The truth machine, p.28
Nebula: A Space Opera in the Classic Tradition (Blood Empire Book 2), page 28
Nebula’s cavernous weapons hatch is fully open.
I leap into action, swiping at speed through menus while shouting at Danielli. “Turn Constellation around and back us into that aperture. At full speed and with defense shields at maximum.”
He doesn’t blink. “Yes, ma’am.”
We’re thrown to one side in our seats while the antigrav system reacts. I howl in pain as I knock the side of my head against the back of the captain’s chair, leaving me seeing stars and with a dizziness I can’t shake.
“Jackson, you are gonna fry.” Scorpion’s anger cuts through our frenetic activity.
“Not if I can help it,” I mumble under my agonized breath. “And neither will Rykkamon.”
Rojkan looks on, helpless.
An Unstoppable Act
“ Indy, get out of there, it’s pointless—”
I mute Mitch’s desperate pleas. We’re seconds away from blocking Nebula’s weapon of destruction. Like a plug blocks a basin. I grin to myself as I now understand more about Frohlt’s analogy. Turning to Danielli, I instruct him to hold us under power against Nebula, no matter what. Once we’re jammed against it, Nebula could theoretically move and shrug us off, but as I’ve just proved, my ship is faster. And smaller. We’ll be able to stay attached like a dog clamped on a bone. But it will take some deft piloting. I’d do it myself, but I have a bigger job to do.
“Captain, the weapon…” General Garnek states the obvious.
Constellation is bearing down backwards on the approach, but the Scorpion has already launched the white-hot bolts of death, streaking toward the vulnerable planet. I can’t do anything about that.
Within seconds they are striking Constellation’s hull as we ram ourselves into Nebula’s aperture with metran grating against metran. I grit my teeth as the bumping reignites the pain in my cheek.
Checking Constellation’s unique defense shields, I see they are withstanding the brutal onslaught, but the whole ship groans in protest. We are losing, despite our protection. Nebula’s point-blank-range immense attack is inexorably melting through whatever mysterious energy absorption our shields can handle.
That fact alone gives me confidence I’m on the right track. No ordinary weapon could do this. But Constellation’s drive is no ordinary piece of physics.
Danielli grunts in concentration, holding our ship firm, feeling when the Scorpion tries to shake the huge battlecruiser loose. “Whatever you need to do, better do it quickly. We’re not going to last long.”
The comms opens with a scream. “Back down, Jackson. You’ve lost. I’ll incinerate you along with Rykkamon.”
I spit out a frantic reply as I dive through Constellation’s drive menus. “Do that and you lose the one thing you’re desperate to capture. I’ve already set the drive to self-destruct. Shut down your weapon and surrender. You’re the one who’s lost.”
Muting the comm to Nebula, I yell at Slingshot. “Where the heck is Kreev?”
“From our readings, still functioning, ma’am. Sounds like a hell of a battle was going down after we lost the extra audiovisual. I’m only getting base metrics now, showing major energy drain. I’m not sure it’s any closer to the weapon’s power source.”
The SIM is running on low power. If Kreev encounters more skirmishes, any chance of causing damage from the inside out is fading to zero. It could expire mid-combat.
So Plan C it is.
Constellation rocks as something hard slams into it and sets off the hammers in my brain. I try to concentrate as my vision spins. What the hell?
“She smash against us.” Rojkan points to a schematic showing Nebula detaching from us before Danielli can react and slam us back in.
“I guess if she kills us all, we still win,” I mutter as I peer down at my console and then exclaim. “Yes! Found it!”
“What—?” Danielli whips around, his brow furrowed and sweaty from the effort.
“No time. Hold on and… if we don’t survive, thanks for everything.” Then I look between Rojkan and the Chief. “And I couldn’t have put this together without you both.”
But that’s it for sentimentalities as I tap the setting that will program Constellation’s drive to devour every joule of dark energy within a five kilometer radius. What our enigmatic professor might have described as pulling the plug out of the basin to drain the water.
Except, in this case, I’m tearing a moon-sized rent in space precisely where Nebula sits.
I have no idea what will happen.
The entire battlecruiser starts to whine. We look round for the source of the wail, but it’s everywhere. The grinding noise ratchets up several orders of magnitude and we’re all forced to clamp our hands over our ears. My head and eye deliver their own relentless waves of agony. Focus. Just stay focused.
Danielli hunts around for headphones, or earmuffs, taking his hand off an ear to wrench open a medPanel.
Eventually, he returns, holding out small earplugs. The most basic, non-tech solution. The sound level is brain-melting as I remove my hands to pop the little rubbery plugs in each ear, but the racket diminishes.
The helmroom vibrates, popping panels off in places.
We have to shout at each other. I gesture with excitement at the main holo. “LOOK!”
Danielli concentrates on the display. He looks over at me, confusion written on his face. “WE’RE ABSORBING THE WEAPON’S ENERGY?”
I nod.
“HOW LONG BEFORE THEY RUN OUT OF POWER?”
“THEY WON’T.” I let my words hang for a while so Danielli can digest them. But before he can yell a response over the din, I point to the comms devices and start typing. It will be easier than shouting over this painful racket.
My fingers tremble as I race across the keypad, struggling as my sight worsens. The vibrating deck shudders an ominous warning.
Danielli reads and taps back.
With a frown, I realize he is right. Not only is Constellation feasting on Nebula’s gigantic spewing energy, it’s also licking away at the edges of physical reality. From where Nebula’s hatch butts up against Constellation’s hull, the complex swirl of energies doing whatever I had guessed them to do is also dissolving our realities.
Molecule by molecule, both ships are merging and disappearing.
Down a giant drain, I hear Frohlt’s mischievous voice say in my mind.
Rojkan has sent me a message.
I look at his blurry image and shake my head.
What have I done?
An Implosive Reversal
Constellation kicks and bucks as the vibrations magnify and the sound becomes unbearable, making the earplugs almost useless. What I would give for noise-canceling headgear. Thrown about in my harness, I try to put my attention on the console, wracking my brains for what to do next.
At least if we perish, I assume Nebula will too. A moment of regret flits through my mind as I realize I won’t be able to recover Papa’s body.
But we will have saved Rykkamon.
I check the energy data and then the intersection of the two battlecruisers. An icy shiver runs down my spine, along with a sudden flash of despair.
Before I can think this horror through, the comms channel opens. It sounds like Mitch. I can’t hear what he’s saying over this punishing cacophony. I open up the visual and point to my ears and shake my head. Which hurts, but I push it down. He acknowledges and starts tapping away.
The icy dread flooding through me hits home. Constellation is gobbling up Nebula’s violent output, but the unintended consequence has both ships being consumed by… something.
And Constellation is a quarter the size of Nebula.
My ship might disappear and leave Nebula surviving, but hopefully crippled. Would that mean our sacrifice is in vain? Not understanding how that weapon works, I suspect it would remain disabled… but who knows?
There has to be another way.
The mind-numbing vibrations have become a rollercoaster ride of bumpy kicks and thuds as we’re thrown around. I can hardly concentrate with the screeching mayhem piercing my skull.
Think.
Can I really self-destruct Constellation’s drive as I’d bluffed to the Scorpion? I don’t think so.
There’s still something nagging at the dark energy concepts and Papa’s obscure references. What was he trying to tell me?
Then I get it.
But I have to park the urgent thought as the comms crackles open to reveal the Scorpion, white-faced and boiling over. She speaks, but I can’t hear her. I gesture to my ears and wave my hands around to indicate the excruciating sounds she must hear at her end. I wonder why the noise isn’t affecting Nebula the same way. There’s no point in maintaining communication anyway—I can’t stop what I’ve started—but just as I’m slapping the channel closed, I catch a glimpse of a battered Kreev appearing in the background behind the Scorpion at what looks like the entry hatch to Nebula’s helm. But it’s too late for Papa. Even if I could turn back time—
Time. Yet more ideas slot into place.
Papa’s message now coming to me from the grave was crystal clear. He must have thought I was seriously dumb not to figure it out.
I’m going to turn Frohlt’s analogy on its head. I’m not going to remove the plug and drain the sink. I’m about to pull a quantum stunt that turns the sink itself inside out and forces it up its own drain.
I pull up the drive’s menu while shouting at Rojkan, Danielli, and the Chief. “HOLD ON TIGHT.”
They stare at me with blank expressions, but I have no time to explain, so I shrug, clamp one hand on the captain’s chair’s grabrail and motion to it with my other.
They all nod and hang on, bracing themselves.
My head rages. I try to punch a button on my console, flip Constellation’s physics upside down and reverse the drive’s entire operation.
Nothing happens. I missed. With my vision swimming, I try to locate the console, but the ear-splitting sound, my banging head, and lack of sight have me stabbing out in the dark.
With one last lunge, I reach across and slam my hand on the button before falling back, exhausted.
The cacophony stops and there’s a moment of utter silence as everything hangs. My weight lifts off the chair against the harness as the artificial grav cuts out.
Then the eerie quiet ends with a massive boom, my neck whips forward, then I’m slammed into the chair as my world goes black.
I’m drifting in the darkness, bumping in slow motion against some rope before bouncing off it and back into a chair. This repeats. I’m in a pitch-black world, floating on waves.
Someone won’t stop tapping me on my arm. I push them away, keen to sink into the blackness.
Then I feel a pull at one ear, then the other. Sound rushes in as if I’ve resurfaced from underwater. There’s a loud hissing, like gas escaping—
I’m gasping for breath and I can’t see a thing. My lungs feel tight. A voice says something I don’t understand. A mask presses hard over my mouth and nose…
… and now I can breathe again. Chest heaving, I pat my hands about me. I’m in a chair, strapped in.
Constellation. My flight harness.
But why can’t I see? Am I blind?
Panicked, I try to get up. The calming voice returns. Soothing strands of emotion enter my head and I pass out.
I don’t know how much time has passed when voices drift into my awareness. “…big impact. Perhaps concussed… transfer… surface.”
I attempt to sit up, but the contents of my stomach beat me to it and all I can do is turn and vomit hard.
Then I slump back and succumb to whatever destiny awaits.
Lights. It’s bright. I vaguely remember thinking I was blind. My body is soooo heavy and I’m lying on some kind of bed, partly suited up. Why am I so heavy? I twist to one side and see a familiar face. “General Matlock?”
The face nods. “Take it easy. We’re on Rykkamon. Which still exists, thanks to you.”
“Not just to me, sir. It took all of us. But what happened to…?” I dread the answer. If I’m this beaten up, how the heck did the others fare?
“Everyone survived. A few broken bones—not you, we think you took another blow to your skull. You’re lucky you didn’t crack it open.”
“Nebula?”
“Is spacedust. You can debrief whatever trick of physics-defying tactic you deployed later. But for now, the threat is gone.”
“For now?”
“We’ll discuss all of this when you’ve recovered. I thought you’d want to see what the battle looked like from a distance.” He holds up a datapad with a freeze-frame showing. Two giant ships, clinched in a death grip. Brilliant shards of light captured for frozen eternity emanating from where the two vessels conjoin. He reaches round and sets the video in motion, then holds the screen up. I watch through one eye while lying back.
Not much happens for a few seconds. Then the twinkling energies grow more luminescent. From this distance, our fight to the death looks more like a grand light show.
The glow erupts from a warm orange to a fierce violet and a sphere of mind-boggling energy encompasses both craft. The vision becomes erratic and I have to double check Matlock is holding steady. He is.
He sees my confused expression and peers over the top. “Gravity waves.”
“Gravity… what?” Reacting too quickly has me struggling to breathe and then regretting it as my lungs burst into a coughing fit… which then triggers hammer blows inside my head.
The general waits for me to regain some calm. I wave my hand in front of me, indicating I’d rather not speak, then point to the vision, raising my eyes.
He nods. “The boffins suggest it was a massive disruption in a localized time-space. But they’re arguing about the science. Whatever you did, it’s got them excited. And perplexed.”
I find a weak voice. “Dark energy reversal…” then I can’t talk any more for fear of reigniting my pain.
Now it’s his turn to look surprised. “Yes. That’s exactly what they think it was.” He narrows his eyes. “You can explain that later. But keep watching. Closely.”
The video resumes with the searing bright purple energy bursting into a supernova-like, silent explosion.
After which, neither vessel is visible.
“What?” I say.
“Nebula vanished. As did most of Constellation. Look.”
The visuals continue. It looks like the operator is trying to zoom in on something. Then they find it and lock onto a small object, spinning over and over. And being pulled into Rykkamon’s orbit.
Another craft speeds in to intercept, which Matlock tells me was one of the Chief’s, no doubt sensing his and Rojkan’s distress. I remember Garnek telling me ages ago that Constellation’s helmroom had a failsafe impregnable, self-sustaining exterior shell—hence the double airlocks for each entry point—which was never tested. Until now. I’m guessing that was one area where Nebula wasn’t constructed to the same specifications as Constellation. Kozlov did say Oberon was in a hurry to build it. I look up at Matlock. “Helm?”
He inclines his head. “The data analysts believe that when the time and space collapse happened, there was a singular core at which the dark energy reversal effectively broke itself. Probably when Constellation’s drive was consumed and sucked into some other dimension. Which left some physical parts of both ships still standing. But because of the momentum of the reversal itself, it—”
“Kept pulling itself into the collapse. Like trying to stop a current of water escaping a basin even after…” I can’t think of the right comparison, but Frohlt would have.
“Sounds like you’re the one who should be explaining this, Captain. But look again.” He pinches out to zoom, rewinds the timeline a little, then advances frame-by-frame. The huge ball of incandescent flame blows outwards, then vanishes in the blink of an eye. Two faint outlines of damaged ships remain, a small fragment of Constellation and the large section of Nebula. But even as I watch Matlock advancing the frames, Nebula and Constellation appear to dissipate into dust, as if nothing had ever existed. Leaving the tiny, blackened spherical object turning over and over.
I look at Matlock. He smiles. “Lucky? Maybe. Maybe you instinctively understood. Keep watching.”
He zooms in further. To the left of the screen, tumbling through the vacuum appears to be a gruesome mix of flailing limbs. Once Matlock realizes I’ve spotted the object, he stops the video and zooms all the way in.
The pixelation makes it hard, but I can make out two odd-sized figures. The smaller wears a spacesuit, the other not, apparently wrapped around the suited one.
My fuzzy brain recalls what I thought was a hallucination. Everything happened so fast. Kreev. Did it really appear entering Nebula’s helmroom while the Scorpion ranted at me?
“Kreev?”
Matlock nods.
The SIM must have used its remaining power to escape the carnage.
“Did it capture the Scorpion?”
The general smiles and shakes his head. Then stands, and without saying a word, takes the datapad and leaves.
I’m confused.
Until a figure appears in the doorway. He looks different in a gravSuit, but I’d recognize him anywhere.
Papa.
Epilogue
Even in the gravSuit, Papa still displayed a severe limp as he walked into the Rykkan hospital ward, looking haggard.
After an emotional reunion, I told him he looked okay for a twice-dead man and we laughed away some nerves. Then he brought me up to speed on some of the events in Nebula.
