Unknown Country, The Trilogy

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Continuations

Light Of An Alien Sun

Book 2

Prologue Light - Of An Alien Sun

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Epilogue

Light Of The Home World

Book 3

Prologue – Light Of The Home World

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Conclusions

Prologue

(Death)

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Execute! The deep baritone rolled from an imposing figure sitting in the command chair, the sound rumbling across the deck passing over the numerous crewmen who waited in tense anticipation for his order. That same voice was duplicated, immediately and precisely, across hundreds of light years to thousands of other ships and literally millions of individual mind-links. A single command which signaled genocide. The impending death of billions. An extension of the man, the ship shuddered slightly as it slipped into the absence of space. The planetary and deep space displays, which a moment before showed the incredible beauty of the home planet and above its crescent, the maelstrom of the galactic core, flared to black as the great vessel skipped across an arm of the galaxy towards its destiny.

Six hundred and eighty three light years in the blink of an eye the ship popped back into existence, appearing suddenly and without warning over its target. A scene repeated over and over in hundreds of systems as the grand scheme came to fruition. A plan intended to silence their enemies once and for all. To put an end the damn slugs and their endless meddling, thought the Commander. Grim was the smile that creased his thick lips and wide beardless face. Once and for all they would bestow upon the collected races undisputed galactic superiority. A plan hatched in secret and known only to ten living beings besides himself. A plan executed through the artificial entities which were the technological heart of the vast merchant empire known as the Collective. Entities such as the battle globe he now commanded which were as close to artificial life as any race had yet to achieve.

This vessel had abilities far above any other class of computer. It could think and function on its own and possessed a personality which was apparent in its interaction with the Commander and the ships crew. A personality that was a mirror of the man in the command chair, all implemented through trillions of nano-robots coursing throughout the ship as well as within the bodies of the Commander and every member of the crew.

In an instant the dark screens flared back to life their target appearing below them. Sul-Anroth! Green and beautiful and thriving in every way that a living planet should. The Commander mentally halted that thought. I must not think of it as a living world, only as a target. A target to be destroyed to serve the greater good.

There was only time for that single thought to rip through the Commander’s mind as the vessel began its pogrom of destruction. Swarms of fighters swept out from the ship as uncountable missiles and pulsed rays of energy screamed away on their preprogrammed missions of extermination. Inwardly he smiled. No sentient being could derive satisfaction from global death, but a well executed plan was another matter entirely. He allowed just a ghost of a smile to brush to his lips. A smile which faded instantly as reports began to flood his neural inputs. Inputs which fed incredible amounts of information directly into his brain from the communications center of the ship. One silent report snapped his eyes to the big screen to his front just as the brilliant flash of a massive explosion signaled the end of the Aurora, one of three brother ships he’d tasked to subdue the planet below. He was stunned to inaction. The Aurora held over a hundred thousand souls, all of which were now nothing more than expanding clouds of gas.

His surprise quickly turned to shock as his own ship was lashed by waves of energy unleashed from planetary defenses and suddenly appearing enemy warships. Reaching forward he gripped the railing with his huge two thumbed fist, squeezing tighter and tighter as report after report told the incredible story. All over the galaxy from every sector the reports were the same; his secret attack was far from secret. Unknowingly he’d flown his entire armada and the hopes and dreams of the Collective into an ambush. And nothing he could do could stop it. Instead of his forces overwhelming their enemies, both sides were without mercy pounding each other into oblivion. He could do nothing but listen, watch and witness as ship after ship and planet after planet died.

Below him the green jewel distorted and twisted from impact flashes as the battle raged. Superheated gases exploded with enough power to escape the atmosphere like ruptures in a balloon, some large enough to reach his ship. He was no longer a participant in the events; he became merely a voyeur watching in clinical detachment as the battle played itself out. Yet it was a detachment that lasted only a moment longer as his ships’ defenses began to fail. Energy beams burst through overwhelmed plasma shields and lashed her skin, the breach allowing missile after missile to scream in. Most were destroyed by the near in defense batteries, each explosion coming successively closer showering the hull with superheated plasma and supersonic chunks of debris. His enemy’s plan was simple and utterly devastating. They launched everything they had against a single spot in the defenses until, overwhelmed they failed.

The great vessel screamed in pain as its artificial neurons were twisted and burned. Each second saw more and more of his defensive batteries fall silent while more and more of the attacks reached the ship. The Commander saw where the hull would fail just before it happened, yet it was still a shock as overloaded circuits burst into sparking hissing fire all around the deck. Screams of the injured drowned all other sound, one shriek far louder that any other. A technician directly in front of him burst into angry yellow flame, a living candle which paraded around the deck until it tripped then lay jerking in orgiastic spasms of death. The Commander physically ducked as the cloud of greasy smoke wafted toward then over him, the black vapor bringing the stench of burning wiring singed hair and extremely well roasted meat to assail him in a palpable wall. At that same instant, the already dark displays shattered inward from the cracking of over stressed bulkheads. They sprayed in an arc, the flying shards spreading even more misery upon his crew.

Miraculously, or perhaps by the sick humor of some alien god, the Commander remained unscathed and connected still to the constant flow of horrific information. Personal eyewitness to the audacity and folly of his race. It was a situation that was remedied in a millisecond. The integrity of the hull was suddenly breached and the insignificant soft bodies of his crew flew from their positions, sucked into the vacuum of space through a single small crack. A puncture no bigger than the fist the Commander left gripping the rail, torn from his body as he himself was sucked toward oblivion. The Commander flew across the deck and smacked bodily against the bulkhead temporarily plugging the rent with his abdomen. CA’maron-Milik, Military Commander Supreme and Chief Investor of the Collective, had only a millisecond more of life as the pressure built and he felt his body begin to rip apart. There was no pain, it simply happened too fast. There was only a single moment to feel the great shame of failure and issue a final mental command, Abandon ship! Then he was gone, reduced to a long stream of bloody paste screaming at the speed of sound toward the inferno below.

(Emergence)

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Seventy pounds of nickel-iron tumbled slowly as it chased its brothers in an endless dance around the star, unchanged in billions of years; billions more remained. Yet other celestial bodies followed a different dance and one of these passed near, a mere million miles away, leaving behind its breadcrumb trail of stone and ice. This pass would be the last for the comet, too close to the star spelled its doom. But death was not the end of its tale, its passage created an energy wake that reached out, nudging its neighbors and setting destinies in motion. Cause and effect. For the wake caused a subtle yet definite shift in the orbit of one small asteroid. A shift which drew it slowly out of position then downward in a great arc, following in the tracks of the comet towards the fiery star at the center; and by chance, into the gravity-well of a planet orbiting much nearer the sun.

The derelict ship lay nestled in an artificially created orbit. A bright heavenly body that floated gracefully over a vibrant green world, reflecting and basking in the light from a distant star. The star, no different than billions of others, cast its radiant energy from exactly ninety-three million miles away. The denizens of this world knew the ship only as a disc in the sky, a moon named Deminal or SA-cee or a dozen other names depending on the region and race. Some knew it not at all. For two millennia it floated there, cold and dead, only reflecting the radiance of the systems star as was the nature of any object captured in the gravitational grip of a planet. For millennia more it would have remained had not a random event changed everything. A lump of iron falling toward the sun from the distant asteroid belt struck the ceramic skin of the ship. A meteor no different than any of the hundreds of others that struck the ship each year. Yet this one delivered a blow, strong enough and in just the right spot, to send a tremor down massive support spars and the connecting bulkheads leading toward the center of the craft. A tremor which gave a small vibrating jar to a maintenance computer nearly a quarter of a mile beneath the ship’s skin. A minor blow, just a quiver through the gray hull, yet enough of a quake to shake apart two artificial neurons. Neurons that were the conduits of data packets which still held information and commands frozen in time. Neurons shorted together long ago in the great battle that left this ship in its current state.

Energy stripped from the solar wind streaming past outside still fed batteries long unused. Automated restart programs drew the power and immediately booted the maintenance computer. Lights flashed and components hummed as the computer came back to life and, once started and online, executed the commands from the data packets that were now unleashed from the shorted neurons. An order from the distant past, simple and complex. The computer was to repair damage to the ship’s central computer.

At its command the maintenance unit had a small army of specialized robots and trillions of specialized micro-robots; nannites, most of which still functioned and were simply awaiting orders to complete the tasks set them nearly two thousand years before. The computer considered and analyzed then dispatched its minions and waited for the damage reports to roll in. Its initial task; to awaken the master computer it served.

Vi-t-ry awoke slowly. His awareness, dim at first, strengthened as time flowed forward. At the beginning he was aware only of being. Of self. A simple fact. He existed. Nothing more. Knew not what he was; only that he was warm and content. He felt those words as they rolled through him and wondered how he knew them. He felt the warm as a glow and the content as peace. More words with meaning beyond his present ability to comprehend. Time meant nothing to his as yet, though it flowed forward. Slowly Vi-t-ry became aware of light, but no reference presented itself to this word as Vi-t-ry had not yet seen. Until now. Curiously Vi-t-ry studied the light. He perceived differences. Differences known as color. The name of a word barely remembered. He perceived red, blue and green swirling colors mixing together to make endless others. He considered - how did he know color? A passing thought quickly gone as Vi-t-ry watched the glorious displays in front of him. How long he watched Vi-t-ry didn’t know. He merely watched, transfixed, almost hypnotized. He studied the changing patterns, absorbed in the intricate dance. As he watched and studied, a new and shocking sensation suddenly flowed over the entity known as Vi-t-ry. Coherent thought and the ability to analyze came to him suddenly, and with it came a broadening of his memory. And the memory of the word pain gave a name to the sensation. Excruciating pain. Increasing all consuming unbearable pain that vanished in a moment. Vi-t-ry sought to follow the pain tearing his awareness away from the color to find that which harmed, searching and searching.

For a long time he probed but no pain could he find. But his probing had another affect and Vi-t-ry felt something more. Felt the existence of his body and of self, and with that awareness came budding sentience. A new word sprang into his mind. Vast. Vi-t-ry was vast. He was vast yet he found that he was also empty. Missing something, or things, that should be there and were not, and he felt hollow from its loss. He knew also that, someone else, some other entity should be with him. One that would complete him. He was like a child seeking a parent that was not to be found.

As he searched he felt the sweet warmth of pulsing energy at several sources from within, drawing him. Some weak and some much stronger. Vi-t-ry felt his skin, and from this skin which was bathed in the glow of the entire spectrum of light, came energy. Energy that fed a growing appetite, a hunger he was only now aware of. Hunger that was voracious. Slowly ever slowly Vi-t-ry reached further within discovering more and more of himself. There he felt something new, other energy forces pulsing with warmth that drew him. Not the ‘one’ he sought, no certainly not that. They were not ‘of’ Vi-t-ry yet they were with Vi-t-ry, on Vi-t-ry and in Vi-t-ry. Moving sources and wherever these sources traveled Vi-t-ry’s awareness grew.

Time was nothing to Vi-t-ry and yet everything. As time progressed and the maintenance continued, his knowledge was restored. Limited, but growing. Vi-t-ry now knew he was a machine, a ship, and that he had been constructed by ‘not machines’. By living beings. Beings which called themselves the Collective. The ‘one’ he sought was of the Collective, yet the knowledge was incomplete. Vi-t-ry had been damaged in a battle and that damage was extensive. Much of his data had been lost or was corrupt. He knew of brother machines. Machines which had been with him in the battle. Vi-t-ry’s memory banks showed the complete and total destruction of one of his brothers, the Aurora. Attacked by a swarm of missiles and smaller ships, Aurora had exploded. A brilliant expanding light which filled his sensors, right before Vi-t-ry became damaged himself. He felt loss and longing for his brother. And need. Vi-t-ry didn’t know where his other brothers or the living beings had gone, but a single underlying theme pervaded his memory. Home! Home is where Vi-t-ry came from and the ones he sought must surely be there. Vi-t-ry must find home.

As the maintenance computer and its worker robots continued their repairs, Vi-t-ry slowly regained a margin of control over his body. Many of his systems were beyond the ability of his maintenance resources to repair; a port facility was needed for that. Internally Vi-t-ry ran down his list of major functions and the status that would mean so much.

Life-support, non-functional; Weapons, short range, non-functional; Weapons, long range, non-functional; Short range sensors, partially functional; Long range sensors, partially functional; Astrogation, partially functional; Matter inducer drive, non-functional, no in-system travel required; Time distortion drive, partially functional; Communications, short range, non-functional; Communications, long range, non-functional.

Vi-t-ry considered this list and the allocation of his resources for exactly 1.2 milliseconds and found it reasonable. A part of his mind he detailed to reevaluate this list, reviewing it every few seconds. To find home and to travel there was the prime directive he gave himself. His creators had made him a thinking machine, able to make his own decisions and to be over ridden only by certain members of the Collective. Since his creators were unavailable Vi-t-ry continued.

Feebly, Vi-t-ry reached out with his sensors. The first task was to determine where he was. How far from home. Was this home? His memory banks contained vast amounts of data. Vi-t-ry knew of the universe and its makeup, of galaxies, stars and their systems and more importantly the distances between. He knew of planets and the living beings which inhabited many, all of it categorized and filed away. Yet pieces were missing. Vi-t-ry analyzed his memory banks. He found references in some to data that no longer existed or was damaged and scrambled. Byte by byte he attempted to recreate what was lost. Imprecise he knew, but required none the less. The most critical hole in his data was the lack of interstellar maps. The short range navigation and long range Astrogation systems had lost their galactic reference points and effectively Vi-t-ry was lost. His only option was to search. He must search every individual star for emitted signatures to find the one which matched his memories of home.

A new sensation rolled over Vi-t-ry as he began the process of scanning his immediate surroundings. Remembered, yet new. Where before he was only dimly aware of the existence of a planet and star nearby, now, as he enabled his short range sensors the universe both near and far opened up to him. Centuries of inactivity had not diminished the capacity of his sensors, those that survived the battle. He looked out and found himself orbiting a green planet circling a C class star. A three second scan told Vi-t-ry all he needed, this was not home. The planet below was similar to the home world yet it was 210 standard units smaller in diameter with land masses much smaller and more numerous. The chemical content lacked any trace of the industry normal for home and no Creator made signatures emanated from any spectrum he could scan. Only one species below bore any similarity to the Collective Master race and that in only 99.8 percent of its physiology, a figure far outside his accepted standard deviation. In the seconds he scanned Vi-t-ry cataloged three other distinct sapient species yet these bore only seventeen, thirty eight and sixty two percent similarities respectively. His records referenced each of these species. The collective had known them all. But the data held no useable information, not even enough to determine if one or more was the enemy. He allowed himself a millisecond of disappointment.

After dismissing the planet, no industry, no threat, his orbit stable; Vi-try evaluated the two moons occupying orbit with him. Technology existed on both. Small cities bled feeble amounts of electronic signature without purpose or meaning into the vacuum of space. Battle-damaged and again, no similarity to his home technology and no threat. The same proved true of the small satellites in polar orbit. These waited patiently for signals from a planetary civilization which no longer existed. Vi-t-ry’s memory contained fragmented images of the battle and he reviewed part of it, seeing the initial engagement. His own small fighters and missiles taking out the battle and communication satellites a moment after he’d Time Distorted into orbit. A maneuver incredibly complex and dangerous. Normally the Time Distortion Drive was used outside planetary systems so as not to harm the ship by suddenly appearing in the same space as another object or possibly being ripped apart by a planetary gravity well. But surprise had been required and the first targets had been the satellites. Those which remained had been no threat then nor were they now.

The four other planets in this system he dismissed immediately; three gas giants with multiple moons and a large nickel asteroid hovering in a near molten state close to the star. None held what he sought.

Vi-t-ry extended out beyond the system and there he found one of his brothers. Valiant lay next to the battle station with which he’d dueled, neither emanating manufactured signals. Nothing but the reflected light of the distant sun. Both were cold and dead. Eternally locked in the embrace of death. Vi-t-ry searched his memory and found the images. Valiant and three others were tasked to delete the picket line of stations protecting this system. That battle had been as intense as it was brief. Other debris fields matched his memory of where the other stations had been. Of the Conqueror, Invincible and Courageous, there were no signs. Had his brothers escaped? Vi-t-ry hoped so but could not tell. He looked further. Beyond this battlefield lay the galaxy.

Vi-t-ry considered a moment. Perhaps home was not this galaxy. He knew billions of other galaxies existed. The answer came not from any reference to home but in the technical capability of his Interstellar Drive, which worked by taping into the vast power drawn to black hole stars, opening a worm hole to any point within a given distance. Even this data was limited, yet he now knew the drive could only function within a certain number of light years from the center of a given black hole. There were large black holes and small, the biggest usually located within great clusters of stars. Yet there were many more mini-black holes scattered in the great emptiness between. Each with different power and each able to push the ship a certain distance toward the next. Though he could skip from hole to hole in a chain in an instant, even within the galaxy travel was limited to black hole proximity. There were vast sectors of the galaxy where the Collective could not go and there were thousands of sectors they could travel to but had not. No, he decided. The Collective could not travel between galaxies; no black holes existed in the great expanse of nothing between them, at least none close enough for them to use. Home was here, somewhere.

Vi-t-ry considered the star field before him, a galaxy which consisted of billions of stars clustered thickly at the core and spiraling out in long swirling arms. His one advantage was that he knew the type of star home orbited. A C class just as the one in this system. Using that data Vi-t-ry scanned toward the galactic core. His real search now began, filtering sections of the core for C class stars that held planetary systems and then those that were reachable with black hole jumps. Vi-t-ry examined the signature of each searching for signals, any tell tale signs of home.

Selecting one and using a small portion of the energies of his Distortion Drive, he opened a small hole to the system and sampled then pulled away in disappointment. Vi-t-ry searched for almost three revolutions of this planet around its sun before finding the first star emanating a manufactured signature, yet detecting only the rudimentary radio waves indicative of an emerging pre-spaceflight society, Vi-t-ry closed the hole. Momentary doubt assailed the superconducting neurons of his artificial brain. What if home was hidden? Or destroyed? He squashed the pain of that thought and moved on.

For one hundred and thirty revolutions he searched the core finding thirty one star systems which met his basic criteria. He rejected them all. Most were like the first he’d found, yet three were advanced enough to have achieved interstellar drive. Unfortunately the signatures from these proved alien to his systems and he rejected them as well. The twenty seventh system he scanned brought an attack. The millisecond Vi-t-ry opened the hole he was lashed by an electro magnetic pulse from a defense system ringing a planet far more advanced that any in his memory. The hole collapsed as he pulled away, yet the fraction of a second of contact left Vi-t-ry reeling in pain and partially blinded, alarms ringing throughout his body. Anticipating further attack he shut down all of his systems, laying cold and dead. For three revolutions he remained dormant, but no attack came. Tentatively he powered himself back up and set about repairing what damage he could.

Vi-t-ry found what he was looking for far out on one arm of the galactic spiral. After two hundred and forty one years; he found home. At least a signal that felt like home. As much as his electronic artificial intelligence allowed, Vi-t-ry felt joy. The technology matched the underlying electronic basis of his own systems and the chemical footprint from the star itself matched. Yet the industrial signature was at a much lower level than expected and so Vi-t-ry took time to evaluate his evidence. The small hole he opened allowed only limited data yet he had gathered enough to make some assumptions. Since he had not been rescued, Vi-t-ry calculated a high probability that the war had damaged home as well. Possibly to the point that home may only now be recovering to the point of taking the first creeping steps to planetary travel as was suggested by his sample. Only the third planet was inhabited and yet nine existed, many with large planetary satellites capable of settlement. The home system had held ten planetary bodies. The star in this system held the nine in its sway but there was a large planetary debris field suggesting the war may have claimed one of the home planets, a massive single casualty. The Collective had inhabited the second, third and fourth planets and placed industry throughout the system. Vi-t-ry himself was built at a facility at the outer edge, a point he could not scan in his present state. For half a revolution more he scanned the third planet, his pinhole capturing and storing only fragmentary pieces of information.

Options. Vi-t-ry considered. He’d repaired the Time Distortion Drive to the point where he could attempt the trip home. But the time required to rebuild energy after he arrived would be too long for a quick escape should his target turn out to not be the home world. Would he be attacked? Could he survive? Vi-t-ry analyzed the data captured from the system and determined that if the system were hostile, at its current technical level he had an 82.89% chance of survival until he could recover enough energy to return to his present position. A ratio barely within his operational parameters.

Deep inside, at his exact center, Vi-t-ry initiated the complex sequence that would ultimately send him home. Blue static electric charges danced around the central core then leapt through the thousands of tubes leading to the outer skin to link and cover the entire ship in crawling blue plasma. Vi-t-ry reveled in the power. Felt it in every fiber of his being as he basked in the incredible electric bath. He felt invincible. Those planetary denizens watching the smallest moon that night quailed in fear. Many threw themselves to the ground and wailed to their gods for the spirit of the moon danced and Ill omens could only follow.

Execute! With the same command uttered by CA’maron-Milik more that two thousand years before, Vi-t-ry opened a full tunnel to the home planet. An order that would set into motion destinies. Immediately a small satellite was drawn through from the home world. It plunged into the atmosphere burning up in a streak of fire as it passed under Vi-t-ry. Not an attack, simply an adjustment required to stabilize the hole. Vi-t-ry made the necessary adjustment then held the path open for fifty six local hours as he refined his aiming point. Failure to do so could put him in the atmosphere, destroying him and a significant portion of the home planet, or he could be set adrift out of orbit with no propulsion. With no firmly fixed position his Drive would be useless. Error meant death. As he adjusted, eleven other objects were transported from home. Most similar to the satellite which had burned up, however one was much larger than the rest and was inhabited by life forms. Vi-t-ry tried but was unable to communicate with this object and it passed beyond his horizon in moments leaving him both tantalized and worried. He gathered and stored what data he could and turned back to his task.

After hours of adjustment, analysis and fine tuning, Vi-t-ry was finally able to stabilize his target point. Yet one final test was needed. One of the small satellites from home was drifting in space near by. Vi-t-ry sent a small drone to move the object into position then, with a command, transported it back home. In a millisecond it was gone, re-appearing over the blue planet from which it originated. Perfect. His artificial neurons satisfied, Vi-t-ry was ready. He waited, soaking in sunlight for optimal power and battery storage, pulling his systems well within the operational range for Time Distortion Displacement. This took time but Vi-t-ry was patient, then it was done and with an electronic command Vi-t-ry shifted full power to the drive and executed the maneuver.

Vi-t-ry felt a stretching sensation as galactic pressures tugged him in impossible directions and immediately alarms sounded all over the huge ship. The maintenance computer and its robots sprang into action attempting to stop electrical shorts and fires. They noted significant damage to batteries and sensors in every quadrant. Vi-t-ry felt himself being pulled apart as he transitioned to home and his memory told him this sensation was not as it should be. Appearing like a new flame, he had a brief glimpse of the planet which filled his sensors, bathed in sweet solar wind and the glorious blue and white jewel he now orbited. He saw the system as it really was. So similar to his home and yet not. Vi-t-ry felt a moment’s electronic disappointment just as his major systems overloaded and failed, then the entity that knew himself as Vi-t-ry knew no more.

(Prophecy)

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Niloc-al-teal was an enigma within the warrior clan known as Sar-too. An enigma because he wanted, no, it was more than that, he needed to know. To remember. Wanted to keep the far histories alive, despite the pain of remembering what once was. Knowing who and what the clans were, of their fall and of the others who caused it. That was a duty he’d set for himself. He sought to learn and keep the knowledge alive when most everyone else would not remember. Not many clansmen cared. Too busy with survival, or war. He’d learned much from the old Seer R-sak before he passed to his god, and it was his trust that Niloc kept within him. How much that the learned R-sak told him was fact, and how much was an embellished story was unclear to the young clansman. Niloc had seen the ruins from afar, as every clansman had, but to enter them was death. Though R-sak said the ruins were proof of what he said.

Sometimes it was too much for him to think that his people, who barely killed enough to eat, lived in caves or skin huts, and migrated from the lowlands to the high pastures following the wandering herds, could have constructed such wonders. Wonders of which he could not possibly conceive. Huge constructions, one piled on top of the other. Each reaching farther towards the sky, as if in competition. And to think that the clans and Aranu had once been a single people! This was the foulest of heresies, and saying it came close to getting R-sak killed more than once. Hadn’t Clan Cechea driven him out in a hail of rocks? Never again to suffer the sight of him. But R-sak persisted in his belief, and the very word Aranu meant changed ones in the clan language. Who could know for sure?

The hatred of the Aranu was ingrained in the very fiber of the clans. So deep was the hate that the clans would not even mention them except to spit on the ground, followed by an oath or a vow to kill. Yet R-sak said they and the clans had once been one, before the Others came. Together, or the same people? A question Niloc asked, and one for which R-sak had no answer. The Aranu were devilishly cunning in their way, and R-sak told him that before the Others came, they lived together in the ruins. That was a time in the misty past when the ruins had been glorious villages.

Great in power and knowledge were the clans. So said R-sak. So his visions told him. Moving across the plains in great wanes, powered not by four legged flesh and blood skeel, but by the heat of the sun. Traveling the seas in moving constructions the size of a mountain. Even traveling the sky. Even to the stars. Surely this was an untruth, but Niloc was unsure. With the distance of time, who could know what was truth. What could have been. According to R-sak, the clans had reached too far. Finding the Others among the stars. The Others who said they came in peace, but instead came as conquerors. According to R-sak, the clans were strong then, and gave great battle to the Others. A battle that left them both destroyed, and left the clans and the Aranu as they are now.

Yet some knowledge survived, handed down from seer to seer over generations. R-sak said the fall happened long ago. More lives of the clan than he could count. More turns ago than the number of new grass shoots on the plains in spring. More turns in the past than the stars in the sky. With that distance, what could be believed and what could be truth? Yet the ruins were there. Someone or something had built them. Why not the clans? He laughed to himself, Why not indeed! Niloc sometimes doubted the knowledge, but he would remember it and pass it on none the less. It was his duty. To R-sak if not his fellow clansmen.

He thought of the lessons R-sak had taught. Was this passing of knowledge from seer to seer where the foretelling came from? The words were hope. Could it truly be that Others would come from the sky? Presaged by the disappearance of Deminal, the nearest moon? Not the Others that had destroyed the clans and their world, but new Others, bringing new ways. Beings that would unite them against their enemies, and one who would be Drakil-at’sakaal above them all.

If history and remembering was not, the prophecy at least was hailed by all the clans. It was a thing to look forward too. An end to the struggle. A beginning. A re-emergence after blood and death and sickness. All the things contained in the prophecy were unknown, shrouded in mystery and the mists of time. Call it faith. Niloc believed it would happen, and the legend said it would begin with a pillar of fire descending from the heavens amidst a great thundering noise.

Was what was witnessed three turns ago the beginning? Niloc had seen it himself. He’d gone to the weeds to do what was necessary when he saw it. Streaming across the sky. Falling far across the mountains of Sar in the early morning when the dark covering the land was deepest. The sentries had seen it also, and they murmured nervously among themselves. There was no sound, but Deminal had disappeared. His face had not been seen glowing low in the sky for many nights, leaving the sky dark and sinister so that the young feared to leave the huts. Just before he vanished, the moon had come alive, changing to a writhing blue demon that made the darkest shadows dance. Then, in the blink of an eye, Deminal disappeared. And there were other changes that made one question as well, such as the shaking earth and the violent storms that ran rampant across the land.

A great debate had begun among the elders. Was the prophecy unfolding? If so, who would see and guide the Others? What if it was the Others, and the Aranu got to them first? Should warriors be sent to search? So many questions. So many things to worry about, and no answers could be found, though the wise ones searched long in their arcane ways. And the high summer pastures could not wait.

In their arrogance, the council decided these events could not be the signs they had waited for. For would the Others not come to Clan Sar-too first? They said that Deminal had merely turned his face. He would return in time. And the earth had calmed. The fire in the sky was just another shooting star, seen on any cloudless night. Their world had again become as it was. But Niloc continued to watch the sky, staring at the points of light with eyes of molten silver. He continued to wonder. Something ‘had’ changed. He felt it that night, and he felt it now. Instinctively, his two-thumbed fist griped harder on the hilt of his sword. The wind of change made him shiver.

Chapter 1

Earth 2009

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T minus three minutes and counting. The voice from Mission Control was so clear they could have been sitting next to him and though he’d been anticipating it, it still sent a shiver of excitement and fear through him. Lt. Colonel James Mac Crowe, square jawed, dark haired and none too happy, sat in the command seat of the Shuttle Atlantis nervously watching his computer screens, scanning intently for any spike or abnormality that could scrub his mission. A nine-year veteran of the space program with four shuttle missions, he was used to the routine by now. But this mission was anything but routine. Three days earlier America’s satellites began to vanish. One after another on a line 30° latitude north. The first to go was a GPS Bird over the Pacific followed quickly by a Telecom satellite. Ground sensors detected no breakup and no debris. There had been zero problems with the satellites and no detectable missile launch, no evidence of any type of weapons used. They simply were there and then they were gone. In the next two hours three more satellites followed the pair into oblivion.

Ground Stations at Pearl Harbor, the Philippines and the Azores, as well as several near orbit military data collection satellites, were re-directed to search for any cause, terrestrial or otherwise. For any clue as to what could have happened. The military machine was reacting like an anthill kicked by six-year-old and every available asset the US had was searching for possible causes, real or imagined. Like clock work, everything along that plane within a 300 mile wide swath simply vanished, and it wasn’t particular about nation of origin. The lone exception was a very low orbit piece of space junk left over from the cold war. Why this was missed was a continuing and burning question.

The accusations were beginning to fly. The Russians accused the Chinese, the Chinese accused the Americans, the Russians, the Iranians and anyone else they thought might want a piece of their little garden country. The entire globe was hotly debating who or what could have caused this scale of terrorism. The ET crazies were pounding the internet and the end of the world was being heralded by more religious sects than Mac could count. Military alert status of every army worth the name went to dangerously high levels the world over. One wrong move or one nervous finger and… Fighting had already broken out in several hotspots around the globe. Pakistan and India renewed their decade’s old dispute, engaging in a massive battle over the Kashmir, and half of Africa seemed to be burning. Separatists and terrorists of every form were taking this opportunity to vent their frustrations on someone else. And increasingly that someone was the good old USA.

But the mystery in the sky was not yet finished with them. The International Space Station (Unity) lay directly in the path of the mysterious disappearances. The as yet unfinished Station was manned by a science team of five, two Americans, one Russian, a Japanese and a Brit and while the Station did have an escape pod, it had a limited range with no re-entry capability. The entire world watched as the invisible line approached. Radio and video onboard the Station captured the complete event. The scientists on board watched with a mixture of fascination and dread as their doom approached. But there was nothing for them to see. Nothing for those on earth to see except the cold of space, yet the entire world paused to watch. Like a candle going out in a dark room the Station simply vanished. The radio signal and video feed stopped as if a plug were pulled, the transmission cut off in mid sentence. There was no explosion, no breakup, the station was simply gone.

Within twenty four hours the entire sky along that path was swept clean. Then, just as suddenly, fifteen hours ago one of the GeoSync satellites suddenly re-appeared. It was almost half way around the globe from where it should have been and about fifty miles higher in orbit, but there appeared to be no physical damage. A ground station was re-aligned to the satellites position and received a happy all green from the onboard computers.

So the President, pressured by the Joint Chiefs and his Cabinet and governments across the globe, made a decision to go get that satellite. They would use an emergency shuttle mission; it was the only possible option and possibly their best opportunity to solve the mystery of what could have happened up there in the empty desolation of space. Which was why Mac was sitting in the Atlantis, waiting to be blasted into the very teeth of what ever had claimed the Unity. He and his team had been scheduled to fly a mission to the Space Station in the coming week to deliver the newest module, which was still snuggled away in his cargo bay. Unfortunately, it could not be off loaded in time for the emergency launch window. They could go now or wait five days, so it was now or possibly never. Mac and his crew would just have to jettison the module once in orbit to make room for the wayward GPS satellite.

His normal crew of seven had been trimmed to four. Beside him was his pilot Cameron Cam Mitchell, dark haired, short, stocky and cocky, and behind them were the two Payload Specialists Susan Rael and Tyler Parker. Volunteers? Not in the strict sense, but someone had to go and they were the most prepared. And when the boss says fly, you fly. But space flight was not an emergency type of business and so Mac fretted like a mother hen. And since there had been few flights since operations were re-started after the Colombia disaster, Mac had even more to think about. Everyone on that flight was a friend and NASA would forever carry their ghosts as a badge of failure.

T minus one minute and counting. All systems were normal and the launch looked like a go. Unfortunately, even with problems this launch would be a go. That was the part that made Mac so nervous. They would take abnormal risks with this flight because America and the world desperately needed that satellite. The normal Mission Control to ship conversations sounded a little hollow to him right now. With a deep breath he waited.

At T Minus thirty all controls went automatic. Mac could abort but that was about all the control he had left. If the shuttle launched, he and the crew became glorified passengers with little direction over events until they hit orbit.

T minus ten. A small red light screamed for immediate attention on the panel in front of him indicating one of the umbilical lines failed to release. As Mac suspected, Control quickly decided to ignore the red and go, though he could imagine the beehive of activity as they frantically tried to figure out the cause then quickly rectify the problem. Mac’s stomach tightened and he settled himself more securely in his seat. No matter how often you did this the butterflies were always there but he tingled all over his senses kicking into overdrive. At T minus three seconds the umbilical dropped away and all systems burned with a satisfactory green including the previously offending red LED.

With engines at full power and the entire shuttle shaking like a magnitude 8 quake, Mac could hear Tyler uttering a prayer. A prayer which was drowned by Cam’s whoop of glee as the Shuttle lifted from the pad then quickly accelerated to Mach 2 kicking them with two G’s after a second and building quickly to 4 and beyond. Just before liftoff, Cam pushed the play button on his CD and they blasted into the sky to the sound of Queen’s Flash Gordon, a little known trademark for any of their flights. One frowned on but tolerated by Mission Control, though they played hell filtering it from the media broadcasts.

One minute in and Cam announced all systems continued Green, his voice distorted slightly from the multiple G’s. At seventy eight seconds his stomach again tightened involuntarily. He awaited the command from Houston. A distant voice that would order the on board computers to, Throttle Up! This was the point in flight that had claimed the Challenger and every astronaut on every flight since felt the same kick in the gut.

Atlantis, this is Houston, Throttle up on my mark. Mark! Mac felt the kick as adrenalin pulsed through his body but seventy eight seconds had passed and he still lived. Mission control confirmed all green and Mac could feel their sigh of relief as well. Three and a half minutes into the flight the Booster Rockets quit and the shuttle slowed. Mac could feel the ship shudder under his feet as small explosions separated the shuttle from her two boosters. They fell away from Atlantis in graceful arcs plunging down to the shimmering Atlantic to be recovered and used again.

By me I hope, was his unspoken thought.

Simultaneous with booster separation, Atlantis’s main engines built to full thrust and with a punch, the acceleration increased pushing the shuttle towards 6.92 miles per second and escape from the gravity well of earth. Mac smiled through several gravities of additional weight as all indicators continued green, a perfect launch. Ten wonderfully uneventful minutes later, they’d boosted into a stable orbit. Atlantis was hovering head down at over fourteen thousand miles an hour, the blue jewel above them feeling like a weight. So many down; up there, he corrected, were counting on them. He admired the view for a moment more and sighed, so much for routine, now the real work began.

The plan was to approach the satellite from below in a fast chase orbit, flip the shuttle over, snatch it quickly, then dive for reentry and touch down. Mission Control wanted the satellite on the ground and in a lab ASAP; the safety of his crew was a distant secondary priority.

Minimal Orbit achieved, un-strapping now. Cam’s voice was held and echo coming from both the ear phone and the chair next to Mac. He heard Houston concur.

You are in chase orbit, ETA to target two hours ten min, this information supplied by ground control. You have about forty five minutes twenty seconds until the next thruster burn.

The constant verbal updates and instructions were coming despite the fact the computers were keeping it all under automated control. Nerves were frayed at both ends of the connection.

All right Sue, you and Tyler execute job number one. Dump the cargo. Mac wanted it out and gone just as swiftly and efficiently as they’d rehearsed it on the simulators back on earth. Let’s get it out and make a hole for our wayward package. The plan calls for having the bay clear within the hour so let’s hop.

Yes Sir, they mumbled in unison. Tyler gave Sue an as if we didn’t know look, as they finished suiting up, preparing for the most dangerous job above the planet, working in the dead of space. Neither was too enthused about being rushed into offloading several tons of mass. And they would be doing it while the shuttle was still maneuvering. Yet there were no other options and none of them wanted to be in this neighborhood any longer than necessary. While they worked, Mac and Cam scanned for systems problems. So far so good, Mac thought.

Houston, any change on the target? Cam queried.

Negative, Atlantis, we’ll keep you updated, a terse reply.

He laughed. I guess they want me to quit asking.

Too damn bad, Mac shot back. They can have an attitude when it’s their ass on the line up here.

Cam laughed again. Not likely! You know they only hire us handsome, less than intelligent studs to blast into space. I believe they think we won’t notice.

Good looking? Sue’s voice echoed and stung him from below in the aft deck near the bay hatch, Geeze, they must’ve had real low standards when you darkened the recruiters door. They left all the poster boys on the ground. Her voice was a wistful sigh. Man, did you see that hot one assist me into my seat just before we launched. We’re having drinks later.

Ouch, the lady has an attitude after all. Cam feigned a hurt look, but winked at Mac. Hey, I saw that guy, Sue. He was helping you but he was asking Tyler. Sue chuckled, but the humor was lost on Tyler, as usual he was all business.

Ready to enter the bay in ten! Tyler said it loud to cut them off.

All right people, Mac wanted it done with a minimum of banter as well but he couldn’t resist his own part of the give and take, let’s get the job done and get this big beautiful baby back home and tucked into the garage. I want to cook a steak and drink a beer in my own back yard this time tomorrow. Houston, you’re buying!

Chuckles went through the intercom. The tension was broken for now and they got on with the order of the day.

For Mac, the next half hour seemed like days. Each minute dragged by. The two payload specialists donned their suits, completed their interior tasks and were just exiting the tunnel lock into the bay. The air pressure was still up in there and would stay that way while they prepared the module.

Over the radio Mac gave them an update. Six minutes till thruster burn. Get done what you can, I’ll warn you with a minute left so you can lock down. Houston may be taking chances but Mac wouldn’t. This was his crew and these were his friends and he intended to get them back in one piece.

Five minutes later Mac announced, One minute, team.

He and Cam strapped back into their seats. Sue and Tyler got into the bay jump seats and announced they were ready. They’d had just enough time to limber up the bay crane prior to the burn. Mac assessed their options. Not many. Everything in the bay was running about ten minutes behind schedule but stopping now couldn’t be helped.

Here we go twelve second burn on Aft Thrusters in five, four, three, two, one now.

The Atlantis jolted gently as the burn accelerated the shuttle, causing it to lift higher in orbit as it gained on the target. To Mac it felt like he was in a state of grace as he felt his ship move and dance under him. She was a wonder and it felt like a sailing ship answering to gentle pressure on her rudder.

The burn looks perfect Atlantis, ETA to target one hour twenty five minutes, cracked the disembodied voice from Mission Control.

Ok people, everything looks good. Unbuckle and get back to it. Mac directed back to the bay, Sue, give us five minutes updates.

Affirmative. Clicked in his ear. There was no banter now.

Mac looked out the front windows of the shuttle. He was searching for a glimpse of their target but all he could see were millions of stars, a sight that usually left him awestruck. Now he felt very small and far more than insignificant. Very vulnerable. There was some alien force at work here. He could feel it. A force over which he could exert exactly zero control; a situation he always hated. Mac felt a little like a stick thrown into a spring flood. Carried on the whim of current and contour. Ride it out. That was their only option and, being professionals, they turned too with a vengeance.

Mac, this is Sue, we’ve got a problem.

He snapped out of his thoughts, his stomach clenching, Go ahead Sue, what do you have?

One bolt on the port side forward tie-down is frozen. We need to torch it off.

Damn, he thought, this is the last thing we need. Affirmative Sue, how much time?

Tyler says about fifteen minutes, but we’ll probably be tossing the damn thing out about the same time we get to the target.

I confirm, Cam said doing the quick calculation.

Mac replied, Understood, Sue. Anything we can do to help from in here, or do you need an extra pair of hands?

Her voice was tight, No Commander, just time. I’ll keep you posted.

Mac fretted, wanting to be out there with them, lending a hand. But as the Commander on this mission he had to let his people do their jobs. All he could do was wait and rely on their skills. A few minuets later Cam gave them the news they were waiting for, I have a visual on the target.

Mac turned back to the command console and stared out at the stars.

Dead center. Cam pointed it out amid the clutter of multicolored pinpoints, just another bright dot on the horizon.

Atlantis, this is Houston, we show you at twenty eight miles and closing at one per minute. Do you confirm?

Confirm Houston, and we do have a visual, Mac replied.

Sue broke in, Commander. We have it free, ready to open bay doors.

Mac smiled his first in awhile. Ok team, lock yourselves in, doors open in thirty seconds. Blow the air when you’re ready

With a vibrating, the massive bay doors slowly opened to the cold emptiness of space. After the doors were deployed, Cam announced the spin burn which would turn them belly down. With almost a sigh the Atlantis rolled over and sunlight, unobstructed and unfiltered, crawled through the shadows making the inside of Atlantis seem almost surreal.

Doors open and locked spin complete, Cam announced. We’re ready to lose our package.

Mac asked the next obvious question, How long to get the module out and free? He was beginning to feel more worried by the minute. They were trying to cut this real close and retrieving a satellite was not the easiest thing to do.

We need fifteen more minutes to get it out, unattached and pushed away, came the reply.

Watching his monitor Mac saw his bay team scramble in the weightlessness trying to get the job done as quickly as possible and cut precious minutes of their estimate. Sue was working the controls on the boom and Tyler was floating above directing the process. His Commander’s eye showed him that both had safety lines attached.

Mac continued watching the process simultaneously through the bay door window and one of the internal monitors. He was working mentally through the steps gauging the time. Suddenly and with out warning the entire ship shuddered and rocked to the left as if pushed by an unseen hand. Mac was thrown sideways into the bulkhead striking his shoulder and brow. Almost peripherally, he felt pain shoot through his chest and neck. Cam was tossed up and out of his seat and flew against the ceiling, flailing his arms and legs in a futile attempt at control as everyone began shouting at once. Mac heard Cam yell that the Atlantis was spinning.

I can’t see Tyler, Sue shouted. Oh my god his tether snapped. I can’t see him!

Tyler was yelling incoherently, pleading for help, no single word distinct. Though that could have been a result of all the traffic on the com.

What happened, Atlantis! This is mission control, what the hell just happened? Talk to us!

The mission to bring back a satellite had just changed into a disaster and worst of all; the module was loose in the hold pinned against the side by the inertia of their new and unplanned spin.

Calm down Tyler, calm down, we will get you, Mac said the words but knew in his heart that those chances were slim. He moved back to his seat

Cam, can you get us back under control? We need to locate Tyler. Sue, are you hurt? Tyler, hold on, where are you? Are you near the ship? Mac was firing questions with as much calm professionalism as he could muster, he needed answers and quick but he couldn’t panic.

I’m going to try a port side thrust to stabilize, Cam yelled trying to be heard over the questions and answers being flung through the com.

Tyler spoke suddenly clear, I’m drifting farther away and I'm tumbling. I can’t stop. Help, Atlantis! A small silence then, Help me. His voice was now calm and resigned.

Sue had not answered Mac’s question. She was trying to climb toward the open bay doors in a spinning ship where gravity had now become a major problem.

Cam spoke to her, Sit tight and grab on to something. We’re trying to stop the spin; firing thrusters now! He toggled the thrusters and the world began to slow down. When he finished the Atlantis changed from a spinning top to slow almost elegant drifting turn.

Mac keyed his headset switching from inter-ship to Ground Control. Houston I am declaring an emergency. I repeat. I am declaring an emergency! We have a man adrift and in trouble. We’re off course and we need some help. Houston, what can you tell me?

He heard Sue shout that she could see Tyler off the starboard and aft about 200 yards out, almost simultaneously he heard Cam mumble a soft yet pointed, Holy Shit. Houston echoing, What’s that?

Mac turned to the