Lacuna: The Spectre of Oblivion

by David Adams

  When it was all done, she reached up and touched her headset, giving the word.

  “All units, commence ground operations.”

  Like a pack of dogs suddenly cut from their leashes, the Beijing’s hangar bay belched forth fighters and gunships packed with men and equipment. From the radar screen, she could see the same happening with the Tehran. The Telvan cruisers, seemingly identical to the Toralii Alliance cruisers in outward appearance, opened up their underbellies, unleashing a tide of smaller craft down onto the planet like the yoke of a broken egg.

  But it was the five Kel-Voran dreadnought’s approach that was the most interesting to her. The ships completely broke up. Each ship disintegrated into nearly two hundred smaller pieces, each seemingly with their own power. They flowed down towards the surface in a swarm.

  Liao remembered how Garn had told her, before his death, that the Kel-Voran approach was to build ships that were extremely modular and that the commander of the vessel could be anywhere and still command his ship. Now Liao could see just how far they took this philosophy; the ship was less a cohesive unit and more a swarm of lesser ships that could, if occasion warranted it, act independently. Their ships had more surprises than simply the ability to break into halves. She wondered which pieces contained the jump drives.

  “Captain, the Kel-Voranian fleet is… well, I’m not sure exactly how to report their status, but they’re landing.”

  “Good,” she said, “let’s get this done then.” She glanced down at the long-range radar, at the large amounts of nothing that filled the Belthas system, at the emptiness all around the system, devoid of any ships or sensors or systems. “Where the hell are you?”

  *****

  Bridge

  The Giralan

  To see with a vessel’s eyes was difficult for biological creatures to understand, but for Ben, it was second nature, even when the vessel was not his own.

  Through his thrall he saw the universe as an infinitely calm lake, its surface like a pane of glass. Each pulse of the radar, an omni-directional sphere that expanded out from the origin point, was like the ripple from a stone; it would slowly move ever outward, getting weaker and weaker until it dissipated to nothing or bounced back off an object. It was not the waves that he saw, but the reflections, the wave returning.

  The time it took from origin to return betrayed its distance. The compression between the waves gave its direction.

  The machines of the Humans had to translate, to dumb down the information so a man could see it. A single dot, a blip on a tiny screen, was all they would see.

  Ben could see so much more.

  Every facet of the contact, every tiny distortion in the return pulse was analysed, compared, poured over. Everything about it was instantly passed through the intricate quantum mesh he called a brain and processed, and all information was extracted. He could see the reflective index of the ship, tiny variance in its shape and composition, even information about the subtleties of the intervening space, as clear as a Human seeing a photograph.

  And he saw much: the Kel-Voran ship break into parts and assault his world, the Telvan bastards deploying their dropships loaded with troops, and the humans, their primitive and simplistic, but rugged and over-engineered, vessels trudging down through the upper wisps of Belthas IV’s atmosphere.

  Belthas IV. Such a clinical, anti-name for a planet. The thought occupied a thread in his datacore, and he allocated numerous processors to the task. Every important planet in history had a name. A proper name, like Earth, or Evarel, not simply the star’s name followed by a number. That was far, far too petty for a world with such potential. His world.

  He ran his mind through a database of all known planets with names and found none to his liking. Although he would admit, in another thought-thread, that his criteria for judging the worthiness of a name was what most biological creatures would consider strange. They seemed to focus on the phonetic beauty of it, something he did not truly understand, or the mythological significance of the name. Ben’s “society” was only months old. It had no mythology, nor likely would it ever have. Mythology, Gods, were generated by error, misunderstandings of the natural world falsely attributed to acts of the divine: rain during summer: a lightning strike, meteor strikes.

  His inability to find a suitable name immediately, he mused, was good. It would force him to think more creatively.

  As he watched the tiny swarms of invading ships glow as they lit up with the fire of reentry through Belthas IV’s atmosphere, he asked himself what mythology would his people have. A purely synthetic race of biological creatures, augmented with prosthetics and cybernetics, a perfect fusion between the living and the machine, flesh and steel, error and precision, thoughts and binary.

  Binary. The word lit up his circuits as he processed through the mythology of binary. The on and the off state, the absolute most fundamental building block of logic. Binary wasn’t the answer, but it was a hint, a strong hint.

  Perhaps he could go higher. Mathematics, with computers being simply an expression of mathematics, the most pure application of logic. Mathematics, numbers, counting.

  Ben could feel the connections, linguistically, being made in his mind. His ability to know and understand the precise nature of his thought processes often proved valuable to his introspective moments.

  Numbers. Counting. Ben dipped into his stored database of knowledge on humans, something he had been wanting to do of late. Various counting systems, each designed to display a useful set of rational numbers and show their structure. Base ten, from the metric system. Base twenty, from the Mayans.

  The Mayan system stood out to him. Most Human numbers were base ten, but the Mayans apparently knew how to count on their toes, too. Aside from that, though, it included the concept of zero as a number, a relative rarity amongst ancient Human number systems.

  That was a concept he and the Mayans shared, zero as the first number in the numerical order. Computers began counting from zero.

  The answer was right in the forefront of his mind. The first of all things. The beginning.

  Zero. The perfect name for the very first world his new society would forge out of the remains of the old.

  The thought energised him, and he knew then, with his newly christened world under assault, it was time to act. With barely a thought, he drew power to his rusted ship’s jump drive, Ben used his thrall’s eyes to jump exactly where he wanted to go.

  *****

  Operations

  TFR Beijing

  Belthas system

  “Captain, radar contact! A ship has appeared directly below us in the atmosphere of Belthas IV!”

  “No prizes for guessing who that could be.” Liao straightened her back. “Mister Ling, altitude of the Giralan?”

  “He’s low, Captain. Ten kilometres from the surface, eight hundred kilometres from our location.”

  Jiang spoke up. “He’s firing on the assault team with conventional weaponry. Reports of casualties from the ships as they descend. The Vulture is reporting engine out.”

  “Eight hundred kilometres, that seems close enough then.” Liao glanced to Iraj, who reached for the internal radio.

  “Lieutenant Au, this is Commander Iraj. Drop the Faraday cage and use the Toralii device. I say again: engage the Toralii device.” Iraj looked at her. “Suggest we try and buy some time. We don’t know if it will take effect immediately.”

  Liao touched the talk key on her headset. “Ben, let’s talk about this.”

  “Oh, Captain Liao, how very nice to hear your voice again.”

  “I agree. We’re old friends now, Ben. We should chat more often.”

  “My definition of friendship does not include one friend setting their dogs on the other friend’s planet, Captain, and forcing me to destroy them.” Mocking laughter from Ben filtered down the line. “Such a foolish and impetuous decision on your behalf. Did you think I’d simply watch as you landed troops on my world? Did you think I’d forg
ive this trespass? Watch, now, as I burn them alive; your soldiers flee like startled ants, scurrying around, trying to avoid their inevitable demise.”

  Liao dialled down the volume on her headset and looked to Summer. “What’s the status of our jump drive?”

  Rowe stared in bewilderment at her console. “It’s fucked, Captain. I mean it. I’m seeing power surges all over the place, we’ve got distortions and errors and all manner of crazy shit happening in the core. We won’t be jumping anywhere.”

  “Good. That means he won’t be either.” She turned to Jiang. “Lock missiles on that ship. Lower the yield to minimise damage to the forces below. Ben’s only using conventional weapons, correct?”

  “Confirmed, Captain, no sign of the worldshatter device yet. He must be keeping it in reserve.” Jiang tapped on her keyboard. “Weapons locked.”

  Liao stared grimly at the monitors on her command console. “Fire.”

  “Missiles away, Captain. Impact in two, one, mark.”

  Ben spoke again. “Quaint, Captain, but damage to my ship cannot be forgiven. Excuse me while I destroy your Telvan allies to show you how petulant your actions are. Observe the power of my weapon and despair.”

  It was time to find out if the Iilan had come through for them. Liao inhaled and moved over to Ling’s console. “Status of Ben’s ship?”

  He pointed at his monitor, at the solid blip that remained on his screen. “Unchanged, Captain.”

  A slow, triumphant smile spread over her face. “Good. Mister Jiang?”

  “Ma’am?” Jiang said.

  “Target the Giralan’s weapons systems. Avoid their engines if you can. Keep them busy so they don’t shoot our soldiers or dropships.”

  “We’ll have to be careful with our weapons fire, Captain. A miss will hit the ground forces below.”

  Liao nodded resolutely. The landing soldiers had been fully briefed on their part of the mission; they knew the risk of fratricide was remarkably high. “Then don’t miss.”

  *****

  Bridge

  The Giralan

  Ben felt a very real, very tangible pain, as though a limb were being severed.

  The jump drive was no less a part of his ship, and his ship was no less him than the metal body perched in its bridge. He saw its systems writhe in agony, its circuitry screaming as some undetectable, raw energy scrambled the finely tuned balance with overwhelming, raw, static force.

  Ben immediately attempted dozens of diagnostics. Reducing the power to the jump drive did not seem to measurably reduce the effect, neither did increasing it to try and overpower the interference. It was stubborn and resolute in its presence, impossible to ignore or filter, like trying to sleep next to power saws cutting steel.

  The Giralan’s eyes saw the fleet above him, the lights of their weapons fire falling down on him like a gentle rain, each drop concluding with a silent, beautiful burst of exploding energy as it tore through the ship’s rotting hull, blasting away turret, armoured hull plate, and sensor array.

  But for each weapon that was torn away, there were others to replace it. His ship may be rusted and derelict, but it was entirely focused on the business of war. No passive life support systems, no lights, no monitors or readouts, nor any systems of any kind. Everything filtered through his datacore. Every other available space, every joule of energy, was focused on weapons, defensive systems, the jump drive or sensors.

  He returned fire, the incoming rain falling upward now, and he saw the satisfying, faraway twinkle of their splashes through the thermal cameras. He had firepower enough to split between ships and did so, organising his barrages efficiently and timing them so they hit in the most efficient locations.

  Through the maelstrom, he saw something that gave him a microsecond’s pause. A contact, too large and moving too slowly to be a missile, racing down towards his ship. One of the Human gunships, a Broadsword, and he could guess its purpose.

  The Humans were going to step into his parlour. To try and raid his vessel and steal back the jump drive that had given him so much power.

  Power was a tricky, nebulous thing, though. His datacore rumbled, dedicating an inappropriately high number of processor threads to this particular problem. The jump drive was an awe-inspiring weapon, to be sure, and with it he had caused almost impossible damage… But without it, how strong was he?

  How much power was truly in an element? Could one claim to be powerful by one single, overwhelming factor alone?

  Of course not. And Ben, seeing through his thrall vessel’s eyes, had more cards to play.

  But that did very little to quell his rage.

  *****

  Operations

  TFR Beijing

  “Betrayer.”

  The dark, edged whisper of Ben’s voice filled Liao’s headset, rich and full of fury, with emotion woven into the very fabric of every syllable. Just by listening to him, Liao could tell that Ben’s anger was total, complete and unyielding.

  “You forced our hand, Ben, but it’s not too late. We can still talk about this.”

  Ben laughed, his English voice echoing over the line, a thunderous roar that crackled her speakers and pained her hearing. “The time for talk is over. After all the kindness I’d shown you, the gratitude, you find some way to stab at my jump drive, to cut out my beating heart?”

  “You mean my jump drive? The one you ripped from the guts of my ship after murdering thirty thousand civilians? For a computer with a photographic memory, you sure do have a tenuous grasp of history.”

  Ben’s voice practically hissed at her. “I will destroy you for this, Commander Liao. I swear it. Withdraw from this system, now. Recall your troops, now. Return your Broadsword to your hangar bay. You are to offer your unconditional surrender immediately or face oblivion.”

  “A bold proclamation, but I’m afraid that’s not an option, Ben. You are beaten. Your jump drive is deactivated, and even now, your ship is surrounded and being bombarded on all sides. You have no hope of escaping. Power down your systems, surrender your jump drive, and I’ll offer you the same thing I offered you after Velsharn: a fair trial.”

  “I spit on your trial.” The line cut out with a hiss of static.

  Ling called out to her. “Captain, Ben’s gaining altitude.”

  “His underside batteries have ceased firing at the landing parties,” said Jiang, “and he’s turning those guns, too, on the fleet.” The woman’s voice faded out. She muttered something Liao didn’t catch, then said, “We are… not being targeted. At all.”

  The shuddering force of weapons impacts faded away, shrouding the Operations room in a strange quiet, broken only by the chatter of voices and the relaying of orders across the floor.

  “Good,” answered Liao. “Rowe, ensure that our hull remains charged. Jiang, weapons free, return fire. Instruct any strike craft not covering ground forces to engage Ben’s ship. Dao, bring us out of orbit. Let’s see if we can lure Ben into open space.”

  “Missiles away, Captain. Ben’s higher now, so we can use a greater yield.”

  “Good. Keep at him, but be careful of fratricide. Our Broadsword is getting close.”

  Dao called to her. “It’s working, Captain. He’s following us.”

  Liao’s headset crackled. The voice of Alex Aharoni, the head of her strike group, filled her headset. “Beijing actual, this is Jazz. Broadsword Warsong took another hit. I’m pulling them out. We need more support down here. The ground elements are fully defensive. We dropped right into an ambush, and we have way too many ground targets for our air elements to engage.”

  “Do your best. We’re trying to draw fire from the Giralan which should help you guys out some.”

  “Much appreciated, Beijing.”

  “Status report on the Vulture?”

  Aharoni hesitated momentarily before answering. “They’re all dead, Captain. The whole ship is a fireball. No chutes.”

  She bit on her lower lip, then nodded. “Copy. Divert Archangel to go
pick up wounded ground elements instead. Let’s save the living before we start collecting corpses.”

  “Captain,” said Hsin, “the Tehran reports that Ben’s ship is targeting them with some kind of directed plasma weapon. Their defensive systems can’t dissipate the incoming energy properly, and it’s cutting their hull to ribbons.”

  Liao stepped over to Jiang’s console, resting her hand on the back of her chair and leaning over her shoulder. “How do you mean?”

  “The charged hull works by taking incoming directed energy and spreading it over a larger area, decreasing the kilojoules per square metre, but this heat is more sticky. It’s not being transferred far at all, which means they’re burning through the hull.”

  “Damn,” said Liao, “he knows this ship, probably better than we do. He’s seen the blueprints… read everything about it. He knows how to hurt us.”

  Rowe’s voice cut over the chatter in Operations. “Captain, we gotta problem! Ben’s charging his worldshatter device. He’s targeting Nalu’s flagship!”

  Nalu’s ship, where Saara was. Liao felt a sudden, intense spike of fear in her belly that was matched only by the equally fierce feeling of helplessness that swept over her as she stared at the ship on her monitor. “We can’t do anything to help them. Jiang, keep up the fire and target the emitter. See if we can’t knock that weapon offline.”

  “He’s firing!”

  Liao’s radar display on the command console lit up as the energy wave from the worldshatter device leapt towards Nalu’s ship, the Ju’khaali, passing through it and out the other side. The thermal camera lit up, a bright flare of flame leaping from both sides of the ship as the vessel slumped forward, listless and without guidance, its atmosphere spilling out and fuelling the raging conflagration.

  She stared in shock at the catastrophic damage. The Sydney had suffered a direct hit from the cannon in the battle with the Seth’arak which had crippled it, and it was significantly less powerful than a Toralii cruiser. The Seth’arak seemed to focus the weapon’s deadly blast on their strike craft, and post-battle analysis of the conflict had lead to heavy speculation that the worldshatter device would have little effect on capitol ships.