The Shadow Among The Stars: Book One of the Dread Naught Trilogy

by Dylan Sanchez

  The Rangers silently guided Dread Naught northwest from the landing zone, advancing through undergrowth so thick Kirby was forced to occasionally use one of her gauntlet blades to allow the group passage. After about two kilometers Captain Wongsawat signaled to Bryluen, then pointed between two particularly large trees. Moving up next to the Captain, she aligned herself just right in order to see what he did: a sliver of yellowish material across a clearing beginning roughly a kilometer from their location. Even at this distance, the sudden color contrast among the copper tones of the surrounding jungle made the structures’ existence evident.

  She nodded. “Stop at the trees and be ready for my signal. If fifteen minutes pass without word, assume a combat stance and follow. Dread Naught, let’s see what we’ve got ourselves into.”

  Dread Naught advanced through the last stretch of jungle, a motley group of shapes and colors in a rough line. Bryluen was on point, with Kirby looming at her side. The Rangers had reported no territorial wildlife, and what animals were encountered were uncharacteristically docile. Bryluen was already formulating theories and ideas as further pieces of the complex became visible a bit at a time.

  Bel’Wa grunted gently. Runner looked over toward her. “What is it, Bel-l-l’Wa?”

  Through the team’s internal comms, Bel’Wa’s voice was slightly fuzzy and bore a tinny echo, as the encryption bridge between her communication systems and the Human systems of the rest of Dread Naught had introduced some artifacts to the audio signal. The sensor and communications disrupting effect was present as well, for now causing the occasional dropped syllable or static tone.

  “I was just thinking of how remarkably different your way of war is from ours. Effective in its own way, but your doctrines of battle are unfamiliar to me. Usage of fire fields, squad positioning, the application of focused firepower—all of it more or less varied from that of the Sentinels.”

  “In what manner will you say—in brief?” Nicadzim asked. A descending leaf took a corkscrew path sideways through the air as it neared him.

  “When commanding a Sentinel unit, I have dozens of one-word commands I can bark out that determine our positioning relative to one another, where and how much our fields of fire overlap, and how many of us should have melee weapons drawn. Accordingly communications almost never cease between us, not for an instant. If you are reloading, holding behind cover, or otherwise have a moment, you report your disposition and status. In a thick battle, we most often sing to maintain pace.”

  Kirby hefted a thick log out of the team’s path. “Well I guess that makes more sense than all of ya bein’ psychic. To anyone outside, you’re all dead quiet.”

  Bel’Wa shrugged. “No reason to yell out what we’re doing, after all. With me here, I’m certain it won’t be long before you’re able to hear our comm chatter for yourselves.”

  “Well, I defin-nitely learned something today! Always saw you folks as ver-ry uptight and trad-d-ditional.” Runner hopped on top of a nearby stump with a subtle movement of one ankle, balancing on the stump for a moment before continuing on. Though his suit systems could relax his boot lifts, Bryluen had instructed the team to remain on a combat footing, and Runner’s trained grace and finesse meant springing through the jungle was hardly more taxing than walking.

  “We’re certainly very traditional, and a lovingly refined form of what we consider uptight, it just happens that our idea of tradition includes talking ... a lot. Honestly, I talk at you every time I spot you walking past a doorway, Runner. We Qixing have a tendency to worry if we hear someone just stop talking if they’re in a room with someone else. That’s why I’m always poking my head in on all of you, if you’ve noticed.”

  Dread Naught fell quiet for a moment, before Bryluen, smiling inside her helmet, spoke up. “We balance each other out nicely.”

  As they neared the clearing in which the complex stood they saw small suggestions of spires and a great, central structure. The undergrowth mostly hid the ground-level view of the site, but it was clearly quite large. As they drew closer the sounds of the surrounding jungle gradually gave way to a reverent silence, the soft crunch of sticks and leaves and the hissing of Kirby’s joints forming the entirety of the soundscape surrounding them. The sickly yellow color of the structures was even and vibrant, and an identical rough texture was shared across every small hint of the complex that Dread Naught could see. The size of the complex all but proved that the signal-dampening effect was obscuring orbital scans.

  The complex was impossible to miss, a towering and bizarre assemblage of constructs of whose antiquity there was no doubt. It was entirely built of a seamless, yellow material with an appearance like wet, algae-ridden stone. The structures’ ghastly surfaces appeared more grown than built, leaving the entire complex to resemble a gnarled mass like a log overgrown with lichens. A cyclopean wall bearing a vast gatehouse bordered the entire area, and within its hunched perimeter smaller structures were huddled together. The squat buildings were gathered in paranoid clusters, each holding tight to the well of darkness created by their combined shadows. Just within the wall at uneven intervals were tall, curved spires jutting skyward like the gristly ribs of a half-buried Titan. In the center of it all loomed a broad central tower, its height surpassing even the jungle canopy in moldering opulence.

  A series of hopelessly complex characters were etched in gigantic proportions on the tower’s surface: iridescent yet plain, swimming yet still. No material other than the yellow “stone” seemed to be present, but the borders of the characters were evident nonetheless.

  No matter how she tried, Bryluen could not shake a gut-wrenching sensation of primal foreboding as she surveyed the dreadful panorama. For all of their searching, what terrible anomaly had the Marines at last exhumed? What benignity could possibly be found where a malodorous air of terror hung so thickly? Her rapidly darkening thoughts were interrupted by a sound: a trembling, involuntary vocalization of raw fear. She whipped around to see Nicadzim had taken a step backwards, his dilated pupils visible through his thick visor as they beheld the massive inscription. He shook his head back and forth slightly, as if refusing to believe what he saw.

  To see the eternally unflappable man so disturbed alarmed Bryluen. "Nico ... what do you know?"

  Nicadzim breathed slowly, his eyes refusing to leave the characters on the main tower. "I know what it says. I … felt … someone? I was adventuring days ago when I encountered a … presence. The presence gives or will place something, to allow me to ... activate these words. To channel them.”

  Bryluen’s voice was low and firm. "Nicadzim ...what have we found?"

  He closed his eyes and took a deep, slow breath. After a moment he looked back toward the inscription on the tower, and begin to recite what was written. The voice with which he read the message was somehow not his own, but was instead a shockingly loud rumble. Each syllable was wreathed in the potent suggestion of thunderous power and grandiose majesty, as if the ancient characters could not be so easily contained by a mortal throat. Whatsoever manner of artifice or technology could cause such a thing was entirely beyond the understanding of all of those present.

  BEHOLD AND TREMBLE.

  YOU STAND AT THE GRAVESTONE OF ALL CREATION.

  ONCE, THE STARS THEMSELVES HEEDED OUR COMMANDS. WE WERE WORSHIPED BY THE HOSTS OF THE LESSER RACES, OUR DOMINION LAUDED BY A TRILLION VOICES. NOW OUR WORKS ARE BUT ASH AND DUST, A UNIVERSE OF UNBURIED BONES OUR LEGACY AND SHAME.

  THE LAST SPARK OF OUR MUNIFICENT LIGHT IS INTERRED HERE AMONG FAR-FLUNG STARS. THIS PLACE WILL BEAR WITNESS TO YOU AS THE LAST MEMORY OF OUR REIGN OF EONS, AND THE LAST SPLINTER OF A ONCE-THRIVING UNIVERSE.

  WEEP FOR THE TALE OF OUR FINAL DOOM, AND MOURN THE COMING DISSOLUTION OF ALL THAT STILL LIVES.

  PRAY NO MORE … FOR THE GODS ARE DEAD.

  25. The Necropolis and the Nightmare

  Silence once more fell over the group as the first streaks of rain began to lash against the ground. Within seconds,
the rain increased in volume until it became a punishing downpour that caused sheets of water to run down their armor. Thin wires began to slide back and forth across their helmet visors—and Kirby’s cockpit window—that kept the rain from obscuring their vision with a combination of physical force and magnetism. They had not found a temple: they had found a tomb.

  Even outside of meaningful knowledge or context, the living inscription upon the main tower was stunning in its apocalyptic fervor. The uniqueness of the architecture led to even further questions: who created this place, and how? If this location was considered to be “among far-flung stars” than just how long ago was the complex built, and by people from how far away?

  Even though only one among their number could read the dark words upon the massive tombstone, they all wordlessly stared toward it. The Dreaded presumably pursued a Stone here, and therefore the most comforting thought was to believe the Stone was here by happenstance. Sadly, Bryluen knew such coincidences rarely resolved themselves in the desired fashion—the doomsday inscription invariably regarded The Dreaded.

  The Operative opened a comm channel. “Wongsawat, approach the complex and start scouting the small buildings within the wall. No danger yet. Dread Naught and I will scope out the central structure. Branok Out.” She switched to a second channel. “This is Operative Branok—Passchendaele and Huángdì’s Decree, I want your full compliments deployed to my current coordinates immediately. I expect the main gate and entire outer wall of this complex to be loaded in soldiers and vehicles within half an hour. Branok out.”

  Bel’Wa, as well, began to transmit a similar message to the Sentinels. “—liaüt tcha re’ña Ho’Xal. Belzxilenth’Wa, sh’i’syang.”

  Vort wheeled his eyes about the scene, his body turning a midnight purple. “... but ... what does this mean? Who wrote this? What has happened?”

  Kirby’s shoulders lowered from her usual ready stance with a whisper of actuators. “Well … message said this place ʻbears witness’, so … guess we’d have to go in to figure that out. Fuck ...”

  Her sentence trailed off beneath the weight of the strident inscription. Bryluen loudly snapped her gauntleted fingers, drawing the team from their trance. She was no less concerned than the rest of them, but knew comprehending the revelations garnered here needed to wait.

  Without delay she began to walk toward the gatehouse, which presided over a large enough space for most forms of War Colossus to pass through. The gate in question was clearly not intended for defense, but rather appeared decorative. The gate was a complex structure made to resemble a mass of intertwining vines, with gaps large enough for a person to jump through between the broad limbs. Despite the organic curvature of the vine-like shapes, the gate was still made of the same yellow material as the rest of the tomb.

  Dread Naught fell in behind Bryluen and began to cross the clearing, still struggling for words. In orbit above them, running soldiers and blaring sirens ushered on the Marines and Sentinels soon to garrison the temple. Bryluen felt a certainty they would not plumb the secrets of the tomb complex without interruption—The Dreaded had been looming ever-closer with every planetary landing, so it was only a matter of time until The Dreaded followed suit with as much force as they could muster.

  Dread Naught drew up to the gate, the monolithic construct dwarfing them. The advanced capabilities required to create an organic, apparently self-sustaining building clashed with its graceless architecture. The inscription made it clear this structure was envisioned to tell a message and make a certain impression. Bryluen felt it had accomplished its goals. Bryluen took her nanowhip in hand, and used the end of the grip to touch the gate. The material surface was spongy and not entirely rigid, lending even more credence to the structure having been grown rather than constructed in a traditional sense. Satisfied the material seemed to pose no immediate danger, she waved Kirby forward.

  “Furcotte, give this gate a push. Anyone that can grow a structure like this can probably also balance a door.”

  Kirby rubbed her mechanized hands together before placing her armored palms on one side of where the two halves of the gate met. In absolute silence, the massive gate began to swing open with little effort. Even as Kirby stopped pushing, the gate continued to glide along until it slowed to a gentle stop exactly perpendicular to the gatehouse. Bryluen looked about for a hinge mechanism, but could see none.

  Kirby turned back toward Dread Naught. “Shit, yeah they can, huh? Whoever they are. Were.”

  “Let’s just head to the big tower.” Bryluen pointed to the looming structure in the center of the complex. “Clearly we’re supposed to look around here, so I’m sure the main building will hold an answer or two.”

  The immensity of the tombstone became increasingly obvious. The unyielding shape reared from the ground devoid of ornamentation, barren and enigmatic. An ornate door, several times larger than a standard Human equivalent, was the only sign the tower was something other than a massive block. The clusters of surrounding buildings similarly bore no windows, only other up-sized doors and no other visible decoration. Each door was covered in seemingly carved symbols and images that swam before the eyes in twitchy motions, like a damaged video feed. No obvious purpose or organizational intent was visible. The soaring spires were almost three-fourths the height of the main tower, and lacked doors or other indications of function as well. Detailed decoration, like that on the doorways, swarmed across the curved structures like schools of lurid fish.

  That the main building announced such a clear purpose made the surrounding chaos all the more perplexing. Within the ruins of other civilizations, it could often be difficult to discern patterns and meaning the species responsible may have found obvious. But even so, the first thing Bryluen noticed upon entering the gate was the inconsistency: the spires were curved to different degrees in unrelated directions, and the building clusters were dashed about unevenly. Civilization was almost invariably the antithesis to unrestrained chaos, and the beings that created the tomb were clearly civilized enough to generate a complex language and to grow entire buildings. The visual havoc of the necropolis simply made no immediate sense.

  Bryluen gingerly placed a gauntlet against the massive door and pushed it open. Silently it swung inward, revealing a sizable central room. The walls emitted a soft, presumably bio-luminescent glow despite appearing to consist of the same material as the outside of the structure. The stark chamber bore a door-less gap leading down into darkness, and a curving ramp ascending from the group’s left up the inside of the tower. Gazing upward, it was clear the smooth ramp continued the two hundred meters it took to reach the top of the tower.

  Bryluen noted another inscription above the dark exit. “What does that say, Nico?”

  The large man strode up next to her, tilting his head slightly. As with the main tower, the alien characters suffused his voice with something beyond the mundane.

  HEREIN SLEEP THE NAMES OF THE HIGHEST GODS:

  ARCHITECTS OF A UNIVERSE BEREFT OF A FUTURE.

  AMONG THEM LIES THE HARBINGER OF THEIR FATE. REMEMBER ITS ASPECT AND FEAR IT.

  Vort skittered up to the dark entryway. “They’re catacombs, tunnels. Looks like a grid of passages, all gradually sloping down toward something. Their names sleep here? Perhaps ... there are no more bodies, simply memory. Were this their last memorial, it’s possible they had no bodies to recover due to … what happened to them.”

  Bryluen placed a hand under her chin. “That would make sense. Harbinger of fate … well, we certainly need to see that. The emphasis on remembering it suggests it’s not going to, or is not able to kill us. If anything else important is here, the top of that ramp is the obvious location. Let’s head down and see what we can find.”

  Bryluen led the group into the tunnel, where the roof rapidly tapered outward until it was large enough for two Hadrian heavy battle-tanks to drive side by side. The light mounts on Bryl’s collar cast a cone of white light ahead of the group, a subtle gyrosc
ope turning the brilliant diode to match the direction of her gaze. As Vort stated, the pathway sloped downward and appeared to be criss-crossed with other pathways stretching into abyssal blackness. Row upon row of large coffin-like shapes occupied the entire length of the visible halls in columns of twelve. Each bore an iridescent character on the visible end that Nicadzim characterized as being a name plate. Cursory scanning seemed to indicate the shapes were solid.

  “Dame ...”, Nicadzim muttered softly. “This likely will appear a strange time to ask, but why will your armor have lights when it already has night-vision filters?”

  Bryluen’s collar light continued to flick around the corridor, piercing the dark with stabs of brilliance. “For situations exactly like this. All our other filters are unreliable here due to the disruption effect. That said, I usually have my lights on when prowling somewhere dark regardless. I’ve normally got an auto-cycle process on my visual filters which, combined with a solid level of visible light, means if there’s anything unusual that may otherwise not show up in one way or another I won’t be surprised by it. Reasonably standard practice—I’d say that you’d be amazed about what kinds of things you can encounter in abandoned places, but you would know quite a bit about dealing with the unexpected, wouldn’t you Nico?”

  The group continued down the gentle incline, Bryluen’s light rigorously illuminating each side path as they passed it. Every passage appeared to be visually identical, hundreds of names sleeping to their every side. Bryluen received a comm burst from Wongsawat, whose squad was investigating the smaller structures outside by now. She relayed the communique to the team.