Dark Space- The Complete Series

by Jasper T. Scott

  Ethan grimaced. “And let them know we’re coming?” He shook his head. “Even if the recon is out of date, we’re better off keeping the element of surprise. There’s roughly 10,000 klicks between the gate where we’ll enter Forlax and the gate to Odaran. We should be able to cross that before the Sythians can react and intercept us.”

  The dubious looks being traded around the table told Ethan what his crew thought of that, but he ignored their skepticism. They didn’t have a choice. “I can think of just one further matter to address.” Turning to Delayn, Ethan nodded. “Tova’s mate is trapped aboard the Valiant, and Brondi has no idea. I need you and Tova to discuss ways that he might sabotage the carrier before we arrive to take it back. Do you think you could walk Tova through a plan that she can easily explain to her mate?”

  Delayn cast a wary glance over his shoulder to where Tova stood. He visibly started as the alien’s yellow eyes found him. “I . . .” Delayn trailed off. “I could try,” he finished.

  “Good. Is there anything else to discuss?” Ethan asked, his gaze travelling around the table.

  “Just one more thing,” Atton said from the opposite end of the table. His features were blurred blue by the star map hovering between them. The bright points of stars and star systems seemed to dance across his face as they slowly swirled above the table. “We need to have our resident biochemist, Dr. Kurlin Vastra, test everyone aboard for live strains of the virus that killed our crewmates. We can’t afford to infect anyone else when we meet with reinforcements from Obsidian Station.”

  Ethan nodded. “I agree. Get Dr. Kurlin working on it.”

  Ithicus turned to Ethan with a frown. “Do we even know what the frek that virus was?”

  “Not yet,” Ethan replied.

  “I’ve never seen anything kill so quickly before,” Caldin said. “And why did we survive?”

  “We’re still investigating the matter,” Ethan replied waving one hand dismissively. “It would appear that we all had some sort of immunity. The virus was engineered, so that’s how it got past our sensors. Brondi propagated it through the Valiant as a prelude to his attack. Our resident expert on the matter is Dr. Vastra, so it would be better to direct any questions you have to him when you see him.

  “If there’s no further business to discuss, then this meeting is adjourned. You all have your assignments, and we all know the plan. We can do this. It’s just two systems.” Turning to Ithicus, Ethan said, “I want that recon flight to fly tomorrow morning. We’re going to head out as soon as you give us the all-clear.” With that, Ethan snapped off the holo projection above the table and dialed the glow panels in the room up to full brightness once more. Tova turned to him with a squinty-eyed glare, but Ethan ignored her. Rising from the table, he gave them all a grim look and said, “Immortals be with us.”

  * * *

  Alec Brondi reached the lift tube with his bodyguards to find a whole platoon of armored soldiers awaiting his command. The platoon sergeant saw him coming and saluted.

  “Sir, we’ve sent a probe down to scan the deck, but something took it out when it reached the med lab. Preliminary scans from the probe show no active life forms in the area, so we have to assume that everyone is dead and that the assailant is some form of automaton.”

  “No life forms?”

  “None, sir.”

  Brondi frowned. “I see. Let’s go take a look.” He started forward, but the sergeant didn’t budge.

  “I would advise against that, sir.”

  “Why?” Brondi’s smile faded to an impatient look which warned against further contradicting his wishes.

  “I’m only considering your safety, sir. It would be best if we cleared the area first.”

  “You will go first, but I’m following. As soon as your platoon clears the area around the lift tube I will join you.”

  The sergeant hesitated briefly before giving a curt nod. “Yes, sir.” He turned to his men and said, “Squad one, into the lift!”

  Four men stepped out of line, turned, and marched into the waiting lift tube. Brondi watched the lift doors closing behind them and the tube dropping away.

  “Tune your comms to the platoon frequency,” the sergeant said to Brondi. “Frequency bravo echo five.”

  Brondi and his bodyguards changed frequencies and then listened as the point squad’s transmissions began filtering into their ear pieces.

  “It’s frekkin’ dark down here! Several of the fixtures are smashed.”

  “It’s also frekkin’ cold!” another man said.

  “Keep it down! I think I saw some movement up ahead. . . .”

  They heard a loud whoosh over the comms and then a clatter as some metallic object fell to the floor.

  “The frek? Where’s Three?”

  They heard a muted gurgling.

  “Something’s in here with us!” the first man whispered sharply.

  “Two? What happened to . . . oh krak. . . . Two are you . . . he’s dead! Frek it! He’s—”

  They heard a loud pop, and then silence, followed by heavy breathing. Someone was trying to wheeze out a word. “Heh . . . hehhww . . . hehwwp!”

  The sergeant yelled into his comm piece, “Squad one, squad one, come in!”

  Static answered.

  “Shut it down,” Brondi said. The sergeant turned to him with a blank look, so Brondi nodded to the lift. “I said shut it down. Shut down the lift. We’ll vent the atmosphere on that deck and whatever the frek it is can go blue in the face for all I care.”

  The sergeant shook his head slowly. “It’s not even alive, sir, and we need to get another squad down there to see if we can pull out survivors.”

  Brondi scowled. “Did it sound like there were survivors?”

  The sergeant’s lips formed a thin line. “We won’t know until we look.”

  “Drop a plasma grenade down the lift and stop wasting my men and my time.”

  “Don’t you want to know what it is?”

  “You’ve seen one bot you’ve seen ‘em all. Now flush it with a grenade and get back to clearing bodies off my ship. They’re starting to stink.”

  Brondi spun on his heel and began walking away, his bodyguards following a step behind. He wasn’t sure what angered him more—that Verlin had gone and gotten himself killed by a bot, or that the rest of his men insisted on throwing their lives away just as pointlessly.

  As Brondi was about to turn a corner in the corridor, he heard the muted rumble of an explosion and then felt the subtle vibrations of it rumbling underfoot. At least the platoon sergeant knew how to follow orders. Whatever they’d unearthed down there was dead now.

  * * *

  Roan was halfway back to his crèche when he heard the deafening boom and saw the wall of fire rushing toward him. Loose objects went flying, and the fire reached him in a searing wind, picking him up and tossing him the rest of the way down the corridor. The roaring in his ears was deafening, and he felt a molten wave of shrapnel pelt his armor. When the noise and heat finally subsided, just a few seconds had passed, but Roan felt like it had been an eternity. He heard a sizzling sound above the ringing in his ears and the pitter patter of debris settling to the deck. When he cracked his eyes open he saw that the sizzling was the sound of water boiling off his armor.

  Roan grimaced and pushed himself to his feet to check himself over. His cloaking system still worked, and he hadn’t sustained any major injuries. He turned in a slow circle to study the melted ruin of what had once been his home aboard the Valiant. The ice pillars were chipped and melted down to their duranium poles, and bare deck was exposed under foot. Great puddles of water were running down into the floor grates and into the pool. Flaming bits of debris were flickering in the dark, causing Roan to squint against the brightness.

  He had no doubt that the men he’d been fighting were responsible for the explosion. Roan turned to look over his shoulder and saw the entrance to his crèche half-blocked with some sort of twisted metal framework.

&
nbsp; Roan hissed. They had intended to kill him. They had failed. Now it was his turn, and he would have his revenge.

  Chapter 8

  There was a bustle of activity on the lower decks where the crew quarters were located. Some of these decks had been previously exposed to space and now they were hastily patched with the drab, unpainted gray of spare hull panels.

  The glow panels flickered as Atton proceeded down the corridor, making him realize that the electrical conduits were still damaged. He heard the crackle and hiss of laser welders in the distance, and saw them flashing in the dimness up ahead. As he walked, he noticed that some of the doors to the bunkrooms had been blown open and jagged molten holes were all that remained.

  Atton passed a repair crew guiding a giant hull panel on a hover gurney down the corridor just before he came to bunkroom number 42. This was the room assigned to Dr. Kurlin and his family. Atton paused briefly at the door to straighten his uniform. The upper left shoulder was now emblazoned with the gold star insignia of a captain.

  Atton knocked twice, and a moment later the door swished open to reveal the tall cadaverous form of Dr. Kurlin. The man had bags and dark circles beneath his bloodshot blue eyes, which spoke of too many sleepless nights.

  “Yes?” Kurlin’s expression was grim.

  Atton held out his hand and the doctor reluctantly shook it. “Dr. Vastra, I’m Captain Adan Reese.”

  “I remember you.”

  Adan nodded and smiled. “The overlord sent me. We need to talk. Could I come in for a moment?”

  The doctor hesitated, leaning out the door to peer down the corridor, as if expecting to find a firing squad waiting just a step behind Atton.

  “Don’t worry. I came alone.”

  “Yes, of course . . . well, come in.”

  The doctor waved him through, and Atton stepped across the threshold. As soon as he was inside, Kurlin sealed and locked the door. The room was small, the same as all the crew quarters. There were two double bunks, a small table with two chairs below a viewport which showed a slice of the flashing gray clouds of the Stormcloud Nebula. There were two steel lockers, and a bathroom that one would have to step sideways to enter. The walls were polished, white-painted duranium with silver trim around the warm gold glow panels which lined the perimeter of the room, while the floor was lined with blue, dirt-repellent carpets.

  The smell of cinnamon wafted through the room, and Atton’s eyes were immediately drawn to the source. Alara and her mother were sitting on one of the bunks—Alara cupping a steaming mug of tea, not looking up, while her mother watched him from the shadows.

  Atton turned to the doctor just as the man came shuffling up to him. “What is it you would like to talk about, Captain Reese?”

  “We need you to test the crew to make sure no one is still contagious.”

  The old man’s blue eyes sharpened, going from tired to alert in an instant. “Is someone presenting symptoms?”

  “Not yet.”

  Kurlin’s shoulders sagged. “Good . . . that’s good.”

  “We still need to be sure we won’t be spreading the virus to our fleets in Sythian Space.”

  “Yes, I suppose I could run some tests just to be sure.”

  “We also need you to create more of the vaccine in the event of another outbreak.”

  The doctor hesitated. “How will I do that? I don’t have any of my data or equipment here. I don’t even have a sample of the vaccine or a live strain of the virus.”

  Atton frowned. “What about aboard Brondi’s corvette?”

  “Well, some things are there, yes, but not enough. I’ll have to start from scratch, working from memory.”

  Atton let out a tired sigh. “That’s not good.”

  “No . . .” The doctor began rubbing his chin. “But I should be able to do it.”

  “Good. You have three days.”

  “Three days? That’s not enough time!”

  “It’ll have to be. You’ll start testing the crew immediately. We’ve set up a lab for you in the med bay.”

  Now it was Kurlin’s turn to sigh. “I’ll do what I can. . . . Does anyone know about . . . about what happened aboard the Valiant?”

  Atton shook his head. “No, only the guards who interrogated you.”

  “I see, and they . . .”

  “They’ll be reassigned to the transfer station. We don’t want any problems.”

  Kurlin looked relieved. He nodded and turned to look at his wife and daughter. After a moment, he quietly said, “It’s not me I worry about, you know. I deserve whatever revenge they might take.” His gaze returned to meet Atton’s. “But my family is not responsible, and I’m afraid what will happen to them. Vigilante justice does not know the same bounds as legal justice.”

  “In the event that you are discovered, we’ll post a guard to protect you and your family.”

  “But who will protect us from the guards?”

  Atton frowned. Now he turned to look at Kurlin’s family, where they were sitting huddled on the bunk, listening keenly to his and Kurlin’s conversation. “How’s Alara doing?” Atton asked, as though she couldn’t hear.

  “She’s better, but still very confused. We are hopeful that she’ll be able to overcome her programming through cognitive behavioral therapy. The other treatments appear too risky at the moment.”

  “I wish there was something I could do,” Atton said, and he meant it. Alara looked up at him and smiled alluringly. He smiled back, but looked away.

  The doctor winced at his daughter’s expression and said, “Drink your tea, Alara.”

  “Yes, Daddy,” she said, but there was a wry twist to her lips that suggested she was only humoring him by calling him her father.

  Atton shook his head. “There’s a flight training program for nova pilots that’s just got underway.”

  “Oh?” the doctor asked, sounding distracted. “That’s nice.”

  “Yes. We’re in desperate need of pilots with training. I understand that Alara has had some flight experience.”

  Suddenly Kurlin understood. He waved his hand and scowled. “Absolutely not.”

  “The less-skilled pilots likely won’t see much action, but they could mean all the difference in a pitched battle.”

  “What is he talking about, Kurlin?” his wife asked.

  “Nothing, Darla. Don’t worry.” He grabbed Atton’s arm and began leading him from the room.

  “Unhand me, Doctor.”

  “Certainly.” Kurlin opened the door and pushed him outside; then he stepped outside with Atton and closed the door behind him with a wave of his wrist over the scanner. “She’s sick, Captain!” Kurlin said through clenched teeth. “You can’t put her in a cockpit—in a nova cockpit of all things!”

  “She’s a trained pilot, and reinforcing a skill which connects to memories from her old life will help bring her back faster than any cognitive therapy.”

  Kurlin frowned. “What good is bringing her back if she dies in the process?”

  Atton threw up his hands. “What good is any of this if we all die because our capable pilots refuse to fly? We need her, Kurlin. I’ll have her fly my wing if she makes the squadron. I’ll look after her the best I can. I’m a 4A pilot. You can count on me to keep her safe.”

  Kurlin’s lips trembled and his blue eyes glittered with some powerful emotion he was suppressing. For a moment Atton felt sure the old man was about to punch him in the face, but then he simply turned away and re-entered his quarters. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do.”

  “If I have to order her to join the trainees, I will, Doctor,” Atton called after him.

  Kurlin turned to stare at him, his expression unreadable. “Do whatever you feel you must, Captain, but she is not your daughter, and you would do well to imagine what you would do if she were.”

  Atton watched the door slide shut and then he turned away with a frown. He began striding back the way he’d come, his heels clicking across the deck.
He could have just dismissed it as Commander Adari’s fight and leave him to deal with all the reluctant recruits, but unfortunately it wasn’t that simple. This was everyone’s fight, and no one could afford to sit on the sidelines. The Defiant was running short-staffed as it was.

  Atton entered the lift which had brought him to the crew deck and he punched in deck 17—Aurora’s Borealis. It was the ship’s main bar and rec hall. It took up most of the upper deck just below the bridge, the ship’s 18th and highest level.

  The gold lights of the lower decks flashed by the transparent slits in the sides and front of the lift as it rose, blurring into teardrop-shaped streaks as Atton contemplated crossing Sythian Space. They would be setting out in just two days. No, it was two days this morning, Atton thought.

  Now it was just one.

  The lift slowed to a stop and the doors opened straight into Aurora’s. The spectral greens and blues of a simulated aurora borealis hovered just above his head—shifting veils of light which drew Atton’s eyes toward the ceiling. Above that lay a glittering patina of stars which were twinkling against the black, dome-shaped roof. The holo projection was inspiring to look at. With that sight, the verses of a famous poem—one of Atton’s favorites—came unbidden to his thoughts: A spacer’s dream / the stars to fly / to shed light where darkness lie / and discover what wonders wait—

  “Before encountering this spacer’s fate,” Atton whispered the last verse to himself as he sat down at the bar.

  “Catral. Those five lines immortalized him,” the bartender said, nodding. “I didn’t know you were such a romantic, Skidmark.” She smiled prettily at him, looking him up and down, as if suddenly seeing him in a new light.

  Atton smiled back. The bartender’s name was Aurora; she was the owner and a retired Deck Sergeant.

  “What’ll you be having?” she asked.

  Atton grinned. “Whatever will knock me off this chair and plant my head firmly on a pillow.”

  “Well for that I’d recommend a plasma grenade.”

  Atton frowned. “I’d prefer if my head were still attached to my neck when it lands on my pillow.”