“We have power!” Tred cried.
Hev cheered as the lights came back on. They were dim, by human standards, but significantly better than darkness.
Caraval looked up at the lights, wondering what they had cost. “Good. Get me communications and sensors so we can inform the Craton.”
He turned away, clicking onto Pirra’s channel. “Lieutenant Pirra, are you there?”
There was silence – as there had been for some time.
They had all volunteered to go into the jaws of death on a routine basis. He always knew there was a chance that some of them might not make it home. Just part of the job. They chose to do it anyway so more people would get to make it home.
But would it have to end even worse for her? Would it have to end on an alien ship, not even her own, in a fate worse than death?
How could he tell his best friend that he’d sent his wife to that?
A message came. A single word. “Commander?”
His heart was pounding in his chest. “Pirra? Report status!”
“Situation under control, Commander.” Something in her voice seemed to crack. “I think I’m okay.”
Caraval felt a great release of tension in his chest. “Get down here. We’re aiming to get in touch with the Craton.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Pirra?”
“Yes?”
“Good job.”
Caraval broke the communication, and he heard Tred’s voice cry out in alarm.
“Sir!” he said. “We’ve got the Craton on scopes.”
“And?”
The man looked at him with eyes as wide as saucers. “She’s in trouble, sir. The Leviathan . . . I think it’s awake.”
“Prepare to launch the shuttle,” Brooks ordered.
A tense energy filled the bridge as the order was carried out. Everyone aboard felt great trepidation mixed with hope – a heady mixture that could break down even the strongest of discipline, in the Captain’s experience.
Word had just been sent that Cutter had finished his work modifying the shuttle. As soon as he and his crew had evacuated the hangar, they could launch.
“Crew out, sir.”
“Send it.”
He felt the hum of power through the floor; the bridge was in the middle of a triangle of the three massive magnetic accelerators that the ship used for launching shuttles – or kinetic projectiles.
Even with all the shielding between them and the bridge, one could feel when they powered up. They were just that massive.
They all felt the shuttle move through the tube – or rather, the magnetic coils pulsing and moving.
“Shuttle away!”
Brooks clicked on his comm. “Cutter, when the shuttle is at an appropriate distance, begin broadcasting.”
“Understood sir. System will start automatically at minimum safe distance. T-minus one minute and fifteen seconds.”
A counter appeared in his vision, and he watched it tick down. As it hit zero, Cutter’s voice came through again.
“Beginning krahteon emissions. Krahteon field stabilized. Distraction online, Captain.”
“Show me,” Brooks said, leaning forward.
An image of the shuttle – a basic, boxy thing – appeared on-screen. It was rotating in a way that would have made any passengers in it sick. If they hadn’t already been pasted by the high-speed launch.
“Show us a false-color image of the emissions.”
The image changed, showing the fields of exotic energy. Invisible to the eyes of most life-forms, in this view they resembled an aurora erupting from the shuttle. Even at the low power that the shuttle’s small generators could manage, the craft itself was dwarfed.
“It’s beautiful,” he heard someone say softly, but didn’t catch who.
“Cut our own krahteon emissions,” Brooks ordered. He looked over. “Is there any change with the Leviathan?”
“Keeping sensors at absolute minimum, Captain,” Urle said. “Give me a few moments, the system has to piece the data together.”
The transhuman’s head snapped up. “It’s changing course!”
The tension broke; a cheer went up from the crew pits, and Brooks himself could not help but smile a little.
He let it go for a moment, before calling for silence. “Everyone, return to your stations. This isn’t over yet. Sensors, continue to monitor. In the meantime, attempt to contact the Hev ship and-“
“Sir!” Urle’s voice contained a fear that he could not hide. “Sir, the Leviathan is still following us.”
“It didn’t change course?” he asked.
“It . . . it did. We’re getting a double reading, it’s like there are now two of them!”
“Not two,” Kell said, speaking for the first time he’d heard since their talk earlier. “It is one, but is in two places.”
Urle let out a sound of anger that turned to hissing static. “That’s not possible!”
“It does as it will,” Kell replied.
“Did we end our krahteon emissions?” Brooks asked.
“Yes, sir. We’re running as dark as we can without shutting down everything. It shouldn’t even know we’re here,” Urle replied.
“It is not stupid,” Kell said. “It saw through this trick.”
“Kell, you said this would work,” Urle said. “Damn it, man!”
“I said it could work. I still believe it could have. It simply turns out that it did not.”
Brooks looked to the being. “Do you have any other suggestions, Ambassador?” Blaming it would do them no good, and he had a feeling in his gut that Kell was key to the situation.
“I will inform you if I have any,” the Shoggoth replied. “But I fear we do not have much time.”
Brooks looked back to the screen. “Project the Leviathan as best we can.”
The image appeared, and he was shocked to see that it appeared larger than earlier. Their zoom, he confirmed, was the same. It was closing the distance.
“It’s closer,” Urle said.
“Sensors confirm, Captain – it is gaining on us,” Cenz noted. “We’re collecting what data we can, but as with anything related to a Leviathan it’s not making a lot of sense beyond the obvious.” The electronic screen that was his face showed worry and concentration.
Brooks could only look to the dimly-outlined shape of the eye of the Leviathan. It was fixed forward, perhaps it was so large it could not even move, as with some animals.
But then, it was a Leviathan; a beast that obeyed only what laws of nature suited it.
That eye, though. It was a trick of his mind to think it, but it felt like it was looking at him.
He forced his attention off it, going to his crew. He panned over each and every being in his view. They, too, were staring at the screen, at the Leviathan.
They felt it, too, he realized. Each and every person who saw that eye felt it was looking at them.
“How long do we have until we are within its Reality Break Shadow?” he asked.
It was critical; crossing the RBS was the point where minds began to break, where matter began to change. Where any ship would soon meet its end.
Neither Urle nor Cenz answered.
“Officers!” Brooks snapped sharply. Urle jumped, and Cenz’s face took on a shocked expression.
“My apologies, Captain,” Urle muttered. “We . . . we predict we are twenty minutes from entering the outer edge of its shadow.” He did a double-take. “That . . . yes, that’s right.”
“The shadow on this one is approximately twice the radius of that of any previously-discovered Leviathan,” Cenz noted. “By the seas, this one dwarfs them all.”
He put Cutter into the channel. “Can we increase speed?”
“Negative. Engines already at highest limit due to venting. Plasma will restore over time, but not enough to increase velocity.”
Brooks hunched forward in his seat, looking into the eye of the Leviathan. “Begin evacuation of the civilians, and prepare for an emergency transmission to the nearest relay. We have to warn Earth.”
Urle nodded, though grimly. “Aye, sir.”
“What is the significance of this?” Kell asked.
Cenz answered. “Our engine moves us in sublight, through zerospace – and allows us to send messages faster than light – but we cannot do all three at the same time. Unless . . . we overload the engines. They will become disabled, but we can send one transmission.”
“And then?”
Cenz hesitated before answering. “And then we are dead in space.”
Other Terrestrial 