The Complete New Dominion Trilogy

by Drury, Matthew J.

  Blood, drifting in starlight.

  That was the first thing Machiko Famasika saw when she opened her eyes. It had beaded into what looked, in the dim, like polished black pearls reflecting the ancient starlight filtering through the viewport a metre or so away from her face. She noted absently that the spheroids were all spinning in the same direction.

  She was spinning, too, very slowly, through the little nebula of blood. Even in the negligible illumination she could tell she was only a few centimetres from a g-padded wall. She was in an escape pod, a small one at that, designed for just one person. From the aches and pains in her leg and skull, and the intense nausea in her gut, she had a good idea where the blood was coming from, too. It was cold, and the air in the escape pod seemed stuffy.

  What was going on?

  Outside the window, something large and irregular moved to block the stars, and she remembered.

  The Battle of Sirius!

  Grand Admiral Kuolor had given the order to retreat, and her Isis—class Attack Fighter had been shot down by plasma blasts from multiple Gorgons as she made her way back to her carrier. She managed to eject at the last moment, but as it launched, her pod caught a stray shot, forcing it into a wild spin…

  She groaned, clutching at her stomach. Vaguely, she remembered vomiting blood, then losing consciousness. She had no idea how much time had passed since then, but the running lights on the escape pod were out, which only happened after several hours. The pod was not completely dead, though. Like a body in frigid weather, the craft had withdrawn power from its extremities to protect something vital deep within - the atmospheric cocoon which now kept Machiko Famasika alive.

  The large object moving outside the window was a recovery ship, she noticed. Gently as an eagle mating with a lost feather, the larger craft sidled close to the escape pod. Metal kissed metal. Grapples were applied. The sounds of the locking procedure echoed through both vessels. Machiko waited, unable to do much but turn her head slightly as the outer-lock door slid aside.

  Three human figures appeared at the door. One was studying the readout on a Vei’nl and muttered aloud. “Internal pressure positive. Capsule pressure steady. She’s alive.”

  A moment later, Machiko felt their hands groping at her Rãvier suit, pulling her through the doorway and onto a medical biobed, which was quickly whisked away through the corridors of the recovery ship. The interior of the ship was black, but faceted and polished smooth as a gemstone. Light pulsed through the ship at intervals, exciting one facet, then another, as if data were being conveyed from sector to sector. Absently, Machiko realised the vessel was Nommos in origin, but retrofitted with human designs.

  “You’re going to be okay,” someone said, out of sight. “Commander Famasika, you’re safe now.”

  She felt like shit. Her throat was a seam of anthracite inside the lighter pumice of her skull; black, dry, and with a faintly resinous taste. Her tongue moved loosely over her lips and she spoke, the word drifting through the moving corridor.

  “Thirsty.”

  Something smooth and cool slid between her lips. She drank eagerly, sucking the restoring liquid as fast as possible. Oddly enough, she did not feel dehydrated, only terribly thirsty. “Got any vodka?” she said.

  “Afraid not,” was the stark reply. “At least, not until we get back to the Sol System.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Search-and-rescue team, ma’am. You’re aboard the Pallas. We arrived in Sirius to recover the survivors.”

  She frowned, trying to sit up. Vivid memories of the battle flashed through her mind. “What happened to… the planet?”

  “Nommon?” There was an uncomfortable moment of silence. “It’s gone, ma’am. Destroyed. There’s nothing left. Same goes for Murk’Oh.”

  The words hit her like a hammer. She seemed to deflate, to lose strength and colour simultaneously as she sank back into the padded biobed. Suddenly the artificial gravity of the recovery ship seemed several-g, pressing her down and back.

  The Nommos homeworlds… destroyed by the Empyreal Sun! It was unthinkable. It couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t!

  “No.” Machiko was shaking her head slowly, stunned by the enormity of what she was hearing. That a terrorist faction, previously believed to be of no significant threat to the Nommos Empire, had been responsible for the annihilation of the entire population of its homeworld, of the planet itself...

  No…

  She had always thought of the Nommos as invulnerable, as an all-powerful race. But not anymore. Not now. The bubble of security was gone, so suddenly, blown apart by the actions of this reborn Lord Damarus.

  “It will be okay,” the friendly voice insisted.

  But Machiko wasn’t so sure of that anymore, not by a long shot. Suddenly she got the dread feeling that her lover, Lora, was no longer safe on Earth. Nobody was. The threat of the Empyreal Sun was now grave, beyond anyone’s questioning.

  Machiko knew that they weren’t safe anymore. The bubble was gone.

  To Machiko Famasika, the galaxy suddenly seemed a more dangerous place by far.

  A mere kilometre beyond the wall of the station complex, the antenna-strewn horizon plunged away into a bottomless abyss of tumbling asteroids and drifting stars. Tiny blue halos winked into existence and slowly swelled into the backlit rectangles of enormous cargo barges returning with loads of raw materials from outlying fabrication plants. Crew transports laced the darkness with long ion trails, racing from task to task on more than a hundred orbiting dry docks, and enormous welding robots traced ship skeletons in brilliant spark storms. Ganymede hung ominously below, its light grey surface coated with meteorite impacts. Far beyond, the planet Jupiter dwarfed everything, despite being over a million kilometres away.

  On the way in, Cristian Stefánsson had counted nearly five hundred battleships under construction in the Ganymede Shipyards. They were mostly frigates, cruisers, and other small stuff that could be finished in a hurry, but there were also two Hyperion-class capital ships, massive technological wonders, so massive they were allegedly capable of disrupting the tides of planets. While these huge ships probably would not be ready before the Empyreal Sun reached the Sol System, the hulls were nearly closed and the massive engine units already mounted. Clearly, Warmaster Paramo was a man with a plan, but Cris wondered if this was all going to be enough to ward off the coming invasion fleet. From what he’d been hearing, they were going to need a miracle, and no small one at that.

  Wishing he could use one of those Yoga calming techniques his wife Alexis had always been so fond of, Cris forced an insincere smile and turned toward the centre of the room. Lorelei Chen sat at a long table made of black volcanic glass, beside Paramo and various other dignitaries, her face glowing with the same stunning emerald green-eyed intensity that had caught Cris’ eye so long ago. Though he would never understand how she had managed to keep that fervour burning so brightly after ten years of service to the Terran Alliance military - after all that had happened to her - it was nevertheless appealing to him. He loved her, and didn’t want to lose her again. Somehow, perhaps by the grace of God, he had been given not just a second chance at life, but a second chance at love, and the thought of losing her again made his heart stop, and he swore he would never, ever let that happen.

  “…trillions of lives are at stake here, Paramo,” she was saying. “And without an escort, the evacuation convoy would be completely defenceless against the Empyreal Sun.”

  “And how many lives will the Terran Alliance lose if Ganymede falls before the fleet is completed?” Paramo asked. His heavy cheeks rippled gently as he spoke, but his feelings remained otherwise hidden behind his flat expression. “Whole worlds will perish, and that will mean more trillions, perhaps a quadrillion lives…”

  “She’s only asking for twenty ships,” Cris said, his eyebrows raised.

  Paramo turned to look at him. “She is asking for five capitals and fifteen corvettes - a quarter of the Sol System’
s current defence, and the Empyreal Sun are already probing our outer security posts, if the latest reports are accurate.”

  “The bulk of our capital ships haven’t even returned from Sirius yet,” Princess Ishru of the Eighth Faction said, leaning forward.

  “You’d get to keep the Ballog II,” Chen spoke in her most reasonable tone. “And the other ships would be back in a week… two, at the most.”

  “I am sorry, Commander Chen, but the answer is no,” Queen Neferneferu’aten shook her head and started to rise. “I appreciate your suggestion, but a full-scale evacuation of the planet Earth is out of the question at this time. The Nommos Empire lies in ruins because we were all unprepared for the scale and speed of the enemy attack. Our priority now lies with the defence of this Solar System. We need every available ship at our immediate disposal, if we are to be victorious.” The Queen stepped forward, surrounded by a group of cloaked and hooded robotic servants. Her eyes were sharp with anger and exhaustion. She might have been carved from stone. “Believe me, I wish there were another way. We will stand our ground, and if the enemy does make it to Earth… I will have no choice but to utilise the Array, as a last resort.”

  For a moment no-one said anything. Lorelei Chen took a deep breath, nodding to herself thoughtfully. “The Array?” she muttered. Sure, the five Earth Towers were originally designed as a colossal superweapon, but as one to deflect planetary bodies on a collision course with the Earth - not as a death ray. It worked by sending a burst of cross-phased supermassive neutrinos toward a target. Could it even be used to shoot down a ship?

  “Let us not forget, your Majesty,” Paramo said, “that the Array was designed by Lord Damarus himself. He might well anticipate that we would use it against him.”

  Neferneferu’aten was silent. For a moment Paramo was afraid he hadn’t been heard. “Nothing is certain,” the Queen said at last, looking saddened, her voice so low it could barely be heard. “But I will not allow that monster to take back the freedom that we, as a people, have only just recently earned from centuries of his rule. The tyranny of Lord Damarus must never return, and I am prepared to give my life to that end. Now if you will excuse me, sirs, I must return to Laputa for an emergency summit with the other leaders of the Twelve Factions.”

  Paramo bowed respectfully, and saw the others do the same.

  Neferneferu’aten moved past him in a smooth, gliding motion and was out the door within seconds, her servants at her heels. She glanced just once at the Warmaster as she passed. “I know you will do everything possible to stop Lord Damarus,” she whispered.

  23

  72 hours later

  SILVER CITY

  Machiko Famasika emerged from her shuttle at the Sacred Palace’s Visitor Centre and Spaceport, ducking her head as she walked down the landing ramp. She looked toward the towering edifice of the Sacred Palace some distance away, absently wondering how long it would be before Lord Damarus walked those immaculate corridors once again. It was a cool morning on the floating island of Laputa, and mist was rising from the ground, clinging to the low treetops and brushing against the abstract-shaped buildings like a thin white shroud. A funeral shroud, perhaps.

  She shook the thought aside, bringing her thoughts back into the present, and winced from the glare of the lights. Damn, how she hated the press. She had endured this ‘treatment’ a couple of years before, after a successful raid on an Empyreal Sun outpost in the constellation Ophiuchus. The press had swarmed over her ship, much like they were doing now, poking cameras in her face, asking the same asinine questions over and over again, probing far too deeply into parts of the raid she’d simply wanted to forget. When one had finally hit her with a question about the death of Svetlana, asking how she felt while watching a close friend die, she had to be restrained from punching the reporter’s lights out - a fleet PR officer, all smoothness and charm, separating the two.

  “So what are your thoughts on losing the Battle at Sirius? It’s Lieutenant Famasika, isn’t it?” one of them shouted now, aiming his Vei’nl at Machiko’s face.

  “That’s Commander,” Machiko said quietly.

  “Yeah, sorry. So tell us what you think?”

  “The defeat at Sirius does not mean that the war has ended. There’s a big difference between losing a battle and losing a war,” she tried to explain patiently. “Other than that, no comment,” and she tried to shoulder her way through the crush.

  “Is it true the Empyreal Sun fleet is coming for Earth next? Is there any truth to the rumours of Lord Damarus’ return?” a sweating beefy faced reporter shouted.

  Machiko looked back at the fat-faced reporter. “I’m a commander in the Special Frontier Force. I’m a professional, I try to do my job and leave the press conferencing to others.”

  “So you won’t deny the rumours?”

  She hesitated, wanting to turn and belt the reporter in the face, or better yet strap him into a tail gunner’s seat and take him out for a mission to see what it was really like. Though she hated to do so, she turned away and continued down the ivory-like walkway between two towers of the Palace, shouldering her way through the crush.

  “Another pissed-off military officer,” she heard a reporter sneering. “Always so miserable.”

  She turned, knowing she shouldn’t, but she simply couldn’t take it any longer. She put a finger into the man’s face. “What have you been doing these past few days?”

  The man looked at her defiantly. “Working for the holos.”

  “Where?”

  He shrugged. “On Earth, of course. Alliance Broadcasting.”

  She nodded. “I thought as much. While you’ve been sitting down and grinning at cameras, I’ve watched hundreds of thousands die. I’ve seen entire continents on fire from orbital tachyon bombardment, I’ve watched capital ships bursting silently in space, a thousand men and women spilling out, their blood boiling in the vacuum. I’ve heard the screams of my comrades as their fighters burned, and they were trapped, unable to eject. I’ve watched an entire global population wiped out. I’ve lost more friends than you’ll ever have. So don’t ever speak about me, or any other military officer, like that again.”

  She turned and stalked off, tears streaming down her face, hearing more than one reporter chuckle and give a word of support, but most of them looked at her with a superior disdain, as if she were a child who had just thrown a tantrum.

  A Fleet public relations officer named Enola slipped in beside Machiko, grabbed her by the arm and hustled her along. “That wasn’t very smart, Commander,” she whispered in her ear, while at the same time smiling to the press, and quickly moved Machiko back down the walkway.

  “I’m sorry,” Machiko said, “but I’m tired, highly strung, and I’ve had the worst experience recently. I’m not going to be insulted by these vultures.”

  “I understand, I really do, but things are bad enough as is with the damned press without you making it worse,” Enola hissed in her ear. The woman smiled, holding up her hand to the press, repeating that Warmaster Paramo would give them a full story soon enough and finally hustled Machiko into an air vehicle.

  Machiko took a deep breath, and let it out heavily. She was exhausted, and suddenly felt very self-conscious. “Do I look all right?”

  “Fine,” Enola said, and paused for an instant. “Now go home, and get some rest. From what I understand the Warmaster will have a new assignment for you tomorrow. Oh, and by the way, I’m behind you one hundred per cent with what you said back there, Commander.”

  Machiko forced a smile, and then signalled for the vehicle’s robotic pilot to depart.

  Through the doorway to the bedroom they shared, Machiko Famasika caught a glimpse of her lover reclining on the bed. She lay there very comfortably, her black hair spread around her head like a halo. Her chest rose and fell regularly and gently - peacefully, really - prompting Machiko to realise how little peace they had known in their life together.

  Beside her, on the bed, lay a few fo
lded garments, probably intended to be stuffed into the traveling bags at the foot of the bed. Two bags were mostly filled with Lora’s clothes, and two additional bags had been set out for someone else. Machiko frowned, wondering what was going on. She’d been away for almost a week and hadn’t spoken to Lora in all that time.

  She entered the room quietly, hoping not to disturb her, but Lora’s eyes flickered open. “Machiko,” she breathed. “Good, it’s you.”

  “Who else would you have expected?”

  She smiled, a bit haltingly, then shrugged. “Cris, of course.”

  Machiko nodded. An unpleasant feeling of apprehension began to swell within her gut. “Were the two of you planning on taking a trip somewhere?” She nodded toward the bags, then set aside the folded garments and seated herself at Lora’s feet. “How are you? What’s going on?”

  Lora sat up. “Machiko, I…” A thousand words spilled through her conscious mind, but she found it difficult to choose the right ones. Sighing, she sat forward and reached out to stroke Machiko’s cheek. “I don’t want to lie to you. The truth is… I love Cris, and… I want to be with him. We’re sleeping together. I’m so sorry, Machiko.”

  Stunned, Machiko stared with disbelief at Lora’s serious expression and then pulled away at this revelation. The two women sat staring at one another. “How many times?”

  “Twice, so far.”

  “You’ve always loved him,” Machiko said, tears swelling in her eyes.

  “Yes, I know,” Lora said. “And now he’s here again… I… I want to be his again. It’s an overwhelming feeling.”

  Machiko’s nostrils flared. “But what about us? Didn’t the last three years of us being together mean anything?”

  Lora swallowed in the depths of her throat. “Of course it did! I…”