Out Through the Attic

by Quincy J. Allen

  The metal-rich crust of Mercury combined with an abundance of solar energy made Nagami a perfect facility for making starships. Transfer satellites around Mercury allowed Amaterasu to relay energy directly into Nagami’s core and Trinity directly.

  Returning his gaze forward, Dumonde flicked his eyes over a macro, causing three rows of images to appear before him. The top-right image was a close-up of the device, which Heather had dubbed Skadi, after the Norse god of winter. It looked like a car-sized apple-seed made of black steel, discarded by gods to germinate and grow in Mercury’s harsh landscape.

  The remaining top-row images showed views from recorders placed every 5 kilometers stretching away from Skadi. The middle row showed outer recorders placed every 500 kilometers away. The whole chain dotted a line across Mercury from the equator to the pole, in line with the Trinity’s observation pod 3,800 kilometers north. The bottom row showed views from Amaterasu and its transfer satellites. Only Amaterasu and three of the 8 satellites had a view of Skadi’s position, and each was focused to show a different area measuring from 10 to 500 kilometers wide.

  Dumonde watched the clock tick down. Sixty seconds remained. “All monitors are live and we’re recording at ten thousand frames per second. How are we looking down there?”

  “Everything’s in the green,” Klein said stoically.

  “Still five-by-five, Dumonde. Think it will work?”

  “I know it will work. The question is, will it stop?”

  Kline chimed in. “You know that’s impossible, Dumonde.”

  “Not impossible, just incredibly improbable…. Thirty seconds…. Good luck, everyone…. Ten…. Five…. Zero.”

  “The mass is at absolute zero!” Heather shouted triumphantly.

  The image of Skadi went black on a feed… then the next feed went black. More distant monitors showed a growing hemisphere of black expanding across Mercury’s surface. Another monitor went black, then another. The rate increased and the close-in monitors were gobbled up by the void in seconds. Amaterasu’s view showed an expanding black pupil in the eye of Mercury, growing on the surface directly below, and still the rate of growth accelerated.

  “Oh Jesus,” Dumonde said horrified. “It’s not stopping.”

  Amaterasu’s feed went black a few seconds later.

  “My god,” Kline whispered, “It’s eating the planet.”

  “What have we done?” Heather cried into the comm. “Gravomagnetics are off the chart!”

  Numbers crunched in Dumonde’s subconscious and spat out an impossible reality. “It’s a singularity.” For the briefest of moments, he felt a tug of gravity as memories of Heather, the aurora and his kaleidoscope painted a smile on his face.

  He fell into the abyss with the rest of Mercury.

  

  The all within slipped through non-space when the ship alerted the multi-consciousness to a massive, uncharted gravity well.

  “Anomalous singularity,” the ship announced.

  “Curious,” the consciousness sang. “Adjust course and track relevant events.”

  The ship skipped through real space gathering data on the anomaly from incept consumption of all planetary bodies.

  “Causal analysis?” the collective queried.

  “The singularity originated at the perimeter of the stellar mass, apparently caused by null-entropic dense-matter-exposure within a hydrogen containment field twisted at the quantum level by conflicting gravity fields.”

  “Interesting. Could it be replicated?” the collective queried.

  “Affirmative.”

  The collective gathered the data and sang its way home to a war-torn people they thought they were about to save.

  Vessels of Abaddon

  (Originally appeared in Best Served Cold: An Eye for an Eye from RuneWright Publishing in July 2012.)

  Staring down at a black-cloaked tangle of evil, Captain Kurlock stood on the bridge of the stolen Confederacy cruiser, Chimera. The evil at his feet had a name—Raspa. He, if one could grant a shred of humanity upon such a thing, knelt on dull gray deck-plates, a calligraphy brush in one hand, a blood-filled inkwell in the other. He busied himself with the creation of a grand pattern, muttering in a strange tongue as he worked.

  Despite a dreadnaught and three light cruisers on Chimera’s tail, Kurlock had ordered his command crew to leave the bridge until the ceremony ended. Blood spatters covered Kurlock. Wiping crimson from his face and hands with a crisp, white towel stolen from the previous captain’s ready room, Kurlock stood behind the command chair and waited upon Raspa’s labors with all the patience of Job. The blood belonged to a nameless assortment of unfortunate souls from the skeleton crew left aboard Chimera. The rest of her crew was still back on shore leave at Gypsy Station, a resort platform set in wide orbit around Alpha Centauri.

  Kurlock’s long black ponytail had miraculously escaped most of the wet-work, so he reached a hand back and released the thong that bound it. Everything will be mine soon enough, he thought, starting with the wealth of Lyrra Station. An evil smile split his face. Bright lights above set his deep eyes into dark shadow, and the smile changed into a wide rictus, making him look like a predator ready to devour helpless prey.

  “I’m almost finished.” Raspa’s voice crackled like the twisting of dry reeds.

  “This better work, Raspa,” Kurlock said with easy menace. “We can’t outrun the hounds forever. If we die, you die with us.”

  “No need to worry. A bargain’s a bargain. Abaddon will grant you exactly what you want …as agreed.”

  Kurlock remained silent as Raspa set brush and inkwell aside and went through the awkward, creaking chore of standing up. His cloaked shape was emaciated, spindly limbs bent and twisted in ways unnatural for any living creature. He turned a grizzled, skeletal face to Kurlock, but his eyes were full of an almost impish delight.

  “There!” Raspa stepped back and away from the two-meter summoning circle he had traced upon the deck. The perimeter comprised two circles containing runes of a language Kurlock didn’t recognize. A bold pentagram lay inscribed within, and at its center another double-circle encased more runes. “Do you remember the incantation, the words to bring it forth into this world?” Raspa hissed. The central ring of blood was just big enough for a man to stand in.

  The captain grinned like a wolf. “Like they were my own name.” A momentary flash of fear, invisible to Raspa, coursed through Kurlock at what he was about to give up, but what he would gain crushed it down without mercy. He stepped boldly past the command chair and placed both feet into the center of the pentagram. He spread his arms just as Raspa had taught. Taking a deep breath, he uttered the bargain. Abaddon, Chapthan thal-Fozza. Imla dan il-basthiment bil-qawwa thiegħech. I mifthuħa ruħi li girċievu inthi!”

  The pattern at Kurlock’s feet began to glow bright red then turned obsidian black traced with deep purple lines of electricity. He felt a throb through Chimera’s deck-plates, matching his quickening heartbeat. Black, smoky coils surrounded his body, obscuring his sight, and the electricity jumped from the circle to wrap itself around him. Energy coursed through Kurlock, and he screamed with the magnificent pain of it. The black tendrils coiling around him grew, becoming a swirling cocoon that thundered with energy.

  His scream turned to an inhuman growl as a presence stepped forth from where it dwelled on the borders of Hell and into the willing vessel that was Kurlock. The black cloud coalesced into a seething knot coiling around Kurlock’s fist. He dropped to one knee, bringing his fist down like the Devil’s hammer upon an anvil. A thunderclap shook the ship from nose to tail. Men screamed in terror on all decks. The thing within Kurlock passed into the ship in a wave of black energy, spreading out and turning dull gray steel to obsidian black.

  The whole ship changed. The orderly curves and angles of her gleaming white and gray hull twisted into a blackened skein of evil. Where once there had been the orderly shape of a Nelson class Confederacy cruiser, there
was now a chaotic pattern of bulges, barbs, and runnels across the entire ship, as if durosteel plating had been transformed into the impenetrable hide of some ancient, saurian predator. Upon the nose of the Chimera shone a great, glowing version of Raspa’s summoning circle etched into the obsidian outer hull, a brilliant, blood red pentagram surrounded by two circles and the summoning runes that had opened the gateway between reality and Hell.

  Kurlock exhaled deeply. He could sense the ship around him, feel the nameless demon that now possessed Chimera. Standing slowly, he stepped back from the still-glowing circle on the deck and settled into the command chair like a god upon its throne.

  “Tell the men to go about their business,” he ordered Raspa. “We’ll leave you at Lyrra Station after we’re through gutting it. When the Confederacy arrives, you can claim to be a visitor and go wherever you like.” Kurlock dropped the bloody towel upon black deck-plates beside the chair, its red and white patterns setting a stark contrast against midnight flooring. Raspa bowed and set off to calm the crew, his work with Kurlock complete.

  Chimera came about in the vacuum of space much faster than was possible for a warship her size, and it bore down upon the Confederacy ships like a shark heading into a school of fat, helpless fish.

  Kurlock queried that which possessed Chimera, “Which one shall we destroy first?”

  

  Jacob Reece waited outside the bridge of Chimera while its first officer, an ex-Confederacy Marine named Clarke, relayed the message. The deckplates under his feet hummed with the energy of engines running through nonspace. He ran a finger over the smooth, black door before him and contemplated his future. He’d spent four years making a name for himself as a security hacker on several pirate ships based out of Hell’s Gate, a hidden starport unknown to the Confederacy. The port was carved from a 300-kilometer asteroid circling Epsilon Eridani. It was there he’d watched and waited for Chimera, which had finally docked to buy supplies and replenish fallen crewmembers. Under Captain Kurlock, no ship or fleet had ever withstood the onslaught of the legendary Chimera, but people protected their homes and families ferociously. Chimera’s crew—the arms and legs that carried stolen wealth from plundered colonies aboard Chimera—suffered from attrition that had to be occasionally replenished.

  The door before Reece cycled, exposing a short hall that opened onto the shadowy bridge.

  “Come,” a deep voice almost devoid of humanity commanded. Reece strode in just as Clarke walked past him and out into the hallway. The door cycled behind them both, sealing Reece in with Captain Kurlock, while Clarke headed below deck. Reece stared around at the black consoles, obsidian walls and ebon floor, surprised to see Captain Kurlock alone. The only color in the room was the swirling rainbow of nonspace on the viewscreen in front of the Captain. A black-gloved hand pointed at the glowing, rune-carved circle etched into the floor before the command chair. “Stand there,” Kurlock commanded, his fierce eyes piercing the younger man. Reece complied, and from within the circle faced Kurlock, taking in the long, white hair and beard, the gaunt cheeks and sunken eyes that seemed to be more shadow than man. Kurlock’s face was almost skeletal and without emotion. The two faced each other for long seconds, sizing each other up.

  Kurlock’s eyes narrowed. “Do I know you?” he asked with just a hint of puzzled curiosity. “You seem somehow familiar to me.”

  “No Captain, we’ve never met,” Reece replied with undeniable certainty. Kurlock’s eyes narrowed impossibly further. He fruitlessly dredged through a graveyard of memory.

  “And you’re a hacker? Specializing in security systems?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Kurlock suddenly realized something. The corner of his mouth crimped up a millimeter in perfect syncopation with his eyebrow. “Most men are uncomfortable standing where you are.” He paused and examined Reece closely. “You don’t fear me … or it.” His eyes drifted to the circle.

  Reece put his hands behind his back and stood straight, chest thrust forward. “I’ve waited a long time to meet you, Captain Kurlock, Sir. All I’ve ever wanted to do was serve my purpose … on Chimera.”

  “Really? And what is that purpose?”

  “To gain immortality, Sir.”

  “Immortality?” Kurlock’s face split into a disbelieving smile, but it was devoid of even a trace of happiness or joy. “Impossible.”

  Reece leaned his head forward, as if he were sharing a lover’s secret. “Several years ago, I hacked a mainframe archive where old, Lyrran data had been downloaded and apparently forgotten. I found a secret, one they don’t even know exists.” Kurlock’s mouth went flat, but his eyebrow rose further, and Reece thought he saw Kurlock lean in. “As you know, Lyrra’s wealth afforded them a great deal of scientific research. Apparently, there was a man there who was secretly working on a compound that could extend life … perhaps indefinitely.”

  “And why didn’t you go get it all for yourself. It would bring a king’s ransom.”

  “You know as well as I that the Confederacy blockade around the Lyrran Station Memorial crushes everyone who comes searching for even scraps of any wealth you might have left behind.”

  “True. I left some of those people alive to spread just that rumor. It pleased me to do so.” Kurlock reminisced about his first raid aboard the Chimera. He had crushed the insipid ships that had chased him from Gypsy Station so many years ago. Chimera had then gone on to Lyrra, smashed through their paltry defenses and slaughtered most of the station’s inhabitants.

  “Chimera is the only ship capable of getting in there and back out again, Captain. You’re my only chance.”

  Kurlock calculated possibilities as he thoughtfully ran fingers over his white beard. He had felt death nipping at his heels for years, and the constant reminder of his bargain with Abaddon, etched in blood on the deckplates before him, promised an eternity in Hell when his payment came due. Reece felt the hum of the deckplates go quiet under his feet, and the screen behind him phased into a view of distant stars. “If you are lying to me,” Kurlock’s voice was as menacing as a beast, “it will take me months to kill you. And death, when it finally comes, will be a blessing you will thank me for.”

  Reece felt minor gravitational surges as the ship changed course. He suddenly realized that Kurlock had not moved, nor had any command been given. Yet the ship moved. A flicker of doubt danced through his thoughts, but he was committed now. “Believe me, Sir, immortality is there for the taking. I only want my little piece of it. The rest is all for you. Do we have an agreement?”

  “Go back to your quarters. I will summon you when we enter the system. It will take just over eight hours, so get your rest,” Kurlock’s voice carried neither concern nor generosity.

  “Eight hours?” Jacob knew it would take a standard cruiser almost sixteen to reach Lyrra Station from Hell’s Gate. “She’s fast,” he said with a touch of awe.

  “It is. Now leave me.”

  

  Reece woke in his bunk to a klaxon howling in darkness. The door to his quarters opened, and Clarke’s silhouette cast in light from the passageway barked an order. “Get to the bridge. The Captain wants you to see this.”

  Reece rose from his bunk and made his way to the bridge. The door opened as he approached, so he walked in without word or pause. Captain Kurlock was just as before, sitting in his command chair, but this time the viewscreen was full of a dozen targets highlighted in red hexagons.

  “Watch,” was all Kurlock said. Reece stepped up beside the captain and stared as a dozen medium cruisers approached Chimera. It was another slaughter in a long line of slaughters. No orders were barked out, no courses corrected. Confederacy ships closed with Chimera, but the ebon ship swerved and dodged like a living creature. Reece stole his eyes away from the viewscreen and observed Kurlock. The Captain’s eyes were closed, his hands resting gently on the arms of the chair. In the viewscreen, the stars and ships surrounding Chimera swerved and swayed
impossibly fast.

  Confederacy missiles flew wide, and their plasma cannons, when they occasionally hit home, only reflected off the black surface of Chimera with a light shudder that vibrated through deckplates with each blast. Confederacy ships fell one by one to Chimera’s turrets in an endless torrent of red, streaking death. Finally, Chimera wove its way through the wreckage and accelerated towards Lyrra Station. The viewscreen changed to a scan of the entire system. It picked out another dozen ships on the far side of the sun, and they were angling in towards Lyrra Station.

  “Come with me,” Kurlock ordered. He stood up and walked past Reece who fell in stride behind the tall captain. They exited the bridge and made their way down to the main docking hatch where a dozen grim looking men and women in combat armor waited silently. Each held a pulse-rifle, and some, including Clarke, had a modern saber at the hip. Only Reece and Kurlock were unarmed and unarmored.

  Reece looked at the captain with disbelief and confusion. “But what about those inbound Confederacy ships? Won’t they get Chimera while we’re inside?”

  “It can take care of itself while we attend to our business,” Kurlock soothed.

  Reece saw vicious smiles decorate the faces inside each and every pirate’s helmet. A few minutes later, they felt the ship slow and adjust its trajectory. They all heard a thump-hiss as Chimera latched onto a Lyrran airlock. The pirates raced in as the lock opened, taking up guard positions inside. Kurlock, Clarke and Reece strode into the darkened station. The lock closed behind them, and they heard Chimera detach. Lyrra Station was as silent as a mausoleum, with the only light coming from an access terminal just inside the airlock.

  “You’re a hacker. Bring up the lights,” Kurlock commanded and pointed to the terminal. Reece pulled a cable from his pocket, plugged one end into the socket behind his ear and the other into the terminal. It took him only sixty seconds to bring up the lights, but he already knew where he was going despite twenty years. He removed the cable, put it back in his pocket and looked at Kurlock.