by Matt Verish
Thanks, Mom. “How long until it blows?”
“A couple minutes,” Fej said, his voice hollow. “According to CAIN, the Cosmic Particle collider is gathering the necessary energy to create a bomb that will destroy this ship. The process is irreversible.”
Well, I gotta give her credit for considering the possibility I would find a way off that planet and come after her. “No time to run back to your ship and make a run for it, eh?”
Fej shook his head. “We’d never escape the blast radius.”
“Didn’t think so,” Cole said, grimacing. “I hope there’s something else you’re not telling me.” Like a Cain miracle.
Fej clutched his head with both hands and squatted, trembling. “There is,” he said at last. When he was back on his feet, he had regained his focus. I need to remove the virus.”
Was this the same virus the Sentinel had uploaded during the crew’s last mission? If so, how was Fej going to aid in the problem’s removal if both CAIN and Lin could not do it themselves? Even if the virus was removed, Fej had stated that there was no way to slow the amassing of energy in the collider.
“You’d best run, Cole.”
Cole held out both hands. “Where? You just said—”
With unnatural speed, Fej closed the gap between them and grabbed the front of Cole’s spacesuit. He felt his feet leave the ground, and was forced to look down at his friend. “Get to the escape vessel,” Fej said. “I’ve programmed it to await your arrival. You’ll be safest there.”
Cole clutched at Fej’s arm, but it was solid as steel. “What’re you doing? What about you?”
Cole was tossed out of the engine room. He slammed against the outside wall, his magboots drawing him back to the floor. Dazed, he straightened and looked at his friend for the last time.
“I’m finally fighting back,” Fej said. “And if you wish to do the same, you’d better run.”
Cole blinked as the door to the engine room closed. His legs, shaky though they were, acted of their own volition, carrying him toward the escape ship. Without the flashing lights, blaring klaxons, or crumbling surroundings, the situation was surreal—but it felt anything but desperate.
When he finally reached the makeshift dock where the escape vessel was waiting, he saw the first sign of pending doom. He stared in disbelief at the widening seam in the Daedalus’s interior hull.
Placing his faith in Fej and CAIN, Cole made straight for the cockpit. The ship’s viewport was facing the direction of the engine room, and no sooner than Cole was in the pilot’s chair, the world outside begin to collapse. Bright bluish light filtered through the widening cracks in the floor and poured out of the doorways. The foundation upon which the escape vessel resided shuddered, and walls began to cave inward as massive beams succumbed to the immense stress. Debris rained down upon the exterior despite the lack of gravity. Cole watch it all unfold, helplessly.
The violent tremors of the disintegrating ship made it impossible for him to think, and maybe that was for the best. In any second, his life would end, and the rest of the System could move on without him. He only hoped his crew would find peace and happiness on the other side of the black hole.
Sorry, Doc. I tried.
A massive rift opened across the whole of the Daedalus before the darkness took him.
20
FOG
Chrys awoke with a start, her undershirt soaked with sweat. Nightmares were not uncommon for her, but this particular one had left her shaking and full of dread. She could not remember the details behind what had scared her, but she was certain her own guilt had contributed, for his image was at the forefront of her mind. She tried to busy herself to push his memory aside.
As she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, a quick glance at the time in Ocunet indicated she had overslept. The intended “catnap” meant to curb her migraine had evolved into a four-hour snooze. Though the headache remained, her energy and mood had slightly improved. When she was reminded of who and what awaited her, her spirits plummeted further than before.
The door to her bunk was slightly ajar, though it was quiet beyond—just as it had been prior to closing her eyes. When she was presentable, she left the confines of her room and faced the surreal world beyond.
She marched through the empty hallway, the Bar, and made for the bridge to receive an update. She clenched her fists to keep them from shaking when the newest member of the Icarus came into view. Harper Musgrave, tall and imposing, was standing alone in the same place after Chrys had left to reorganize her thoughts. The former admiral’s arms were clasped behind her back, shoulders square and chest thrust forward. There was strength in her lean frame despite her age; she was every bit the intimidating leader Chrys remembered...yet there was something different about her...something unexplainable.
Harper had not had to endure a full fifteen years like everyone else in the United System, but two years in an uncharted universe, roughing it on a foreign planet, would age any other person that equivalent length of time. Not the infamous Admiral Musgrave. Time and fate were hers to control.
“I’ve forgotten what it’s like to sleep.”
Chrys swallowed hard and stopped a few feet shy of Harper. How was she supposed to respond to such a statement? “Permission to speak freely.”
“Granted.”
Chrys suddenly felt twenty years younger and much less confident. She never thought she’d find herself under the charge of her former commanding officer. Harper was the reason she had abandoned Starforce and Military, yet here she was, standing at her beck and call. It would be easy to blame Cole for her emotional decision to rejoin Harper’s cause, but the truth is—and always was—that she was afraid of saying no.
“Was there something you wished to say, Sergeant?”
Chrys’s head was spinning again, the migraine increasing. She had not heard anyone address her by her former title in close to two decades. It only added to the surreal nature of her situation. “What is the nature of our mission?”
Harper turned her head partway toward Chrys so the sharpness of her nose and chin was visible. “Our mission? Have you decided to officially join my cause?”
Chrys began to sweat. “That depends. I was under the impress—”
“Sergeant,” Harper interrupted, looking back toward the viewport screen, “I recall you walking away from the United System Starforce. The only impression I recall was the one you made upon me when you refused your post on my bridge. Why should I disclose to you the full nature of my mission?”
Chrys was shocked at the cutting remark. A small fire lit inside her, a bit of Cole showing through. “With all due respect, you’re aboard this vessel because I allowed it. Not the other way around. I am second in command under your son, but seeing as he abandoned us, that leaves me the captain of the Icarus. We’re no longer serving under Military code.”
Harper faced Chrys, and she felt the full penetration of her glare. Cole may have taken after his father in features and dark complexion, but he had the benefit of his mother’s intelligence and intense gaze. Seeing Cole in Harper only emboldened her.
“Cole’s influence over you is unfortunate,” Harper said. “But it’s not entirely unwelcome.”
Chrys unclenched her fists, allowing blood to flow back into her fingers.
“Whatever business you involved yourself in my absence has clearly strengthened your resolve,” Harper continued, turning back toward the viewport screen. “You may be captain of your so-called crew, but make no mistake, I am in command.”
Chrys stiffened, and her ears burned. She opened her mouth to remark, but Harper spoke first.
“That being said, there’s no reason we can’t work in conjunction with one another. I’ve been away for quite some time. Your insight into current System affairs will be valuable if we are to succeed.”
We. The inclusion had not escaped Chrys’s notice. “And in order for us to succeed, I will need to know the details of your operation. Communication nee
ds to be open and fluid if we are to be partners in this venture.”
Harper raised her silver brow. “Partners, is it?” She faced Chrys once more, arms down at her sides. “Sergeant—”
“Captain,” Chrys stressed, astounded at her own rebelliousness. She’s right about Musgrave rubbing off on me.
Harper’s eyes flashed. She started a slow approach. “Captain,” she amended, though the title did not sound nearly as significant coming from her lips. “I believe it’s time you understood the significance of my evolution.”
Evolution? Chrys thought. Nothing about her former admiral struck her as different, other than the fact she was incredibly hale for someone whose entire crew perished during a desperate time in an unforgiving existence. She had a feeling that whatever she was about to learn was not going to level the playing field.
“This ‘venture’ of which you speak,” Harper began, “is greater than you or me, though simplistic in nature. As it was then, it is now still grander than the scope of our narrow-minded government. You, Cole, the whole of Military, and all five divisions of UniSys have willingly turned a blind eye to is the survival of the human race.”
Chrys felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Clearly her paranoid schizophrenia has continued to deteriorate her mind, she thought, more disappointed than angry. “Survival against what?”
“A threat against which our species cannot contend,” Harper said, her eyes burning with intensity. “The Fog.”
Chrys almost laughed aloud, though nothing about what Harper had said was funny in the slightest. She could not, however, stop her head from shaking back and forth. “This. This is why you threw away your career and damn near the entire crew of the Daedalus? I’d heard the rumors of your involvement in such matters while under your command, though I chose to ignore them. I ignored them because of my deep admiration for your past efforts as a decorated admiral. For your heroism during the later years of the Carbon War. Though now I see I was right to walk away from my own career, because I could no longer bear to witness your continued decline. To think I doubted myself for all these years.
“How is it that you fell so far as to believe in the cosmic event that will bring about humanity’s end? When did you throw away reason for madness?” Chrys was yelling, she realized, but she could not stop. “How could you be so thoughtless and selfish? To lead your crew—my brothers and sisters—on a suicide mission to center of the galaxy and force your son to commit treason in order to destroy you?”
Her hand was on her hip, but the sidearm was not there. It hadn’t been there for some time. It was in another universe, with the one person who had understood the truth all along.
Harper had stopped her advance, her face strangely impassive. “Such is the price one must pay, to endure the scorn of an entire galaxy, even when their fate hangs in the balance.”
An image appeared in Chrys’s Ocunet display, dividing the space between her and Harper. At first she wasn’t sure what she was looking at, but the image became a video as it came into focus. She could distinguish the dark silhouette of a massive structure in the far reaches of space. There were legions of construction ships, each as large as the Daedalus, crafting this enormous structure. She could think of nothing man-made to rival its size and scope.
The angle changed, and Chrys began to wonder at the origin and the validity of the video. There was no audio, though the date and running time indicated it was from the past—nearly twenty years ago. If this was indeed proof of the fabled Fog, how would one manage to acquire this footage? Even more importantly: How could such a device be built without the whole of the galaxy knowing of its existence?
The structure continued to enlarge, until it had filled the entirety of Chrys’s Ocunet vision. The focus was on a particular point of interest, and like entering a planet’s atmosphere, reaching the surface of this metal behemoth took significant time. Chrys allowed the video to become full VR. She marveled as she drifted past the endless sea of workers slaving away in open space. Hundreds of thousands of people would be needed to complete such an enormous task, and the cost of the labor and materials would exceed anything UniSys would greenlight.
Unless....
By the time the video reached the solid surface of the unfinished structure, Chrys’s hands were shaking again. Giant, block letters were bolted into the hull, inspiring such revulsion as to turn her stomach. The name symbolized the epitome of everything she hated about the human race. It was synonymous with the abuse of all seven deadly sins. It was the only name which could succeed at erecting an instrument of control. This corrupt faction paraded out in the open, pretending to be an upstanding contributor to society. It was the one name that could sway her back to Harper’s side and forgive all past atrocities.
It was the call letters of her arch nemesis.
Terracom.
~
Lin was exactly where she expected to find her: crouched with her back against her father’s “failed” creation, the Cosmic Particle. Two of Harper’s cronies were guarding the entrance to the repurposed room adjacent to the medical ward. These altered soldiers disgusted her. That Harper had somehow overcome such a revolting change helped Chrys find peace with what she had to do.
Without a word, they stepped aside to allow her. The engineer’s chin was resting on the tops of her hands, which were cupping her tucked knees. She did not make eye contact.
“I’ve come to offer you a truce.”
Lin cast her the fleetest of glances.
This isn’t going to be easy. “I’ve come upon some information that might be of interest you. If you’ll just give me a moment to explain.”
“Not unless this information involves Cole’s whereabouts,” Lin’s Rook replied just loud enough for Chrys to hear. “Anything else you or his mother have to say will not be of interest to me.”
“I understand you’re mourning, but—”
“I understand we bent a knee to another of my father’s zealots,” Lin cut in. “Some of us unwillingly. You may have accepted Cole’s passing, but we only have the word of a woman he despised and actively sought to destroy. You don’t understand anything, Inspector.”
Chrys sighed; she would have to take an indirect approach to attain her goal. “Do you remember what our mission was before we crossed paths with Cole?” It felt bizarre to say his first name, but she hoped in doing so she would snag the engineer’s attention.
Lin’s glower was fierce. “We were pawns in a scheme neither of us had anticipated. You were nothing more than a two-bit terrorist—a means to an end for an ill-conceived plot I helped concoct under the watchful eyes of our shadow government. While Terracom might have been our mutual target, our goals could not have been more different. There was never a mission—nor anything—upon which we ever agreed.”
Chrys clenched her jaw but kept her composure. “No, there was never a moment we saw eye-to-eye.” She took a few steps closer and bent down to her level. “At least, not that we acknowledge. What if I told you your father was fighting the same enemy all along?”
Lin’s chin lifted from her knees. “I honestly don’t know what you’re trying to prove. My father was a liar with delusions of grandeur. He had a brilliant mind but chose to throw away logic and reason to become a murderous cult leader. He wanted to be on a pedestal for his loyal subjects to praise.” She presented her Rook. “All he did was trap himself within this cube and earn the System’s scorn...and mine.” She looked away. “The enemy of my father is my friend.”
Luckless, Chrys resorted to physical evidence, sending Lin the video file with a flick of her hand. It had converted her to Harper’s side, and if seeing the letters of the System’s greatest threat with a doomsday machine did not sway Kingston’s daughter, nothing would.
Then there would be repercussions.
Lin, however, did open the file, lifting her hands to navigate it. Chrys didn’t wait more than a few second before the engineer’s expression was something akin to b
eing gobsmacked.
Finally, a breakthrough. “Now do you understand?” Chrys asked, testing the waters.
“This is highly classified information,” Lin said under her breath. “Where did you get this file?”
“From Harper. She claims to have received the intel years ago from the late Raven himself, Connor Revan.”
“Cole’s father?”
Chrys nodded. “Seems the former crimelord had business with Harper, unbeknownst to both Starforce and Military. It makes sense, seeing as Cole was their offspring.” She was still in disbelief that Harper would ever speak—let alone sleep with the likes of The Raven. “She has yet to disclose the details of her relationship with him, or why he would risk his underworld enterprise by reaching out to a government official. It doesn’t matter to me, but their liaison does validate this file’s contents.”
“How is this poss...ible...” Lin trailed, her hands working furiously around an invisible image. In a huff, she let her arms fall to her sides. “It appears to be legitimate, but something doesn’t make sense.”
“What’s that?”
“The location of the structure. I’ve cross-referenced all available star charts and nothing comes up.”
That’s not surprising, Chrys thought. “Well, I wouldn’t expect Terracom to broadcast their secretive efforts.”
“No,” Lin said in a low voice. “You don’t understand. There’s nothing there at all. No information whatsoever. It’s as though that part of space doesn’t exist.”
Chrys frowned. “But that’s obviously not the case—” She silenced by Lin’s raised hand.
“Somehow they managed to cordon off this area and deflect all attention. There are no recent accounts or studies of this region, and access is prohibited by all five divisions of AMBER.”
“Is there any reason given as to why?” Chris asked.
“No, but...” Lin hands were doing AR kung fu once more. Her brow bunched. “Damn. Not even public access telescope coordinates can be set to view the structure.”
“Meaning something is there.”
