Serial - Part 10 (OC)

Serial (Part 10 – Frontier)

Mandy winced as her thumb nail tore down to the quick. Dots of red blood welled up along its rim and she noted that her thumb now matched the rest of her fingers. She sucked at it, cringing as the coppery taste of blood tickled at her tongue.

Nothing had been the same since the night at the Club. The nail biting was just today’s little development. She had hardly slept in the past week and when she did her dreams were fitful and dark. In them she was in the basement of the Club again. The corpse was there too, broad teeth glowing white in the gloom. In her dreams she hears someone whisper her name and she calls to them. Then there is light, brilliant and white, coming from the doorway and her eyes are drawn to the wall. There is still a message on the wall but it has changed to be her name. She hears the whisper again and sees it is the corpse that is talking, blood caked lips cracking as they hiss her name. She wasn’t sure why it frightened her. She was a human, after all. She had seen bodies before and felt starvation. She had even watched as her mother, wrapped in white, was slid out the airlock to wander the stars forever. If there were such things as talking corpses or ghosts they had perished on Earth. She pulled her thumb from her mouth, again watching the blood begin to well.

“Are you paying attention Ms. Williams?” the Instructor asked. Mandy looked up, startled. The Instructor was one of the glass skinned Lenti although Mandy had missed her name. The educational program for member species relied on a revolving door of guest lecturers and experts in an attempt to foster students of a pan-galactic mentality. Mandy had given up on remembering their names during her first week at the academy. She nodded and the instructor turned back to the lesson, currently hovering over the center of the round chamber.

Projected in hard light was one of the Black Watch Towers. It was a long pillar with five rings encircling it, spaced evenly out along its thirty-seven kilometer length. “Now,” the Lenti Instructor said, “there are a total of eight hundred and twelve Black Watch Towers. Can anyone tell me why we need them?”

A Carg boy raised a three fingered hand, “They are for pan-galactic communication.”

The Lenti nodded and it occurred to Mandy that she could see the translucent tendons of her instructors neck contracting to complete the motion. “That’s correct,” she said, “But why do we need them?” When no one rose to answer she gestured to the projected image of the station, “Every colony has a communications array. Every ship too. Why do we need them?”

Mandy raised a hand, “Because exchange of information is limited by the light speed barrier without sub-light passages.” The Lenti nodded and she let out a breath. Where had she learned that? She couldn’t say for sure.

“Ms. Williams is correct. The transference of communications between member systems and species is limited by the speed of light, a limitation which our ships bypass via sub-light passages,” she gestured with a thin hand and the image above them changed to present the sub-light diagram that was, by now, a familiar sight to any student who had spent longer than a day in the science program. A curved half dome, meant to represent the universe. The dome tilted to reveal its interior, through which a ship passed, carving a tunnel through quantum space and sneaking around the laws of nature. Like a worm in apple, boring through the center rather than skirting across the surface. “Can anyone tell me what sub-light travel requires?” The Lenti asked.

“Power,” someone responded and she nodded again.

“Enormous power,” she said, “Interstellar craft can manage it but what about our information? Surely we don’t all have reactor cores in our homes to make calls with. That is where the Black Watch Towers come in.” She gestured again and the half dome universe righted itself as small black pillars sprouted all along its surface. “The Black Watch towers act as funnel points for the transference of data. Messages we send and receive travel to the nearest tower and from there are transmitted via sub-light to the tower closest to the communications address. From there it travels via conventional methods to your recipient. So, in what seems to us a blink of the eye, we can speak to species far removed from Keleshia. In this way the Black Watch Towers act as the backbone of our great society and allow a thousand species to join their voices as one.”

Well, Mandy thought darkly, one thousand and one. She tapped on her data pad, pretending to take notes. Across the room from her Brixo seemed equally distracted, his pinched red eyes fixed on a spot on the floor in front of him. Of all of the members of their little gang he was the one most affected by the corpse. He had come running when Dow began to shout. She could still remember the panicked wheeze of his breath when she noticed him, frozen in terror beside her.

Norviegi came from a dark world and their night vision was superb and although he had yet to say as much, Mandy had to guess he had seen something in that dark chamber that the rest of them had missed, something terrible. Either that or his bravado was all show. At least, that was what she told herself. She had been unable to get much of a conversation out of him since that night. Every attempt on her part had been answered with halfhearted apologies or outright admissions that he would rather not talk about it. The sentiment seemed to be shared. Brixo was distant and Friss had gone unaccustomedly cool since the incident. Even Dow was gone, his family pulling him from class for the week. But, she thought eyeing Brixo, that would change today.

Above her the Lenti instructor had changed the image again to display the Black Water Network. Each tower was identified with a brilliant yellow sphere in the tumbling cosmos, glittering lines of communication connecting them all in a vast web that spanned half the known galaxy. Like a web, she thought, just missing a spider.

When the crystal chimes began to ring, signaling the end of class, Mandy was the first to her feet. She eyed Brixo as he collected his things and stood, moving for the door. She slid in behind him, her own bag hugged tight to her side. “Brixo?” she said.

He flinched, eyes darting over his shoulder. He was afraid, she realized. Of course he was. Not every day you see the kind of carnage they had. “Hey,” she said, “You got a minute?”

A wet, black tongue darted out of his mouth and his long, thin ears twitched. “Yeah,” he said, turning to face her. His smile was the same, wide and easy and showing too many sharp teeth but it still seemed forced. Too drawn at the corners. “What’s up meat sack?”

“I want to talk about the club,” she said.

The smile on Brixo’s face vanished as quickly as it arrived. He looked down at the floor between them, “I don’t… I don’t want to, Mandy. We should just leave it alone. We already told the Peace Keepers everything we know.”

“But-“

“Drop it,” he said, his sharp tone hurting her more than she had expected it would. Why was he being so dodgy? It was terrible, sure, monstrous even but there was something more to his reaction, there had to be.

Around them the last remains of the class parted and moved off to their next lessons, the Lenti instructor being the last to leave. Mandy waited for them to pass. “I can’t sleep,” she finally said. “I keep dreaming about it. You?”

“I don’t dream,” he said, finally looking up to meet her eyes. “You should stop talking about it. It…” he seemed to wrestle with the next few words and soon enough they were falling out of him, “It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

She blinked at him, confused, “What do you mean? Brixo I was there. Me and Dow and you and Friss, we found the body.”

“But that was our place,” he snapped. “It was a ruin but it was ours. Then we take you there and it goes to shit.”

Mandy’s stomach twisted. Was that why he had been avoiding her? And what about Friss and Dow, did they think the same thing? “You can’t… you can’t think this is somehow my fault?”

“No,” he said immediately but there was no conviction in it, “Mandy… one is bad enough but two murders and the data feeds say it’s the same guy. A human… and that writing, it was your tongue right?”

“I didn’t kill anyone, Brixo,” she almost shouted. They couldn’t think that. She was their token human, their friend. “You were with me that night, I couldn’t have-“

“I know,” he said. He reached out a hand and set it on her shoulder but no sooner has his skin touched hers that he flinched away. He was afraid alright; he was afraid of her. “Look,” he said, “It’s just… there are not too many humans around, ya know? And the body… how could someone be capable of that? And if the killer is then…”

“You think I am?” she finished. While he didn’t confirm it, his halfhearted shrug was enough. “Do Dow and Friss feel this way?” She asked, afraid of the answer.

“Maybe,” he said, “Just maybe it would be better if we didn’t talk about it. Just, give everyone some time. I mean its one thing to hear about but another to…” he looked up at her and for the first time she realized it wasn’t just fear or exhaustion in his eyes. But suspicion as well. “Just give everyone a few days. Once Dow comes back we can all find time to hang out. That alright?”

She nodded, her mouth feeling suddenly dry as she said she would see him later. He echoed the sentiment and then walked away. Just a few days, she thought. Once Dow came back, everything would be back to normal. But, she was not a child anymore. She had crossed the stars and tasted the edge of starvation and death and as she watched him leave the comfortable lies felt thin.

Glancing back over her shoulder into the classroom she saw the Black Watch network was still displayed, hovering above the circular chamber below. A web, she thought again. A massive one that ensnared them all and left them bound, waiting on the mercy of spiders.

Wiping tears from her eyes she ran from the building.

---

The endless dark of the frontier spread out before Bramat, pockmarked by the ships of the Consortium’s seventeenth fleet. On his screen data collected by the recon probes scrolled past, detailing fleet layouts and tactical analysis of the enemy, although he barely paid it any mind. The enemy was a war species called the Quoth. Insectoids, their ships mirrored their bodies. Bulbous, clumsy modular designs that prioritized grasping arms and magnetic grapplers. If any had long range ordinance they were basic kinetics that wouldn’t even breach the outer shielding of the most basic of fleet seventeen’s frigates. A barbarian species the Consortium’s expansionary fleets had encountered them some twenty years ago while searching out new colony worlds. For a time both parties had seemed happy enough to ignore each other but that had changed when the Quoth suddenly attacked a research outpost on Namian Four and devoured all inside. That was where Bramat came in.

Every single engagement thus far between the Quoth host and the Consortium had been the military equivalent of a grocery run and Bramat had left hundreds of enemy ships fire gutted and breaking apart in his wake. Thus far they had chased the tail of Quoth expansion from their outer colonies towards their core world, driving them out of eleven systems. Today would make twelve. The only casualty had been a pair of Consortium gun boats that had been unlucky enough to get caught in the shockwave when a Quoth battlecruiser went critical. It was not the sort of battle Bramat had envisioned for himself when he was a callous and vicious Renjaw youth, but it was one he had come to enjoy more and more the closer he crept towards retirement. Let the young have glory and blood. He would take the path that would lead a warm nest where he could die of old age.

“Admiral Bramat,” the tech officer, a Kelesh, called, “telemetry shows that the Quoth fleet is preparing to depart orbit around Dissala. They will encounter our vanguard within the hour. What are your orders?”

While customary, the question was unnecessary. Regardless of how brave the Quoth were they were also painfully predictable. As with every other engagement they would form a spear head and plunge directly into the center of the fleet, likely hoping to close the distance so their magnetic grapplers could latch onto Bramat’s ships. “Form flanking lines,” he said, punching in the coordinates as he spoke. “Present our face to them. The moment they enter the engagement zone close ranks on their sides and rear.”

“Yes admiral,” the tech responded and a moment later the ships outside moved to obey.

Soon the battle would play out as it always had, he knew, like an old song. The Quoth would arrive, engines gutting as their rudimentary sub-light drives fought not to shake their ships apart. They would burn hydrogen thrusters and dive straight for the broad, black face of the seventeenth fleet’s capital ship, a Keleshi Battle Cruiser called Fearless. Then the flanking lines would close around them and open fire, feeding the Quoth fleet into a maw of plasma and missiles. Already their victory was projected by the ships tactical computer.

Bramat settled himself into the captain’s seat, drawing his thick tail in a coil around his waist. All that was left to do was wait. Even once the battle started the tactical computer would hand out the orders, establishing firing patterns and ship maneuvers at billions of calculations a second. He resolved himself to wait. That was alright, old men were good at waiting.

When the perimeter alarms began to whine he stood again. “Report,” he ordered.

“The Quoth fleet is moving in as predicted sir,” one of his crew responded.

Bramat looked out. He couldn’t see them yet, their dark bodies gliding through a dark sky. Far ahead, he knew, the captains of his vanguard would be watching the Quoth pass in their suicide rush.

“They are entering the engagement zone, sir,” his tech officer confirmed.

Bramat raised his arm to give the order to engage but he paused. For one moment he had the strangest feeling. Like he was being watched, or hunted. Absurdly he felt the urge to flee. But, it was just a feeling. “Fire,” he ordered.

In the distance space lit up, lances of plasma and energy streaking through the dark. A minute later and the first explosion flared, momentarily making a new star in the sky. Soon, he knew, it would be over. He settled back into his seat, eyelids heavy, contented to watch the fireworks play out across the sky.

“Sir!” tech officer Frin suddenly shouted, “Sir, we just lost the Gron.”

Bramat turned, alarmed. “The Gron? Confirm the reading.” The Gron was a destroyer, three times the size of any of the Quoth ships and more heavily armed than the entire Quoth fleet.

“Confirmed sir,” Frin said a moment later, her voice shaky, “She was hit by cross fire. An entire salvo of blasts from the Brundi.” More information began to flood the screens as more and more explosions lit the distant sky, “More casualties sir. Two destroyers and a dozen frigates. All friendly fire.”

Bramat felt a cool chill creep across his neck. Friendly fire was impossible. The tactical computer wouldn’t allow it, even if the crews had manually taken control of their guns. The Consortium fleet tact-com was the most advanced in the galaxy. Even if the crew was dead the system would compensate, initiating basic battle operations and then auto-piloting to safe sky for resupply. Had those ships somehow been boarded?

“Sir,” Frin said as another brilliant flash went up, “We just got reports that our weapons refuse to lock onto Quoth targets. The Quoth have engaged our vanguard without resistance.”

“What is this?” Bramat asked aloud and when no answer came he turned to face his crew. “Will someone tell me what the hell is going on!?”

“Something is wrong with the tact-com,” Frin continued, panic now laced through her voice, “Our ships are targeting each other. Sir, we just lost a heavy cruiser.”

Bramat looked back out at the dark sky, a low growl reverberating in his throat. Whatever trick this was, he would make the Quoth pay with their skin. “Sound the retreat,” he ordered, “All ships enter sub-light and meet at the staging site.”

The order was given out and the ships in sight turned their backs on the battle, their sub-light drives warming up. The Fearless let out a loud hum as it prepared to jump them away from this nightmare. Then, the engine died with a sudden gasp. All across the fleet the sub-lights went dark.

“What-“ Bramat asked before he was cut off by the blaring of a siren. His clawed hands flew to his ears as he turned, searching for the source. On every screen aboard the bridge an image appeared. It was a world, blue and white and green, perched placid amidst strange stars.

The siren cut out. Nobody moved, nobody spoke, all eyes drawn to that little blue world. “What is this?” Bramat finally asked.

“This,” a voice responded, coming from every speaker aboard the ships of the seventeenth fleet, “is Earth. A small world. Inconsequential in the larger scope of the universe. Oxygen atmosphere, rocky surface and an indigenous population of warm blooded mammalians. It was lost before your people ever reached it, dead. Crushed beneath the hammer of Gods. But I am not here to talk about Earth. I am here to talk about the Quoth.”

“Who are you?” Bramat asked.

“A ghost,” the voice responded. “Interesting people, the Quoth. No individual thought in their heads. They are born in pods of twenty to thirty and live their entire lives within that unit and each unit serves a queen. On their own they are merely vessels of the collective will but together… together they make songs so beautiful they make you weep to hear them. Did you know that, Admiral? Did you know that when a new Quoth is born each member of the species feels the ecstasy of that first breath? Did you know that when each Quoth dies, they feel its agony? Your anthropologists certainly do. It’s all in here, in your data banks but you didn’t bother to read, did you? To you they are the enemy, a barbarian species, unfit for member status, just waiting to be crushed. But the thing about life is, Admiral, the thing about life is it doesn’t like to be crushed. It doesn’t like to be left out in the dark.”

Somewhere distantly Bramat heard the metallic shriek as a magnetic grappler adhered itself to the hull of the Fearless. “They want to come inside,” the voice continued, “They want you to feel their dead.”

“Sir,” the Kelesh was screaming, “Sir we have reports that shields are down across the fleet. The Quoth are boarding us.”

“Stop this!” Bramat shouted, “Whoever you are, let my crew go. They are innocent!”

“That’s where you’re wrong. But I don’t have time to educate you, and neither do you. I want you to know something, Admiral. I forgive you and I have a gift for you. I give you glorious purpose. In life, you were a cruel and vicious despot who hid his war crimes behind the veil of duty. I am going to rewrite that legacy for you. I will make you a symbol. I will make you an omen of ill tidings.”

“You will pay for this!” Bramat promised, fear now saturating his voice. “Whoever you are, you will suffer!”

“I already have,” the voice responded. “I’ll leave the life support on. I wouldn’t want to rob the Quoth anything. Say hello to them for me. I regret that I shan’t be meeting them.” Then the voice was gone and the screens went dark.

In the gloom of the bridge Bramat’s crew stared at him, wide eyed, mouths gaping open while elsewhere in the ship men and women began to scream. Bramat turned and looked out into the expanse of space.

Out there, dark shapes moved closer.

---

Link to Part 10 - Calling the Hounds

Link to Part 9 - Miller

Thanks for reading!