Bara smiled. ‘Hellas.’
Behind her, Bara heard the flight deck doors open. She turned to see the familiar face of a thirteen-year-old boy approaching her.
‘Not a good time, Galen,’ Bara said, frowning at her son. ‘You’re supposed to be in the shelter.’
‘With you up here?’ Galen replied. ‘Not a chance.’
She lost herself in his features, acknowledging the striking similarities to his father, Halstead, but most of all she saw the echo of Faron’s passion in Galen’s eyes. He had taken on his step-father’s sense of duty and justice, his love for life. She was proud to see her own innate curiosity had taken root in Galen as well. The boy had inherited her curios nature, her desire to solve problems and to seek out answers. He was growing beyond the gifts of his three parents, becoming his own man, but Bara sensed anger there as well, a rage that was driving Galen towards adulthood. It was an anger she shared with him, at the injustice of Faron’s death, at the absent father who still lived while her lover was gone.
The com system crackled into life, jolting Bara from her thoughts, and a booming voice echoed around the flight deck. ‘Arkship Benwick, this is your last chance to surrender and submit to the Act of Devotion. Stand down now or be destroyed for heresy against the word of the Infinite Gods.’
‘Switch that off!’ Bara ordered. ‘Recall all fighters and prepare for Cube transit.’ She cursed to herself, hating the Church for pushing them into this situation. For years, the Church of the Infinite had been growing in power, forcing arkships to bow to their will, giving preferential trade agreements to those who did. The House of Dulac had paid a heavy price for their resistance, losing arkships and precious resources in their resistance. Now, there was just the Benwick left, the last of the Dulac arkships, alone and outnumbered. Not even her old allies in the Harvest Union could help Bara now. They too had been pressured into submission, their allegiance given to the Church in return for a peaceful existence. Bara was on her own.
Galen checked the holograph. ‘We’re coming in low and fast, Mother.’
‘I can see that.’
A crescendo of alarms began to sound.
‘Collision warning,’ a computerized voice said. ‘Pull up.’
‘Maintain this heading,’ Bara announced. ‘Cube control, what’s our status?’
A female officer turned to speak to her. ‘Cube drive primed and ready.’
‘Good. Stand by.’
‘Picking up increased Casimir particles,’ another called.
Bara glanced at Beric. ‘Seems you were right. Stand by with those bombs.’ She turned to Galen. ‘Strap in. This is going to be rough.’
As Galen found a chair the bombardment stopped.
‘They’re pulling back,’ Bara noted.
‘They expect us to crash when our Cube drive fails,’ Captain Beric said.
‘Okay, let’s try not to do that. They can’t maintain a Casimir field at that distance, that gives us our way out. Engage Cube transit.’
The flight deck crew obeyed, shouting out orders to each other as they implemented the faster-than-light drive. The arkship surged with power, vibrations rumbling through the deck.
‘Stand by on missiles,’ Bara shouted. ‘Navigation, I’ve plotted a new course, be ready to engage.’
‘Cube transit bubble forming,’ an officer called out.
‘Cut the Cube drive!’ Bara shouted.
‘Bubble collapse.’
Bara braced herself as she shouted over the noise. ‘Fire missiles at the surface of Hellas. Navigation: engage new course.’
The arkship trembled as it skimmed the surface of the island of rock. The missiles detonated, hurling a torrent of debris and dust from the ruptured surface. At the same moment, the Cube transit bubble collapsed, throwing off a shockwave of energy. Bara held on as the arkship raced to escape the expanding vortex. She pictured the wave of rock and dust and plasma and rippling space-time that would – hopefully – obscure their escape from the Church arkships for a few seconds, long enough for them to curve into the rocky shadow of the Hellas Planitia Splinter.
As the shaking subsided, Captain Beric called out in a relived voice. ‘We’re in the scanner shadow of the rock. We’re hidden from them . . . for now.’
‘They’ll presume we executed an unstable Cube transit,’ Bara replied.
‘And been torn apart in the attempt. They’ll be looking for our debris field,’ Galen said.
Bara smiled, proud of her son’s insight. ‘Which gives us a little time to hide.’
‘Where?’ Galen asked.
‘Remember when I taught you about Mars? Hellas wasn’t the only fragment of the crust left behind.’ Bara said.
Galen thought for a moment, then he grinned. ‘Tharsis!’
Bara nodded. ‘Tharsis. We’re going to hide in Tharsis.’
LUMINARY
There were no stars, not a single detail for his eyes to hold onto. Just a featureless near-black stretching out in every direction. Then, high above him, a shard of light appeared, a hard line that grew as he watched, a stark divide between metal and nothing.
The line became a gentle curve, revealing surface and structure as the black gave up its dominance, until the vast wall of the arkship became clear to him. Prince Halstead stepped back from the giant windows, inexplicably intimidated by the approaching vessel. He had seen dozens of ships like this before, but the sight of this one set his senses on edge, igniting a tremble deep within him. This was the flagship of the Church of the Infinite, the arkship Prophecy, the capital ship of the Scribe himself, here to speak with him on matters of urgent importance.
‘The Prophecy is station-keeping less than eighty meters from our docking jetty,’ Commander Watson said from beside him, her brittle voice betraying her misgivings. He knew how she felt about this rendezvous, and part of him envied her certainty. But Watson was wrong, this meeting was worth the risk. He had to speak to Scribe Mori.
‘Good,’ Prince Halstead replied quietly. ‘Begin docking procedure.’
Commander Watson nodded to one of her subordinates who hurried to complete the prince’s order. The flight deck of the Ark Royal Caerleon was populated by a highly disciplined and experienced team, their interactions perfected under Watson’s guiding hand. There was little for Halstead to do except watch and wait. His eyes tired of the view and he turned to find the commander, momentarily losing concentration as his gaze shifted from the windows to the blinking consoles of the flight deck. He reached out to steady himself on the nearest chair, aware that concerned eyes watched him. Quickly, he straightened, forcing his fatigue aside.
‘My prince,’ Watson said, appearing at his side.
He dismissed her concern with a wave of his hand and a defensive smile. ‘How long till we dock?’
‘Contact in six minutes. Decontamination and equalization will be another two minutes.’
‘Where is Valine? She should be here.’
Commander Watson frowned. ‘She’s off com, not responding.’
‘She should be here . . .’
‘My prince, we can’t wait for her,’ Watson said in a whisper. ‘We must be there to meet the Scribe.’
‘Yes,’ Halstead said, still uncertain. His thoughts were so clouded of late. Was this what it was like to grow old? He shook the idea aside. After all, he was still young, just thirty-four. In his prime. Yet he felt so tired. The years of leadership had taken its toll on him. ‘Yes, we can’t wait for her,’ he added more forcefully and began to walk towards the elevators.
Watson followed, dismissing the herd of aides who were keen to join them. The doors closed, isolating Commander Watson and Prince Halstead inside the elevator. Through the glass doors he watched the flight deck slice out of sight as they began their long decent.
‘Feeling unwell again?’ Watson asked. Her thin face was tight and unreadable, but her tone less formal now. She was older than him, a woman steeped in discipline and duty, but their friendship had grow
n over the last decade. She was no longer merely the commander of the Kenric flagship, she was a trusted friend and confidant.
Halstead rubbed the sides of his head. ‘Hard to focus, that’s all.’
‘You should see your doctor. I’ll arrange it.’
‘No. I just need some rest. Getting here . . . This meeting has taken it out of me. I’ll rest tonight . . . I’ll be better tomorrow.’
Watson tutted, shaking her head.
Halstead tried to ignore her. But maybe she was right. Maybe tomorrow would be just the same as today. The same as yesterday and the day before that. How long had he felt like this? Weeks? Months? Perhaps it was more than mere fatigue.
‘I’ll . . . I’ll speak to the doctor,’ Halstead promised, smiling.
‘Thank you,’ Watson said, already tapping out a message on her wrist com.
The elevator slowed, coming to an almost imperceptible stop. The glass doors opened onto a small antechamber. At the far wall was a pair of bulkhead doors which began to open, revealing the docking jetty beyond. A cooling breeze kissed his face, waking him. He clenched his fists, forcing the blood to move around his body, and stepped through the doors.
His royal guard were already there, resplendent in their finest dress uniform. They formed two lines facing him, waiting for their prince to approach. Halstead walked the short distance to greet them, taking the time to look them in the eye, making conversation as he inspected the lines. He acknowledged their captain with a firm handshake, then Halstead turned to speak to the old man waiting patiently at the edge of the jetty airlock.
‘You look older than me,’ Reader Aditsan muttered to Prince Halstead.
‘No one is older than you, Elan,’ Halstead retorted with a warm smile.
Aditsan nodded his agreement, turning to stare along the docking jetty. ‘I haven’t seen you in Church for a while.’
The Reader’s statement felt like an accusation, igniting guilt and resentment in Halstead’s stomach. He said nothing, waiting for the first flush of anger to subside. It was the Reader’s duty to ensure his congregation flourished in the light of the Infinite Gods, and it was the prince’s duty to lead his people in worship. Without his example, doubts would grow, and this was not the time for doubt.
‘I’m sorry,’ Prince Halstead said. ‘It’s been a difficult few weeks. I’ll be there tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow . . .’ Aditsan replied, sounding doubtful.
Halstead turned to the jetty windows, his eyes tracing the length of the snaking umbilical corridor that now joined the Ark Royal Caerleon to the blessed arkship Prophecy. The connection swayed gently as a small pod traversed its length and latched onto the jetty dock. Halstead checked to see if Admiral Valine had arrived. She had brokered this meeting, a difficult task given the long-standing mistrust between the Church and the Kenric-Draig alliance. Ever since the battle at the Firmament, Halstead had been on the edge of things, an unwanted reminder of that conflict. He’d done his best to mend the damage, to forge new trade agreements, but he had to work hard to regain the trust he had lost. They had survived the intervening years, but they had not prospered. Now, Valine had managed to arrange this meeting, and with the favor of the Church they might finally be able to mend some of the damage. She should be here.
Halstead put Valine out of his thoughts and straightened, waiting patiently until the pod doors opened.
A troupe of Inquisitors marched out of the pod and formed a defensive perimeter around the doors. As they raised their partisan weapons, the sight of their white featureless masks sent a shiver down Halstead’s spine. These were the foot soldiers of the Church of the Infinite, the strong arm of indoctrination that defended the word of the Infinite Gods at all costs. The Readers used education and reason to bring its truth to the masses, while the Inquisitors used more persuasive methods.
The Inquisitors became motionless, sinister statutes that commanded everyone’s attention, heralding the imminent appearance of their leader. First, a handful of senior Readers approached, then the upright frame of Scribe Akito Mori came into view. He walked down the ramp from the jetty dock and approached Prince Halstead with a warm smile. He seemed smaller than Halstead remembered, a less domineering presence than he had been before, but he knew Mori thrived on a personal level. He was a man less suited to manipulating thousands from his pulpit, better at persuasion when he could look into the eyes of his opponent. That was when his true power seemed to emerge, a will of steel, a singular conviction that he was doing the Gods’ work. He was consumed by certainty when Halstead had none.
‘May the light of the Infinite Gods reflect upon you, Prince Halstead,’ Scribe Mori boomed as if he was delivering one of his sermons. ‘It is so very good to see you.’
Halstead bowed respectfully, taking Mori’s offered hand. ‘Infinite blessings, Scribe. You will remember Commander Watson and Reader Aditsan.’
Scribe Mori smiled politely. ‘Of course, of course. And where is Valine? I had expected to see your second-in-command by your side.’
‘She is delayed,’ Halstead replied.
Behind him, a door opened. He turned to see Valine walking into the chamber, an apologetic expression on her face.
‘Ah,’ Mori smiled contentedly,’ I see she has arrived. Good, good. We have much to discuss.’
‘The war?’
Mori tutted. ‘Such emotive language, Halstead. There is no war. The Church spreads its message of peace and understanding throughout the Cluster.’
Halstead nodded, his thoughts in turmoil, and gestured for the Scribe to follow him. In unison, the Inquisitors began to march along the length of the jetty dock, towards the bulkhead doors where Valine waited. Halstead glanced at his own royal guard, standing to attention, and he noticed one of their number stepping out of formation. The man shouted something as he broke into a sprint, heading for the Scribe. There was blur of activity as the Inquisitors responded, tackling the solider to the floor, grabbing his hands, jolting him into submission with a shock from their staff-like weapon.
Confused, Halstead turned to look at the Scribe, feeling hands pulling at his shoulders as bodies surrounded him in a defensive circle.
‘The Church lies!’ The words were a scream, primal and full of rage, coming from the downed guard. The light followed the words, pushing at Halstead’s back, enveloping him in heat and fire.
PROCRASTINATION
The Rings of Kronos sparkled in the feeble light of the Infinite, the frozen particles of water and hydrogen and ammonia throwing off a shifting cosmos of color that delighted Gofal’s senses. He watched it for hours, enjoying the interplay between the laws of physics and chance that had led to their formation. Like the rest of the solar system, Saturn and its dozens of moons had been torn apart in the Fracture over two hundred years ago. The remnants had formed into a series of partial rings, great lines against the blackness that spread out to encompass the former planet’s orbit, an echo of its past life. Some called it Galileo’s Folly, others knew it as the Phainon Plains, but the Rings of Kronos was the most commonly accepted designation for this region. Personally, he preferred the little used name of Huygens’ Arrow. At this scale, the broken rings seemed to form straight lines, monolithic shards that stabbed at eternity. The Arrow of the Gods, perhaps? The thought caught him by surprise, and he took a moment to roll the concept around his cerebral matrix. No one called it Saturn any more. Most of the classical names had fallen out of use since the Fracture, as if they were bad omens that people feared to utter. Humans were such a superstitious bunch.
Gofal turned away from the view, back to his work. Inside the infrastructure of his artificial mind were the complex, interconnecting files, research logs and calculations that had consumed him for the last decade. If any human had the capacity to visualize his studies, they might describe them as a swarm of data, a mess of numbers, equations and information. But Gofal thought it was beautiful. In fact, he often spent as much time arranging the data into pleasing forma
tions as he did actually working on the data itself. He realized he had become an expert in procrastination.
Gofal returned the data sets to their default positions and picked the logbook from the arkship Haven, written by its captain Jorge Hannovan before the events of the Fracture. This was where it had started. This was the source of his consternation. This logbook contained a coded message from the past, designed for Gofal to find in the present. It was a temporal paradox that he had yet to resolve. The answers would be found here, he was certain, but before he could begin there would be a knock at the door. Gofal knew when it would happen, and who would be on the other side.
He turned his head to the door, waiting. Two more seconds . . .
There was a knock at the door.
‘Come in,’ Gofal said, pleased to know who it would be.
Otto smiled pensively, his usual casual inquisitiveness missing today. ‘Busy?’ he asked.
‘No, not really,’ Gofal replied. ‘Would you like to go for a walk? I think I could do with a change of scenery.’
‘Okay.’ Otto laughed.
Gofal noted the change in the tone of his voice since they first met thirteen years ago. The boy was a young man now, in his early twenties, finding his way in life. His mind had remained inquisitive, and he would become an excellent scientist, if only he would have confidence in his ability. Their friendship had helped to shape Otto’s interests, but Gofal feared it had also served as a restraining factor, stopping him from becoming truly independent. But Gofal liked to spend time with Otto, he had a habit of seeing things from an unexpected angle, a trait that Gofal envied.
They stepped out of Gofal’s room into the main corridor that circled the Traum. It was not a large ship, but it had grown over the last decade with new modules increasing its size to accommodate their growing number. There were one hundred and thirty-four people on board now, plus a further forty-two robotic lifeforms, like Gofal. Here, they were treated as equals, not as the servant class that was their destiny on almost any other ship. Gofal had seen to that.
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