Burnt Worlds

by S. J. Madill

  Dillon and the Chief looked at each other. She raised her eyebrows at him.

  “Okay, thank you,” said the Captain. “A jump drive on a space station, Chief. One guess what they were up to.”

  She nodded at him. “Aye, sir. Researching long jumps.”

  The Tassali’s voice came from behind him; she sounded urgent, almost pleading. “Please, Captain, I said I didn’t know…”

  Dillon turned his head to look at her out of the corner of his eye, holding up one hand. “I said I believed you. That hasn’t changed.”

  “Sir!” cried the sensor tech. “Three ships just entered the system. Frigate-size. Palani. Telada class.”

  “Okay,” said the Captain. “There they are. What’re they—”

  “Captain,” said the communications tech. “We’re being hailed by the… correction, sir, their English is…” The tech was quiet for a moment, listening intently to his headset. “Okay, sir, the Palani flagship is saying that… they think we had something to do with this attack. They want us to hand over the fugitive immediately...”

  “What?” said Dillon. “We just got here; we didn’t have anything to do with—”

  The Tassali’s voice came from behind the Captain. “They do not understand the danger. I could speak to them, Captain, and explain the situation.”

  Dillon gestured. “Yes, by all means. Chief, open a channel, please? I have this feeling we’re all in over our heads.” He looked at the ceiling again. “Cho? Please tell me you’ve found it.”

  “Sorry, sir, nothing yet,” came the reply.

  Tassali Yenaara stepped next to the Chief, at her console near the back of the bridge. It had been Dillon’s post only a few short weeks before. The Chief tapped several buttons on the display, and motioned for the Palani to speak.

  In a calm, measured voice, the Tassali spoke in her native tongue. With the harmonics of her voice, she sounded lyrical. The Chief stood nearby, watching her closely, trying to understand the conversation.

  She had spoken only a few words when she was interrupted by a Palani voice coming from the speaker. It was similarly harmonic, but deeper, coarser, less musical. It sounded angry.

  The Tassali tried again to speak, but was interrupted by the angry voice at the other end. She and the other speaker began to talk faster; the sounds became clipped and dissonant. Her cheeks began to flush with blue, and her voice became louder. The Chief’s eyebrows shot up, and she blushed, glancing at the Tassali. Dillon surmised that the Chief must have recognised a few Palani words. And if the Chief knew any Palani words at all, they’d be… he opened his mouth to speak.

  The angry Palani voice suddenly stopped mid-sentence, replaced by a burst of static. As the sensor tech yelped, Dillon’s attention was drawn out the window.

  Far away from the Borealis, toward the looming grey planet, he saw a brilliant flash of light burst, flare and die. He knew what it was. “Fuck! Cho, damn it!”

  “Got it, sir! Cylindrical ship, forty metres in diameter and two hundred high. Top third separated from the bottom two-thirds. If it doesn’t move too fast, we can keep it targeted.”

  “Thank you, Cho. Helm, get us closer. Atwell, we good to go?”

  The officer’s voice came from the same speaker. “Aye, sir. Get us in range, and say the word.”

  The supervisor’s console, where the Chief and the stunned Tassali stood, erupted with new Palani voices. Even though he couldn’t understand the language, Dillon could clearly hear the urgency in their voices, bordering on panic. The Tassali tried speaking to them, but was immediately rebuffed by a flurry of angry-sounding Palani. Seconds later, the new voices were silenced by static.

  Out the window, there were two more brilliant flashes of light. Out of the corner of his eye, the Captain could see the dumbstruck Tassali slowly lower herself into the seat. The Chief stood nearby watching, her face momentarily creased with concern before she snapped her attention back to the bridge.

  “Helm, get us closer,” said the Captain. “Sing out when we’re in range.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  The crewmember at the sensors console spoke up again. “Captain, target configuration is changing. The two parts have reconnected. It’s now a single… wait, sir, it’s changing again. Target now separating into four equal sections, stacked on top of each other.”

  Dillon looked out the window. “I don’t know what it’s doing, but there’s no way it’s friendly.” He turned toward the communications tech. “Comms, contact the facility on the surface. Tell them who we are, tell them there’s a hostile ship orbiting their planet, and they need to get their people into shelter. Bunkers, safe rooms, whatever. Tell them to hurry.” He lowered his voice, whispering to himself, “Seventy thousand.”

  The comm tech acknowledged his order, and began speaking urgently into his headset. The Chief was looking down at the seated Tassali. “Ma’am, do they have shelters?”

  The Palani slowly shook her head. “No. They are pilgrims, Chief Black. They have dormitories. Small chapels and meditation rooms.” She looked up at the human woman. “They come to study the great temples, to worship at the shrines used by their ancestors. The Burning made the atmosphere unbreathable, so they have to wear environment suits to go outside. Only the most devoted—”

  “Sir!” called the sensor tech. “It’s doing something. Something’s moving toward the planet; it’s distorting our readings, sir. I don’t—”

  Cho’s voice interrupted through the speaker. “It’s a gravity wave, Captain! It’s fired a gravity wave toward the planet. Aimed right at the settlement on the surface, sir. Impact in twenty seconds.”

  Dillon pointed at the comm tech. “Warn the Palani! Tell them to get everyone suited! Get to cover!”

  “Aye aye, sir!”

  “Chief, when the hell are we in range?”

  “Sir! Target is now fully visible to sensors. Locked on. Seven seconds to maximum range, sir.”

  “What the fuck?” said the Captain. “We can lock on? Main armament, stand by!”

  He watched the large display that hovered in front of the bridge windows. The small dot that represented the Borealis moved up the screen, pushing a narrow wedge-shaped firing arc closer to the angry red dot that represented the intruder. The wedge touched the red dot and promptly turned green; an urgent tone sounded from the display.

  “Main armament, one round per barrel, shoot!”

  A loud buzzer sounded throughout the ship, followed by a brief whump. Out the bridge window, a line of softly glowing blue light appeared at the left side of the Borealis, stretching off into the distance as the hypervelocity slug streaked toward the enemy ship. The blue streak swirled and faded as the buzzer sounded again.

  Dillon’s vision flashed totally white, leaving him dizzy as a second blue streak appeared at the ship’s right side. He grabbed the arm of his chair. Other crewmembers braced themselves. “Damn it,” he said to himself.

  Atwell’s voice came through the speaker, a slight quiver in her tone. “Magnetic field leak, starboard barrel. Barrel offline, shunting ammo. Port barrel ready.”

  Barely visible twenty thousand kilometres away, two tiny yellow sparks appeared in the distance, one after the other.

  “A hit,” said the sensor tech. “Two hits!”

  “And?” asked the Captain.

  “The target is still in four sections; we hit the bottom two. We dented it, sir.”

  Dillon stared blankly at the technician. “Come again?”

  The sensor tech looked over the top of her console at him. “Confirmed, sir. Sensors show two dents, each about two metres deep and ten long. That’s it, sir.”

  He turned and looked at the Chief. “A hundred kilotons a shot, and all we get is a goddamned dent? This is going to take all day.”

  A voice came from behind the comm console. “Sir, report from the surface. Very heavy damage. They have numerous casualties, sir.”

  “Damn it,” said Dillon. “What’s that thing
doing? Anything?”

  “No sir,” said the sensor technician. “Still in four equal parts, still just sitting there… wait, sir! We’ve just lost targeting lock.” The woman’s fingers danced across her console. “I can’t get it back, sir. Sensors can’t see it any more.”

  Dillon tilted his head to speak to the console on the ceiling. “Cho?”

  “I see it, sir,” came the tinny voice of the Lieutenant. “It’s not moving.”

  “We have to get it’s attention away from the planet. Main armament?”

  Atwell’s voice came through right away. “Standing by, sir.”

  “Can you hit it?”

  “I’m eyeballing it, sir. We’ll get it.”

  “Very well. Two shots, when ready.”

  Immediately the buzzer sounded, followed by the whump of the weapon discharging. A blue streak appeared at the ship’s left side. A second later the buzzer sounded again, and the port side weapon fired a second time, the new streak of blue light dissipating the first.

  “I can’t see the enemy ship,” said the sensor tech, “but I can see the shots, sir… first shot glanced off… second shot, direct hit.”

  Dillon nodded. “Good shooting. Cho, result?”

  “Nothing, sir. It might have been pushed a bit by the… wait, something’s happening sir, I think it’s fired.”

  The sensor tech’s voice was loud and high-pitched. “Confirmed, sir! It’s fired at the planet again.”

  “Shit!” exclaimed the Captain. “Warn the settlement. Damn it! We have to get that thing’s attention!”

  “Sir, I have it on sensors again. That last hit burrowed a crater a metre deep and fifteen across. We have weapons lock again.”

  Atwell’s voice came through the speaker. “Starboard barrel back online, sir. Thirteen rounds remaining.”

  Dillon shook his head. “We don’t need thirteen rounds. We need an entire battlefleet here.” He looked over at the communications console. “Comms!”

  “Aye, sir!” came the reply.

  “Is the Dosh tunnel cell connected? Can we send secure data?”

  “Connected, sir. We can communicate securely with Dosh command.”

  “Good. Set up a data stream. Send them everything from us: sensor logs, weapon logs, comm logs, voice logs, ship telemetry, the hockey betting pool, everything. Ask them to forward it to New Halifax and to the Palani. I want everyone to know what’s going on...”

  Dillon glanced over at Chief Black, who was watching him. In her eyes, he could see her finishing the thought.

  He looked at the Tassali, who sat at the supervisor’s console. Just a few moments ago she had been slumping in the chair, looking deflated and despairing. Now she was sitting bolt upright, her head high, watching out the bridge windows. Only the flush of blue in her cheeks betrayed any emotion. As if feeling his gaze, she turned her head to look at him, and he hesitated when he saw the determination in her eyes. For a few moments he looked at her, studying the set of her jaw and the slight tilt of her head.

  “Plan, sir?” asked the Chief.

  Dillon turned back toward the window and the large display. The Borealis had closed most of the distance to the attacker, but was still over five thousand kilometres away.

  The screen showed a cluster of blips behind Borealis, each one a fragment of the shattered space station now being tracked by the ship’s sensors. A new blip silently appeared in the cluster as a yellow dot. The dot sprouted a small box with several lines of sensor data that identified it as part of the station’s destroyed jump drive. Dillon raised an eyebrow. “Full stop,” he said.

  “Full stop, aye,” repeated the Chief, stepping over to stand behind the helm console. “Helm, full stop.”

  Dillon looked up at the ceiling. “Sap?” he asked the comm speaker. “You listening in?”

  “Of course, Captain,” came the Dosh’s calm reply. “How may I assist?”

  “Sap, safety be damned, it’s time for human engineering.”

  “More reckless self-endangerment, Captain? I am excited by the prospect.”

  “Be straight with me, Sap. Do we have a jump drive?”

  “We do, Captain. It is quite untested. It is idling at a very—”

  “Low simmer?” interrupted Dillon.

  A moment’s hesitation. “Yes, Captain. A low simmer.”

  “Start charging the capacitors, we’re going to—”

  “The capacitors are all fully charged, Captain.”

  Dillon’s smile grew. “Sap, you and your new engineers are legends. Extra beer rations for everyone.”

  No response.

  “Or coffee,” amended Dillon.

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  21

  The Captain chewed furiously on his pen. “Okay,” he exhaled, “We need to get that thing’s attention. It seems to have a thing about people using jump drives, so…” he waved his hand vaguely at the large display, as if looking for something. “...there. That moon. Plot a jump to that moon.”

  The crewmember at the helm immediately began to tap at her console, but her voice conveyed her uncertainty. “Aye aye, sir. Plotting a jump to the moon of Iralan. Distance is… eight hundred thousand kilometres. Estimated search time is… ten seconds, sir.”

  “Thank you, helm. Begin jump.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  The crewmember tapped her console one last time, and all the displays on the bridge popped up blinking red windows. A low hum started to build through the ship; felt more than heard, gathering in intensity. Out the bridge window, four threadlike beams of blue light came from emitters at the bow, meeting at a single point a hundred metres ahead of the ship. The four beams quivered in unison, their dance becoming ever more frenetic as the power built and the humming increased.

  While Dillon’s pen continued to be brutally chewed, the Tassali looked up at the Chief, who stepped over to stand next to her. “My apologies, Chief Black,” said the Palani in a quiet voice. “I have never been present on the bridge during a jump. What is happening? Why are we waiting?”

  The Chief leaned over so she could whisper to the Palani. “Everything’s fine, ma’am. Here’s the short version: every second, at every point in space, millions of subatomic wormholes appear and then dissolve. They're each connected to a random point elsewhere in the universe. By putting in a little negative energy, we can grab one of them and hold it open to see where the other end goes. If it’s where we want to go, we use a huge amount of negative energy to stretch it wide enough for us to fly through.”

  The Tassali looked at the Chief in bewilderment. “A random point in the universe? The chances of finding an end point near to somewhere specific—”

  “Are quite good,” said the Chief. “It’s not entirely random; it has to do with probabilities and statistics and stuff. Plus, the energy needed to grab the wormhole is proportional to the distance. So we set the energy level to grab only the right-distance wormholes, and all the others slip away without being grabbed. At full power, the drive can grab and check a billion wormholes a second. It won’t be long.”

  The white-skinned woman looked out the bridge windows, her eyes wide. “Intriguing, Chief Black.”

  The Chief smirked. “Want to know my theory? I don’t think anyone has the faintest clue how it works. I think someone was trying to invent, I don’t know, a new dishwasher or something, and accidentally made a jump drive. Wrote up a hundred pages of bullshit, collected their Nobel Prize, and retired. Everyone else just makes copies of the failed dishwasher, and as long as it keeps working, no one asks any questions.”

  The Tassali looked back at the human woman, who nodded enthusiastically. “Chief Black, you have a… unique perspective.”

  “I know, right? It’s obvious when you think about it—”

  “Sir!” said the sensors technician. “Target is moving! Accelerating toward us. It’s closing up into a single section again. Four thousand kilometres and closing.”

  “Okay,” said the Ca
ptain. “We have its attention.”

  “Single section,” said the Chief. “I’m starting to think the different configurations are for different functions.”

  Dillon looked at her. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

  “One piece for travel, four pieces for shooting at planets, and two for shooting at ships.”

  The Captain nodded. “What’s taking the jump so long?” he asked the bridge as a whole.

  “Three thousand kilometres,” said the sensor tech.

  “What’s next, sir?”

  Dillon didn’t answer. He looked at the display, muttering to himself. “How about today? Can we jump today? Today would be nice.”

  “Two thousand kilometres.”

  Out the bridge window, a gigantic black sphere suddenly erupted in front of the ship. With blue tendrils of energy reaching out to it from the ship’s emitters, it quickly grew wider than the ship, its top and bottom out of view. The surface of the sphere writhed with shadowed colours similar to the distant moon.

  “Sir, the jump point is stable.”

  “Right,” said the Captain. “Take us in.”

  The massive sphere loomed closer as the Borealis moved toward it. The swirling blackness engulfed the bow of the ship, then swept back toward the bridge as they entered the jump point. Dillon was vaguely aware of being surrounded by total blackness, a complete lack of input from his senses. This was followed by a brief flash of an angrily churning red glow, then an incredible flash of white, as all his senses were momentarily flooded.

  As abruptly as it had begun, it was over; the view out the bridge windows was filled with the cratered beige surface of the moon of Iralan.

  Dillon quickly shook his head, as if to clear it. He whispered under his breath. “Goddamn, I hate that.” Raising his voice, he spoke clearly to the bridge. “Helm! Port ninety, speed one-tenth light. Sensors! Light cone! Let’s see ourselves.”

  The ship made a quick turn to the left, the moon’s bulk appearing to slide to the right. A display popped up, showing a distant view of the Borealis hanging in space, the tendrils of its jump drive flickering in front of it.

  Like a sprinter who ran so fast they caught up to the sound of the starter’s gun, the Borealis had jumped ahead of its own light. By looking back, they now had the unusual opportunity to watch themselves several seconds in the past.