Escape (2 page)

“Discussing strategy? Whatever for? We aren't going to war. This fleet is a show of faith, nothing more. In exchange for which, the pitiful creatures on the other side of the TLS gate are going to turn over to us the most valuable secret in the history of the galaxy.”

The fleet commander frowned, his silver eyebrows arrowing sharply downward, making his already hard, angular face more forbidding. “We have yet to determine that they actually possess that secret.”

Dreklaus waved his hand dismissively. “Even from the preliminary data our scientists are practically frothing at the mouths for more. Imagine what the power to stall or reverse cellular decay could do for humanity? No one with sufficient means need ever die. You could be fleet commander forever.”

The fleet commander arched an eyebrow. “And you could be Imperator forever.”

“I hope you're not accusing me of self-interest. As you surely know, every vestige of self-serving sentiment has been bred, beaten, and trained out of me. The counselors never would have chosen me to be the next Imperator were that not the case. My only concern is for the Union. Think what immortality could do for our race! Our most innovative thinkers, our most capable leaders, our most beloved artists
 
.
 
.
 
.
excellence need never die!”

“It could lead to tyranny of the rich. Not necessarily the excellent.”

The Imperator scowled. “Better than tyranny of the poor and mediocre masses. Our vaunted democracy and the high council all but ensure that. So let's tip the scales.” The fleet commander looked dubious. “I hope you're not having attack of conscience, commander. I would hate to have to replace you before you could benefit from our discovery.”

“Of course not. I was just playing the Elementals' advocate, we are, after all attempting to replace them.”

Dreklaus smiled and turned back to the viewport, clasping his hands behind his back as he gazed down upon the TLS gate. The swirling, multicolored light from the gate was casting oddly-shifting shadows against the rough rock walls of the asteroid in which the gate had been hidden. “I prefer to think of it as joining them.”

He heard the fleet commander call out behind him: “All hands, prepare for the transition to TLS. Navigator Shelian, bring engines to 25% of max and take us through the gate.”

* * *

The Imperator took his seat in one of the form-fitting black chairs arrayed in a semicircle around the fleet commander's enormous holoscreen. The fleet commander took a seat on the far side of the circle, so he could face the Imperator. He took a sip from a long, fluted glass of black, terranian wine. 

“So, how did we finally uncover the address of the gate?” the Imperator asked after taking a sip of his own drink
—
thick, indigo-colored aubrelian brandy.

“We have a team of very talented people.”

“I know
that
. I mean who, of all those talented people, ultimately made the discovery? Someone deserves a commendation or a promotion. Better yet, a commendation
and
a promotion. I'd like to congratulate him
 
.
 
.
 
.
or
her
, as the case may be, personally.”

“Actually, the breakthrough came from beyond the grave. Which is ironic considering what we are trying to do.”

The Imperator frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean four years ago the head of our research team died. A Mister Thanos Hawker. Earlier this year our search ran into a dead end, so the new team leader decided to go through Hawker's old research journals for inspiration. Maybe we'd overlooked some critical clue, he thought. Well, he was right. It turns out that Hawker had the answer all along. He'd written the suspected gate address in his journal, along with the calculations and reasoning which had brought him to the discovery. The journal entry was dated the day before his death, more precisely the
night
before.”

“Interesting
 
.
 
.
 
.
” The Imperator ran a hand along his neatly-trimmed black beard. “I wonder if that's merely an unhappy coincidence.”

“I wondered the same thing. The bureau is looking into the matter as we speak. I suspect they'll uncover foul play.”

“Yes, but where is the motive?”

The fleet commander shrugged. “Not everyone wants to live forever.”

“Nonsense, but I suppose we shouldn't exclude the criminally insane from the investigation
.
 
.
 
.
 
.
How did Mister Hawker die?”

“On the way to work. His flitter exploded.”

The Imperator arched an eyebrow. “And the criminal investigation is only starting now?”

“His ship was riddled with stress fractures. Wear and tear from the rigors of trilinear space. Poor maintenance, or so we thought.”

“The man was the head of the Origins Project, conducting the most important research of our generation. He must have had enough money to buy a small fleet! And you're telling me he couldn't maintain one small flitter?”

“Perhaps he had his mind on other things. He was probably getting around to it. You know how these geniuses are
—
hopelessly scatterbrained. Anyway, the discussion is moot; foul play is almost a certainty given the suspicious circumstances and that he was killed just before he could reveal the gate address.”

The Imperator snorted. “I should say so. Any leads?”

“No, but we suspect undercover Constantic agents.”

“What, those backward anarchists?”

“They're not anarchists. They're just a group of religious activists determined to bring humanity back to basics.”

“Without technology, the Union could not exist, hence they are anarchists. But why would they want to get in the way of the Origins Project? We're using their legends as the basis for our search. You'd think they would be happy with us. In a way, we're trying to validate their beliefs.”

“I don't think they need us to bolster their faith. They are more worried about history repeating itself. Their abhorrence for technology is centered on the notion that were we to become sufficiently advanced, we would inevitably bring about another great rebellion.”

“Living dust and all that gabberish. Look, just because we found out that some of their legends are true doesn't mean that they all are.”

“The legends fit the Cephs' story. The so-called Sykels sound a lot like the enemy our ancestors ran from. According to Constantic legend, our ancestors did achieve immortality, but at what cost? They were all changed.”

“Into Sykels?”

“Perhaps.” The commander took a careful sip of his wine.

“Our parliamentary reports of the Sykels show that they're not even human. Gray, leathery skin, glowing red eyes, technology the equal or better of our own
—
they're pure aliens, the first such race that we have encountered. And if you ask me, they, not the technological advances of our ancestors, drove humanity to their underwater refuge, and from there to the furthest corner of the galaxy.

“Rest assured, commander, we will take all the necessary precautions, but we are going to need every conceivable advantage when we officially meet the Sykels. A new race of immortal humans could make all the difference.” Dreklaus drained his glass and rose from the plush chair opposite the commander. Mathos Sereki hastily joined him in standing. “Notify me once we've reached our destination
—
actually, notify me an hour early. I want to be on the bridge to greet our unfortunate relatives.”

“As you wish, Imperator.”

* * *

The Imperator awoke to the insistent beeping of incoming comm call. He rose to answer it, cinching his robe around his waist and stumbling through his quarters to his office. He slapped a palm down on the receiver panel, and a three-dimensional image of the fleet commander shimmered into existence in the middle of the room. It was a life-size hologram, as faithfully reproduced as if the commander were there in the flesh.

“Imperator.” The commander inclined his head in a brief bow. “We are one hour from arrival.”

Dreklaus rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “I'll be right up.”

Half an hour later he was standing on the bridge, watching the swirling, rainbow-colored flames of trilinear space darting past them from the walls of an interdimensional tunnel. They appeared to be moving toward an ever-distant point of incredible brightness.

“What I don't understand, is how we could have missed finding a habitable planet so close to the frontier. Moreover, how did they not discover
us?
”

The fleet commander answered: “They are having enough trouble staying hidden and alive. Interstellar travel isn't high on their list of priorities.”

“Yes, well that much is obvious. But what about this terrifying enemy they supposedly created? The one they're hiding from. What about the Sykels? Surely they would have discovered us by now.”

“Perhaps they have, and we just don't know it yet. All the more reason to help the Cephs.”

“Let's not lose sight of the purpose of this mission. We're not going to start a war with an unknown enemy, we're going to trick a pathetic reservoir of humanity into showing us the secret of immortality.”

The fleet commander had no reply to that. He spent the next 25 minutes staring into trilinear space, trying to pinpoint the source of his unease. Then he saw a familiar face appear beside him on the command podium and he called out:

“Imperator, I would like you to meet our liaison with the Cephs, Captain Praxis of UBER.”

Dreklaus turned and came face to face with the captain. He was short, bald, and skinny, and wearing the dark blue uniform of the Union Bureau of Exploration and Reconnaissance (UBER).

“A pleasure to meet you, Imperator,” the captain said, bowing deeply from the waist.

“He led the team which made first contact,” the fleet commander supplied. “As such, he is a familiar face to the Cephs.”

Dreklaus nodded. “Good.” With nothing more to say, the Imperator rudely turned away from the captain, and went on peering into the mesmerizing swirl of light and color beyond the bridge.

Mere minutes later, the commander began barking orders to his crew: “Shields to maximum. Check inertial dampeners; we don't want any last-minute failures. Ignite braking thrusters.”

The computer began an audible countdown from trilinear space: “Three, two, one
 
.
 
.
 
.
”

The tunnel of multicolored light disappeared in a bright transitional flash, and was replaced not by the cold, starry blackness of space, but by a darkness far more absolute. Even the massive bow of the ship, which the bridge looked down upon, could no longer be seen. Then, the outline of the ship appeared, rimmed in a pale blue glow of shielding. The glow was the brightest at the bow, where the shields were being taxed the most.

They had emerged underwater on the Cephs' homeworld. Were it not for the ship's shields and inertial dampers, the transition from trilinear space to an underwater environment would have pulverized both ship and crew. Instead, the ship's layer of tetrillium shielding was rapidly converting kinetic energy to light and heat. Special shipboard generators converted some of the heat to electrical energy and ran it through the power grid, or into the ship's power core.

The fleet commander ordered the navigator to proceed from the gate at a modest 10% thrust, and begin a slow arc around the gate, keeping it clear for the 20 leviathans to come. After that he ordered the comm officer to hail the Cephs.

The Imperator prepared himself and took his place beside their liason, Captain Praxis. They both turned to face the holoprojector which sat recessed beneath a transpiranium floor panel in front of the commander's chair. It proved to be a useless gesture. A disembodied voice was all which the holoprojector emitted to greet them.

“Greetings,” the voice said. “I see that you have returned. Where is the fleet you promised us?”

Captain Praxis replied: “Right behind us. You should see the first of our 20 supporting ships emerge any minute now.”

There came a pause.

“Ah. Yes. Instruct your ships to remain as far below the water as they can. We do not wish to alert the Sykels prematurely. Please join us aboard the
Refuge
for negotiations.”

“It would be our pleasure to do so,” the Imperator put in, impatient to be introduced.

A blank hum of static answered him.

The Imperator turned to the fleet commander with a furrowed brow, and the fleet commander shook his head. “They cut off the transmission before you spoke.”

“What, without giving us a chance to formally end the contact? Who do they think they are? I'm of half a mind to destroy their precious
Refuge
on the way back.”