by Chad Huskins
Rook’s Song II:
The
Immortal
Game
Chad Huskins
Published by: Nine Dusks Entertainment, LLC
Edited by: William Fruman
Cover art by: Matthew Riggenbach
Copyright 2013 Chad Huskins
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Any similarities between persons living or dead, events, business establishments, or locales is strictly coincidence.
The scanning, uploading, and uploading of this product via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the author is a crime and is punishable by law. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Other books by Chad Huskins:
Khan in Rasputin’s Shadow (winner of the 2009 Evvy Award for fiction)
Rook’s Song Series:
Book I: The Phantom in the Deep
Book II: The Immortal Game
The Psycho Series:
Booki I: Psycho Save Us
Book II: A Psycho in Each of Us
The Sea Song Saga:
Book I: Waves Crash and Seas Split
Upcoming Books:
The Bards of Bedlam
Psycho Redeem Us (Psycho Series Book III)
The Devil and the Dust Bowl
Praise for Chad Huskins’s novels:
On Psycho Save Us:
“Huskins knows how to create characters that live and breathe (and sometimes cackle maniacally), and knows how to shape drama to keep a reader on the edge of their seat. Five stars!”
- Heath Pfaff, bestselling author of The Hungering Saga
“[Psycho Save Us] sustains a high level of intensity…its audacious over-the-top approach is imaginative and not likely to be forgotten. A disconcerting central character is adeptly balanced by a strong young girl likely to win readers’ hearts.”
- Kirkus Reviews
On Khan in Rasputin’s Shadow:
“This is a top pick for any suspense fan looking for espionage and intrigue. Five stars!”
- Midwest Book Review
Dedicated to the greatest game ever played.
“You should always appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.”
- Sun Tzu, The Art of War
“There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact.”
- Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
CONTENTS
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS AND NOTES
1
We are the ghosts of humanity. We are a mere revenant of the collective that was once a great and expansive civilization. We went through the same cycles of life as all others, even mirroring the evolutionary steps of other intelligent races across the stars, though we did not know it. How could we? How could we know that there were others out there crawling out of a primordial ooze? Others who survived planetary bombardment from asteroids, meteorites, comets? Who struggled through the growing pains of war and inequity, of social injustice and technological revolution? All for a chance to touch the stars.
How could we have known?
We didn’t know. Not for sure. Just like we didn’t know that there was one race out there that kept itself hidden in the depths, waiting and watching all the other races patiently, like a silent dark judge, preparing to cast a final ruling on our existence. A hyper-intelligent race that counted the days, counted the stars, and, above all else, counted its resources. They saw, and still see, the universe as being theirs. Every galaxy an eventual home, every particle an eventual resource.
These people, the Cerebs, they accounted for everything, and counted their resources so precisely that the very stars in their night sky came to be thought of not as heavenly, but as opportunity. The stars were their resources to cull, and no one else’s. They’ve allowed other races to expand, watching them from afar, unsurprised when those races expand faster than their resources permit. Such unchecked greed cannot be overlooked by the Cerebs.
We are the ghosts of humanity, and we are still in mourning. We mourn not just for ourselves and our lost legacy, but for all the others that were never able to fully realize their potential. What other beautiful species emerged from the evolutionary struggle, victorious and basking in a new enlightenment, only to be snuffed out like a candle by the Cerebs?
And while it is true that, had we encountered any of these other races in due course, there would most certainly have been a conflict of some kind, the great tragedy is that we were never allowed to resolve them, never allowed to choose for ourselves. The Cerebs chose for us. And they chose death. We were all eradicated. One by one, we encountered the Cerebs, and one by one, our races vanished.
How is it that we still exist? Is there an afterlife that we somehow “missed the bus” for? Or is this the afterlife? And if it is, then is this purgatory, some kind of penance we must pay for our heedless blundering about in the universe? Difficult to say, really, without the proper tools to test and weigh the evidence around us. One thing is left to us, though, in this incorporeal state: we may still drift this way and that way as we please, we may now cross impossible gulfs at speeds we would previously never have dreamt, crossing space—the Deep, as the Cerebrals call it—and even crossing time, and slipping into the minds of so many.
Presently, we find ourselves hovering a safe distance from an Event that has been more than a few million years in the making. A safe distance, simply because, even in our current state, such quaking power still rips at the fabric of space and time, causing fractures. Bodiless as we are, these quaking powers can still rupture our being.
Here they are, two neutron stars in the process of colliding and destroying one another. It is breathtaking, seeing two massive orbs of churning blue-white light compressing into one another, spinning and bouncing off one another’s ultra-dense centers. The light would have been too great for our physical bodies—would have permanently seared our retinas—but here we can see the Event in all of its colossal glory.
We are roughly at the center of a globular cluster, a spherical collection of stars orbiting the galactic core as a satellite. It is only here that a neutron star collision can occur. Only here. Space itself will suffer damage. There will actually be tears in the membrane of reality, at least in the immediate vicinity, particularly at the core of the coming explosion.
The two angry titans will settle their disagreement momentarily. Both are “alive,” meaning that fusion is still active in both, and both are vibrant and very much in their prime. This is almost tragic, the destruction of such young stars, with so much potential…a lot like humanity…
But whereas some may see death, others see opportunity, and a different kind of potential.
The four chevron-shaped starships also remain a safe distance away. Their bellies open and their radiation-capturing panels extend. Just like the retractable tentacles in its bay that occasionally extend in an asteroid field to mine for worthwhile minerals, these panels automatically extend themselves whenever in the presence of such an Event, storing hundreds of petajoules of energy. When this Event is over, there will be other energies worth consuming, other byproducts worth gathering. For instance, every bit of gold in the universe was and is formed in the collision of neutron stars, and gold is always useful in electronics, as every intelligent race discovers at one time or another. The ship’s fabricators can create a gold variant, but still nothing beats the purest forms put out by
Nature. Though silver and copper are better conductors, gold, with its concentration of free electrons, has the advantage of corrosion resistance.
When mixed with other exomatter—which itself is only possible to create thanks to femtotechnology (that is, technology on a scale smaller than nanotechnology)—this pure gold helps to produce complex alloys to keep luminal ships running, and the Everlasting Empire forever moving patiently forward.
Long ago, Cereb Observers marked this possible future collision, and the Calculators diagnosed it; it was predicted to be a great opportunity. No resource can be wasted, no Event ever missed, not if the survival of their race is to be assured.
We may slip through the energy shields of the flagship, just as we’ve done before. But let us always remember to be careful. Next, we slide through the hull. We pass through energy-bearing panels, and past advanced circuitry far beyond our comprehension. We cause a micro power flux as we do so, scarcely recognizable by any of the crew or its Conductor. We are an anomaly, but still we are afraid. Why? Well, the answer is simple: the Cerebrals destroyed us before, might they do it again?
We are wraiths on a sourceless wind, and we move up through the crew’s quarters, passing through walls as easily as we would curtains. Up we go. Up, up, and up to the bridge. Here, we find the Supreme Conductor poring over the data. It streams through him, making only short pit stops in his mid-brain to determine which of the seven tiers the bits of data ought to be filed in. Files are created, merged, or deleted based on the latest data. An expansive holographic image of the neutron stars is all around him. The Conductor walks amongst the expanding explosion, noting how perfectly the Calculators timed it—gold is being produced at the exact moment predicted, and at the exact rate.
The streaming data, which is coming in from the Observer-Manager teams arrayed all around us, confirm the Calculators’ other predictions that this collision will result in a combined mass that exceeds the upper mass limits for a star: not long from now, there will be a black hole here. There is energy to be culled from that, too, but the Cerebs currently lack the resources and the species-wide technology upgrade necessary to rein such energy in without being caught up in it. Advanced race or no, no one has yet harnessed a black hole.
A pity I will not live to see such a thing, thinks the Conductor. The Calculators’ estimation of when their race will have enough resources to create a battery powerful enough to capture and hold such forces is well beyond his natural lifespan. Still, I can see myself there on the day that it happens. I can see it clearly. That is a little terrifying for him, because being able to see it…well, that smacks of fanciful imagination. The Conductor deletes the self-made image from his mind, a momentary hiccup in his endless duty. It is unbecoming a Conductor to self-aggrandize.
Messages are constantly coming in from the Managers all around:
“Sir, we have rogue asteroids being pulled in by the stars’ combined gravitational forces.”
“Mark their trajectories,” he commands wordlessly, sending the signals via the datafeed. Then, the Phantom File comes to the forefront of his seven-tiered brain. “Scan them. Make sure that he isn’t hiding in any of them, then see if they have materials we require. Then galvanize the solenoid gun. Redirect those asteroids without adequate resources.”
“Sir, the other ships all report wavelength distortions. Communications are becoming decayed.”
The calculations are completed in his head in a microsecond. “Bleed some of the new power garnered in our cells to reinforce forward energy shields, then tell the fleet to back away from the Event by one half star-measure.”
“Sir, we are receiving ample cosmic microwave background noise.”
“Adjust the refractors accordingly.”
“Sir, there is a problem with two of the forward radiation refractors.”
“Send a repair team up at once. If they cannot get the refractors repaired by the time we’ve retreated by one half star-measure, I want you to shut down all non-essential systems and reroute the spare power to the backup refractors.” A second later, the Phantom File enters his mind again, and he adds, “And run a systems-wide diagnostic check. Make certain that all sensors are working at optimum. Next, search for any ions in the vicinity that might have been cooled by intense condensate.”
“Yes sir.”
The data is continuous. One problem after another, with one solution coming out of the Conductor almost as fast as it is presented to him. He is one of the finest models ever grown, his capacity exceeding his predecessor by seven times. A Conductor is expected to keep so much inside his head and make snap decisions based off of the latest technical readouts and reports from his Observer-Manager teams. Even when simply hovering in space and not collecting such energies, every Conductor must consider cosmic microwave background, as well as the temperature, density, luminosity, and chemical compositions of every examinable object in the space around his ship and his fleet. Combine those common routines with the titanic forces just outside fighting to destroy the Conductor and his fleet, and you have an unprecedented maelstrom of mental capacity contained inside one mind.
And, of course, there is the other great matter. That’s what the Council of Elders are now calling it, anyway: the “great matter.”
While still collating data and issuing orders, the Conductor spares one-septillionth of his brainwave capacity to pull up the Phantom File again. Though ostensibly he does it so as to communicate to his Observers and Managers that he merely wishes to have that contingency also planned for, we know the Conductor’s true motives; we, who may slip inside and outside of any mind or computer we please, and a Conductor’s brain is no different.
The Conductor examines the data collected on the Phantom, most of it dealing with the last confirmed sighting. It was known as the Event Anomaly—up upgrade from an Event like the one currently happening outside the starship.
This Supreme Conductor analyzes the actions of the now-dead Conductor on that mission, according to data gathered by the few surviving soldiers and computer ports, and decides, for the millionth time, that that Conductor did nothing wrong, he followed every appropriate protocol and responded with tactics that had proven successful every time before, even if he did act a bit erratically around his Observer-Manager teams during the end.
Presently, this Conductor looks through it all again. The deployment of the squadrons, the initial scans of the asteroid field, the probes sent to confirm cooled ion trails (a trademark of the stealthy Sidewinder x42 ship the Phantom was known for, difficult to pinpoint), the ship’s tactical retreat of the asteroid, which unfortunately pushed them towards the largest asteroid, which detonated, undoubtedly destroying the Phantom’s last resources. Which makes no sense, but inferior intellects don’t always make sense. The Conductor examines the details further, including the Phantom’s extremely risky ploy to get on board the luminal and detonate its engine core.
For this reason, the Phantom File was created, compiling every shred of the Phantom’s sightings, all the way up to and including the Event, as well as analysis culled from all on the Council, from Coordinators and other Conductors far and wide. It was created to be examined and heeded by all new Conductors. There was no fear from the Council of Elders, but there was interest in this “great matter” of finding him and finishing off the human race completely.
It’s a matter of racial pride and duty. We cannot be so demoralized.
The Phantom File often kicks in without the Conductor knowing, initiating certain protocols whenever there are certain anomalies in the vicinity, such as now. It is known that the Phantom used asteroids efficaciously during the Event Anomaly (everyone hesitates to call it a battle), so the knowledge that a cluster of asteroids is approaching the colliding neutron stars, for example, produces not fear, but heightened awareness in the Conductor.
He might be there, hiding between wavelengths, in the smallest of “dead zones” in wavelength distortions, or perhaps hiding within an extreme power fl
ux.
Perhaps a bit more frustrated than he would ever admit, the Conductor steps deeper into the hologram of the colliding stars, and continues running the analysis data. Searching. Searching. Searching. Then a few more milliseconds are spent running simulations. These are quite different than fanciful imaginings, more data-based. He finds no indication of any protocols that were not met to the fullest during the Event Anomaly.
There is nothing anomalous here, he thinks. But that is what makes it so anomalous, isn’t it? That the Conductor did nothing different, and yet was defeated. That was perhaps too philosophical for a Conductor, but then, a Conductor’s madness began early, and was almost invisible to detect in its first stages. How do you know when you’re going insane?
We may smile, because we know what happened at the Event Anomaly. We were there. As the ghosts of humanity, we saw it all. We witnessed the desperate acts of a madman and his clunky little ship, witnessed a seemingly hopeless act of sabotage that actually worked. And, of course, we saw the unlikely ninth-inning save that came from another lone warrior: an Ianeth, the last of his kind, whom Rook dubbed “Bishop.” The Conductor doesn’t know all this, of course. He doesn’t even know that the Phantom goes by the call sign “Rook.” But we do. We know many things that the Conductor doesn’t know. For instance, we know of the incoming transmission before he or anyone else does, the transmission that will set all the following events in motion.
