by Dean M. Cole
"We should fallback, my Lord."
Thrakst froze. "What?"
The Raja pointed at the main display. "We're all but finished with this world, my Lord. The Argonians may have discovered a defense for this weapon."
Recovering, Thrakst laughed. "If I didn't know you better, old friend, I'd think you afraid."
The Raja bristled at the Lord's suggestion, his ears standing fully erect.
Thrakst raised a hand. "Calm yourself, my friend. You are a wise warrior. However, we have come too far to stop now."
Phascyre's ears lowered a shade, but he continued to glare at Thrakst.
"The coordinated timing of our and Salyth's attacks, as well as the measures we took to suppress communications in both systems, have made it impossible for the GDF to formulate a defense against this weapon."
"The Galactic Defense Forces should be here soon. I guarantee you, Tekamah knows nothing. See for yourself," Thrakst said as he gestured at the ships portrayed across the bridge's video displays. "Even if Salyth attacked too soon, even if he failed, the Argonians in this sector did not know of our weapon."
The thought of the coming battle had Thrakst's salivary glands churning. The pointed tip of the Lord's black tongue dabbed frenetically at his dripping silver fangs.
His eyes twitched from the dreadnought to the tactical display.
Standing, Thrakst raised his voice. "Speaking of the saraph, where is Tekamah?"
"No sign yet, my Lord," replied another officer.
"I hope he gets here soon. I wouldn't want him to miss out on all this," Thrakst said with a broad, sweeping gesture toward the main display.
"Lord Thrakst, we're picking up a new distress call from the surface."
"Is it a subspace signal?"
"No, my Lord. We're still jamming all subspace communications," replied the nervous officer.
Lowering his voice, Thrakst turned to the Raja. "The GDF won't know what happened until it's too late," he said through a toothy grin.
He returned his glare to the undersized communications officer. "So where is the signal coming from?"
"It is an in-system video message, my Lord."
Thrakst's grin widened, and he sat up on the rocky ledge of his throne. "Show me!"
On the main display the hovering Zoxyth dreadnought disappeared. The image of a disgusting Argonian female with her whining cubs clutching at her skinny legs filled the monitor. The high-pitched whine of the breeder and her whelps abraded his nerves. "What is it saying?" he growled at the communications officer.
After a nervous twitch, the officer entered a couple of commands into his console, and a deep, melodious Zoxyth translation replaced the abhorrent squeaky Argonian voice.
"Oh my Gods! The Zoxyth ship is … is overhead now!"
Thrakst smiled. "Put this Argonian bitch and her cubs out of their misery," he said coldly.
The tactical officer nodded and forwarded the command. The image of the ship hovering over the settlement returned to the display.
With a brilliant flash, the glorious, cleansing light wave of the genetic disruptor erupted from the dreadnought's bridge.
***
The sphere of stars ahead of Tekamah's ship blossomed two seconds early!
Like a sparkling, circular waterfall streaming from the orb's center, a perfectly symmetrical wave of red-shifted stars expanded across the black dome of space. The racing front quickly encircled the GDF formation. In its diminishing wake, the wave deposited its bounty of stars in their normal positions and usual colors as, no longer outrunning light, the fleet fell into regular space before the scheduled time.
"… one, zero …" the navigation officer said, finishing his countdown with a confused tone.
Multiple icons within Tekamah's virtual vision shifted to red, half of his awareness falling away as if a laser had cleaved his soul. The expressions crossing the faces of the bridge's complement of officers mirrored Tekamah's feelings. While the men likely thought it a temporary disconnect, the admiral knew better.
Whatever had knocked them out of parallel-space had also closed their communications wormhole.
"Report," Tekamah ordered as he evaluated the data streaming from his few still active EON channels.
"All fighters away," Tactical announced through a bewildered tone.
Tekamah looked at her and shook his head. The information pumped into his EON interface showed that local space was empty. Nothing that could threaten his ship was in the area. "Recall them. We dropped out of parallel-space early. We're still tens of light seconds out. There's no sense in our fighter pilots spending the next hour in their cockpits."
"I don't understand, sir. Why don't we just short-jump our way in from here?"
Considering the loss of communication with Feyhdyak in Sector 64, Tekamah already knew the answer, but he pointed to his navigation officer. "Tell her."
The officer nodded. "There's a Zoxyth fleet here all right, but now I know why we haven't received calls. Someone dropped a subspace picket across the sector. That's why we've lost Omninet connection as well."
The nav officer's face twisted with confusion. Turning to Tekamah, he said, "But sir, that doesn't make sense. Why would we place a disruptor field across the system?"
Tekamah shook his head. "I assure you, we did not."
The subordinate pointed through the view-wall. "It couldn't have been the Zoxs. They don't have that kind of technology."
"Apparently they do now," Tekamah said. "But the biggest question is why would they use it here?"
From behind the tactical console, the other officer said, "If they've gained the tech, it's a fairly standard ploy—"
Cutting her off, Tekamah pointed at the helmsman. "No, he was right the first time, it doesn't make sense. Once the Zoxyth fleet knew they had a big enough head start, they made no secret of their destination. Hell, a first-year Academy student could've tracked them here. So why wouldn't they want us to see their attack on our outpost? With that much lead time, they could've finished the attack and jumped back out of the system before we arrived. As we blazed toward the system at top parallel-space speed, still unable to intervene, why wouldn't they want us to receive subspace messages from colonists begging for our help?"
Through narrowing eyes, Tekamah studied the distant planet. What are you up to, Thrakst?
CHAPTER FIVE
The pressure differential made stepping through the barrier feel like slipping into a vertical pool of water. First, Jake's right arm and his left leg penetrated the force field. Then his visored face pressed into its surface, the flickering light of the accompanying static discharges glowing red through his closed lids. Finally, the rest of his body passed through the membrane.
He'd made it! He was inside.
Jake stopped. The bay's illumination appeared brighter in here than it had through the force field. More light than he'd expected burned through his squinting and blinking eyes.
Jake twitched as the suit's helmet retracted into the neck ring with startling suddenness. Realizing he'd been holding his breath, he tentatively sipped the air. Other than a faint ozone odor, it smelled and tasted normal.
His eyes slowly adjusted to the increased luminosity. Jake looked back at the hangar's force field. It must limit the amount of interior energy allowed to bleed into space. That's why it had looked darker in here from out there.
The opening through which Jake had passed was roughly sixty feet tall by ninety feet wide. Almost eight stories overhead, the entire surface of the ceiling beyond the bay door glowed, providing the hangar's illumination. Where ceiling met wall sixty feet to his left or port, a gently curving radius joined the perpendicular surfaces. The ceiling's glow faded out halfway through the transition. Beneath it a collection of white rectangular panels with their short ends on top and bottom like vertically oriented bricks formed the left wall. A thin gap between each panel created a grid pattern that foreshortened like railroad tracks as they continued to the back of the huge
hangar. The back wall appeared to be about two football fields away, deeper into the ship.
A path or taxiway cut through the center of the wide hangar, apparent landing decks lining both sides all the way to the back. Several pieces of equipment sat next to many of the pads. Spacecraft of varying designs remained on some of them.
Jake didn't see exits along either of the side walls. Focusing his attention on the far end, he saw something that might be a door. He turned and looked back through the rear hangar opening. Silhouetted against Earth, Newcastle's fighter now hovered two hundred yards aft of the carrier.
"I'm in, sir," Jake said. When Newcastle didn't respond to the suit radio, Jake pulled the handheld radio from his hip. He pressed the side-mounted transmit key. "How do you read me on this radio, sir?"
"Not very well, Captain," the colonel replied, his voice distant, barely discernible above the radio's background static. "I copied all, but be advised, you're coming in extremely weak."
"Got you the same, sir." Jake pointed behind him. "I think there's an opening in the far wall." He scanned the perimeter of the large hangar door. "I don't see anything that looks like a control panel on this end. I'm going to head forward and see if I can find a way to let you in here."
"Keep me up to date," Newcastle said. "In the meantime, I'm trying to buy us some time. My pilots are using their ships to marshal the farthest fighters. Like a bunch of space cowboys trying to regroup a herd, they're gently bumping and pushing them back toward the formation," he said, emphasizing "gently".
Jake keyed the radio and waved his left arm. "Roger, sir, good idea. I'll try to keep you up to date, but I doubt the radio signal will get any better. The back wall is quite a way into the ship. What are your orders if I don't find anything there?"
"Continue your search. If you haven't found anything within an hour, return to the hangar and check in."
He snapped a quick salute. "Yes, sir."
Turning, Jake started jogging toward the back and stumbled over something on the floor. Looking down, he stared into the face of an empty spacesuit. He'd missed it earlier. The floor was the same milky, metallic color as the garment. Jake looked around and spotted several additional articles haphazardly strewn about the expansive hangar. Some were gathered around the pieces of equipment, while others appeared to have been cut down mid-step while crossing the hangar.
Looking at the poignant reminder of the day's tragic losses, Jake shook his head. "Fuck!" An involuntary shudder ran through him. Dragging his eyes from the faceless victim, he resumed his trek to the back of the hangar. En route, he passed the few remaining ships. The first couple looked like the sleek fighter versions of the Turtle that had encircled the enemy fleet before the battle. However, the farthest ship was much bigger. Near the back of the hangar, it was easily fifty feet tall by sixty-five feet wide and three times that lengthwise. All of them had that liquid metal-smooth, light-absorbing skin that he'd first seen on the Turtle.
A faint sound froze Jake in his tracks. Had that been a voice? Then it returned. No longer masked by the sound of his shuffling feet, he clearly heard words this time. "…eed to the EON maintenance facility for EON replacement."
Jake snapped his head in the direction from which the voice had issued. It sounded like a woman was calling to him. Barely perceptible, speaking in the Argonian language, it came from somewhere near his destination. He was still about a hundred and fifty feet from the now obvious opening. His spirits rose. However, as Jake drew closer, the voice repeated.
"Your EON is out of service. Please proceed to EON maintenance for EON replacement."
An automated message, it obviously wasn't intended for him.
"Shit." Jake shook his head and continued toward the rear door. A pointed arch framed its tall opening. In the apparent corridor beyond, antiqued bronze surfaces contrasted against the hangar's bright white walls. Pulsing rhythmically, a pair of glowing, green strips streamed down its dark floor, flowing like a river away from Jake.
Louder and more insistent, the automated voice returned. "Your EON is out of service. Please, follow the marker lights to EON maintenance for EON replacement."
"Whatever an EON is," Jake responded in Argonian, "I've got other things to take care of right now, like interfacing with that damn force field." He scanned the area around the opening. Nothing looked like a control console. Remembering the Turtle's nanobots, he realized he probably wouldn't be able to see it. Likely, the controls didn't exist until needed. "How do I tell this ship what I need?"
The computer voice answered. "You will be unable to interface with ship systems until your EON is functional. Please follow the marker lights to the EON maintenance facility for EON replacement."
After a shocked pause, Jake whispered, "Okay, you have my attention now." He stared into the incredibly long hallway. Like railroad tracks extending to the horizon, its parallel lines and flashing floor lights extended so deep into the ship that they appeared to converge.
He turned to look outside and toggled the radio. "Vampire Six, I may have found a way to interface with the force field, but I'll have to head deeper into the ship."
Colonel Newcastle's voice came through extremely broken and barely legible. "Roger Capt … you're coming … even weaker now … copied that you … going deeper. If you haven't gained access within … hour, return … check in, over."
"Roger, sir. Captain Giard, out."
Releasing the transmit key, Jake studied the radio for a moment hoping that the colonel had heard him. Shifting his gaze to the distant fighter beyond the force field, he saw it wag left and right. Then it drifted back from the opening and departed, probably to help with the herding efforts.
Now completely alone in the ghost ship, Jake felt another chill creep down his spine. He turned back to the massive hallway's arched opening.
"Your EON is out of service. Please, follow the marker lights to EON maintenance, for EON replacement," the computer repeated, emphasizing "please" with almost human impatience.
Jake resisted the urge to query the computer-animated voice directly, afraid it might ask its own questions, like: 'Who are you, and what the hell are you doing on this ship?'
Instead, he muttered, "I'm going, I'm going."
After a brief hesitation, he shook off the chill and stepped through the opening. The apex of the bronze, pointed arch towered forty-five feet over the twelve-foot-wide doorway. Stepping through brought Jake into a twenty-foot-wide by sixty-foot-tall passageway, the graceful beauty of its architecture reminiscent of a Gothic European cathedral. Fluted casings surrounded the opening. A criss-cross pattern of the same design continued the pointed arch motif down the ceiling of the long hall.
To the limit of Jake's vision, the corridor continued unchanged, tapering to a point like a railroad track, its parallel lines appearing to converge in the distance. Starting a few yards from where he stood and continuing as far as he could see, ornately trimmed openings periodically interrupted the lines of the left and right walls. The moving lights that apparently led to the EON maintenance facility seemed to run to the distant end of the passageway.
"Holy crap," Jake whispered as he considered the length of the ship. Shaking his head, he began jogging, following the light.
As he passed openings, he stole glances into the rooms beyond, wishing he had time to study each. Jake caught glimpses of massive halls, some exceeding the size and grandeur of the Vatican's St. Peter's Basilica. In another room, a massive terrarium featured alien vegetation growing from niches positioned high and low, some even issuing from the ceiling. The sound of falling water accompanied screeches and chirps of unseen fauna, although Jake did glimpse one leathery-winged animal gliding amongst the flora.
As room by room scrolled past, he half-expected Argonian troops to pop out and ask what he was doing on their ship.
As he started to wonder if the hallway ran the entire length of the vessel, the passage of openings accelerated at a pace out of sync with his jog. Jake
stopped running, but the rooms continued zipping by him as if the floor moved under his feet or at least the strip upon which he stood. He saw no conveyor, no seam or edge, although the floor's perfectly smooth and featureless surface rendered movement, or lack thereof, indiscernible. Knowing the vast length of the ship, he resolved himself to be drawn into its depths. Adding his own speed to the trek, he began jogging again. Jake hoped it was a two-way street. Otherwise, he'd never make the one-hour check-in.
In the distance, he saw where the moving lights appeared to angle into an opening. Jake broke into a sprint for the distant room. Doorway after doorway zipped past on both sides, too fast to differentiate the contents of the rooms beyond.
Deeper in the ship, it became obvious that some force, not a conveyor belt, propelled him down the corridor. Jake dodged motionless uniforms and alien apparel strewn along his path, the inane clutter still the only evidence of the day's tragedy. Many times he almost tripped as he negotiated areas where the weapon's awful effect had vaporized large groups. More than once he had to peel garments from his lower legs.
Quickly closing the gap, he slid to a stop in front of the doorway through which the lights disappeared. The virtual conveyor halted as well. Jake stood staring into the opening, hopes dashed against the vision of another long corridor.
"Crap!"
Shaking his head, Jake looked back in the direction from which he'd come. The vast distance concealed the bright hangar at the passageway's far end. Jake couldn't even see a white dot where the door had been. Sighing, he turned, his eyes following the flowing lines into the perpendicular hall where a new detail drew his attention. While it appeared that the hallway continued to the far right side of the ship, the lights didn't reach that end. Amidship, they disappeared.
"Your EON is out of service," the obviously impatient computer repeated. Jake tried to detect its source, but the feminine voice seemed to come from everywhere. "Please, follow the marker lights to EON maintenance for EON replacement."
"I'm going," he said, resuming his jog.
