by Joshua James
“We are gone,” said Rocky.
The small ship leapt out of the open port in the side of Happy Giant and into space.
55
Foolish
The Queen Mother watched smugly through the eyes of her surrogate as the tiny craft fled the ancient Da’hune ship. Where are you running off to, my little humans? Back to the safety of your universe? Back to the safety of your weak, useless human clans?
So foolish. Their existence was but another example of the wisdom of the ancients. They would never have allowed such beings to pollute their offspring. The purge was natural and right for these creatures. It would be a divine sin not to show them to their end. They were doing them a favor that they couldn’t hope to repay.
Her surrogate was in place now. She had laboriously aligned the T’ket’ka. The corridor was open.
She opened her eyes and returned her focus to the control room of her battlecruiser.
She placed a talon on the shell of her brutal son, and he spat furiously at the navigator.
Her clever daughter swished her tail approvingly.
She began to move her forces through the Great Corridor. They were going home.
56
Incoming
Lucky felt the small ship straining as it swung upward and away from Happy Giant.
The Great Corridor seemed to have a gravity well of its own now, with so many ships and T’ket’ka inside its walls of endless pathways spanning all the universes in all the dimensions that had ever existed.
Or was it all the dimensions in all the universes that had ever existed?
He’d have to leave this one to the eggheads.
Lucky could not fathom the architects of such a thing, and at this moment he only wanted to get away from it as fast as he could.
But the little giant was no different to its bigger sibling. It too was slow and defenseless.
It was, at least, spacious. Which was another terrifying reminder of the architects of the Corridor. The Da’hune were giants.
This was a single-occupant ship if Vlad was to be trusted on the subject, and the four Marines fit comfortably inside with room to spare. Lots of room to spare.
And then he imagined The Hate flowing through them. Not a pretty picture.
“Lucky, I know more about The Hate than I have told you.”
Lucky thought for a moment on that. He knew a lot more about The Hate now as well.
“I think a frank discussion might be in order, but it’s not like—”
“Skreamers,” interrupted Rocky.
“Incoming,” he said to the other Marines. The few locusts they had left hugged the side of the little giant. An image floated up in his mind’s eye.
A handful of skreamers were coming up fast from below them.
“Never mind,” said Rocky.
Never mind? Then he saw it in his mind’s eye.
Above them, looming impossibly large, was a massive asteroid falling at breakneck speed down upon them.
The massive Union hangar was caught in the gravity well of the Great Corridor, moving faster even than the Da’hune technology would attempt to accelerate it.
“Here we go,” he said, nodding at Dawson.
Dawson opened his gear bag and pulled out the other orb. “Is this going to work?” he asked.
“Damned if I know,” he replied. “But it’ll be one hell of a show.”
57
Nudge
The Queen Mother’s battleship led her forces through the Great Corridor.
For a moment, Do’ock Kun closed her eyes and had the sensation of watching her own passage through the eyes of her surrogate.
What a wonder to behold! The moment that would be remembered by her clan for all eternity.
She opened her eyes, eager to experience her new home with her own senses.
Her tail stopped swishing. She raised a talon to the viewport.
What is this, my child?
The navigator did not respond.
Her majestic view of the great expanse was blocked by a large asteroid tumbling down into the corridor, blocking their path.
It was the same one that had been following her surrogate when she first entered the corridor.
It seemed as if this whole time it had continued its slow, spiraling approach.
At this range, she realized what it was. The humans’ station, the one they had helped them build and used to make their corridor-crossing ships.
Why it was here now she hadn’t a clue. But no matter. It was no longer needed.
She looked down at her brutal son, Do’ock Nigh’tok.
He knew what she was going to ask, and he relished it.
He was so proud of the purge, she thought, so bloodthirsty. And she was so proud of him.
But something was nagging at her mind. She was as ready as her son to start the purge, but she had a vague uneasiness about beginning it here, at the edge of the corridor.
She slid her underbelly talon across his shell.
We shall just nudge it back out of the corridor, she explained. Then, once it has been turned back, you may clear our view of it so that we may lay our eyes on our new home.
He snarled.
Patience, my brutal one, my Do’ock Nigh’tok. The rivers of blood will flow soon enough.
She nodded to their gunner, and he turned to his instruments.
58
Long Shot
The little giant leapt through the open gateway.
Even with the relative slowness of the small ship, the speed of the asteroid falling into the corridor meant that everything flew past in a blur.
No ship would ever approach at this speed.
Lucky closed his eyes and relied on Rocky’s view in his mind.
It was her show now, but really, it was the spiders.
The Union soldiers had abandoned the hangar, but not before leaving them a nasty surprise.
A pair of cannon batteries placed on the remains of the badly damaged platform erupted, spewing streams of blue energy at them.
The spiders danced wildly on their web, and Rocky obliged, swinging the less-than-nimble craft from port to starboard and back again, then rolling into the sights of the cannons.
The cannons sat between them and the corridor at the end of the platform.
The pitch-black opening was still there, still framed by a giant arch of gray ore inscribed with alien script.
He felt the spiders in his mind begin to leap about, excited at the streams of data reaching out to them from the fold.
The cannons belched up more fire, and Rocky spun the ship in a tight corkscrew.
“Do it, do it now!” Lucky screamed.
A single locust peeled away from the hull of the ship, falling lazily toward the interior wall of the platform. It released the small beige orb it had been holding. A tiny bolt of energy pulsed from the locust, barely enough to break human skin—but more than enough to pierce the antimatter skin of the T’ket’ka orb.
Rocky held the ship in its tight corkscrew, diving forward, a pattern of increasingly complex lines forming in Lucky’s mind.
His spiders were rapturous.
A pinpoint of light flashed behind the ship, washing over it and bathing the hollow asteroid in red flames.
The hollowed-out asteroid was the perfect kindling for the antimatter fire.
Lucky felt the hungry fire reaching out for them.
Closer.
And closer, still.
We timed it wrong, he thought. It was coming for them.
It was always going to be the tightest of windows, the longest of long shots.
But even as the fire reached out to grab them, he felt the spiders reaching forward, pulling out strands of energy and wrapping the small ship within them.
The cocoon of energy could hold back the flames for just a single fleeting moment, but that was all the little giant needed to slip into the corridor.
59
Kindling
The
Queen Mother watched as the asteroid erupted in flame.
She turned angrily on the gunner, but he was staring in disbelief.
She looked to her brutal son, seeing in this a lesson in how a ruler deals with insubordination. This was a teaching moment, she thought, but he was staring in disbelief as well. She followed his talons and saw what he saw.
The gunner had not fired.
She looked back now at the asteroid engulfed in flame. It was spreading fast, too fast. Unnaturally fast.
Before her very eyes, she watched as it began to disappear. Once matter, but existing no longer.
She realized what was happening.
“Back!” she screamed to her navigator. “Back!”
But the flaming remains of the asteroid kept falling toward them, shedding matter as it came. And then a tenuous finger of fire reached out, probing the deep. It brushed against the battlecruiser, and a pinpoint of light blossomed.
Another finger reached out to another of her clan ships. And another.
The Queen Mother watched as her mighty flotilla, the great hope for her clan, the bringer of purity to the ancient universe, disappeared before her eyes. Their great mass was now their great flaw. The hungry antimatter clamored over and through them, hungry for more, never sated.
A dull realization fell over her. This would ignite the entire network of T’ket’ka lining the endless paths of the Great Corridor.
Where will it stop? How far must the hunger travel before it is satiated? How deep will the wound go? The ancient power to hold the energy of the corridor was now turning on the very fabric of its own making, doing untold damage to both.
And then Do’ock Kun, Queen Mother of the Da’hune, watched her lovely, clever daughter, Do’ock Kelia, and her bold, brutal son, Do’ock Nigh’tok, burn away before her eyes.
The future rulers of the mighty Da’hune were lost to its ancient power.
And then her own queenly flesh joined theirs.
60
Chosen
Hello, nightmare.
Hello, Lucky, said his nightmare.
Lucky awoke in an escape pod.
He didn’t know how he got there.
He was in a hyperspace sleeper unit.
He didn’t know how he got in it.
How much time had passed?
The timer in the sleeper pod read: 51/Y/38/D/08/H/14/M/
It must be wrong. Everything was covered in ice crystals.
He heard a voice in his head. A red cloud hung at the edge of his vision.
It was a whisper. He strained to hear it.
It was garbled and weak.
“Chosen,” it whispered again. And then nothing.
What could that have been? he wondered. He waited and listened, but the voice did not return.
The red mist receded from the edges of his mind.
And then a new voice erupted in his head, fully formed.
“What the hell was that?” it said.
He knew her. They had been talking, he realized. While he slept. How long had it been? A few hours? A few days? Nothing longer than that, surely.
And then a final voice, this one from outside his mind. He had forgotten voices existed outside his mind.
“We got somebody alive here!”
Goodbye, nightmare.
Goodbye, Lucky. For now.
61
New Sit
Wake up, Sleeping Ugly. This cycle is too short even for your shitty meat to get freezer burned, so you should remember all of this, but I doubt it. The brass wants your memory intact so you can explain yourself or something. You’re welcome.
[BEGIN SITREP]
Two weeks ago
You, Private First Class Jiang, Private Dawson, and Private Malby, all returned through the Union-made test corridor just before you managed to roast an alien invasion from a parallel universe. Remember that? Good times. An Empire special-ops team picked you up and popsicled you and sent you on your merry way.
Three days ago
You rendezvoused with the main strike force. You were scheduled for thaw there, but some of the brass wanted a look at you in person. Get ready to wake up to generals poking you. Try not to be an ass.
Eight hours ago
The rest of your crew was thawed for debrief. You were not. Personally, I think they are going to hang something on you, but I’m the paranoid type. Comes from living in your head.
Now
Tactical debrief time. Try not to embarrass yourself. Wakey wakey.
[END SITREP]
Lance Corp. Lucky Lee Savage awoke from hypersleep like he had 157 times before.
He didn’t know this yet. He didn’t know anything yet.
He began his waking cycle the way he always did. Floating inside his mind, drowning, grasping for any thought, any detail—anything—that swirled toward him.
He was a Frontier Marine.
He was a planetary submission specialist.
He hated everyone.
He needed a weapon in his hand.
There he was.
Lucky opened his eyes and winced as bright light bled around the hatch of the sleeping pod.
He wasn’t in a recovery room. He was in a hospital room. He knew the smells and sounds immediately. The curved walls suggested a standard medical ship. The medtech insignia on the nurse standing over him cinched it.
“Observant,” said Rocky.
“Out of my thoughts, please.”
“Trying. Believe me.”
Three men in military uniforms stepped up to the side of the pod as the nurse stepped back.
All old, all scowling, and all generals.
“This should be fun,” echoed Rocky.
“I’d salute, but …” said Lucky, noting his hands were still held in the pod restraints.
“I’m Brigadier General Lewis,” said the officer to his right. “This is—”
“Can we not, Tim?” cut in the officer on his right.
Four stars. It suddenly dawned on him who he was looking at.
Commandant Apollo.
“We have a very good tactical understanding of what happened, Lance Corporal,” said the other general.
Lucky noted he didn’t bother introducing himself, or glancing over at the others when he spoke for them, even though he was outranked.
There was something familiar about his condescending tone. Lucky uttered a fleeting laugh. What if this is Orton’s old man? Then he thought about what that would mean and his mirth melted away.
Lucky found himself replaying the last few hours in his head. Even after a two-week freeze, he felt sluggish.
Then he realized no one was talking.
“I’m not sure what I can add, then,” he said.
“They’re fishing for something,” said Rocky.
“I’m paranoid enough without your help.”
“What do you know about the situation that you left behind?” he asked.
The situation he left behind?
“I’m not sure I follow, sir.”
The general glanced at the other generals, then at something behind Lucky.
A nurse pushed his way between the generals.
He didn’t look at Lucky or the generals. He reached up over Lucky’s head.
Lucky realized that he wasn’t restrained by the pod restraints. He was just being restrained, period.
“He’s telling the truth,” said the nurse.
“Bullshit,” said a two-star with a hard accent.
The four-star held up his hand.
Lucky’d had enough.
“Can someone spell it out,” he said, then as an afterthought, “sirs.”
The general looked again at the men standing around Lucky. He nodded his head, and the men made room for a fourth person.
“They are calling it Lucky Lane,” said Jiang. “Personally, I think it’s a little on the nose, but what can you do?”
Lucky strained his head forward to see her. In shorts and a tank top, she looked
even more muscular. Her arms and legs were tree trunks. Lucky was a gym rat, but she put him to shame.
“Jiang,” he said. “What the hell—”
“Goddammit, Jiang,” exploded a voice from the doorway. Malby strutted into the room. “The less clothes you wear, the more you look like a man.”
Jiang sighed. “Dawson dusted off, and I’m stuck with this guy.”
Lucky looked up sharply. “Dawson is gone?”
She nodded. “Popsicled up and headed home a few hours ago. Something about seeing his daughter before the end of the universe. Go figure.”
“The end of the universe? I thought we took care of that, Rocky.”
“Don’t look at me.”
“Hey,” Malby said, glancing around as if he was just noticing where he was. “You’re finally thawed.”
He held up a large tumbler. “Have a little go-go juice.”
Lucky smelled the rocket fuel on his breath and knew what was in the tumbler.
“Thanks, Malby, for making me feel like the mature one.”
Malby flashed a grin. “Hey, man, I thought I’d be dead by now. I would be dead by now.” He paused, then looked around. “We all would be,” he said louder, in the direction of the generals. Either Malby had a death wish or a drinking problem, but either way, he shouldn’t be in the same room as three generals.
“Maybe you should just let Jiang—”
“Did you tell him?” Malby asked Jiang. “Did she tell you?” he asked Lucky.
“No!” yelled Lucky. “No one has told me a damn thing!”
His head was starting to hurt, his mind still fuzzy from the freeze.
Malby looked at him with a crooked grin. “There’s that temper again.”
Jiang cut in. “We are in route to the”—she hesitated, lowering her voice—“Great Corridor.”
“Lucky Lane,” said Malby conspiratorially.
“Why are we going there?” Lucky said. “Who is going there?”
Malby laughed. “Everybody in the universe is going there.”
Suddenly, Lucky felt sick.
“No way,” said Rocky.
This was the part where he got loud and drunk and didn’t have to apologize for it. He had earned some damned R&R.
“Lucky,” said Jiang, resting her hand on his shoulder. “It stayed open.”
“What stayed open?” he asked stupidly.
“The hole in the universe!” Malby exclaimed, throwing his arms wide and spilling his drink.
