Burnt Worlds

by S. J. Madill

  The crew watched as the jump point formed and they flew into it. They could see the enemy ship approach their jump point, which abruptly stretched large enough to swallow the cylindrical vessel before disappearing with it.

  “Time,” said the sensor technician. “Enemy ship entered the jump two seconds behind us.”

  Chief Black quickly stepped to look over the sensors console. “Wait, two seconds? Then it should’ve come out this end two seconds after us. It should be here already.”

  “Rear view,” snapped Dillon.

  A display opened up, showing the rear of the ship. The black ball of the jump point was receding into the distance behind them.

  “That’s not supposed to do that,” said the Captain. “The starting jump point has already collapsed, but the end point is still open. That’s supposed to be impossible.”

  The Chief stared at Dillon, her eyes slightly wide. He chewed his pen as he looked back at her, then glanced at the Tassali, who was watching the displays at the front of the bridge.

  “Sir!”, said the sensors tech. “Target ship has exited the jump point. It is now following us.”

  On the rear display, the sphere of the jump point had disappeared, replaced by the tall cylinder of the enemy ship.

  The Chief quickly returned to the back of the bridge, and began tapping on her console. “It went into the jump two seconds after us, and came out eighteen seconds after us. It’s sixteen seconds late, sir.”

  Dillon looked from one display to the other. “So,” he said slowly, “...where the fuck was it?”

  “Stopped for gas?” offered the Chief. “Lunch break?”

  Dillon frowned. “We're gonna need to know where it went. I don't want to fight something that ignores the laws of physics.”

  The sensor tech spoke up. “Sir, it’s slowly gaining on us.”

  “Thank you. Helm, match its speed; keep it at a constant distance behind us. Let’s keep it moving away from the outpost.” He looked at the Chief, who was standing next to the Tassali at the rear console. “Thoughts?”

  Black shook her head. “We’re in uncharted waters here, sir.”

  Dillon looked up at the display, showing the view out the rear of the ship as the cylindrical enemy kept pace with them. “We can’t leave it alone. It’d take a week,” he said, “maybe more like a month, to get a big enough fleet here to tackle that thing. In the meantime, it would be loose, destroying whatever it wants.”

  Turning his eyes to glance at the crew, he saw that all activity had ceased on the bridge. All eyes were on him. Some of the crew members, particularly the younger ones, looked anxious.

  “Okay,” he said finally, “We’re not going to do anything stupid. We’re going to lead it away from inhabited areas, deep into the Burnt Worlds, and try to keep it busy until the fleet…”

  He trailed off as the image changed in the rear-facing display. The giant cylinder had disappeared, leaving a faint trail of light into the distance away from them.

  Dillon sighed. “… or not. Goddamn it. Where did it go? Did it jump?”

  The Chief looked up from the rear console. “I don’t think so, sir. It looked like—”

  “Sir!” cried the sensor technician. “Visual! The enemy ship is back at the colony. It’s back into four sections, sir.”

  “How long until it’s in range to fire on the colony?”

  “It already is, sir. It’s firing at the planet.”

  “Shit! Helm, intercept course, maximum speed, go.” He looked up, speaking to the communications console above his head. “Sap, recharge the capacitors as fast as you can.”

  The hum of the engines grew louder as the ship accelerated toward the planet.

  Dillon turned toward the Chief. “FTL?”

  She shook her head. “No can do, sir. We’re way inside the gravity wells of the planet and the moon. Too far in to override. Sorry sir, we can’t go FTL here.”

  The Captain looked back at the display, watching the enemy ship in the distance and the orange and yellow sparkles of explosions on the planet’s surface beyond. “We can’t go to FTL here, but it can. And the capacitors aren't full, so we can’t jump yet.”

  “No, sir, we can’t jump.”

  “So we just crawl slowly over there, and watch as that damned thing kills thousands of people.”

  The comm tech tapped at his console, looking up at the Captain. “Sir,” he said quietly, “the colony has stopped transmitting.”

  Next to him, the sensor tech slumped in her seat. “All the habitable structures have been destroyed, sir. There are no signs of life on the planet.”

  Dillon turned his head to look at the Tassali, who had bowed her head. Her lips moved, silently forming words he couldn’t understand.

  “Full stop,” he said, looking up at the window.

  “Full stop aye,” said the Chief.

  He sighed. “Are we still transmitting?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Very well. To everyone listening in, we’re going to…” he tried to think what his options were, but could only think of one that wasn’t suicidal. “We’re going to get it to follow us, and we’re going to jump as far as we can, away from civilised space. Hopefully that will buy some time to assemble a fleet to tackle this thing.” He looked up at the console on the ceiling. “Sap, can we jump?”

  The Dosh’s voice responded immediately. “Yes, Captain. Capacitors are now full.”

  Dillon nodded. “Good. Thank you, Sap. We’re going to try for the longest jump ever; we’ll break our own record. Now we just need to get its attention—”

  “We already have it sir,” said the sensor tech. “It’s headed this way.”

  The Captain sighed, his breath catching as he exhaled. “Okay. Right. Galactic map, please. Local area.”

  A large map window abruptly filled the front display, showing the outer part of the galaxy. The massive sweeping arc of the Perseus Arm, aglow with stars, ran across the screen. Dots marked the locations of inhabited systems. Hundreds of purple-coloured Dosh star systems ran up against five blue Palani systems, beyond which were the thousands of grey-coloured dead systems of the Burnt Worlds.

  In the upper left corner, across five thousand light years of nothingness, was a small, wispy arm of the galaxy called the Orion Spur, dotted with white stars marking the colonies and planets of human space. In the middle of human space was a tiny gold circle: the Sun and its system.

  Dillon pointed to a blank spot on the map display; an empty area of space far away, toward the edge of the galaxy, between the Perseus Arm and the less-dense Outer Arm. “There,” he said. “Begin a jump to there.”

  The crewmember at the helm hesitated, looking from the Captain to the Chief.

  Dillon’s shoulders slumped. “Look,” he said calmly. “I have no intentions of us dying today. We have to get rid of this thing, or it will kill a lot of people. It’s heading toward space that is more and more heavily populated, and we can’t let it find billion-person planets to shoot at. We’re taking it as far away from civilisation as we can.”

  The crewmember smiled thinly, turning back to his console. “Aye aye, sir. Plotting a jump to your co-ordinates. Estimated search time is unknown, sir.”

  At the bow of the ship, the four threadlike beams of arcing blue light leapt out from the emitters and met at a single point, jumping and twitching about as the low hum once again began to run through the ship.

  “What’s the target doing?” asked the Captain.

  The sensor tech shook her head. “Still coming this way, sir.”

  Dillon’s teeth ground at his pen as he watched the display at the front of the bridge, and the dancing arcs of light beyond. The low hum gathered in intensity, transforming from a feeling into a deep sound that began to grow in pitch and volume.

  The ship began to vibrate as the noise intensified. Dillon felt his ears ring and his stomach begin to churn. The Chief showed the Tassali how to buckle herself into the seat, then did the same her
self. The hands of crewmembers went to the straps on their seats and the seams on their suits. Above the Captain’s head, the hailer began to rattle, and he took the pen out of his mouth to poke at it. He felt his teeth start to chatter, and put the pen back in his mouth, biting down on it.

  Saparun’s voice was barely audible through the speaker; he was shouting. “Full power, Captain.”

  Outside the bridge windows, the four arcing beams twitched frantically, shedding glittering sparks of blue that writhed away into space. Inside the ship, the sound had grown to a howl, blotting out the sounds of rattling equipment and groaning plates. On the Captain’s console, a red dot began to flash; the display attached a label telling of a drop in air pressure in the hangar bay. Almost immediately, the blinking green outline of a repair bot began making its way toward the hangar.

  Dillon looked up, and saw the looming shape of the enemy ship filling the rear view. It was stopping behind them, and began to reform itself into two sections. Another red dot began to flash on the Captain’s console.

  The four blue arcs at the front of the ship suddenly stiffened and bulged into thick blue rays of light, drawing away from each other as a black sphere grew between them. A vast groaning sound filled the ship as a massive amount of negative energy coursed through the vessel and poured out through the emitters at the bow.

  Once the black sphere grew past the edges of their view, the crewman at the helm stabbed his console with his fingers, and the sphere lurched nearer as the ship leapt forward.

  As the sphere began to engulf them, the Borealis shuddered violently. The blackness moved sideways past the window as the ship began to spin, and the Captain’s console erupted with red dots. Gyrating madly, the ship slid sideways into the sphere. Dillon’s vision went black for a moment, then was filled with an angry red glow.

  22

  Outside the windows was a swirling, seething mass of brilliant red light that flooded the bridge with a lurid glow. The ship spun madly as it tumbled, giving periodic glimpses of the massive cylindrical ship that pursued them.

  Dillon stared at his display as he fought to clear his head. Atmosphere loss in the hangar. Atmosphere loss in the engine room. Coolant leaks. Jump drive offline. Faults in artificial gravity, primary and secondary weapons, and the main reactor.

  He looked up at the rest of the bridge, and saw the crewmembers clinging to their consoles, each of them struggling to understand what had happened. The sensor technician was alert and tapping quickly at her console, and within moments the bridge’s primary display showed a graphic of the ship madly rotating in space, with the enemy a short distance behind.

  Chief Black was out of her seat, and had pulled the groggy helmsman up from where he slumped over his console. “Regaining attitude control, Captain! Trying to stop—”

  Dillon shook his head. “No, Chief! Belay that! Get us out of here! Maximum speed, any direction, go!”

  “Aye aye,” said the Chief. She poked at the console again, and the view out the window slid unevenly to one side. The red glow, like a supernatural fog, began to dissipate, leaving the familiar blackness of space. The ship lurched, the bow pivoting upward.

  The sensor tech called out, “The enemy ship has fired, sir. Passed above us. Readings indicate a previous shot hit us, glancing impact aft.”

  “Damn it,” said the Chief, leaning past the helmsman to work at his console. She quickly reached down and unbuckled the crewman, rolling him onto the deck before sitting in his chair. “Going manual,” she said curtly, sweeping her fingers across the console.

  The ship’s spinning began to slow, and the backdrop of stars stopped sliding past the window. The display showed the Borealis accelerating away from the enemy ship, the distance between them growing rapidly.

  The sensor technician worked quickly at her terminal. “It’s not pursuing us, sir. It’s sitting still.”

  Dillon looked at the Chief. “Not pursuing?”

  She shrugged, not looking up from the helm. “Maybe they broke something too.”

  “Sir, the visible star pattern is unknown,” said the sensor tech. “No navigational beacons, no known pulsars. I’ve got nothing to fix our location, sir. No known reference points.”

  Dillon unbuckled from his chair, and looked around for his pen. “Assume we came out where we meant to,” he said, “and start a plot based on that. Keep the nav display up, please. Comms?”

  “Nothing, sir,” said the crewmember at the communications console. “No transmissions on any channel. All the Tunnel cells have crapped out, sir, including the Dosh’s.”

  “Must’ve lost entanglement when we came through the wormhole,” said the Chief. “And I think the helmsman’s nose is broken.”

  Dillon looked over at the crewmember the Chief had rolled onto the deck. Seaman Leduc was now sitting up, his back to the console, his hand holding his blood-soaked face. “I’ve been there,” said the Captain. “You'll be fine. Go see Singh.”

  As the crewman stumbled to his feet, the Captain reached over his head and poked at the hailer on the ceiling. His eyes caught those of the Tassali, who was unbuckling herself from the chair she’d been in. He nodded at her; she gave a weak smile and a nod in response.

  “Damage control,” said Dillon to the hailer. “Report.”

  After a few long seconds, Petty Officer Lee’s voice came through the speaker. “We’re out of danger, sir. Bots are sealing the hull breaches. Everyone had their suits on, so nothing worse than bumps and bruises as far as I know. The door to hangar bay two is wrecked, and the bots are welding it shut for now. But we’re all here. Doing a thorough check now, and I’ll be up with a full report in ten minutes.”

  “Thank you,” said the Captain. “Chief, plot a course for human space. Or where human space should be, if we came out where we think we should’ve. You know what I mean. Go to FTL as soon as you can. We’ll be safe then.”

  “Aye aye, sir. Plotting a course for where we think human space might be, even though we’re not entirely sure, sir. Course laid in, engaging FTL now.” With one finger, she stabbed her console. As it lit up red, she frowned. “Uh, FTL didn’t work. Trying again, sir.”

  Dillon watched as the Chief poked tentatively at the helm console. With a slight pop, the hailer above his head awoke with Saparun’s voice. “Engineering reporting.”

  “Lovely to hear from you. Everyone okay down there?”

  “Yes, Captain. Thank you. I regret the jump drive is not okay. Neither are most of the capacitors. The light-speed engines are operational. Artificial gravity is reporting a fault. I have determined this is due to a slight change in the gravitational constant of the universe.”

  “Come again?”

  “Captain, gravity is imperceptibly stronger here. However, assuming it is consistent, we can compensate.”

  Across the bridge, the Chief smiled. “That’s it! Stronger gravity.” She kept working at the helm.

  “Okay, that’s impossible, but we don’t have time for that right now,” said Dillon. “Compile a report of what works and what doesn’t. Saparun, Lee, Cho, Atwell: on the bridge in ten minutes with your reports.”

  With a triumphant gleam in her eye, Chief Black gave her console one last dramatic poke of her finger. The ship’s engine noise grew to a constant hum as the stars out the window stretched into lines. “We’re at FTL, sir. One light year per hour.”

  “Good. Thank you, Chief. As long as we’re in FTL, we should be safe. Though we have no idea where we are.”

  “Toto,” said the Chief, “I've a feeling we're not in—”

  “No,” interrupted the Captain. “Don’t you dare say it.”

  23

  “Five days,” said Atwell.

  Dillon slowly put his datapad down on the wardroom table, and looked up at the people sitting around it. Everyone was looking at him. Sap was calm, which was hardly a surprise. It took a hell of a lot to get the Dosh to lose his calm. Back on Oronezu, he’d been shot in the gun hand. Rather than ju
mp around and shout — as Dillon was sure he himself would have done — Sap had merely reached down, picked up the gun with his off hand, and kept on firing. Was it a cultural thing? Billions of cool, orderly Dosh going about their lives without getting worked up about anything?

  Cho might’ve been the sort to jump around shouting, but so far he’d been keeping his enthusiasm in check. He had only been with the fleet a few years, and had been making great strides in his career. A lot of energy and drive.

  Which, Dillon thought, is not to say that Atwell didn’t have energy and drive. She had been every bit as productive, with a lot of initiative. Just quieter about it. He had a feeling that something was bothering her lately.

  Early out of the Academy, Dillon had been like Atwell in some ways. The drive to excel, the initiative to get things started, the energy to get things done.

  He looked at Black, who was poking at something on her own datapad. Normally she and Lee wouldn’t be in the officers-only wardroom, but he’d invited them. Given the shortage of officers, he needed the petty officers to take more responsibility. Mostly, he wanted Black there. She’d been his main source of support all the way through the Academy. For the three years of the course, she’d kept in constant contact, offering advice and encouragement, telling him he’d make a good officer and would be her boss one day. He probably wouldn’t even have entered the service if it weren’t for her; without seeing her prosper in the Navy, he would likely have kept on his own, working at meaningless jobs, an uncertain future ahead of him.

  But then there’d been the evaluation. Second year in the fleet, himself a competent lieutenant with good chances for promotion and a long career. Or so he'd thought.

  He couldn’t remember the asshole’s name. Career evaluation specialist, come in from New Halifax to pass judgement on the new crop of officers. After an hour-long interview that seemed to have gone well, the note had gone into his file: not suitable for command.