The Lost Colony (Lost Starship Series Book 4)

by Vaughn Heppner

It would be via a laser lightguide link. The carrier was still in orbit around Hades IV.

  Antietam headed toward the Laumer-Point linking this system to the Hermes System. The majority of the fleet did likewise.

  Fletcher sat in the conference chamber with several other officers. This was concerning the lone survivor in the bunker on Hades IV. It seemed the man had finally begun to talk coherently.

  “Open channels,” Fletcher said.

  A holoimage appeared in the center of the room. It showed Commander Rainy Fells, a sixty-year old woman in Star Watch Intelligence. She had eagle-like features and a manner of staring as if watching a tasty mouse cross a field.

  “Good day, Admiral,” she said.

  Fletcher made the introductions, finding it was a good link with minimal delay.

  “We’re all very interested,” Fletcher told her. “What has the survivor said?”

  The Intelligence officer cleared her throat. “His station is Service Tech Three. His name is Monsieur George Dunbar, age: 38. He worked on a dam, on the turbines specifically. He happened to be on vacation at the time in the wilds. His chief hobby is botany, which makes little sense given his occupation. He had hiked to a lonely valley thick with vegetation. Monsieur Dunbar believes that’s why the New Men’s scanners missed him. He was good at living in the wild, a bit of a survivalist, I believe.”

  Fletcher nodded, absorbed with the information.

  “He was coherent while explaining all that,” Commander Fells said. “But once we spoke to him about the New Men, he began to stammer and then rave. I’m not sure how much faith I would place in his explanation. The doctors assure me this could all be a hallucination. The truth could be many times worse.”

  “What did he say?” Fletcher asked.

  The Intelligence officer checked her tablet. “Monsieur Dunbar spoke about a construction project. The New Men built… He called them chambers. Each one sucked up tremendous levels of energy. He snuck back to his dam once, watching the power drain when they turned them on.”

  “Turned what on?” Fletcher asked.

  “The chambers, sir,” the Intelligence officer said. “Monsieur Dunbar claimed the New Men stuffed each one to capacity. He was quite emphatic about one particular. They only put women in or men in, never a mixture.”

  “Go on,” Fletcher said, his stomach beginning to churn with uneasiness.

  “People went in, according to Monsieur Dunbar, but they never came out.”

  “They were annihilation chambers?” Fletcher asked in horror.

  “That’s my assessment, sir,” the Intelligence officer said, briskly. “The New Men have practiced genocide elsewhere. Why not here on Hades IV as well?”

  “Monsieur Dunbar agrees with your assessment?” Fletcher asked.

  “Most emphatically not, sir,” the officer said. “He said a ghostly beam appeared from the chamber reaching up into space. He suggests…well…a teleportation device.”

  “What?”

  “I know that’s preposterous,” the officer said. “Dunbar claimed that’s why the New Men packed women into one and men into another.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the New Men sent the women to one place and the men to somewhere different,” Commander Fells said.

  “Where does Dunbar think the New Men teleported these people?”

  “He has several theories, the sanest being into waiting cargo haulers in orbit.”

  “And the most insane theory?” Fletcher asked.

  “To another planet in another star system,” she said.

  “If that’s true, why haven’t the New Men used the teleporting device as a military weapon?”

  “Precisely,” Fells said.

  Fletcher glanced at his people. “Any questions?” he asked them.

  They had none.

  “Do you have anything else to report?” Fletcher asked Fells.

  “Not yet,” she said. “We’re still trying various treatments. He’s raving now, completely incoherent. We’re hoping to restore his sanity as quickly as possible.”

  “Thank you for your report,” Fletcher said.

  After the holoimage winked out, the admiral’s Intelligence chief spoke up:

  “If the New Men have teleportation capabilities…”

  Fletcher shook his head. “They would have used such a power by now.”

  “What if it’s a new technology?” the man asked.

  “It was used at least a year ago,” Fletcher said, “possibly longer. That means the enemy has possessed it for some time—if Monsieur Dunbar is telling the truth.”

  “Do you doubt him?” the psychologist asked.

  Fletcher pursed his lips. “No. He saw something. I’m willing to bet it seared his thinking.”

  “I agree,” the psychologist said. “This is likely the source of his psychosis. The New Men set up chambers where women went in and a ghostly column appeared that reached into space. I doubt it was a death chamber. They could have as easily dropped hell-burners from orbit if they wanted to kill everyone.”

  “Are they searching for something among the people?”

  “Possibly,” the doctor said. “Or maybe they’re using the people for a project.”

  “What kind of project?” Fletcher asked.

  The doctor examined his fingernails before saying, “I’ve been wondering about that for some time, Admiral. I imagine when the New Men stand and fight, and if we win, we’ll finally discover our answer.”

  On that note, Fletcher dismissed them.

  Here was another piece of the puzzle. Maybe the New Man asking for asylum had some answers.

  -34-

  Pa Kur endured the questions, the medical probing and the X-rays to his head. He even let the sub-men touch him without going into a berserk fury and slaughtering them with his bare hands.

  He had asked for asylum but they believed he had surrendered. It was a galling state of affairs. They had no idea he had escaped from the star cruiser. He had escaped the service of the hateful Strand.

  Strand had put him under a machine. The Methuselah Man had used him, programmed his mind. That was a frightful injustice. Strand had acted upon a superior as he had would act upon weak sub-men.

  Pa Kur knew that Strand secretly laughed at him.

  As he waited in this cell, Pa Kur shivered with suppressed rage. The Emperor had been right after all. The New Men must not trust Strand. They must make their own way in the universe, achieving more and climbing higher than their genetic predecessors, Homo sapien man.

  It was a mistake invading Human Space. We should have traveled in the other direction, launching even deeper into the Beyond. Homo sapiens always marred whatever they touched.

  Pa Kur wondered if that meant they had already marred him.

  The hatch abruptly slid up. Pa Kur tensed internally, although he hadn’t let a single muscle twitch.

  “Stand, you,” a Marine captain growled. “We’re taking you to another chamber.”

  Pa Kur turned his head on the pillow. The Marine wore space armor, aiming a heavy caliber gun at him. Behind the human were other Marines in combat armor.

  The sub-men were not taking any chances with him. He did not blame them, although he hated these subhuman creatures.

  “Do you want us to manhandle you?” the captain asked.

  Without a word, Pa Kur, stood and headed for the hatch. He walked erectly, proudly, knowing that he was superior to everyone in the sub-men fleet. What he did not understand was how the lower order had found the courage to attack an apparent sixty-two star cruisers.

  Pa Kur had toyed with the idea that one of the commanding sub-men had figured out the deception ahead of time. Yet, try as he might, he found the hypothesis impossible to accept.

  The Marines marched him through ship corridors, bringing him to a new chamber. It had armored bulkheads. Even without weapons, they feared him. How truly weak these sub-men were.

  There was a table in the middle of the room. A man
already sat in one of the chairs.

  Pa Kur entered with the armored Marines. He sat on the other chair while they lined the walls, five armored killers with weapons.

  As he placed his golden-colored hands on the table, Pa Kur noticed one-way glass. Important people would be watching today. He wondered who stood behind the one-way glass.

  “Fifth Rank Pa Kur,” the man at the table began.

  Pa Kur focused on the specimen. He was short and stocky but possessed a large braincase. This one might have a modicum of intelligence.

  “You claim a desire for asylum,” the stocky man said.

  “Yes,” Pa Kur answered.

  “Are you repudiating your citizenship to the Throne World?”

  Pa Kur hesitated before saying, “Yes.”

  “You wish to join the Commonwealth of Planets?”

  “I do.”

  “That requires an exchange on your part. We can give you asylum, but it will cost you information about the Throne World and the star cruisers.”

  Pa Kur stared at the stocky fool.

  The sub-man tried to stare back into his eyes, but failed, looking down.

  “We desire the Throne World’s coordinates,” the man said.

  Pa Kur said nothing.

  “If we do not grant you asylum, you will be considered a prisoner of war.”

  Pa Kur continued to remain silent.

  “Do you comprehend my words?” the man said.

  “Yes.”

  “Then, why don’t you answer?”

  “I cannot give you the Throne World’s coordinates, as I do not know them.”

  “That’s a lie.”

  Pa Kur stiffened. The desire to reach out and rip out the man’s throat almost caused him to twitch. He must not do that, and yet, he did not know why.

  “You don’t like me calling you a liar, do you?” the sub-man asked.

  “I do not lie.”

  “Why did your two star cruisers flee?”

  Pa Kur said nothing.

  “Do you know the reason?” the man asked.

  “I do not.”

  “That is another lie,” the man said.

  Pa Kur’s obsidian-colored eyes glinted with rage.

  “If you attempt to harm me,” the stocky man said, “these Marines will subdue you.”

  Pa Kur said nothing.

  “For a man who wants asylum, you are strangely reluctant to speak.”

  “You have not asked me a question I can answer.”

  “Why did the New Men build chambers on Hades IV?”

  “Chambers?” asked Pa Kur.

  “Teleporting chambers?” the man asked.

  Pa Kur bent his head, staring at the table. A throb beat in his forebrain. It opened something in him. He looked up at the quizzical sub-man.

  “Who desires this knowledge?” Pa Kur heard himself ask.

  “I do.”

  “Who watches us?”

  The stocky man glanced at the one-way glass.

  At that moment, it happened. It felt to Pa Kur as if tumblers moved in his mind. He put his hands under the table and heaved as hard and as fast as he could. The table flipped against the stocky man, hurling him and his chair toward the Marines.

  Pa Kur was up and moving as the table flew through the air. He had entered overdrive, realizing vaguely that Strand must have meant for the sub-men to capture him all along. Strand had out-guessed the enemy commander.

  Pa Kur had been the only New Man on his star cruiser. Both vessels had run on automated systems. He realized these things as he reached the first Marine.

  The stocky man thudded against the bulkhead and the table splintered into many pieces due to the violence of its trajectory.

  Pa Kur knew that his body would burn out, the muscles and tendons would tear under the intense strain. That did not matter today. He had a final purpose. Strand had seen to that. The Methuselah Man had an opponent in the enemy fleet.

  Ripping the raised gun out of the Marine captain’s armored grip, Pa Kur turned the weapon on the sub-man, blowing out the faceplate.

  He dodged other bullets. The secret enablers wired into him allowed him to do so. In a matter of seconds, he destroyed all the Marines in the cell. Afterward, Pa Kur raised the gun and fired at the one-way glass, shredding it.

  Star Watch officers shouted in horror, several of them ducking. One of them went down hard, with a shard of one-way glass sprouting from his eye.

  Pa Kur’s lips twitched into a smile. He raised his gun, aimed at a harsh-faced officer with admiral tabs on his shoulders and squeezed the trigger.

  It clicked empty. Pa Kur had used the final bullets to shatter the glass. No matter, the New Man hurled the gun at an officer aiming one at him. The thud dropped the officer.

  At that point, Pa Kur launched himself through the broken frame.

  The admiral did not flee, but snarled like an animal. They were all animals. Pa Kur sailed at the admiral, crashing against him, his iron strong fingers clutching the throat.

  A hard impact blew the air out of Pa Kur’s lungs. He knew without looking down that a force blade had entered him. The admiral jerked the blade, twisting and sawing.

  Pa Kur clutched harder. He must kill Admiral Fletcher. He must destroy the brains of the Grand Fleet.

  Pa Kur eyelids fluttered as life drained from his glorious body. As he slipped away, he wondered if he had killed the admiral. He hoped…he hoped…

  Pa Kur frowned. Had he attacked at Strand’s will?

  I hope I failed, Pa Kur thought. Then, he died, hating Strand with his final breath.

  -35-

  Victory neared the Dyson sphere. The starship had been braking for some time. It was presently at a Luna-like distance from the monstrous spheroid’s surface.

  Captain Maddox sat at the command chair. He studied the main screen where Valerie had zoomed in on the port admiral’s flotilla.

  The flagship was a Bismarck-class battleship, the Leipzig. Its sister battleship, the Vienna, was also part of the flotilla, which included three strike cruisers armed with antimatter missiles, five destroyers, two escorts and three supply ships. High Command had believed the antimatter missiles gave Hayes the needed destructive power necessary to defeat any silver drones the port admiral might have found in the Xerxes System.

  “Still no sign of damage to the ships?” Maddox asked.

  “Negative,” Galyan said, standing beside the command chair.

  “Not a scratch on any of the hull armor?”

  “Checking,” the AI said. “Oh. Please excuse my error. Yes, I detect more than scratches. There are strange buff marks. I have seen similar—ah. It should have been obvious. Captain, I detect the aftereffect of neutron beam-shots.”

  “Neutron?” Maddox said. “Did they cut through the hulls?”

  “Negative.”

  “Then—”

  “Captain, please allow me to complete my report.”

  Maddox nodded.

  “I have seen one similarity to this, the neutron shots against Victory that induced a thought-loop in my AI core.”

  “So there’s one mystery solved,” Valerie said.

  Maddox turned to her. “Explain your reasoning, Lieutenant.”

  “It seems simple enough, sir. The flotilla’s computers went cold after the special neutron beam thought-looped all of them. With the computers offline, maybe the life-support systems shut down. Maybe everybody over there is dead.” The last words came out higher-pitched than the first.

  “That’s one possibility,” Maddox said in calm voice. “Until we know, though, let us not jump to conclusions. I hope to find the port admiral and his people quite alive. Until I have reason to know otherwise, that is our operating assumption.”

  It took a second before Valerie said, “Yes, sir. I think that’s the better assumption too.”

  There was a moment of silence as that sank in.

  “What’s next, sir?” Keith asked.

  Maddox slapped an armrest.
“Galyan, have you spotted any life anywhere?”

  “Negative,” the holoimage said.

  “Have you spotted any sensor devices attempting to scan us?”

  “I would have immediately informed you of such an event, sir.”

  Maddox used the knuckles of his right hand to brush his cheek. “I’m going to use a shuttle—”

  “Sir,” Valerie said, as if she’d been waiting for him to say those words. “I don’t think you should use a shuttle to go anywhere. Frankly, sir, we don’t want to lose you.”

  Maddox studied the lieutenant.

  “What if Ludendorff is waiting for exactly that?” Valerie asked. “What if he uses a tractor beam on the shuttle and yanks you onto the Dyson sphere?”

  “We must inspect the battleships,” Maddox said. “We must determine the crews’ fates. That is our first priority.”

  “Send a probe, sir,” Valerie suggested. “You’re too valuable to risk.”

  Maddox considered that. “While that is a noble sentiment—”

  “I think everyone aboard Victory will agree with me,” Valerie added, interrupting the captain.

  Maddox noted the anxiety in her bearing. He glanced at the Second Lieutenant. The pilot’s fingers drummed against his board too fast—nervously, it would appear.

  “I see,” Maddox said to himself. “Mr. Maker, maneuver closer to the flotilla, please. We will come within several kilometers. Then, I shall send a probe as the lieutenant suggests.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Maddox saw that Valerie almost said thank you. Instead, she nodded to him and went back to her board.

  Maddox studied the main screen. What would the probe find once it reached the Leipzig? Were Hayes and his people dead, or was there a different explanation to the mute vessels?

  ***

  Tension mounted on the bridge as Victory eased toward Leipzig, with only a few kilometers separating them. Beyond the flotilla’s flagship loomed what now seemed like a wall of Dyson sphere, although the outer surface of the sphere was several thousand kilometers away.

  “All stop,” Maddox said.

  Keith tapped his board.

  “Send the probe,” Maddox said.

  Valerie manipulated her panel. On the main screen, a small object left the starship, with hydrogen exhaust propelling it toward the battleship. The distance was minuscule and the probe’s speed almost nonexistent compared to normal starship velocities.