by Nick Webb
The stars wheeled past her window as she maneuvered the ship into position, a third of the way to Gryphin’s moon, where the gravity would add together just so. Just right for her dimensional leap. She was leaping far, so the gravity needed to be just a hair over zero in the direction she wanted to go.
Seven leaps. That was all it would take. Just a few hours. And then, Telestia. She’d see him there. She knew she would. Or rather, she hoped she would, which was just as good.
She gripped the controls tight and pressed the initiator button. The stars shifted. She did it again. The ship shook. More than it should have. Far more. But that didn’t matter; she’d be there soon. Two more leaps, and more shaking. Three leaps to go.
The ship bucked and shuddered, as if protesting her will, her desire to break through the bounds of time. Shake all you want, she thought, as she pressed the initiator button a fifth, and then a sixth time. You won’t stop me.
One leap to go.
She glanced at the photographs her assistant had affixed to the wall next to her. She hadn’t even asked, but he’d just known. She smiled at the black-haired man in the frame on the left. I’m coming, father.
I know, little star.
She pressed the initiator for the final leap. The ship shuddered. Light glared through her window, nearly blinding her. Was that sunlight? Was she there?
The shuddering turned violent, buffeting the ship, throwing her against the seat restraints. The light shining through the windows intensified further. But a moment later, it was all over. The shuddering stopped. The glare dimmed, and she opened her eyes to glance out the window.
She smiled.
She was home.
V
“Clearly, the Binding was a ruse, or possibly a distraction—something to keep the Empire That Was occupied until the first Justus/Kestus plan—the one that was ostensibly a ploy to get Emperor Fornax to go along with the idea of the Binding—had time to come to fruition. And by the time the final stage of the Binding was supposed to have been completed—each Gherens family member settled on a separate predetermined world at the periphery of the Empire to await the falling veil, and then reunited at the center, on Telestia—the Empire had long since fragmented into the archipelago of smaller empires that it is today. When Emperor Talix, successor to Empress Gherens, realized this, he ordered a plan be put in place to further subdivide the new Obsidian Empire based on the central world of Gryphin into a hundred smaller administrative regions, each of which would become proper empires when their time came in a few billion years. Each empire would subdivide further, in its own time, until the entire universe would consist of just the Daedalus Galaxy, then one star cluster with Gryphin at the center, and finally, the known universe would be just the planet Gryphin itself, which would bide its time until the falling veil of the universe’s edge crossed the planet’s surface, or rather, collapsed down separately and severally onto each individual inhabitant of Gryphin, each person becoming a universe unto themselves, separate, isolated, and ultimately, lost and forgotten.
“This is all hypothetical, of course. Gryphin’s star will have gone nova trillions of years prior. Perhaps the Binding was the original plan after all…”
— History of the Obsidian Empire of Gryphin, Vol I, pg. 42.
VI
30 AB (After the Binding)
Telestia, Ophir Galaxy, Regulix Spur of the Virgo Supercluster
Did it work?
I’m not sure. What do you think?
Don’t ask me. You’re the all-knowing admiral, remember?
We could go ask Gaias Justus and Celestia Kestus. They’re probably around here somewhere.
What?
You know. Their graves.
Oh. I thought you meant something else.
That they were somehow alive again? After all these years?
Well…isn’t that what the Binding was for? I mean, besides saving the universe and the empire and everything? To reach beyond the bounds of time and space and…and…bind us together across the falling veil of the expanding universe?
True. Though I doubt they’d linger around here. People’ve built the place up too much. Too noisy. Rowdy teenagers loiter on the street corners. You’d think they’d have chosen a better place for the nexus of the Binding.
It is the center.
For us, yes. Well, it is for me.
For me, too.
It will always be the center. For our whole family.
For all families. Since we did it for ours, it is done for all.
Yes. Maybe. For now at least. But there will be new centers. There already are. New middles. New families. New bindings.
Tomas looks well.
Yes. He does. It’s been so long.
You’d never recognize him. He always did like green. And trees.
He sure did.
Well, it’s time I got going.
Me too.
My empire needs me.
So does mine.
But, you abdicated in yours, no?
I did. Same as you. Can’t rule forever. Time to pass the torch on to the young ’uns.
Time indeed. But they’ll meet us here, in their time.
And I’ll see you again too? You’re coming back?
Always, my star. Always.
I wrote the Earth Dawning series (for now just a trilogy) when I needed a break from writing both the Legacy Fleet and the Pax Humana series. It takes place in our solar system, just a few years in the future, after humanity has been exiled from Earth by an advanced alien race to live on the desolate moons and asteroids of the outer planets. This is the story of the beginning of the war to take it back.
It’s a little slower than my other space series, but less pew-pew but with more world-building, and I think the effect is something that could eventually be the start of a fun TV series (Amazon Studios, are you listening?).
Here’s the link to purchase if you like this sample.
Mercury’s Bane
Book One
of the
Earth Dawning Series
By
Nick Webb
Prologue
September 2nd, 2058
Near Denver, North American Continent
Old Boulder refugee camp
You could always tell a Jovian from a Martian, and a Martian from a Native—people who grew up outside the gravity well never seemed to be able to keep up. One’s history with gravity was always the hardest thing to hide.
“Not much farther now.” Thomas Pike hauled himself over a tumble of rock in the middle of the path and held out a hand to the soldier scrambling up behind him, huffing and wheezing.
To call this boy a soldier was a kindness. The kid couldn’t be more than sixteen or seventeen, dressed in a shapeless shirt and pants, an insignia stamped hastily onto one sleeve. And he was far too thin under the raggedy uniform. The soldier panted. He’d been struggling within minutes as they climbed into the foothills. Only momentum kept him going now.
Momentum, and a dull, simmering anger that Thomas Pike understood all too well.
He’d never seen someone so weak. Did Earth have a lower oxygen pressure than the stations? Higher gravity? The kid didn’t offer an explanation and Pike was afraid to ask. The thought of the habitats spinning endlessly through the solar system—through the darkness, in the darkness, breeding grounds for darkness—filled him with a fear so deep that he had no words for it. To live a whole life without wind or rain or sun....
Pike hurried to catch up. They had to keep moving; the kid had pressed on without him, despite his breathless pant. The path’s loose rocks crunched reassuringly under Pike’s feet. This was his planet. Humanity’s home. He welcomed the rasp of the air in his lungs, scented with juniper, and the faint burn of the sun on the back of his neck. The storm in the mountains wouldn’t reach them for a while yet.
They climbed in silence now for the sake of the young soldier, who could spare no energy to talk. Pike listened to the boy’s ragg
ed breath and counted the steps until they finally rounded the bend.
The kid gave a whistle. The Rockies rose to either side of them, peaks plunging into the churning clouds of the unseasonal storm. Below lay the camp: makeshift shacks and tents covered in camouflage. If someone looked very, very closely, they could see movement along the river, where Natives cultivated crops among the trees. Heh, Natives. That’s what the Jovian soldier kid had called them. To him, Thomas Pike, this was home.
A light breeze, the first winds of the oncoming storm, rustled the trees, signaling to the workers tending the crops that it would soon be time to take shelter. Christina and Joanna were there now. Farming was a risky endeavor, but a necessary one. People gotta eat, aliens or no aliens.
But growing crops wasn’t nearly as risky as what he and the soldier had just done. Pike had agonized over the transmissions to the Rebellion. If those transmissions were caught in one of the sweeps, the camp would be gone within minutes. But what was the alternative? Scrabble for a half-life, hidden in the shadows, afraid to show himself to the sky? Spend his days avoiding capture, all for living on his own planet?
The familiar rage kindled deep within his chest. This planet was his birthright, and he would see it returned to his children before he died. That was the promise he had made years ago, and Joanna, a hand on her round belly, had agreed. They named the child Christina, and she had Joanna’s black hair and Thomas’s golden-brown eyes. Then came William, and Joanna began to ask if they should take so many risks. Perhaps, she said, they should seek passage to Mars. Her sister was there, and said the sunsets were beautiful. Or the Snowball Moons of Jupiter. Or even Mercury—live with the Rollers. At least they had decent gravity, and mining was good, honest work. And there were rumors that the mines served the Rebellion, too. If they only—
In the end, he persuaded her to stay every time she asked. But she worried constantly. He hadn’t told her about the message to the Rebellion. How could he? He pushed the guilt away and pointed into the distance.
“You can’t see it today, but there’s a base over there.” He twisted to point toward a peak behind him. “Come down through the peak with the notch and it’s due west.”
The soldier nodded. He was scribbling notes on an ancient tablet computer he’d brought with him, and he took a picture of the peak for reference, for all the good it did. He looked back expectantly.
“If you follow along the mountains, you’ll find more of their floating things. They’re all up and down the range.”
“We saw some coming in. They almost looked like the aid ships.”
“Aid ships?”
The kid paused, clearly trying to figure out where to start. “Well … they’re not supposed to help us, right? We’re supposed to be self-sufficient. But the stations really aren’t self-sufficient at all, and some of the Telestines know that. There’s one, his name’s Tel’rabim, he sends aid all the time. He argues for us in their parliament, too, and—”
“I don’t care.”
The boy broke off, eyes wide.
“This alien, Tel’rabim, you say? He’s not arguing for them to give Earth back, is he?”
Slowly, the boy shook his head.
“Then it doesn’t matter what else he does. He can burn with the rest.”
The boy nodded, looked back to his computer. “Right. Uh … the big floating ships. Are they all labs?” The thin hand was poised over the keyboard and his eyes flicked up to meet his.
Pike only shrugged. He hadn’t gotten close enough to tell. Half floating island, half airship, the estates were massive. Some were a swarm of activity, others simply floated up and down the mountain range, taking in the view. When one hovered above the camp, all activity ceased for those few days. They froze—fearful mice hiding from the hawk in the sky.
But the Telestines would not always be the predators. That would change.
“What kind is that one?” The boy jerked his head.
“What? There isn’t.…” Pike looked, and did a double take. There, as the storm billowed over the peaks, he made it out at last: the heavy bow of an airship. His throat seemed to close. “We have to get back to the camp.”
“What? Why?”
“That wasn’t there this morning.” Pike pushed his way back through the scrub brush, toward the path. His mind was racing with calculations. Would he be seen on the path? Speed and the chance of being caught, or a slow, careful descent and the chance of the airship seeing the crop workers instead? His breath was coming short with fear. “Where did it come from?”
“I told you, we saw it when we were coming in.” The boy was running after him now. “Slow down, I can’t keep up.”
“No time—why didn’t you say anything?”
“Your message said they were here often!” The boy was shaking his head.
“On the range, going up and down the range. Not here in the foothills!”
Christina was at the crop fields. Fourteen years old, in a growth spurt, and always hungry. She would be doing her lessons as she tended the crops. Joanna had been adamant that the children continue learning, even if they had to work to keep the camp running. But Christina was wild, and always had been: she would be taking any chance to slip out of the shelter of the trees and into the sunshine.
He’d chided her for that, but not enough. He understood the yearning too well to yell at her when he should have. And now....
Pike’s fists clenched. He tossed a glance over his shoulder and stumbled.
No. No, no.… The airship had come alive with activity. Fighter ships were emerging from its top decks, rounded and sleek. They swirled like a flock of starlings, and then—
“No!” He scrambled up, palms bleeding, and ran. The camp, the fields.
This couldn’t be happening. They had never been seen before.
He had never sent a radio transmission before.
“Mr. Pike! Sir!” The kid, however frail, had youth on his side. He caught up, reached out to grab Pike’s arm. “We can take some.”
“What?”
“We can take some of the camp.” The kid was pale, his blue eyes terrified. “Whoever’s there, we get them onto the shuttle and we go.”
“We have to get to the fields.”
“There isn’t time.” The kid grabbed his arm and dragged him to a stop.
“Let go of me, or I swear to god I will kill you where you stand.”
“There isn’t time,” the kid repeated. His grip was feverishly strong. “We have to get the people from the camp and get out.”
“My wife is at the fields—my daughter.”
“And your son is at the camp, right?” The kid met his eyes. “We can get them out. But not if we go for the fields.”
William. William could get out, and then Pike would go to warn the others. There was enough time to slip into the woods and make for the field, and the other settlement beyond that. “Let’s go.”
They pounded down the hill in a rising wind. It might have been his imagination, but the bigger ships always seemed to bring storms with them.
Like the one over the mountains today. How had he not guessed what was coming? Pike swung around one of the trees, felt the skin come off his palm, and didn’t care. William. He had to get to William.
A hollow boom echoed through him and he felt the fire tear through the trees miles away. The fact that he could feel the heat from that far away could only mean one thing.
His knees buckled with grief and the kid hauled him up.
“Come on!”
“Fire.” His voice wasn’t his own any longer. “Fire.” He couldn’t find any other words.
“That’s the fields, they haven’t hit the camp yet. Run!”
Screams were beginning ahead of them. Pike ran, the impact jolting up through his legs. He couldn’t feel his feet on the ground any longer. The screams were around him, piercing him, rising through the trees in a chorus.
They burst into the camp in a dead sprint, the kid waving his a
rms for the shuttle. It was hovering as the Rebellion soldiers shoved children into the hold desperately. One of them was trying to grab little William, hands up as the boy pointed a rifle directly at the soldier.
“You have to come with us.” The soldier was pleading, her hands out to him. Her uniform showed bony wrists; her eyes kept going to the Telestine airship overhead, menacing and low.
“My sister is at the fields!” William, gangly, had every ounce of his mother’s fierceness now. He backed away amidst the tents, eleven-year-old body shaking. “My mom is there. Don’t try to stop me, I … I have to go to them. They need our help.”
“William!” Thomas Pike’s breath was coming in a gasp. He swayed as he made his way toward his son.
“Dad.” William’s face crumpled in relief. “They’re saying we have to leave the others and—”
“Shhh. It’s okay.” Only it wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t.
He looked toward the fields, and smelled the smoke on the breeze, rancid with both scorched earth and flesh.
They were gone.
Pike swallowed, looked back to his son, and lied. He poured everything left into this one lie, eyes fixed on his son’s. “There’s another shuttle at the fields.” He didn’t look at the soldier, whose shock would give him away. He stared into his son’s eyes and prayed to every god he knew to make the boy believe him. Another explosion rocked the ground and he held out his hand. “You have to come now, William. They already went. Your mother and Christina will meet us on the spaceship.”
William wavered. He looked to the fields, and back to his father. “They’re safe?”
“They’re safe. Please, William. They’ll want to make sure you got away too. Come on.”
William’s shoulders slumped, the rifle dropped, and Pike thought he would collapse from relief. His legs shook as the soldier grabbed him to propel him into the hold of the ship.
