by Webb, Nick
“Ship status?”
Commander Oppenheimer slid into the XO’s chair next to Lieutenant Diaz. His eyes trailed over the array of status reports. “Engine three still out. Power plant is operating at twenty percent, but your chief engineer has taken over down there and promised me fifty percent within the hour—”
“We don’t have an hour,” he grumbled, then raised his head to the comm. “Rayna, this is Granger. I need q-jump capability. When can I have it?”
“Sorry, Cap’n, things are a mess down here. When do you need it?”
“Ten minutes ago.”
She snorted. “Good luck with that, Cap’n.”
“Rayna, our entire civilization hangs by a thread. We need to get to Penumbra Three right now, and if we don’t, we may as well get really comfortable here on the Victory because it’s going to be our home for a very long, long time, seeing how Earth will soon become a large ball of molten rock.”
Silence on the other end, punctuated by colorful muttering under Commander Scott’s breath.
“Commander?”
“I’ll reroute power from engine two to the q-jump caps. We won’t need much acceleration, will we? The power shunts will overheat, but they’ll hold. I think. Give me a few minutes, Cap’n.”
“Thank you, Commander. Granger out.”
Oppenheimer shook his head. “Captain, what’s the rush? We’re safe for the moment. Shouldn’t we be getting back to Earth and reporting in to CENTCOM?”
Granger debated telling the whole bridge crew what their mission had become, especially seeing how the likelihood of coming back from it alive was on the lower end of reasonable.
But they deserved to know. Whether they liked it or not, he was their captain now. And they were his crew. He’d likely be sending them all into battle again before this was all over, and they deserved to know what they were up against. “Commander, we’re going to the Penumbra system because that is where the Russian Confederation has been producing the singularity devices for the Swarm.”
“Do you think we can disable them if we go there? Won’t they be guarded by the Russian fleet?”
“Most likely.” He explained the rest of what he knew, going over most of what Krull had told him before she died, laying out the stakes, only withholding one key piece of information, namely, that he had no idea how to permanently end the meta-swarm’s incursions into their universe. They’d have to figure that part out once they got there.
“Incredible,” breathed Oppenheimer. The rest of the bridge crew looked stunned. They were trying to process the possibilities, the ramifications—how could incorporeal beings reach through meta-space and exert their influence in our universe? Granger could see the fear in their eyes as they realized they were up against not just a mortal threat, but an immortal one.
“Look,” began Granger, swinging around to look at the entire bridge crew one by one. “I can tell you, from personal experience, that....”
That what? That he was the Hero of Earth? That he’d fly into a singularity, magically fix things, and come back as the triumphant hero and all would be well? That everything was going to be ok?
“I can tell you that things may seem bleak, but no matter what, I won’t give up, and I know you won’t either. We’ll figure this out. Trust me. I pledge you my life, such as it is ... look, we don’t have time for speeches. Just do your duty, I’ll do mine, and at the end of the day, that’s all we can do. Understood?”
Everyone nodded. Good. He pointed at the comm station. “Get me the Skiohra ship.”
Moments later, a Skiohra crew member appeared on the screen. The same one that had appeared behind Krull before—perhaps one of her deputies. “Granger,” she said, seeming to seethe. “Vice Imperator Scythia Krull is dead. Our ship is crippled, and over four hundred thousand of your soldiers still occupy our home. Explain yourself.”
Granger held up his hands. “Treachery, my friend. The treachery and influence of the Valarisi runs deep. I suspect even up to our highest levels of command. I’m ... I’m sorry. For all the loss among your people. For Krull. She was an amazing example of leadership.”
The Skiohra bowed her head. “She was. And all her Children.” The tone of her voice, even though alien, spoke of unspeakable grief. “She was the eldest. The Matriarch of Matriarchs. Her story will be told throughout the generations.” She spoke to someone out of view of the screen, giving a few orders, before turning back to Granger. “I am Vice Imperator Polrum Krull. Scythia was my grandmother. I lead the family aboard this ship now—I and my fifty thousand Children,” she added, putting a hand on her chest, presumably to indicate her offspring who lived the Interior Life.
“Polrum Krull, I am on my way to the Penumbra system. I know it is too much to ask for assistance, but any advice you might have would be appreciated. Do you know the layout of the station there? The status of any fleets protecting it? Anything you know, anything at all, would help enormously.”
Polrum Krull bowed again. “Scythia warned me you would ask about this.” She looked to the side and gave more orders to someone off-camera. “Granger, Scythia told you she was charged by the Valarisi to manage their periods of rest, and to negotiate with the Adanasi. All of the matriarchs were involved in the effort, overseen by the Valarisi, of course. I, and most of my Children, are particularly skilled in the sciences, and I was one of the principles among my people to integrate the Adanasi technology aboard the Valarisi ships.”
Granger did a double take. “Are you saying...?”
“You will need help understanding their technology, Captain, and understanding how they are using it to destroy your world. Scythia Krull told me through the Ligature that helping you would be essential to our people's survival. Though it pains me to offer it—your people's treachery has been ruinous for us—we will come with you to Penumbra Three, if you like.”
If I like?
Granger smiled. “Polrum Krull, you will be most welcome.”
Chapter Sixty-Six
Bridge, ISS Victory
High Orbit, Penumbra Three
It took several hours to complete the series of q-jumps out toward the Penumbra system, as it was at the other end of Russian Confederation space. But during that time he coordinated with Colonel Barnard, still holed up on the Skiohra dreadnought Benevolence, who, once he heard they were about to attack the Russian base responsible for producing all the terrifying weapons of the enemy, was more than happy to assist in the invasion.
And an invasion it would be. Polrum Krull reported that the station was massive—a hollowed-out asteroid. And not like the asteroids that were used in the construction of the Constitution and the Warrior and the rest of the old Legacy Fleet. This one could easily swallow any one of them whole, with room to spare for a few Swarm carriers. Polrum Krull didn’t know how many ships were patrolling the orbits of Penumbra Three, nor how many soldiers Malakhov kept stationed there, but Granger wasn’t going to leave anything to chance.
Each marine boarding ship would detach from the Benevolence and line up at the docking ports of the station. Four hundred thousand soldiers was probably overkill, but Granger wanted to be ready for anything. The Benevolence and the Victory would have to handle whatever ships, or, god forbid, fleets, that were patrolling the area.
“We’ll secure the station, Captain. Then come aboard and do what you need to do,” said Colonel Barnard on the viewscreen. A large gash ran across his face—a wound sustained during the aborted battle for the dreadnought. He’d lost a lot of men in the attempted takeover, but he seemed willing to overlook the fact that they were now cooperating with the enemies that, up until a few hours ago, were putting up a spirited defense of their ship. Granger gave the man credit for his professionalism—after he’d explained the situation and given the order, Barnard simply grit his teeth, saluted, and asked what he could do to help. He figured the army man was just thankful for a chance to finally see some action in defense of Earth, and didn’t care much whether he got to k
nock Skiohra heads, or Russian ones.
“Thank you, Colonel. Rules of engagement: shoot to kill on sight, unless you see they’re a technician or scientist. Even then, if they don’t immediately submit ... well, you know the drill. We have no time to waste. I need that station within ten minutes, if you can manage it.”
“Ten? I’ll have it in five sir,” the colonel said with a salute. “Barnard out.”
Granger turned to Ensign Prince. “Final q-jump ready?”
“Ready, sir.”
“Initiate.”
The viewscreen shifted from an angled perspective of the vast Skiohra ship, to a view that Granger recognized from two months earlier, when he’d arrived the first time at Penumbra with his erstwhile invasion fleet. That time, he’d been on a mission to engage in a guerrilla campaign against the Swarm—catch them off balance, distract them, draw their attention away from invading human worlds and toward defending their own.
Little did he know that he could have ended it all by bombarding the surface below, or taking out the station where the Russians were producing the singularities. Of course, he still had no idea if either of those things would end the Swarm. That was his new mission. End them permanently. Not only destroy their weapons, and their worlds, but kick them out of the universe for good.
“Any ships? Fleets?”
“Several dozen Russian cruisers docked at the station, and a handful more in the vicinity,” came the reply from tactical.
“What is their posture?”
Ensign Diamond shook his head. “They’re not mobilizing.”
“They may not know we’re a threat yet, since we’re with the dreadnought. We need to take advantage of their ignorance quickly. Colonel Barnard, you’re up. Commence operations,” he said into his comm channel.
He watched as the IDF marines’ boarding ships detached from the dreadnought and darted over to the station—a massive rock whose surface was interrupted here and there by gleaming metallic surfaces, viewports, docking ports, giant bay doors—large enough to admit passage of the Victory and possibly a Swarm carrier—and all sorts of antennae, dishes, and other sensor equipment peeking out from the rocky surface.
“Captain,” said Ensign Diamond, “conducting routine scans of the solar system, sir. Turns out the star is a binary. It’s companion is a black hole.”
The words electrified him. “A black hole, you say?” He turned back to the science station where Victory’s new science officer sat. “Confirm, Ensign Roth?”
“Yes, sir. About thirty solar masses. The hole and the star both mutually orbit a barycenter, but they’re far enough away from each other that the event horizon is pretty quiet. Virtually no x-rays or gamma rays coming from the poles.”
A black hole. A singularity. The coincidence was too much. “Shelby?” he said. “What do you think?”
“Tim, there are millions of black holes in the galaxy. Binary systems like this are common.”
“But ... you don’t think it’s a possibility?”
“Of course it’s a possibility, and we should keep an open mind. But if this one has somehow become a meta-space link, why aren’t all black holes meta-space links? Like I said, there are millions them—that we know about. There might be billions, for all we know—the galaxy’s a big place.”
“Fine.” Still, it was an odd coincidence. “Diamond, status of the marines?”
“All troop transports have docked, sir. Sporadic fighting reported.”
The wait was almost unbearable, though in reality, only fifteen minutes passed before Colonel Barnard called over from the station. “Captain Granger?”
“Yes, Colonel?”
The words he was hoping for. “The station is secure, sir. Minimal casualties.” He almost sounded disappointed—it appeared this wasn’t the battle he was hoping for.
“Thank you, Barnard.”
Proctor looked up from the science station, where she’d been huddling with a few member of her team she’d brought over from the Warrior. “Tim, take a look at this.”
“Can it wait? We need to get over there and figure out what’s going on.”
“This might help us do that.” He walked over and glanced at her monitor. “Look,” she said, pointing to a few readouts. “Last time we were here we detected some gravitational anomalies coming from the planet, but we couldn’t stick around long enough to figure out what was up. But now that I know what I’m looking for,” she looked up at him. “Tim, there are thousands, tens of thousands of primordial singularities in orbit around the planet. They seem to be concentrated in this area here, where there is also an unusually high concentration of debris.”
“What kind of debris?” Granger suspected he knew the answer.
“Rocks, dirt, water ... and metallic debris, too. Pieces of ships. Buildings. I think we’re seeing where everything went. Everything that went into the singularities came out here.”
“But where’s the rest of it? There should be a small moon’s worth of material here.”
Proctor shrugged. “Maybe it hasn’t shown up yet?”
“Maybe,” said Granger, stroking his stubbly chin. “Or maybe—”
“Sir!” shouted Ensign Diamond at tactical. “Something just showed up on our scopes. Out of nowhere.”
“A ship?” Had something else come out of one of the singularities?
“A fighter.” He looked up, like he’d seen a ghost. “One of ours.”
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Bridge, ISS Victory
High Orbit, Penumbra Three
“Lieutenant Volz, this is Captain Granger. Do you copy?” Granger watched the screen as the fighter tumbled through space, narrowly missing a large chunk of rock and ice.
“He could be knocked out from traversing the singularity. That would explain our Volz’s memory problems. And yours, Tim,” said Proctor.
“Well,” he began, shrugging, “we know he made it back. So whatever happened—happens,” he corrected himself. Damn, this timeline stuff is hard to keep straight. “Whatever Ballsy did out there, we know he pulled out of it. With Fishtail. Speaking of, where the hell is Fishtail?”
Ensign Diamond and the rest of the tactical crew scanned the area around the station, the debris field, every altitude of their current orbit. Nothing. “Sorry, sir. Looks like she hasn’t shown up yet.”
Granger muttered under his breath. “We don’t have time for this. Shelby, we need to get over to the station and figure out what we’re doing. Let’s go.” He started for the doors, glancing back to Lieutenant Diaz. “Lieutenant, monitor the area, keep an eye out for Fishtail. See what you can do to help. Send a shuttle out for Ballsy if he gets in trouble—”
Proctor cut him off. “Ballsy might think we’re Swarm. In fact, he will think we’re Swarm—I mean, here we are, cozying up to what he would think is a Swarm ship, at a Russian station, with a Russian fleet, all one big happy family. No matter what we say, given his disorientation, he’s not going to trust us. Plus, we already know what he thinks. He’s told us as much.”
“Good point,” said Granger. “Either way, Lieutenant Diaz, keep your eyes on what’s going down out there. Call me if you need me. Hopefully we’ll be back soon, with some answers.”
He and Proctor rushed down to the shuttle bay and boarded the waiting craft. Escape pods from the Warrior were pushed off to the side of the bay, and it took some delicate flying to ease the shuttle out the doors, but soon they were cutting through the void of space that separated them from the station. It grew larger and larger in their cockpit window, until it filled their whole view.
“Polrum Krull says the main command deck can be reached through that docking port,” said Granger, pointed toward a spot on the sensor monitor. Several kilometers away he saw another shuttle, this one from the dreadnought, approach a nearby port and latch on. “That’ll be Polrum,” he said. Their own shuttle approached, slowed, and eased into position. The docking clamps latched into place and the distant hiss of air told hi
m the airlock had engaged.
Granger sprang out of the airlock as soon as the hatch swung open. When he passed through the door into the hallway beyond, Colonel Barnard was waiting for him. The other man saluted. “Captain,” he said in greeting. “This appears to be the executive complex. Looks like Malakhov himself and his senior commanders used this wing as their base of operations when they were in this sector.”
“How do you know?”
Barnard waved his arm through another door, indicating they pass through. In the space beyond was what looked to be an atrium, with a fish tank, photographs of the Russian president hanging from the wall, and potted trees and hanging plants.
And lying against one of the granite walls, blood pooled up beneath him on the marble floor, a body. Or rather, what was left of it. Granger recognized the face of the late Vice President Isaacson. The rest of his body, what remained of it, was raw and gouged, with limbs twisted at odd angles. An arm was missing. Across the atrium, slumped against the far wall, lay what looked like Ambassador Volodin.
“What do you suppose happened here?” said Proctor. Her face was white with the sight of the gore, but to her credit she picked her way through the carnage, scouring the room for clues.
“Whatever it was, I suspect it came as somewhat of a shock to Mr. Isaacson,” deadpanned Granger. He never liked the man, in spite of his recent closeness to Avery.
“Granger,” said Polrum Krull, who came through the door to the docking port hallway. Several of the marines spun around and readied their assault rifles. Granger waved them off.
