The Founder's Strain (The Age of Man Book 2)

by David Brush

  One of the grey-suited techs nearby turned from their glowing blue display console. “Commander, rear shields are holding at twenty percent, but we’ve taken hull damage on the starboard side. The ship won’t hold together much longer if we take any more fire in that junction.”

  “Are the engines back online yet?”

  “No, ma’am. Lieutenant Commander Tang has reported that we’re experiencing reactor failure. If we try to launch to warp speed, we might rip the ship in half.”

  Commander Denova frowned as the deck rocked once again. “How many dreadnoughts in pursuit?”

  “Three, but they’re closing fast. They’re sphingian in origin. The unknown dreadnoughts jumped shortly after destroying the orbital platform.”

  Denova sighed. “Zarnok thinks we attacked him. Whoever opened fire on us wanted our respective navies to engage. Don’t return fire.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I would point out though that they’re not responding to our request for a ceasefire.”

  “They lost three cruisers. They’re out for blood. Are the jammer drones we deployed in position?”

  “Yes, Commander. Shortly after the unknown interference subsided we began blocking their out-system comms. They’re isolated.”

  “Still, if we fire back, it’ll be the opening salvo of the next Sphingian War. Tell the lieutenant commander that she has five minutes to stabilize the reactor enough for a jump. One way or another we’re launching.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said the tech, swiping furiously across the translucent monitor in front of him.

  Commander Denova walked to the front of the deck, compensating carefully for the heavy tilt of the ship. “They’re going to turn this whole dreadnought into a metallic coffin if we keep floating aimlessly like this. Take us down towards Dawn. Use whatever thruster power we have left to get us into the atmosphere.”

  One of the pilots looked up from his terminal in disbelief. “Ma’am, if we take the ship into the atmosphere, we won’t be able to keep it in the air. We’ll crash the entire vessel into the planet below.”

  “Exactly, which is why those dreadnoughts behind us wouldn’t dare follow. Once we’ve broken the stratosphere, we’ll jump. We should reach an escape velocity before gravity pulls us into the surface.”

  “Excuse me, Commander, but that’s insanity. If we jump in atmosphere, we won’t have a clean warp vector. Who knows where we’ll wind up.”

  “Would you prefer dying over Dawn?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Then take us down, and wait for my mark. We’re only going to get one shot at this.”

  The dreadnought veered, just dodging another barrage as it angled down towards the planet. The heat shielding around the nose of the massive ship flared up as the behemoth descended. Fire rushed across the viewport, casting a brilliant light into the command deck. Behind them, another plasma missile fizzled into the ship’s force field, crackling as its energy dissipated across the thin barrier. The deck shook violently as the pilots pulled the ship up out of its rapid descent, falling through the stratosphere.

  “Ma’am, enemy dreadnoughts have disengaged.”

  “Good, that’s one problem solved,” replied Commander Denova, looking over one of the pilots’ shoulder at the display console. She watched the elevation readout plummet as the red warning sirens began to shriek above.

  “Ma’am, the whole ship’s coming apart. We’ve sprung a plasma leak in the reactor bay.”

  “Keep the leak contained. If that plasma touches the core, we won’t have to worry about hitting the surface.” She looked back at the readout. “We’re in position. Jump!”

  “But Commander, the reactor…”

  “That was an order, goddammit.”

  The pilot’s skin turned a deathly pale, but he swiped the command in all the same. Commander Denova wrapped her hands tight around the metal banister behind her. As the ship’s engines whined to life, she closed her eyes, and then came the rush.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Harin Karosh watched the shadow of the flames dancing across the thin cloth covering his window. Beside him, his son sat cradling a long wooden staff across his lap, frowning as another gust of wind blew the fabric aside and filled their hut with the scent of scorched rawhide.

  “Why are they burning the camp?” asked the boy, staring wide-eyed at the fiery silhouette. “They’re destroying the only home we have.”

  Harin sighed. “Humanity doesn’t have a monopoly on stupidity. Mobs are incapable of thinking, Karo. I want you to remember that. Nothing rational ever came out of a horde. People who feel subjugated lash out. Sustenance is a primal need. When it’s not met, it turns even the most dignified people back into animals. Add the savages together into a group, and this is what you get. Senseless destruction.”

  “Why aren’t the humans stopping it?”

  Harin shrugged. “They’re scared too, just like everyone else. When Governor Zuma was chosen to lead this colony six years ago, there was no camp here. They can barely manage their own needs, let alone ours. But the governor’s a good man, Karo, and he tries his best to help us. When the rioting stops, I’ll be taking you to stay with him for a time, while I deal with the aftermath of all this.”

  “How long?”

  “I don’t know, a couple weeks, months maybe. The camp isn’t going to be the same after this, no matter what. I need time to figure out what the best course for us is.”

  Karo stood up and moved towards the window. He peered through a crack in the fabric, out across the illuminated camp. Thin wisps of fire lashed up underneath the dark sky, causing the usually dim camp to outshine the colony for the first time since its inception. The boy leaned against the wooden staff he had pushed down on the floor. “Will we have to leave now?”

  “We should,” said Harin, looking over at his son. “The humans know that I led the council. No matter what gets said, they’ll think I had a hand in this.”

  “But that isn’t fair. We didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Nothing in life is fair, Karo.”

  The boy’s wrists tensed, brandishing his razor sharp nails for a moment. “You said the governor wants to help us.”

  “He does,” said Harin, leaning forward in his chair. “But he answers to others, and there’s no telling what they might do.”

  The boy pulled back towards his father as another group of hivorians ran by carrying improvised torches made of debris from the market. “We can’t leave them, Dad. These are our people. They need a leader, you said it yourself. I’m sure if you talk to the humans for them, they’ll listen. Remember what you told me: ‘if you act like a statesman, they’ll treat you like one.’”

  Harin smiled sadly at his son. “I’m glad to hear that you’ve been paying attention. Since you have such a keen memory, let me give you one more lesson, one that’s more important than anything else I’ve taught you so far.”

  The boy nodded. “I promise I’ll remember it.”

  “Know your enemy. Humans have the capacity to be merciful, but not the inclination to be. Never bet on their kindness, and never doubt their cruelty. Though they may yet be a great people, you must always remember their true nature.”

  “And what is their true nature, Dad?”

  “Violent.”

  Admiral Dorian leaned back in his tall chair, nestled within the heart of High Command in Dovaruss. Before him, emanating from the holoterminal on his desk, beamed the visage of his AI, Finn, casting its purple light out across the sheening metal.

  “What?” asked the admiral, tapping off the display screen in front of him.

  “Sir,” said the entity. “The Terra Meridiani Refugee Camp riot is entering its third night. Governor Jorges Zuma is now requesting military support to help reestablish order.”

  “His territorial militia is incapable of handling a couple of rebellious indigents?”

  “It would appear so. The governor is concerned that the fires raging within the camp might spread to t
he nearby colony, damaging vital infrastructure. He is requesting a small deployment to act as a peacekeeping force while his government addresses the grievances brought forward by the camp’s unofficial governing council.”

  The admiral shook his head. “Weak fools. How many times have I told General Bismuth to buffer the Martian militias? The governors on that planet have little more than glorified police departments. And the idea that Zuma wants to negotiate with the animals that are rioting baffles me. I ought to leave that bleeding heart imbecile to his fate. What do the wretches want even?”

  The AI flickered slightly. “The governor did not go into specifics, but he mentioned concerns that the living conditions within the camp were substandard.”

  “Substandard? What exactly were the refugees expecting, a five-star welcome? Half of the bastards made it into our system in floating coffins. If it weren’t for our mercy, they wouldn’t have even survived the trip to Mars, let alone received all of the resources we’ve showered on them in some apparent blight of insanity.”

  “Yes, Admiral,” said the AI with a small nod. “What would you like me to tell Governor Zuma?”

  Dorian sighed. “Tell him I’ll deploy the Sixth Fleet to quell the uprising. He can expect us within the next two days. Until then, make sure that idiot keeps the fires away from the colony, or so help me God, the first thing I’ll do when I arrive there is have him arrested for treasonous incompetence.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The comm line on the admiral’s desk chirped, relighting the dim display in front of him.

  “Admiral Dorian,” came the voice of his secretary. “General Bismuth is here to see you.”

  The admiral pressed his finger against the glowing screen, opening the line. “Send him in immediately.”

  General Bismuth walked into the room with a sour look on his face.

  “Any news?” asked Dorian, reaching over and tapping a command into the data terminal embedded in his desk. The purple glow of the AI faded from the room. “Is Dr. Nightrick dead or not?”

  General Bismuth stared back in silence for a moment, standing before the admiral’s wide desk. “It’s unclear. We have no clue whether the Eternity is even in one piece or not. For all we know right now, the entire force might have been wiped out in the attack. We’re grasping at straws until we can get another crew into the system.”

  “Nightrick underestimated the sphinxes. How quickly he forgot what they stood for,” said the admiral, standing up and walking over to the crystal decanter he had sitting on a low shelf nearby. He pulled the stopper out of the bottle and poured a generous portion of brandy into one of the glass snifters beside him. “Care for a drink?”

  “No,” said Bismuth, crossing his arms.

  “Suit yourself,” replied the admiral, taking a deep sip before sitting down again behind his desk. “I’ll gather the Sixth Fleet and remind the sphinxes of their place in this universe. Once I burn Sphandaria to glass, perhaps then they’ll see their folly.”

  “We’re not glassing their capital. We don’t even know what happened yet. We need to send a larger force to Dawn to search for survivors and discover the truth of all this. If they were involved, then we’ll respond in kind.”

  “Holding back now will be taken as a sign of weakness. We need to consolidate our power and obliterate their home world before they strike again. Nightrick meant to avoid a prolonged war, and decisive action is the best way to do that. We’ll hobble their entire empire while it’s still reeling from the Plague.”

  Bismuth sighed. “With Dr. Nightrick missing, I’m the Protectorate of Earth. I’m sending you to Dawn, Admiral, and that’s final. The Sixth Fleet should be powerful enough to handle whatever threat is lurking there. Gather your ships and be prepared to depart within a fortnight. Are we clear?”

  Admiral Dorian frowned, etching dark lines into his cold face. “As you say, Protectorate. And before I go: what would you have me do with the two new refugee ships that entered the solar system this morning?”

  “Direct them towards the Martian colonies with the rest of the refugees. We’ll figure out what to do with them from there.”

  “I would advise caution, General Bismuth,” said Admiral Dorian, taking one final sip of the brown liquid before setting the empty glass down on the desk in front of him. “If you make the same mistakes as our late Dr. Nightrick, you might lead our people into a similar fate. You’ve never shied away from brutality before, so why start now? Concern yourself with preservation, and leave mercy to the pious.”

  James opened his eyes, blinking through the nearly blinding headache that was pulsating behind his forehead like a lightning storm. He looked around at the dense thicket surrounding him, cloaked in the shade of the canopy overhead. Here and there, thin slivers of light found their way through the cover and down into the otherwise dark forest. He moved to stand, but fell back onto the ground as his bound wrists caught against the metal ringlet he’d been tied to.

  “Haley!” he called, turning towards the debris field that stretched out behind him. Strewn about the forest floor were all manner of parts and tiny chunks of metal. Only the reinforced cabin of the crashed transport still looked to be in one piece. Around the base of the compartment, a small fire whipped up against the metal frame, singeing it lightly. A short distance from the cockpit, he finally noticed the fleshy silhouette of a body, half submerged in the muck of the crater they had formed upon impact.

  “Haley!” he screamed, thrashing against the wire that was binding him to the wreckage. “Hello?”

  He tried to stand again, carefully sliding the wire up the length of the ringlet. As he pushed onto his feet, he felt his left leg give, buckling under the weight. He looked down at the bloody cloth covering the appendage, finally making sense of the tingling he’d been feeling. The entirety of his lower torso was numb. Pushing the sensation from his mind, he put weight onto his right leg and hobbled back up, sliding the wire binding along the metal until it was taut against the barrier. He pulled, leaning back as best he could. No give.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, easing himself back onto the damp ground. Above him, the sunbeams surging through the cracks in the canopy were beginning to dim. Soon there would be no light left at all there in the basin.

  As darkness fell, the sounds of the jungle began to pick up. Piercing howls tore through the air, each one seeming to get just a little bit closer, while James continued to fidget with the wire. The fires still burning nearby were now his only source of light, illuminating the bases of the surrounding trees that rose up into the blackness. He paused at the sound of a sharp blast off in the distance: a gunshot, rising up above the ambient noise. As he looked towards the sound, a glimmer of light through the undergrowth caught his eye. Slowly but purposefully, the lantern he’d spotted was carried nearer. When the artificial light finally caught the face of its bearer, James felt a wave of relief wash over him.

  “Haley,” he said as she approached, dragging the carcass of a small jungle cat behind her. She looked towards him, setting her meal down near the burning remains of the cockpit. Across her left arm she cradled a long gauss rifle. James paused for a moment, noticing thin streaks of color racing along the surface of Haley’s glazed eyes. He pushed the thought aside as she drew nearer. “Thank God you’re alright. One of these bastards tied me…” He was cut short as she brought the rifle butt tearing across his face. His head slammed unceremoniously against the metal plating, spewing a long line of blood across the surface. James slouched over into the dirt, joining the rest of the forest in darkness.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Johnathan Nightrick sat up in his bed, head spinning. He looked around and realized where he was, for the first time in ages. His room in the little house he shared with his mother, father, and older brother was tiny, but cozy; a smaller space for a smaller world, he liked to think. Outside, through the window, he saw the sun shining down on the large Corenian fir tree in his front yard. It stood tall and full, just like h
e remembered it, dropping brown cones into the yard. He rolled out of bed and walked over to the mirror. There, staring back at him, was a child. The twelve-year-old was thin for his age, with clumps of hair sticking out where the pillow had pushed it up. He tried patting it down, but it kept springing back, as if it had a mind of its own.

  In the hallway beyond his door, he could hear the muted whispers. Something was wrong. There was a desperation in the voices, something unfathomable. No, no he knew where he was now. He remembered the day clearly. As he turned the copper doorknob and pushed into the walkway, he heard a woman begin to sob. It sounded so pathetic, so broken.

  “Mom?” he said softly, barely recognizing the voice.

  His father got up from the small circular table in the kitchen and quickly walked over to the boy. Over his shoulder, Johnathan saw the police officer sitting near his mother, patting her gently on the back while she continued to cry into her hands.

  “John,” said his father, kneeling down near him. “There’s been an accident.”

  “An accident?” he replied, feeling a wave of fear well up inside of his chest.

  “Your brother was in a car crash last night and he was hurt really bad,” managed the old man, straining to get the words out. “He didn’t make it, pal.”

  “Brian,” said the boy, feeling the blood rushing out of his head. “You’re wrong. He’s fine. I just saw him last night.”

  “I’m so sorry, John. I know how much your older brother meant to you.”

  “No!” screamed the boy, pushing away from his father. “You’re wrong. He’s fine. He’s fine!”

  He ran down the hall, out through the front door and into the yard. The warm sunlight shimmered off of the tears rolling down his face as he passed the fir tree and entered the small woods nearby. The boy raced along the side of the brook that snaked its way through the thicket, shoving all of the branches and needles that rose up to block him aside. As he hurdled a particularly large knot of roots, he felt his foot catch against the wood. He tumbled down the embankment, landing on his back as shallow water slowly trickled over him. Staring up at the empty sky for a moment, he lay there, alone in the world. His one friend, his one brother, was gone. He closed his eyes tight.