority worked in your favor!”

  One of his eyebrows rose at the word “our.” Was she a Luddeccean still?

  Carl’s necklace crackled. “Speaking of respect for authority, maybe you should put Volka down?”

  “Why?” said Sixty, arriving on the landing.

  “Don’t give Darmadi any more reason to throw you out an airlock,” Carl said mysteriously as they approached the guards at the door to the bridge.

  “Better put me down, Sixty,” Volka said.

  “Of course, if you want, but—”

  “Yes,” said Carl and Volka in unison.

  Knowing he was missing something, Sixty put Volka down. The man, Davies, rushed over and gave her a crutch to lean on, the door to the bridge opened, and 6T9 didn’t have time to ask.

  Captain Darmadi was standing just within the door, silhouetted by windows showing a snowbank and above that, S33O4’s night sky. Perched on the snowbank were men with Luddeccean flamethrowers on their shoulders. 6T9’s Q-comm sparked and he realized they had five minutes before the time gate rose above them. The sky was clear, and they would be seen.

  “Android, you knew of the weapons aboard the shuttle and Time Gate 33, and you said nothing in our meeting.” The words were spoken not by Darmadi, but by Commander Ran, standing just behind him to his right.

  “During our meeting, I knew of no weapons,” 6T9 said. The bridge was dark, lit only by a few winking lights from view screens and readouts.

  “You’re lying,” Ran said.

  Darmadi held up a hand. “Why did you try to storm the bridge to warn me of weapons at the last minute? Was some intel revealed to you…?” His eyes slid to James and Young. “Intel that could have spared my ship and three of my men?”

  “I didn’t know that there would be casualties,” Trina whispered to John. “I thought the plan was safe, otherwise I would never have agreed to it. I’m so sorry.”

  “Hush, no one knew,” said John. Trina was leaning against him, looking as though she might be crying synth tears. She had excellent emotional expression, but no one except John and 6T9 was paying attention. Kenji, James, Young, and the Luddeccean personnel were all focused on 6T9.

  Ran’s voice rose. “Except you knew, android.”

  “I didn’t know,” 6T9 said, distracted by the gentle way Dr. Bower kissed Trina’s head and brushed her hair back from her face. It had become caught in teardrops there.

  “Please explain yourself,” said Darmadi tightly.

  6T9’s attention snapped to the captain. “I intuited that they would have a weapon. I wanted to warn you.”

  “You intuited?” said the captain.

  Behind the captain, Trina pressed her lips to Dr. Bower’s. It wasn’t gentle, it was hungry, and even 6T9 knew it was out of place on the bridge during such an important meeting.

  Forcing his attention back to the captain, 6T9 said, “They already demonstrated they had a weapon on the ground—the birds and animals they controlled.”

  “A primit
ive weapon, Sixty,” said James.

  “Not primitive at all,” said 6T9. “We could never do such a thing.”

  “They also had the weapon they used on Sundancer!” Volka said. As focus on the bridge shifted to her, she said, “Our friend…ship.”

  Behind the captain, Bower whispered, “Trina, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

  Young said, “But the gate had nothing like the weapons they eventually used. The Republic had nothing like the weapons they used.” The last was directed at Darmadi. The captain’s attention was fixated on 6T9; his hands were behind his back. 6T9 remembered Volka said he would be logical.

  “Captain,” 6T9 said, his Q-comm lighting. “The infection is a millennia-old consciousness that is completely foreign to Luddecceans and the Republic, and it has destroyed worlds. Knowledge is always the most dangerous weapon.” That had been his real weapon against the pirates, he realized. He’d known about the Hey, Sailor routine. James would not have. He continued. “The infected will have knowledge, and therefore, weapons we can’t even imagine, and aboard a time gate—the most technologically advanced structures that exist in the human-inhabited galaxy—they will have access to plenty of materials to build their weapons.”

  “He’s lying,” said Ran.

  “No, he’s not!” Trina cried, rising from her seat.

  All eyes on the bridge turned to her. “I would have known about a hidden weapon aboard me if it had belonged to the Republic…but these new people.” She touched her temple and frowned. “These infected people, they don’t talk over the ether.” Bowing her head, she whispered, “I miss them...the real them, I mean.”

  “They don’t need to use the ether,” Carl said from 6T9’s shoulder. “They can speak telepathically to one another, and to the Dark.”

  Trina continued, “I knew that they had disabled the gravity and that they had brought the repair ‘bots back online, but I thought they were only working on the time bands, not that they were building…a…singularity beam.”

  6T9 blinked. So that was what they’d been attacked with.