Lacuna: The Spectre of Oblivion (25 page)

“Okay,” said Liao, “so how do we fix it?”

“We make it shittier.”

Liao stared down at the weapon. “I’m going to be honest, Summer; I’m not a big fan of this course of action in general.”

“No, no, no. I mean, we loosen the bolts a little. Sand it down a bit to make it fit together a little
less
perfectly. Especially since this Belthas planet is covered in sand, I figured this is going to be a pretty important modification.”

“Okay, so do it. What’s the problem?”

Rowe threw her hands in the air in frustration. “The problem is that if I adjust the tolerances, it’s not as accurate and, of course, introduces more problems. This isn’t exactly what I do. What I do is software, systems, programming and design. I’m a theoretical person, not a fucking wrench monkey down here in the lower decks. I program things. I run things. I design things. This kind of work, really close in shit with tools and lathes, is what Au does.”

“I’m inclined to agree.” Liao straightened her back. “What does Au say about it?”

“How the hell should I know?”

Liao pursed her lips in thought.

*****

Liao’s Office

TFR
Beijing

Later

“Mister Au, it’s good to finally meet you in person.”

Au gave a crisp salute. He was a short, stockily built man with fair skin for someone from central China, something which made Liao suspect he had southern Russian heritage. His head was completely shaved and he had youthful, childlike features that contrasted with the formalness of his uniform. He would be quite cute if he were a few years older, but Liao couldn’t help but notice just how tired he looked.

“Thank you, ma’am. It’s good to be here.”

Liao said nothing for a time, just looking at him, her hands folded in front of her as she sat behind her desk.

“Ma’am?”

“I’m just wondering,” said Liao, “if you’re happy here.”

“Of course,” Au answered immediately, “this is my dream post. Everyone in the People’s Army Navy wants to be a part of the Pillars project, even if they can’t get a posting aboard the
Beijing
itself. For me to be here is everything I’ve ever wanted in a post, ma’am.”

“I meant, actually, your position in Operations, as the chief of engineering.”

“I do miss working down in the bays,” Au admitted, “but with Miss Rowe being reassigned after what she said to Commodore Vong, I was the next most qualified. I was the natural choice to put up in Operations.”

She nodded. “Regrettably, Commodore Vong is no longer with us. While I want to honour his memory by honouring the decisions he made while in command of this ship, I also feel compelled to give my ship the best crew I can, in the best positions they can be. I want my crew to work where they’re comfortable and in positions where their skills are best put to use.”

“I see, Captain.”

“I suppose I’m asking you if you would prefer a move back to the Engineering Bays, to exchange positions with Miss Rowe.” She smiled. “You’d probably get a bit more sleep, but I can’t promise there’ll be an abundance of that for any of us in the days ahead.”

Au’s face seemed to brighten somewhat. “Although I’m very fond of the title, I think that’d be good.”

“Summer doesn’t seem to care about titles. I’m sure we can keep you on the books as the chief of engineering, but just have her up in Ops.”

“Sounds perfect to me, ma’am.”

Liao smiled widely. “Right. Well, dismissed then.”

*****

Operations

TFR
Beijing

Walking out of her adjoining office, she stepped back into Operations.

“Welcome back, Captain.”

It felt good to hear that, and Liao couldn’t fight the huge, proud grin creeping over her face as she stepped into the command centre. She nodded to Lieutenant Jiang at Tactical. “Thank you,” she said, “it’s good to be back.”

Rowe spoke up. “Captain, we’re ready to launch.”

“Good,” said Liao. She could tell right away that Rowe was much happier back at Operations. Hopefully, that happiness would translate into a more productive, tighter crew. “Then let’s make it happen. Decouple from the Cerberus station and move to the Lagrange point.”

There was a faint groan as the ship detached from the station, and the Operations room filled with chatter.

“Reactor level nominal, Captain.”

“Ahead one eighth. Reactionless drive engaged.”

“ETA to Lagrange point, two minutes.”

She tapped keys at her command console, examining the ship’s systems. Every display, every light and switch and bulb was intimately familiar to her. It was as though she had never left.

Sometimes, during her time on Earth, she would dream that she was back here, back in Operations. Some people dreamed that they were still in high school, or university, but Liao’s dreams were always here, in the central core of her ship, surrounded by 200,000 tonnes of metal and composite materials. Sometimes, the cry of her infant would stir her from her sleep, and for a few moments, her brain would think she was still at her post and the sound was the General Quarters klaxon.

Now her dreams were the reality.

The plans for war were still being sorted, but already she could feel what was coming, like the smell of sweet air before a storm, the distant rumble of thunder on the horizon. After two years of fighting and running, of struggling to survive, of staking out a little bit of space for their species to live upon, now they were doing more. They were attacking a Toralii world defended by a construct who had laid waste to the best of the Toralii Alliance, and they were doing it with a host of allies.

A host they planned to expand with their visit to the Iilan. She knew that this mysterious species held, potentially, the key to disabling Ben’s trump card. If they had a solution for them, then the fight was on. If they didn’t, it was already lost. All the bayonets and brave soldiers on the ground, all the guns and missiles in space, would be absolutely worthless if Ben’s jump device remained in operation.

“We’re at the Lagrange point, Captain.”

It was time. The jump coordinates were locked in and the ship’s crew stood by to jump. Now they had to trust Nalu, trust that the Telvan woman would lead them to the Iilan and their salvation.

Liao reached into the pocket of her jacket, retrieving the small metal key that activated the jump drive, then nodded to Iraj. “Good, charge the jump drive and prepare to jump the ship.”

Chapter X

“The Iilan”

*****

Operations

TFR
Beijing

Near the great singularity Majev-tor

Liao withdrew the key and replaced it in her pocket.

“Jump complete, Captain.”

She nodded, walking back to her command console, leaning over it, and studying it intently. “Good. Are we in position?”

“Absolutely no way to tell,” said Dao. “We’re seeing further out than any Human has ever seen before. As far as I can tell, based on the information we were given, we are in position.”

“Captain,” called Ling, “our radar is currently showing…” he paused, “absolutely nothing, except one contact approximately 400,000 kilometres away. 200,000 tonnes.”

“Nothing?” Liao asked.

“Nothing. No planets, no solar bodies of any kind.” Dao frowned slightly. “We’re in the void, Captain.”

The distances between solar systems were vast, almost unimaginable. Seeing the solar system as a whole meant that even the largest planets, such as Jupiter and Saturn, were just tiny specks in the vast black ocean, where the distance between the planets was measured in how many minutes it took the light to travel that distance. But the distance between stars was measured in light-years, a vastly larger distance.

And in that great, empty space between solar systems was nothing. Radiation, some dust, very rarely rogue comets and even rogue planets, but otherwise nothing. The universe, conceptually, was essentially empty, the vast majority of its area being the featureless nothings between worlds. She had known this, logically and intellectually, but it was suddenly, only now as the
Beijing
floated in the great empty nothingness on the other side of the Milky Way galaxy, that she came to truly
know
this fact and understand its implications.

She felt very small indeed.

“Let’s see if we can get in contact with that ship,” she said, “and find out how far away we are from the singularity.”

“Captain,” said Ling, “we have a
massive
distortion, bearing 20 by 270, three quarters of an AU from our current position.”

“Is it Majev-tor? Show me.”

A few taps of Ling’s keyboard sent the radar data to her console, and she stared at the readout.

The radar screen showed the vast sea of nothing stretching out on all sides of the ship, with the tiny blue dot of the unknown contact floating some distance away. The radar waves, moving at the speed of light, were still coming back to them; the view slowly shrunk as more and more of the surrounding space was recorded and the lack of returning radar pulses was marked as empty.

Beyond a certain point, though, a large wall existed below them, sealing off a part of the universe. She knew it to be a hyper-massive sphere, colossal beyond any of her experience, so to her, it appeared to be a featureless flat wall.

On their side of the wall was essentially nothing. Dust. Comets. The other ship. Readouts filled one side of her screen, conveying all manner of information. The spectroscope showed a certain concentration of hydrogen atoms per cubic metre, the projected flight path of a small comet, the local ionising radiation levels: small things that occupied the vacant spaces in the universe.

But beyond that wall, that line she could see so clearly on the radar screen, there was nothing of a different sort, a complete, total emptiness that was something else entirely. It was the complete, total, utter absence of all things. No radiation at all. No dust. No hydrogen atoms. There was a complete, absolute emptiness there that rendered her speechless.

At high school, her favourite subject was Greek history and philosophy. It was from those studies that she had picked her own name, Melissa, a gentle goddess who discovered honey. She knew that the Greeks who followed Epicurus, a group of materialists and scholars who existed around 300 BCE, were the first to derive the notion that atoms of matter existed in a featureless void. Epicurus proposed the idea of
the space between worlds
, a concept he called
metakosmia,
the relatively empty spaces in the infinite void where worlds had not been formed by the joining together of the atoms through their endless motion.

The translation she had read compared the Epicurean philosophy to that of pages on a manuscript. Where the words and letters were the atoms and the gaps between them, the
lacuna
, represented the
metakosmia
.

The lacuna,
空白
in Chinese. The absolute, complete nothing, devoid of meaning and substance.

The thought suddenly leapt into her mind as clear as bright day. That was what the singularities were. The lacuna, the gaps of the manuscript of the universe, the holes where nothing was and nothing should be.

“Captain?” said Iraj, over her shoulder.

She realised she’d been staring at her monitor. Liao straightened her back, nodding to her XO. “Yes?”

Iraj looked to Ling, then back to Liao. “Mister Ling reports that the Iilan are attempting to open communications with us.” He frowned ever so slightly, his tan face wrinkling. “Are you… okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, reaching up and adjusting her hat. “Sorry. I was just… looking at that great bit of nothing and getting all philosophical inside.”

“Well, be careful with that. Remember what Nietzsche said,
When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you
.”

Liao returned her gaze to the radar screen, to that vast, slowly expanding field of nothing, then reached for her headset.

“I think I understand what he meant.” Liao adjusted the headset, watching as Iraj put his on as well. “Patch in Nalu,” she said to Hsin, their communications officer. “She will be in her quarters.”

Hsin tapped some keys, spoke words into his headset, then turned to Liao. “She’s ready and standing by.”

“Good.” Liao took a breath. “Open the channel.”

[“Who comes to the graveyard of the Iilan?”] came a voice, low and echoing in her ears, speaking the Toralii dialect. She had been told that the Iilan were birdlike and had, subconsciously, expected a chirping, high-pitched voice, but this was different.

[“I am Leader Nalu of the Telvan. We have had dealings before, fair Iilan.”]

[“That we have, Leader Nalu, but your current vessel does not match the schematics of your previous visits. We are wary. What species do you travel with?”]