04 Dark Space

by Jasper T. Scott

  “Yes,” Hoff agreed. “We’re running out of time. You may proceed when ready, Doctor.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Don’t do this, Hoff,” Destra pleaded one last time, watching as Doctor Elder stood up from the probe console with a wicked looking needle—an implanter.

  Hoff met her eyes as the probe was injected into the base of his neck. “Hurry, Des. Take Atta and go to the Baroness. They have orders to leave as soon as you’re aboard. You’ll be running food to the Gors’ fleet, supporting them covertly until Atton comes back with reinforcements. I’m going to have the doctor erase my memory of what you are doing and where you are. All I’ll know is that you are someplace safe.”

  Destra bit her lower lip and shook her head. “Aren’t you going to say goodbye to Atta? She’s in the waiting room outside.”

  Hoff shook his head. “There’s no time, and I don’t want her to worry. If she asks, tell her I’m going to get help so we can defeat the Sythians.”

  Destra hesitated, still chewing her lower lip.

  “We’re ready to begin, sir,” Doctor Elder said, already on his way back to the probe console.

  Hoff caught her eye. “Destra, go!”

  She snapped into motion, leaning over the chair to drop a quick kiss on her husband’s cheek. “I’ll be with you in your dreams, Hoff,” she whispered beside his ear.

  “And I in yours,” he replied.

  With that, she turned and ran from the room. On her way through the waiting room, she grabbed Atta’s hand and pulled her daughter along.

  “Ouch!” Atta said, trying to wriggle free. “Where’s Daddy?”

  “He’s busy, sweetheart.”

  Atta stopped suddenly, just before the double doors of the med bay, causing Destra’s arm to snap painfully taut. “I want to see him!” she said.

  Destra rounded on her daughter with flashing blue eyes. “We’ll see him later. Right now, we have to run, Atta. We have to hurry! Come on.”

  “What’s going on?” Atta asked.

  “The Sythians are coming,” Destra said without thinking, and promptly winced. She had hoped to spare her daughter from the ugly truth of what was happening.

  But the truth worked better than any comforting lie—Atta shut right up, and she didn’t try to stop or turn around again.

  * * *

  Destra watched from the bridge of the Baroness as swarms of Sythian shuttle craft poured between the Sythian fleet and the human defenders in Dark Space. Not a shot was fired from either side, making the surrender uncontested. As for the Gors, they were somewhere nearby, no doubt watching the same scene from afar.

  “Surreal, isn’t it?” Captain Covani said, coming up beside Destra.

  She turned to him with a frown. Captain Ekram Covani was a man of forty-something, bald, with a skin as black as a Gor’s armor. His piercing tangerine eyes made him look at times more alien than human—his eyes similar to a Gor’s—but Destra knew Covani was one of the few officers left in the fleet that Hoff would entrust his life to. Covani had been in Dark Space since the exodus, but he and Hoff had known each other long before the war had separated them.

  Destra replied, “We’ve spent so long fighting them and now we’re just going to give up. It feels like we’re reliving the invasion. Like it’s the end of everything, and this time there’s no escape.”

  “We have to hold on to hope. The Gors are still out there, waiting for the right time to attack.”

  Destra nodded.

  “Besides that, we have to hold on to the hope that reinforcements will come.”

  “Hoff told you about that?”

  “About your son’s mission? Yes, ma’am. He told me that he sent your son to get help from another group of survivors.”

  Destra’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why would he tell you about that?”

  “The admiral knew that if he expected my crew and I to wait around, ferrying food and supplies to the Gors, then he had to give us hope. He had to give us a reason to stay. We have our orders. We’ll wait here until we can’t wait any longer, and if help doesn’t come, I’ve been told we are to rescue as many as we can and flee.”

  “It won’t come to that.”

  ”Well, let’s hope not. Our fate is in your son’s hands, ma’am.”

  Destra nodded slowly and she turned back to watch the swarms of Sythian shuttle craft streaming into the Valiant’s hangars. “Not just ours . . .” she whispered. “The fate of the entire galaxy is depending on him.”

  “I hope he’s up to it.”

  I just hope he stays safe, Destra thought.

  * * *

  Hoff blinked his eyes open and shook his head. Pain stabbed through his brain with the movement, and he winced. “Where . . .” He lifted his head off the pillow to look around. He was in the med bay, lying on a bed in one of the ward rooms. A doctor was sitting at a nearby desk taking notes. Presently, that man turned around, and Hoff found he recognized him. “Doctor Elder, what am I doing here?”

  The doctor smiled, and his already bright magenta eyes grew a few shades warmer. “You passed out and hit your head, Admiral. Low blood sugar and a potassium deficiency, it seems. And perhaps, the shock of our surrender.”

  “Surrender?” Suddenly Hoff remembered, and his eyes flew wide. His memory was hazy, and it felt like he was trapped in a bad dream, but one thing was crystal clear: he had surrendered to the Sythians. “Why . . .” he shook his head again, and it began throbbing mercilessly. “I don’t remember why we surrendered.”

  The Doctor’s expression became grim. “Because we are badly outnumbered. We had no choice. The Sythians demanded we give them the Gors so they could bring their slaves to justice, and in exchange they offered to leave us in peace—if we would agree to join them.”

  Hoff’s jaw dropped; he remembered now, but he still didn’t understand. It seemed like death would have been preferable to surrender. “How long have I been out?”

  “Less than an hour. We have Sythians coming aboard now. You should be there to greet them if you’re feeling up to it.”

  “Yes . . .” Hoff trailed off. “I probably should. What about the Gors? They’re . . .”

  “They cloaked. For all we know they’re already long gone, fleeing to some other part of the galaxy.”

  Hoff began nodding slowly. “They must have seen the betrayal coming.”

  “Indeed,” Doctor Elder replied. “Shall I send an escort to take you to the ventral hangar concourse or can you find your way there on your own?”

  “Have an honor guard of sentinels meet me there, but make sure they’re not armed. I don’t want a firefight. It’s too late to change our minds about surrendering now.”

  “Much too late,” the doctor agreed.

  Hoff swung his legs off the gurney and the doctor helped him down. “Did we set any terms for the surrender?” Hoff asked, now standing on the deck.

  “No, sir. It was unconditional—apart from the condition that they agree not to harm us.”

  “Right.” Hoff grimaced. “Why is my memory so poor? I can remember after you tell me the answers, but it’s hard to summon those answers for myself.”

  “Amnesia is not uncommon after a head injury. The answers will come clearer in time.”

  “Well, thank you, Doctor. I’d better hurry.”

  “Immortals be with you, sir.”

  Hoff strode quickly to the entrance of the ward room. He passed his wrist over the scanner and then turned back to the doctor as something else occurred to him. “Do we know what the Sythians want?”

  “They said they wanted the Gors, but the Gors left, so you’ll have to ask them what else they’re after.”

  “Very well.” With that, Hoff hurried out the door and down the corridor to the waiting room. Five minutes later he reached the rail car tunnel that would take him down to the Valiant’s ventral hangar bays, and ten minutes later he was standing in the hangar concourse, watching through the transpiranium walls as Sythian shuttles
landed by the dozens in the port and starboard hangar bays. These were the venture-class hangars, and they were big enough to accommodate over a hundred shuttles each. Hoff found himself wondering at the absence of the Intrepid and the Baroness, the two venture-class cruisers which should have been docked inside those hangars. He decided that he must have forgotten he’d launched them to deal with the Sythian threat.

  Hoff stepped closer to the starboard hangar and squinted out at the bustle of gleaming lavender-hued shuttles. Each one was at least twenty meters long and had the same teardrop shape as all of the larger Sythian vessels.

  The stream of shuttles streaking in through the distant, fuzzy blue wall of static shields began to slow down, and they began opening up like mechanical flowers, their sides peeling away to form ramps in three different directions at once. Hordes of troops in glossy black armor with glowing red optics poured out onto the deck—Gors. Hoff’s brow furrowed and a stab of adrenaline sent his heart pounding. The Gors had tricked them! They’d been on the Sythians’ side all along! They were . . .

  His thoughts trailed off as he saw a few squads of the black-armored troops form up and march toward him. He realized as they drew near that they were far too small to be Gors. The troopers were all human-sized. Now that he thought about it, he remembered the scans they’d taken from the Sythian fleet, scans which had revealed human crews on board the Sythian warships. Somehow they had recycled thousands of Gor-sized suits of armor into new, human-sized suits in just over a month.

  Hoff heard a nearby clatter of armor and the sound of heavy boots clanking toward him from the direction of the rail car he’d arrived on. He whirled around to see a full platoon of sentinels, sans plasma rifles, marching toward him in their matte gray armor—the honor guard he’d requested. All sixteen troopers stopped as one and the platoon leader stepped forward to offer a salute. “Sir,” he said.

  Hoff nodded and his eyes went to the man’s upper arm to read his rank insignia. Four bronze chevrons and three bars emblazoned on the black shield of the sentinels marked him as a Master Sergeant. “Are you ready to greet our conquerors, Sergeant?” Hoff asked.

  “Ready as we’ll ever be, sir.”

  “Let’s go.” Hoff turned and led his men toward the broad double doors leading from the concourse to the port ventral hangar. “This is it,” Hoff said, stepping to one side of the doors and raising his wrist to wave his imbedded identichip in front of the door scanner.

  The doors swished open, revealing what seemed like an endless horde of troops wearing identical glossy black armor, their helmets glowing with countless pairs of blood red optics. Hoff heard a sharp hiss and his eyes were drawn to the front of the crowd to find the only being who stood out from the sea of identical black helmets—a human-sized creature in matching black armor, but with his helmet off and tucked under one arm. His breastplate was marked on one side with glowing bars and symbols which were the alien’s rank insignia, but his features were what caught Hoff’s attention. His skin was translucent but for a pattern of lavender-colored freckles on his gaunt cheeks. The sides of his neck were slashed with gills, and the top of his bald head was crowned with a bony cranial ridge. Large, wide eyes the color of dark sapphire found Hoff’s face, and the creature’s rubbery lips stretched in a facsimile of a human smile.

  “High Lord Kaon,” Hoff said. “You’re back. I was beginning to worry you didn’t make it to a new body.”

  Kaon warbled something in return, and Hoff waited to hear the translation. When it didn’t come, he realized he wasn’t wearing a translator. Must have lost it when I passed out, Hoff thought. He was about to turn and ask the platoon behind him if any of them had a translator he could borrow, but Kaon circumvented him by having one of his troopers step forward to translate.

  “The Mighty Kaon ignores your sarcastic remark. He asks what you think of his new army,” the trooper said in a distinctly human voice.

  “Tell him it is impressive and ask him what he intends to do with it now that we have surrendered. It would seem he no longer needs an army.”

  “He understands you,” the human replied, followed by more warbling from Kaon. “Our Lord Kaon says that he plans to use us to take control of his new fleet—your fleet. It is to be his recompense for the fleet you took from him.”

  “Yes . . .” Hoff frowned. “My apologies. I’m sure you can still find some fragments of your command ship out there somewhere. . . . enough for a souvenir at least.”

  Warble.

  “You are smug,” the human translator standing beside Kaon replied, followed by more warbling. “It is not fitting for slaves to speak to their masters that way, but in time your people learn.”

  Hoff’s eyes narrowed sharply. “You agreed to leave us in peace, Kaon. You agreed not to harm us.”

  Kaon warbled something and his translator said, “That is correct, you are not to be harmed, but the lords said nothing about your people’s freedom.”

  Hoff gritted his teeth and turned to yell at the human translator, “My people? You are my people, you frekking skriff!”

  “I am, and we are, servants of the lords, no less and no more.”

  Warble.

  The translator turned to look at his Sythian lord and passed on Kaon’s next message. “Kaon asks if you remember how you tortured him.”

  Hoff felt a flutter of trepidation. “Why?”

  Warble.

  “He says now you are to know his pain. Justice is found in reciprocity.”

  “I believe that’s revenge you’re thinking of,” Hoff replied.

  Kaon smiled his rubbery smile once more and replied with more warbling. The translator passed on his message a moment later, “Revenge, yesss . . . why do you think I return?”

  WHERE THE DARKNESS FINDS US

  Chapter 11

  Four days later . . .

  The door swished open to reveal Commander Lenon Donali; the glowing red iris of his artificial eye dimmed and then brightened again as he blinked. “You’ve made your decision?”

  “I have,” Atton replied slowly.

  “Well, come on in.” The commander left the door open and retreated to his desk. “Can I get you a drink?” he asked, his hands landing on a crystal decanter with a fiery red spirit inside.

  Atton stepped into Donali’s office and eyed the decanter, wondering at its contents. Some type of Aubrelian Brandy perhaps. “No, sir. We’re about to revert to real space, and I need to be alert and ready to launch.”

  “Ah, well, that is true . . .” Commander Donali said, leaving the decanter where it was. By declining the drink, Atton had practically given Donali his answer already. “A glass of water instead?” the commander asked as he rounded his desk and took a seat behind it.

  “I’m fine, sir. This won’t take long.”

  “I see.”

  “I’ve given your offer a lot of thought.” Atton stepped up to the pair of chairs in front of Commander Donali’s desk, but made no move to sit in one of them. “In a lot of ways sending you to Avilon instead of me makes sense.”

  His senior officer raised an eyebrow. “But . . .”

  “But, Admiral Heston is the only one who has ever been to Avilon, and it occurs to me that although I am young and inexperienced, and I am a mortal, as opposed to you, a human with a Lifelink implant . . .”

  “Go on.”

  “In spite of that, it occurs to me that the admiral must have had a good reason for sending me. I cannot second-guess his orders or his decision without knowing his reasoning.”

  “I see,” the commander said again. “That’s your final decision, then?”

  Atton nodded. “It is.”

  Donali said nothing, the seconds ticking by until the silence became uncomfortable.

  “I’m sorry if you are disappointed by my decision, sir.”

  The commander gave a broad smile, but it never reached his eyes. “Not at all. I admire your conviction. Were I in your shoes, I would feel considerably less sure about my ord
ers.”

  Atton frowned. “I’m not sure, but I have made my decision.”

  “So it would seem. Well, that will be all, Mr. Ortane. As you mentioned, we are about to revert to real space, and you had better be ready and waiting on the flight deck when we arrive.”

  “Yes, sir,” Atton said, snapping to attention and offering a brisk salute. He left the commander’s office with a furrowed brow. Donali definitely hadn’t been pleased to hear his decision. Clearly he thought he was the better choice to send to Avilon, but they had their orders and they had to follow them. It was tantamount to treason if they didn’t. Commander Donali would just have to be content with his role as head of the extraction team.

  Atton switched his focus to the mission ahead. He’d been preparing for it during their week-long journey through SLS, and now it was almost time for him to leave the Intrepid—and his squadron—behind. That meant he wouldn’t see either Ceyla or Gina again—at least not for a while, but perhaps never. If the Avilonians wouldn’t let him leave, and Donali couldn’t effect a rescue, Atton would be trapped there.

  For that reason, Atton had kept to himself as much as possible over the last week. He wasn’t very popular with his squadron, anyway. As for Gina and Ceyla, they had seemed hurt by his sudden withdrawal from all things social, but now they had formed something of a friendship with each other. He suspected their mutual dislike for him was what they had in common. For her part, Gina had hooked up with the resident smart mouth of the squadron, Horace “Hawkeye” Perkins. Atton was certain she’d done that just to slight him.

  He sighed and shook his head as he stepped inside a lift tube and rode it down to the flight deck. He needed to have his mind clear and free of distractions if he hoped to succeed in his mission. Humanity was depending on him; romance could wait. Atton smiled bitterly. That had been his philosophy for the last three years, ever since he’d agreed to take over from his adoptive father and impersonate the almost 100-year-old Supreme Overlord of the Imperium. Now, no longer wearing the holoskin which had made him old and unattractive to women, he had found a new reason not to get involved with anyone.