Darkness: Book One of the Oortian Wars

by Iain Richmond

  Falco felt an instant liking of this Captain Fei, but with a Viper class vessel named after the Chinese Goddess of Mercy and Compassion, he was not surprised. Fei had a quiet confidence about him, even through their current archaic means of communication. Based on Fei’s personnel file, it was a confidence born from a philosophy of ambassadorship first, the heavy stick last – if there was absolutely no other option.

  Lieutenant Wallace passed on the final message from the captain of the Kwan Yin. Falco read it in silence, knowing that his colleague’s orders were taking his battle group to face a few hidden weapons or something far more dangerous.

  The final image from the video feed was all Falco could see. A swarm of fireflies… lightning… In any case, Admiral Chen had seen all of the latest data and his orders remained.

  “Fire her up, Lieutenant, best speed to Station Pluto, docking area Beta-Four.” Falco pushed off the worn leather of the captain’s chair, his thick, calloused hands scraping across the smooth grain. He joined Commander Shar’ran and Ensign Holts as the three officers gazed out the port windows to see five black predators slide through a desolate chunk of space, towards a destination known only as the black field.

  Holts was first to state what they were all thinking. “Why would we be able to see this ‘lightning storm’ of vessels behind the field when previously, every sensor linked to the Battle-Net gave us nothing. Not even a false signal or errant blip until the weapons lying in wait outside it came online or passed through it into open space?”

  Falco turned toward his ensign, always looking a bit to intently into her eyes. “A strong force reveals only what it wants its adversary to see, Ensign,” answered Falco.

  Shar’ran slid to the side of Holts, jaw clenched then softened as his stare met that of his captain’s. “What is it, Commander?”

  Seeing his warrior-friend locked in a mask of dread literally knocked him off balance. Falco realized Commander Shar’ran was looking through him.

  “Commander?” Falco grounded his stance. “Commander Shar’ran, if you have something to add, now would be the time.”

  Shar’ran’s eyes briefly closed as he exhaled.

  “When I was a much younger man, the Israelis grew tired of their hopeless aerial assault and met us in the sands of Yemen. We used our blowing and shifting dunes as camouflage. Charging then slashing and tearing at our enemy out of its protective cloak, only to return and wait for the next opportunity, disappearing in a sea of gritty-chaos.”

  Falco patiently waited as his commander sifted through the many histories of his life, finding the pieces of his past that echoed, fought and reflected the pieces of his present.

  Each man was at ease with these quiet spaces, Falco even found comfort in them. He noticed Ensign Holts had turned and was now facing the men. The quiet strength of this woman had unknown reserves and he felt pride that she would not stand in the shadow of anyone.

  Shar’ran’s eyes flashed to the present and the power of the movement seemed to ripple through each muscle and tendon, flexing and relaxing. Falco noted it seemed like a warrior’s reflex, readying for a fight.

  “These are their sands,” Commander Shar’ran stated. “This black field is their sandstorm and if needed, I believe ‘they’ will use it to destroy us.”

  Falco’s newly found sense of calm evaporated. “Then let us hope, Commander, the need does not arise.”

  “Station Pluto dead ahead, sir.” The relief in Lieutenant Wallace’s voice spread through the bridge. “Should be docked in an hour.”

  A heavenly lighted Frisbee, Falco thought. Ah, but Pluto… She is magnificent. Thank the Gods she is still close. He felt her power flowing into the Anam Cara, as Pluto was again his focus, his muse and his anchor. Yet a day’s burn from this beautiful planet was an invisible force: powerful and potentially deadly.

  “Once she’s out of our sight, 248 years till her return,” Falco whispered to the Anam Cara as much as anyone. “Take a good look.”

  25

  Captain Falco

  Station Pluto – Beacon of Humanity

  “Twenty minutes to docking, sir.”

  Captain Falco nodded towards Lieutenant Wallace and continued studying the file on Station Pluto. It was more an attempt to take his attention off the current thoughts battering his mind, knowing he needed distance from the encounter that nearly ended the lives of his crew.

  Gently fixed on a two-degree tilt, he read, sure it was for no other reason than it looked more impressive that way. But how do you know it’s on a two-degree tilt in space? Falco pondered. Regardless of the station’s marketing, he had to agree that the near completed Station Pluto was a stunning technological and architectural achievement. It exuded the purity of humanity’s absolute arrogance regarding their perceived importance in their known universe.

  Falco turned and looked out the starboard window. At this distance he could see the steady, subtle glow of the Infinity Wall. It produced a beacon that someday soon would welcome incoming visitors, dignitaries and the ultra-wealthy of planet Earth. The station was packed with contractors, military personnel and those few who could afford the small fortune it took to purchase fare for a trip to the new edge of humanity.

  Falco continued reading, swiping through pages of data, blueprints and maps he had looked at over the previous five years. Blue-collar, working class mixing with soldiers, marines and silver-spooners, it was the common thread that created community on Earth. Now this same mixture was creating communities in three space stations spanning an ocean of stars.

  Falco paused, reread the statistic and spun around to face Commander Shar’ran and Ensign Holts. “Did you know that when completed, Station Pluto will eventually be home to over ten thousand men and women hailing from over one hundred nations?”

  Holts nodded. “That is why they are about to finish this floating city in just under seven and a half years.” She looked to Shar’ran. “An incredible feat for such a skeleton crew.”

  Commander Shar’ran nodded, feigned interest for a few more seconds and returned to the Battle-Net screen.

  Holts smiled. “One hundred nations will be the impressive part. Everyone working, eating and playing nice together, achieving as normal an existence as one could expect five years’ travel time from Earth.”

  “And that is why the United Nations is the most popular organization on Earth. We get along so well.” Falco left the sarcasm hanging in the air as Station Pluto came into full view.

  Falco closed the file, stood and gazed out the window, following its gentle rotation, a bright beacon of humanity floating close to the elliptical path of a scorned and former planet. Shiny, new and filled with life, he thought, filled with hope and soon to be occupied by ten thousand souls who have no idea what or whom is out here with them.

  the Darkness

  the Chosen One

  Aris’s newfound power was intoxicating. Harnessing the warrior’s rage was changing her, a forced evolution towards something beyond Prox. It was exhilarating and terrifying as her control over one gave life to the other. If I can control the warrior’s rage, but not where it takes me, then what have I gained?

  With a single thought to the clans, Aris could now bring a storm of death and destruction that had not be seen for billions of cycles. I am Aris the Chosen One, leader of the clans, guardian of the territories and of the Darkness herself. Even the Creators depend upon my wrath for their protection.

  She felt a stab of anger enter her systems at the thought of the Creators and her Oath to protect them. An Oath she and all that guarded the Territories were forced to take. Aris wondered if the Oath was a means to unite the clans or was simply another mechanism used by the Creators to control them. It was a sign of her evolution… she now questioned the Creators.

  A slight burning sensation and her private thought-stream closed. Aris opened a direct thought-stream to the eldest of the Warruqs and as was tradition, commended him on his ascent to the rank of LOR, leader of the Warr
uqs and second-in-command to Aris herself.

  The previous LOR had died in the Void as her mentor had; as a warrior fulfilling his Oath to the Creators. She wondered if he had made the journey to the Realm of Warriors or was that also a means of control implemented by the Creators? If you died within the body of the Darkness, your carapace and systems would slowly fade, until all of what you had been traveled to the Realm of Warriors. Her mentor had taught Aris that dying in the Void was different. Your carapace would float lost and alone, but your ‘essence’ would find a way to the Realm of Warriors… eventually.

  A Warruq entered from the Void, sent Aris a message then disappeared through the Veil to guard the boundary.

  Aris opened a thought-stream to all the clans. The enemy has returned and is moving toward the Darkness. We must be ready to defend our territories and the Creators. The thought-stream filled with the roar of the clans. Aris switched back to her private thought-stream.

  Warruq clans outnumbered the Prox clans ten to one and their roar of support, or was it their backing of the newest LOR, overwhelmed the thought-stream. I will need to keep LOR close, Aris thought as she switched back to the clans.

  We will use the Darkness to hide our numbers and from her mass, we will defend our clans and our worlds if the enemy voices do not return to wherever they were spawned.

  The clans roared again and Aris returned to her private thought-stream, going over the plans now being uploaded into her systems by the Creators. Plans to defend not attack. The upload finished.

  The steel beast is gone, she thought. These voices are different; the carapace in which they travel is strange and quiet. She sent the plan to the Prox and then to LOR to transfer among his minions’. LOR would lead the Warruqs and Aris the Prox.

  If needed, she could call upon the Krell, legendary beasts from the deepest, oldest parts of the Darkness. A clan that in the current cycle was only rumor, as their kind had not been seen since the first defense, billions of cycles ago and long before the Prox came into existence.

  Aris pushed through the mass of the Darkness towards the Veil, the tips of her fins breaking through and entering the Void, the four Seekers shifting in their muscle-bound sacks on her back, sensing the change. You will burn bright young ones. You will silence the voices and find your way to the Realm of Warriors.

  Moving away from the Veil, Aris floated in the Darkness, her internal systems surging with the power of the clans. Their sheer numbers were potent. Wave after wave of Warruqs floated at each flank. Perfectly still, fueled and ready for full burn. Rows of fodder, Aris thought. Warruqs were good for dying and Prox for leading.

  It was time to issue the final order. While Aris completed her upload to the clans, hundreds of Warruqs combined their thought-stream into a single feed for battle and pairs of Prox, mentor and student, joined their systems as one.

  Everything fell into shadow within the swirling camouflage of the Darkness as each warrior shut down its heat-core to save energy and fuel for the battle to come.

  There they waited behind the Veil, hundreds of warriors of the Darkness, waiting to fulfill their Oath to the Creators. Waiting to silence the encroaching enemy voices and defend their territories. Knowing that the invaders were blind to their numbers and to the worlds that lay behind them. Even the clans would be sightless within the Darkness without her permission, but the Great Mother was on their side, the Darkness would protect them for now.

  And that was all that mattered.

  26

  Captain Falco

  Station Pluto – Safe Harbor

  “Prepare for docking.” Lieutenant Wallace leaned back into the pilot’s seat, his harness tightening around his shoulders as he placed both hands behind his head and allowed Station Pluto’s docking system to bring them into the moorings.

  Falco felt a wave of relief as the Anam Cara came to a complete stop in the Beta-Four docking zone. He shut off the main COM, pushed the release on his harness and turned around to find an already standing and hollow-eyed Ensign Holts holding a tiny sealed container in the palm of her hand, yet bracing it with her other hand. Her biceps flexed, straining with the weight of it.

  “Find the stations lab and drop off…” what the hell would you call this, he thought, “the remains, Ensign.” Falco found himself staring at the floor. “Let’s get a second opinion from the best tech-lab around.”

  “Yes, Captain.” Ensign Holts turned and headed toward the main hatch. The remains of the round or weapon pried from the battle-bucket seats had to be cleaned of human remains and sealed in a hazard container.

  “Ensign Holts?”

  She stopped mid-stride and looked back at Falco. “Captain?”

  Falco pointed at the vessel in her hands. “Did these smaller weapons show a similar make-up to the larger ones that destroyed the Data-Pods?”

  “Yes.”

  He tilted his head. “And yet, you can lift a small haz-container filled with particles of a neutron star?”

  “The Battle-Net can only give us its best equivalent, sir and yes, according to its analysis, at this very moment I am able to lift particles of a neutron star. All on my own.” Holts’s eyes were glossy, soft and tired. “I’ll send the station techs to collect the bigger pieces.”

  “We have much to learn about these weapons. Thank you, Ensign. Carry on.”

  “Sir.”

  Falco watched her walk away carrying a minuscule piece of something that had rendered two of his crew into a jelly-like pulp. A container that, based on their best analysis, should weigh as much as the Anam Cara.

  The spinning sound of the massive steel threads of Station Pluto’s new high-tech grav-locks echoed through the bridge and ended with a crunch as they griped onto the Anam Cara’s hull.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” Falco swore. “Take it easy.”

  He found Lieutenant Wallace fighting to stand up after he shut down all systems and readied the boat for the disembarking process.

  The Scotsman punched his harness release and practically launched out of his pilot’s chair, the release mechanism shot open in response to the ensnared beast prying itself free.

  “By God she’s taken enough from those bastards out there!” He pushed up the sleeves of his uniform showing muscled arms covered in Celtic tattoos and pointed towards the bay door in the direction of the dark field. “And to have these idiots smash her in a poorly set grav-lock! She stood between us and death!” Wallace crashed through the bridge heading towards the hatch that Station Pluto’s umbilical was now connecting to.

  Falco shot Commander Shar’ran a look. “You better get to him before they are able to unlock our hatch.”

  The commander nodded in agreement.

  Falco had seen this before. His Scottish brother shared the warrior’s spirit and protecting his own was at its core. The Anam Cara was as much ‘their own’ as anyone and though Wallace shared the warrior’s creed, he did not have the warrior’s patience.

  Shar’ran was up and moving. He looked like a foot trying to fit into a shoe three sizes too small as he ducked and weaved his way off the bridge and towards the hatch.

  “You’re paying the brig fee and any medical bills for the sorry bastard who’s at the controls!” Falco yelled after the man and began to work his way toward the hatch.

  A bellowing lieutenant echoed throughout the passageway. Falco turned the corner and stopped, a few meters in front of him a commotion played out at the main hatch.

  Another clang, followed by the immense suction-cup-stick of the station’s umbilical.

  “Oh shit!” Commander Shar’ran yelled from the front of the waiting crew, he was losing his grip on Lieutenant Wallace. The main hatch slid open, light from Station Pluto filling the void.

  “Who was it?” Lieutenant Wallace yelled toward the maintenance crew as he staggered through the station’s umbilical with a large grinning Yemeni commander clinging to his back.

  Falco emerged seconds later and Shar’ran seemed to have a s
pirited Wallace under control or at least enough for Falco to notice the sparks already flying outside the bank of windows that looked over the Anam Cara.

  Lieutenant Wallace also took notice as he stopped berating the deck officer and like a good horse, brought his rider, Commander Shar’ran over to view the work in progress.

  Torches spat and puffs of glowing sparks surrounded the Anam Cara. Station Pluto’s repair crews were practically fighting over the opportunity to work on the iron vessel. Repair personnel were dragging over totes stamped in large black letters with ‘welding equipment (steelwork)’.

  Falco learned that poly-panels and epoxy technologies had made the art and use of brute force to melt and grow iron antiquated, and virtually useless. But the United Nations recognized there was a good chance they would be repairing and servicing the old US Fleet, so welding gear was stowed early in Station Pluto’s beginnings.

  “Absolutely incredible,” Falco stated, scrutinizing the crews already buzzing around the Anam Cara. “They said she would be good as new in eight hours, judging by the speed in which they started on her, I believe them. Holy shit!” Falco pointed toward a long, steel cylinder comprised of seven barrels. “Well, look at the new toy she gets. Always thought a Gatling gun under the bow was missing.” Falco put his hands on his hips. “They even have a ‘shaper.’”

  A highly skilled crewman ground out the poly-foam sealing the holes through the Anam Cara’s hull. A stack of steel mending plates and welding gear sat next to her.

  Still hanging on Lieutenant Wallace’s back, Shar’ran patted the top of his head. “You good? Can I get off now?”

  Wallace growled, but a smile finally appeared. “She’s going to be good as new, even better.”

  Commander Shar’ran extended his legs to the floor and let go.

  “See, they’re taking great care of our lady.” Falco met the glassy eyes of his lieutenant and then looked to his commander. “I need a few drinks.”