Deathstalker Coda (28 page)
Authors: Simon R. Green
As the
Heritage
slowly withdrew, and the herald closed in on the remaining sun, the
Hook
opened its cargo bay door, and dropped the single transmutation engine it had brought all the way from Logres. The engine took up an orbit around the dead planet, and released its powerful energies, transforming what remained of Usher II into a poisoned, radioactive cinder. In a reverse of its usual programming, which turned dross into gold, and lifeless rock into habitable worlds, the transmutation engine turned the corpse of Usher II into a contaminated abomination it was hoped would poison even the Terror.
Heritage
slowly withdrew, and the herald closed in on the remaining sun, the
Hook
opened its cargo bay door, and dropped the single transmutation engine it had brought all the way from Logres. The engine took up an orbit around the dead planet, and released its powerful energies, transforming what remained of Usher II into a poisoned, radioactive cinder. In a reverse of its usual programming, which turned dross into gold, and lifeless rock into habitable worlds, the transmutation engine turned the corpse of Usher II into a contaminated abomination it was hoped would poison even the Terror.
The herald ignored the process, and dived into the sun, to begin its slow incubation. Either it hadn’t noticed what was happening to its target world, or it didn’t care. The
Heritage
observed from a safe distance, forbidden to interfere any further. Finn wanted someone coming back alive and sane, to tell what had happened. Only the
Hook
was to remain behind, in harm’s way, because that was what they had volunteered for.
Heritage
observed from a safe distance, forbidden to interfere any further. Finn wanted someone coming back alive and sane, to tell what had happened. Only the
Hook
was to remain behind, in harm’s way, because that was what they had volunteered for.
Captain Randolph watched the transmutation engine complete its deadly work, and then let it drift away. It had done all it could. Usher II was now so thoroughly contaminated on every level it was probably even dangerous to everyone on board the
Hook
, but that made no difference. He sat quietly, watching the one remaining sun, waiting for it to give birth to its awful children. The wait seemed to go on forever. He kept his comm systems open, just in case some of the civilian ships had survived, but there was only silence. Randolph prayed silently for the lost, and called down damnations on the Terror, for all the evil and sorrow it brought.
Hook
, but that made no difference. He sat quietly, watching the one remaining sun, waiting for it to give birth to its awful children. The wait seemed to go on forever. He kept his comm systems open, just in case some of the civilian ships had survived, but there was only silence. Randolph prayed silently for the lost, and called down damnations on the Terror, for all the evil and sorrow it brought.
Finally, the herald’s deadly spawn erupted from the sun, an endless swarm of night-black shapes that might or might not have been alive. Millions of the terrible things shot out of the sun, all of them dark and razor-edged and individual as snowflakes. Maybe it was a cold day in Hell, after all. They assumed an orbit around the dead planet, forming dark rings, howling an endless scream that would have driven everyone insane, if there’d been anyone left on Usher II to hear it. The scream rang out on the bridge of the
Hook
, even with all sensor and comm systems shut down, as though the scream was more than just a sound, and existed to torment the soul as well as the mind.
Hook
, even with all sensor and comm systems shut down, as though the scream was more than just a sound, and existed to torment the soul as well as the mind.
And then, there was the Terror.
Space tore apart under the urging of an inhuman will, and from a place that was not a place came something that was bigger than a planet, and more ancient. The sensor drones began changing and mutating, struggling to become something that could cope with the data they were receiving. The Terror existed in far more than three dimensions, disturbing and overpowering the usual restrictions of reality. On the
Hook
’s main viewscreen it appeared as a monstrous face, with eyes greater than oceans and far darker. A mouth slowly opened, a tremendous hungry opening that could have swallowed a moon. It fed on what remained of Usher II, while its dark spawn fell dying to the cracked and broken surface.
Hook
’s main viewscreen it appeared as a monstrous face, with eyes greater than oceans and far darker. A mouth slowly opened, a tremendous hungry opening that could have swallowed a moon. It fed on what remained of Usher II, while its dark spawn fell dying to the cracked and broken surface.
Captain Randolph looked at last upon the ancient enemy, and knew that faith wasn’t going to be enough. He wasn’t prepared, could never have been prepared, to face such a thing as this. He’d seen recordings of its previous appearances, including a few he wasn’t even supposed to know about, but the Terror was just . . . too big, too complex, and too awful for the human mind to cope with. Madness swept his reason aside in a moment, along with the rest of his crew. No one can stare into the eyes of the Medusa and hope to remain sane.
Randolph arched in his command chair as though he’d been electrocuted. His eyes bulged, and his hands crushed the armrests. Habib was laughing, painfully and without humor, shaking uncontrollably. The crew on the bridge were screaming and crying and attacking their consoles. Rioting broke out in the
Hook
’s corridors, as the crew turned upon each other, and themselves, and blood splashed across the shining steel walls.
Hook
’s corridors, as the crew turned upon each other, and themselves, and blood splashed across the shining steel walls.
“It isn’t the Devil,” Randolph whispered. “It’s God. God gone crazy, and devouring His own creation.”
“It didn’t come here after lives,” cried Habib. “It eats souls! We didn’t save anyone. They’re all lost. We’re all lost.”
“Attack! Attack!” Randolph pounded his fists on the arms of his command chair. “Make it pay!”
Enough of the crew still heard their Captain to get the ship moving. The
Hook
surged forward, firing all its weapons at once. On the
Heritage
, Captain Vardalos called on the
Hook
to turn back, but no one was listening now. The
Hook
hit the Terror with everything it had, and the Terror didn’t even notice. Space tore apart again, and the force of that opening sent out ripples that destroyed the
Hook
in a moment. The Terror disappeared, space returned to normal, and all that remained was the dead husk of Usher II, and one heavily shielded starcruiser. And the herald, already setting out on its slow, certain journey to its next target.
Hook
surged forward, firing all its weapons at once. On the
Heritage
, Captain Vardalos called on the
Hook
to turn back, but no one was listening now. The
Hook
hit the Terror with everything it had, and the Terror didn’t even notice. Space tore apart again, and the force of that opening sent out ripples that destroyed the
Hook
in a moment. The Terror disappeared, space returned to normal, and all that remained was the dead husk of Usher II, and one heavily shielded starcruiser. And the herald, already setting out on its slow, certain journey to its next target.
The
Heritage
destroyed the few remaining sensor drones. There was no telling what they were now, or what they might do, after being touched by the Terror. Captain Vardalos said her silent good-byes to the captain and crew of the
Hook
, and turned her ship around. She had a report to make to Emperor Finn.
Heritage
destroyed the few remaining sensor drones. There was no telling what they were now, or what they might do, after being touched by the Terror. Captain Vardalos said her silent good-byes to the captain and crew of the
Hook
, and turned her ship around. She had a report to make to Emperor Finn.
The
Jeremiah
wasn’t anywhere near Usher II anymore. When the Terror abandoned normal space for somewhere else, the
Jeremiah
followed it. Donal Corcoran had studied the herald and its work from his unique viewpoint, and had slowly come to realize that the herald wasn’t in fact a separate thing from the Terror; rather, it was one small part of a greater thing, a permanent intrusion of the Terror into normal space from somewhere else. Even the Terror, that great and awful face that ate planets, wasn’t the real thing, the whole thing. It was just a more powerful intrusion into real space. Attacking the face would do no good. Corcoran wanted vengeance on the whole thing, wherever it might be.
Jeremiah
wasn’t anywhere near Usher II anymore. When the Terror abandoned normal space for somewhere else, the
Jeremiah
followed it. Donal Corcoran had studied the herald and its work from his unique viewpoint, and had slowly come to realize that the herald wasn’t in fact a separate thing from the Terror; rather, it was one small part of a greater thing, a permanent intrusion of the Terror into normal space from somewhere else. Even the Terror, that great and awful face that ate planets, wasn’t the real thing, the whole thing. It was just a more powerful intrusion into real space. Attacking the face would do no good. Corcoran wanted vengeance on the whole thing, wherever it might be.
And because his mind was forever linked to the Terror, Corcoran could sense where the face went when it vanished. Like hyperspace, it was just another direction to move in, only much farther. Where the Terror could go, he could go, and so the madman and his mad ship left the universe behind, to go to a place that was not a place, outside or inside reality. The process felt like dying, and Corcoran embraced it. Anyone else, anyone merely human, would have been destroyed, unmade, by the transition; but Donal Corcoran was both more and less than human now.
When he appeared again, he was standing in what seemed to be a great maze of stone corridors. He felt more focused, and yet more fragile, his thoughts slipping through his fingers like fishes in a stream, his every insight quick and clean and diamond sharp. He looked slowly around him. People didn’t belong here, in a place like this. He knew that, and didn’t care. He had come to one of the places where life that was not life existed like rats in the walls of reality. His mind stretched out, embracing his new situation. The stone corridors radiated away in every direction for far farther than he could sense, possibly on towards infinity, endlessly crossing and recrossing each other.
The
Jeremiah
had reconfigured itself into the suit of armor he was now wearing. The bloodred, red-hot, armor encased him utterly, from crown to toe. His skin scorched and blackened where the hot metal touched it, and Corcoran savored the pain, using it to focus his thoughts. The sensors in the armor told him that he had come to a place without gravity, atmosphere, or discernable properties. Corcoran shrugged mentally, and acted as though they were there anyway. He was quite sure he was the only living thing in the stone corridors, but he called out anyway, the armor amplifying his voice. There was no reply; only a silence that seemed to go on forever. Corcoran took a close look at the stone walls. There were no signs of construction, no sense of design or purpose. The stone maze didn’t feel like a place to him; more like the impression of a place, a memory of a location.
Jeremiah
had reconfigured itself into the suit of armor he was now wearing. The bloodred, red-hot, armor encased him utterly, from crown to toe. His skin scorched and blackened where the hot metal touched it, and Corcoran savored the pain, using it to focus his thoughts. The sensors in the armor told him that he had come to a place without gravity, atmosphere, or discernable properties. Corcoran shrugged mentally, and acted as though they were there anyway. He was quite sure he was the only living thing in the stone corridors, but he called out anyway, the armor amplifying his voice. There was no reply; only a silence that seemed to go on forever. Corcoran took a close look at the stone walls. There were no signs of construction, no sense of design or purpose. The stone maze didn’t feel like a place to him; more like the impression of a place, a memory of a location.
Corcoran wandered through the corridors, wrapped in what had once been his ship. Any direction seemed as good as any other, but none of them led him anywhere except to more corridors. His mind, now completely divorced from conventional reality, began to grow fuzzy round the edges. He was actually a little relieved when he encountered the ghosts. There were hundreds of them, all of the same man, in different clothes and apparently from different times in his young life. The ghosts couldn’t hear or see him; they were driven, desolate figures moving through brief but endless loops of time, repeating short segments of life over and over again, without end. Corcoran didn’t recognize the man, though he did wonder vaguely whether it might be all that remained of a previous visitor. Was that what this place did to people?
Corcoran concentrated his altered mind on one of the ghosts, trying to force sense and meaning out of it, and a quiet voice whispered a name in his ear.
Owen Deathstalker
. . . Corcoran was beyond being surprised by anything anymore, but still that name stopped him dead in his tracks. What could have brought the old legend, the fallen hero, to this awful place? Was this where Owen had disappeared to, after the defeat of the Recreated? Corcoran walked slowly among the ghosts, peering into faces. Most seemed tired, worn down, struggling under the weight of some great burden. Many of the ghosts were incomplete, lacking important details, or even faces. As though they were memories, worn away by countless years. The slow erosion of time, like water dripping on a rock. Corcoran thought he was on the edge of understanding something there, but it had nothing to do with his need for revenge, so he let the thought go. He strode on through the stone corridors, walking right through the ghosts, as though daring someone or something to come and stop him. He needed something he could hurt, punish, destroy. He ached to get his steel hands on the Terror.
Owen Deathstalker
. . . Corcoran was beyond being surprised by anything anymore, but still that name stopped him dead in his tracks. What could have brought the old legend, the fallen hero, to this awful place? Was this where Owen had disappeared to, after the defeat of the Recreated? Corcoran walked slowly among the ghosts, peering into faces. Most seemed tired, worn down, struggling under the weight of some great burden. Many of the ghosts were incomplete, lacking important details, or even faces. As though they were memories, worn away by countless years. The slow erosion of time, like water dripping on a rock. Corcoran thought he was on the edge of understanding something there, but it had nothing to do with his need for revenge, so he let the thought go. He strode on through the stone corridors, walking right through the ghosts, as though daring someone or something to come and stop him. He needed something he could hurt, punish, destroy. He ached to get his steel hands on the Terror.
It seemed to him that he spent a long, long time walking through the stone corridors, though he wasn’t sure time worked normally here any more than space did. He tried to walk through the walls, but they rejected him. They were stronger, perhaps realer, than he was. He stopped before one wall, and willed the scarlet armor back from one hand so he could touch the stone directly with his fingertips. It didn’t feel like stone . . . It felt . . . alive. Corcoran’s unbalanced mind slammed through a series of insights and certainties and the answer blazed in his mind.
He’d found the Terror. He was walking through it.
The endless maze of stone corridors was the physical presence of the Terror, in this place that was not a place, the many branching twists and turns like the intricate crennelations of the brain. The Terror had made the maze to house itself. And now here he was, swallowed up in the stone guts of it. Rage burned through Donal Corcoran, and he lashed out with all his ship’s weapons. Disrupter beams lashed out from his extended crimson hands, splashing harmlessly against the stone walls, because all the power of Donal Corcoran and the
Jeremiah
, the man made mad and the maddened ship, were as nothing compared to the vast and ancient insanity of the Terror; nothing, nothing at all. A very small part of the Terror became aware of the intruder within, and examined him, spiking Corcoran with its will, like a butterfly impaled upon a pin. His life flashed before the Terror’s eyes, but like so many others he was not what was required, needed, searched for. So the Terror ate him and his ship up, consumed their energy to fuel the never-ending quest, and that was the end of Donal Corcoran and the
Jeremiah
.
Jeremiah
, the man made mad and the maddened ship, were as nothing compared to the vast and ancient insanity of the Terror; nothing, nothing at all. A very small part of the Terror became aware of the intruder within, and examined him, spiking Corcoran with its will, like a butterfly impaled upon a pin. His life flashed before the Terror’s eyes, but like so many others he was not what was required, needed, searched for. So the Terror ate him and his ship up, consumed their energy to fuel the never-ending quest, and that was the end of Donal Corcoran and the
Jeremiah
.
On its way back from the debacle at Usher II, the
Heritage
was interrupted by new orders. Captain Vardalos protested that she had an urgent report to make to the Emperor, only to be told that these new orders came directly from Emperor Finn. Vardalos protested further that her ship and her crew were both in desperate need of some serious downtime, but she was overruled. All hell had broken loose over Haden, home of the Madness Maze. The AIs of Shub had taken control of the planet, and claimed the Madness Maze for their own. Haden was now very thoroughly surrounded by more Shub ships than anyone could ever remember seeing in one place at one time before, and every Imperial starcruiser was needed at Haden right damned now.
Heritage
was interrupted by new orders. Captain Vardalos protested that she had an urgent report to make to the Emperor, only to be told that these new orders came directly from Emperor Finn. Vardalos protested further that her ship and her crew were both in desperate need of some serious downtime, but she was overruled. All hell had broken loose over Haden, home of the Madness Maze. The AIs of Shub had taken control of the planet, and claimed the Madness Maze for their own. Haden was now very thoroughly surrounded by more Shub ships than anyone could ever remember seeing in one place at one time before, and every Imperial starcruiser was needed at Haden right damned now.
(No one said anything about the previous fleet that went to Haden and went rogue. No one needed to.)
By the time the
Heritage
got to Haden, limping a little from all its injuries, it seemed like half the starcruisers in the Empire were standing off Haden, facing a vast array of Shub ships, some of them the size of small moons. No one had started anything yet, but the atmosphere was tense beyond bearing. Not least because Shub wasn’t answering any calls at all. Captain Vardalos reported in to the fleet admiral, and was quickly brought up to speed. The Emperor Finn was determined to regain control of the Maze, or at least keep it out of Shub’s hands, but he was unwilling to start a shooting war that might end up damaging the Maze. (He was quite happy to destroy it rather than let Shub have it, but he was pretty sure shooting at the Maze was a bad idea. It might shoot back.) The Shub ships were heavily armed, but as yet seemed content to hold position around Haden, behind their incredibly powerful force shields. A lot of people remembered how deadly the Shub ships had been, back in the bad old days when the AIs had been the official enemies of Humanity.
Heritage
got to Haden, limping a little from all its injuries, it seemed like half the starcruisers in the Empire were standing off Haden, facing a vast array of Shub ships, some of them the size of small moons. No one had started anything yet, but the atmosphere was tense beyond bearing. Not least because Shub wasn’t answering any calls at all. Captain Vardalos reported in to the fleet admiral, and was quickly brought up to speed. The Emperor Finn was determined to regain control of the Maze, or at least keep it out of Shub’s hands, but he was unwilling to start a shooting war that might end up damaging the Maze. (He was quite happy to destroy it rather than let Shub have it, but he was pretty sure shooting at the Maze was a bad idea. It might shoot back.) The Shub ships were heavily armed, but as yet seemed content to hold position around Haden, behind their incredibly powerful force shields. A lot of people remembered how deadly the Shub ships had been, back in the bad old days when the AIs had been the official enemies of Humanity.
Captain Vardalos and the
Heritage
took up position, and waited for further instructions.
Heritage
took up position, and waited for further instructions.
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