Right Ascension

by David Derrico

  “We should,” replied the Admiral, “but Darren said it would be limited. I assume we won’t be able to go much faster than—”

  Daniel was cut off by an abrupt sound, akin to the sound of hail pelting the roof of an aircar. The sounds were tinny and high-pitched, as if an abundance of tiny rocks were sprinkling the Apocalypse’s hull.

  The comet.

  The sounds quickly grew in intensity, and the Apocalypse, no longer stabilized by her failed inertial dampeners, began to slowly spin counterclockwise. It was only another instant until the sound was gone, leaving an eerie silence as the Apocalypse, narrowly saved from a collision with the deadly comet, spun uncontrollably through space, light-years away from Earth and powerless to return.

  CHAPTER 16

  The vapid drone of the hyperdrive engines reminded Daniel that the normally swift Apocalypse traveled toward Earth at only one half her normal top speed. The Admiral, sitting wearily on his bed in his quarters now that gravity had finally been restored, powerlessly tried to will the ship to greater speed, knowing that every second counted in their race to reach Earth before the Vr’amil’een attack force.

  Daniel rubbed his eyes, his left middle finger numb after it had been repaired by the surgical droid. The droid, theoretically immune from making the mistakes a human doctor could, was more than capable of taking care of minor injures like broken bones. Nonetheless, the Admiral would have felt better with a live, human surgeon working on his body instead of the lifeless machine, advanced and “perfect” though it might be.

  “Lights off,” commanded the Admiral, and the computer dutifully brought down the lights in the room to a nearly pitch-black level. He slumped his head back on the pillow, the memory gel comfortably molding itself around his head. His entire body tingled after his immersion in the soothing effervescence bath, and although it was far less sore than it had been, Daniel’s body still longed for rest. A brief shiver ran through him, and while he normally would have simply raised the temperature of the room or of the bed itself, the fact that they still ran on auxiliary power impelled the Admiral to instead reach for an extra blanket at the foot of the bed. Though he doubted the few joules of electricity it would take to heat the bed would slow them down or deplete their remaining energy at any appreciable rate, he figured that he was running the Apocalypse beyond its recommended auxiliary limits as it was. When they arrived at Earth, the ship would have perilously little energy left should they need to enter into combat.

  Of course, the idea was to reach Earth before the Vr’amil’een and warn ConFedCom of the impending threat. Remarkably, Nathan had calculated that the time to reach the nearest communications station within the HTAN and send a message to ConFedCom would actually take slightly longer than simply traveling to Earth to ring the alarm in person. After all, even at one half full hyperspace speed, the Apocalypse was still reasonably swift, and the detour, including the time-consuming realspace approach to the communications station and the delay in arranging for a coded priority transmission, would have negated any time savings. Better to give the message in person and then be there to help defend against the assault as well, the Admiral reasoned. Besides, coded though the transmissions might be, the Admiral was not prepared to transmit either the Vr’amil’een attack plans or the horrible truth he had learned across open space.

  Inconveniently, the documents he had obtained on Tu’oth’roor did not set a specific date or time for the assault, but the attack seemed to be imminent. Either way, it would probably be close. In preparation of the very real possibility that they did arrive after the Vr’amil’een, the Admiral began running mental simulations of the upcoming battle based on the information he had gleaned from the report. Before long, however, his profound weariness overcame him and he fell into a deep sleep.

  • • •

  By the volume of the door chime, which gradually increased as it repeated itself, the Admiral knew that it had taken quite a few repetitions to awaken him from his slumber. A quick glance at the chronometer showed that he had been asleep for over 13 hours, meaning that they should be about an hour from Earth.

  “Come in,” he said, groggily struggling to sit up. The Admiral could not remember the last time he had slept for anywhere near 13 hours, and although he felt noticeably better after the rest, a creeping exhaustion still permeated his body. He could no longer deny that his age was beginning to catch up to him—he felt years older than he ever had, though he suspected that only half of it was physical.

  The door slid open and Anastasia entered, raising the light in the room to a comfortably dim illumination. “I didn’t want to wake you, Dan,” she said as she walked toward the bed. “After all, I figured you would need your sleep. Dex told me all about your adventures, old man.” She chuckled good-naturedly. “He sounded quite impressed that you didn’t simply collapse during your travails.”

  “I appreciate his confidence in me,” the Admiral deadpanned. “But I really wish everyone would stop calling me ‘old man.’ In fact, as I remember it, I practically had to carry Dex most of the way.” The Admiral smirked as he stretched his arms and neck, his body reluctant to respond.

  Anastasia smiled warmly. “That’s how I figured it actually happened myself, but I thought I would let Dex have his fantasy.”

  “Very kind of you,” Daniel quipped, willing himself out of bed, his body stiff but not nearly as sore as it had been. “What is our ETA to the Sol System?”

  “Just over an hour,” she replied, her demeanor quickly turning serious. There was a brief pause before she added, “What are we going to do once we get there? I mean …” She left the thought unfinished.

  “I know what you mean,” he replied, staring at the floor. “But right now I think we just have to worry about the Vr’amil’een. After that …” He looked up at her blankly.

  “I guess you’re right,” she sighed. “I … I just have to believe Admiral Cole had some good reason for what he did. Or maybe the tape is a fake, I don’t know. Ryan is inspecting it now.”

  The Admiral shook his head. “It’s not a fake, Anastasia.” She could see that he was somehow sure.

  Commander Mason slumped into a chair. “Then I don’t even know what we’re fighting for anymore. Maybe we should just … I don’t know.” She hung her head listlessly.

  “I’ll tell you what we’re fighting for, Anastasia. We’re fighting for the eight billion people who live on Earth, people who have no idea what even went on in the Korgia Prime System, let alone were responsible for it.” He walked over and knelt beside her, reaching across and lifting her chin to stare into her eyes. “We’re fighting for my wife, and your kids, and everyone else’s wives and kids. We’re fighting because that one mistake, appalling though it might have been, should not condemn humanity to death.”

  She nodded softly, grasping his hand in hers. “You’re right. I know. It’s just so … disillusioning, disheartening … I don’t know.” She inhaled deeply and looked up at him. “I just hope we’re in time. If not …”

  “I know,” replied the Admiral, looking across the room to the portrait of his wife. “I know.”

  • • •

  Anastasia had gone to the bridge and Daniel walked down the short hallway to the engineering bay. With only an hour until their arrival at Earth, the Admiral wanted to know exactly what his capabilities would be once they had exited hyperspace. He realized his ship would be dramatically crippled without main power, but he did not intend to sit idly by while the Vr’amil’een pounded Earth.

  Upon entering the engineering bay, Daniel could see Ryan seated in front of a console, studiously watching the replay of the tape Le Jaunte had shown them. As Daniel entered, Ryan looked up and shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s real, sir. Either that, or it’s the best damned fake I’ve ever seen. Even the readings on the displays are all correct.”

  The Admiral nodded silently. After all, he had really already known it was true. The look in Le Jaunte’s eye had told him more th
an Mr. Taylor’s extensive analysis.

  Ryan looked up at him as the tape continued to play in the background. “What does this mean, sir?” he asked timidly. “What are we going to do?”

  The Admiral, reading his expression as much as his words, tacitly realized that Ryan had just subtly promised his allegiance and willingness to go along with whatever decision he made. The loyalty of Daniel’s crew had never ceased to impress him. After all, it would be easy for any one of the crew to spill the story for any number of reasons: a sense of duty, a desire to tell the truth, or even plain old greed for the trillions of credits the story could surely produce. But the Admiral knew no member of his crew would do such a thing. He would not quarantine them, nor monitor their communications—after all, they trusted him enough to abide by his judgement, and he felt he owed it to them to trust them as well. Perhaps that was one of the reasons they were so loyal in the first place.

  “I don’t know yet, Ryan. I really don’t know. For right now, I’m just worried about the Vr’amil’een. What will our capabilities be under auxiliary power?”

  “Lieutenant Alexander has been studying the specifics, sir,” Ryan began, peripherally glancing at the screen over Daniel’s shoulder. “He should know—”

  The engineer’s reply stopped in mid-sentence. His mouth hung open and he stared blankly at the screen. His eyes were glazed over, and he looked as if he had just seen a ghost, some horrifying specter back from his past to haunt him.

  Without speaking, Ryan reached across the panel and rewound the tape playing on the monitor. Daniel looked and saw that it had played past the point where Le Jaunte had shown the tape from the Indomitable, and now showed Le Jaunte sitting on the bridge of the Vr’amil’een ship.

  Ryan stopped rewinding and brought up the volume as the tape played back on the screen. Daniel could hear the last few words come out of Le Jaunte’s mouth: “… it is indeed authentic.”

  Though the screen still showed Le Jaunte, Daniel’s own reply was audible from the speakers. “That’s not why you are doing this, Pierre. That has nothing to do with it at all.”

  And then Admiral Atgard saw what Ryan had seen, what he himself had seen before: the tiny flicker of Le Jaunte’s eyes, a flicker he had all but dismissed but that Ryan evidently took very seriously.

  “Did you see that?” asked Ryan softly, pausing the tape. “Were you watching his eyes?”

  “I was,” replied the Admiral. “What did you see?”

  With some effort, Ryan tore his gaze from the screen to look at the Admiral. “Sir, do you know about my history with the IMP? The Implanted Microprocessor Project?”

  “I do,” Daniel replied. “I know you were an integral member of the design team.”

  “Yes, well,” Ryan continued, clearly flustered, “I also worked with the subjects after they had received the implants. I monitored several of them very closely.” He swallowed hard.

  “Yes?” prompted the Admiral.

  “Well, when the subjects accessed information or received data through the wireless modems in their implant chips, they … their eyes flicked upwards.” Ryan stared at the Admiral, aghast. “Just like Le Jaunte’s did right there.”

  Daniel’s heart skipped a beat. “Are you sure, Ryan? Are you positive?”

  “Yes, sir, absolutely I am positive,” he said. He spoke with a horrified confidence that could not be doubted. “Trust me, sir. I will never forget that look. That was it. Pierre Le Jaunte has an implant.”

  • • •

  Once back on the bridge, Daniel ran back the conversation with Le Jaunte several times in his mind. The more he thought on it, the more it made sense: the arrogance, the cold brilliance, the overriding need to be superior—they all fit in with the effects of the implant. But all of the subjects had gone insane, and had all eventually died from the stress. So how did Le Jaunte get an implant? Perhaps he had recently found a way to create a new version of the implant for himself, and it had turned him into a madman.

  The Admiral shook his head. No, that wasn’t right … after all, for as long as Daniel had known him, he had exhibited those qualities. This was not a sudden change—this is what Le Jaunte had been all along. He just had reason to hide his insanity before.

  The chime of the bridge doors opening caught the Admiral’s attention, jolting him out of his train of thought. Darren walked through, carrying a data plate to the Admiral and handing it to him.

  “Well, sir, that’s about what we can do,” he said, scratching his graying hair absently. “Under auxiliary power, it’s not much, I’m afraid.”

  The Admiral mumbled his acknowledgment as he pored over the information on the plate. “So we can fire lasers, or raise shields, but not both?” he asked, studying the readings.

  Lieutenant Alexander pulled himself up to his full, if unimpressive, height. “Sir, if I may say so, I had to do quite a bit of recalculations and re-optimizations and re-routings and re-chargings just to get you either. You know, under the circumstances, I think I did pretty well, considering that I eked out more auxiliary power for us than I ever did on the Northern Star, and her power grid had almost twice the output and 20 percent more capacity than ours.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Alexander,” Daniel said, this time looking him sincerely in the eye. “I realize you have, as always, done exceptional work. I am quite sure you have done all that can be done and then some.”

  “I should say so,” he huffed.

  Daniel looked back to the data plate in his hand. “I merely meant that it is unfortunate to be entering battle at less than full capacity. But at least you have given us something to work with. Thank you, Mr. Alexander.”

  Darren relaxed slightly, the perceived affront to his considerable skill rescinded. “Happy to help, Admiral,” he replied, bowing slightly and turning to leave the bridge. “I’ll be back reconfiguring the power converters if you need me again.” The bridge doors closed silently behind him as he left.

  Daniel looked to Anastasia, who smiled back at him. They had both worked with Darren long enough to know that he was quite proud of his work, and any insult to it—real or imagined—was perceived as an attack on him personally. They also both knew, however, that his quirkiness was more than made up for by his loyalty, skill, and ardor.

  “Can I see the plate, sir?” asked Dex, and the Admiral handed it to him. Dex stared at it intently, his brow deeply furrowed as he read over the restrictions they would be forced to live with were they to do battle.

  Nathan turned to face the Admiral, and in the several seconds before he spoke, it was obvious that there was something on his mind. “So, Admiral,” he finally began, “exactly what kind of implant does Pierre Le Jaunte have?”

  Daniel let out a long sigh. “I have no idea what it is or where he got it. I’m pretty sure he’s had it all along, so it’s not something he got from the Vr’amil’een, but all the subjects of the IMP are dead. Maybe he stole one from the IMP lab or maybe he developed it independently. I really have no idea,” he admitted, “but I intend to find out once I get a chance back on Earth.”

  “Do you think the Vr’amil’een will still attack once they know we are waiting for them?” Nathan asked hopefully. “Would it not be logical for them to abort the assault under those conditions?”

  “You perhaps look at these things from too logical a standpoint at times, Nathan,” advised the Admiral, peripherally noting that his Fedoran friend never used contractions in his speech. “Sometimes, some people, or some species—like the Vr’amil’een—will astound you with their ability to defy logic. People do not always do what is strictly wise or prudent or logical. That’s why you must be prepared for your enemy to do anything, logical or otherwise.”

  “But that is foolish,” Nathan replied, the skin around his beady, unlidded eyes squinting slightly. “Such people or species should be easy to defeat.”

  The Admiral smiled inwardly, aware that while Nathan was a fine astrometric technician, he would make a poor star
ship captain or tactician. “On the contrary, Nathan, being too logical and too predictable can often spell disaster. Without a little spontaneity sometimes, it is easy for your enemy to anticipate your actions. You would be reasoning like a computer.”

  “Is that not good?” asked the Fedoran, clearly confused.

  “No, Nathan, it is not good at all,” Daniel chuckled, remembering his victory over Le Jaunte, now in a new light. “Logic and reason and calculation can only get you so far.” He glanced at Anastasia. “Intuition, innovation, and passion are just as important.”

  Lieutenant Latimer mumbled his assent, but the Admiral could see he did not fully understand. After all, it was near impossible for the mathematically-minded Fedoran to accept such notions. Daniel hoped his words had at least made an impression.

  Suddenly, and without warning, there was an abrupt jolt and a blaring alarm, both of which were, by now, all too familiar.

  With a sickening shudder, the Apocalypse was jostled unceremoniously out of hyperspace, momentarily blacking out the bridge in the process. When the auxiliary power had kicked back in, the viewscreen automatically flickered to life, but before he could even see the ship’s dreadful signature silver coloring, Daniel knew the ship that would appear would be that of the Lucani Ibron.

  CHAPTER 17

  A sudden surge of anger welled within the Admiral, though, considering the circumstances, a more logical emotion would have been surprise or even fear.

  “Forget the shields,” ordered the Admiral, just as Dex opened his mouth to ask. “Target the ship and fire all available weapons. And Zach, keep us moving.” To himself he added, “This is getting old.”

  A fusillade of lasers streaked toward the alien vessel, followed closely by a savage volley of missiles and projectile rounds. The missiles impacted the center of the ship and blossomed into a brilliant ball of fire, expanding to fill the expansive viewscreen. For several tense seconds, nothing stirred.