Armageddon
DARK SPACE VI: Armageddon
(3rd Edition)
by Jasper T. Scott
Copyright © 2015 by Jasper T. Scott
THE AUTHOR RETAINS ALL RIGHTS
FOR THIS BOOK
Reproduction or transmission of this book, in whole or in part, by electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or by any other means is strictly prohibited, except with prior written permission from the author. You may direct your inquiries to
[email protected]
Cover design by Thien A.K.A “ShooKooBoo”
This book is a work of fiction. All names, places, and incidents described are products of the writer’s imagination and any resemblance to real people or life events is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
- Copyright Page
- Acknowledgements
- Dedication
- Dramatis Personae
- PART ONE: THE SHADOW OF DEATH
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- PART TWO: UNMASKING THE ENEMY
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- PART THREE: ARMAGEDDON
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Chapter 36
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38
- Chapter 39
- Chapter 40
- Chapter 41
- Chapter 42
- Chapter 43
- Chapter 44
- Chapter 45
- Chapter 46
- Chapter 47
- Chapter 48
- Chapter 49
- Chapter 50
- Chapter 51
- Chapter 52
- Chapter 53
- Chapter 54
- Chapter 55
- Epilogue
- WHAT’S NEXT—EXCELSIOR
- PREVIOUS BOOKS IN THE SERIES
- CONTACT THE AUTHOR
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Acknowledgements
Six books in three years. It’s been a wild ride. In that time you, the readers, have bought over 250,000 books, and I couldn’t be more thankful. Whether you write a review, buy a book, help edit an advance reader copy, or all of the above, you’ve all made this an incredible journey, one I hope to continue on with you for many years to come.
As always I have to thank my wife and stepson for this book, because they had to put up with my obsessive working habits!
I also owe a big thanks to my editor, Aaron, who managed to get this manuscript back to me in record time, and my cover designer, Thien, who came through at the last minute with an exceptional cover.
And finally, thanks to all of my beta readers, without whom, this 1st Edition would be a mess of missing words, muddled prose, and cockamamy (that’s right, cockamamy) mistakes. In particular, I’d like to thank, Bill Schmidt, Clair Gassoway, Daniel Eloff, Dani J. Caile, Dave Cantrell, Dwight, Gregor, Gary Watts, Gary Wilson, H. Huyler, Ian Seccombe, Indra Johnson, Jim Meinen, Michael Madsen, Peter Hughes, Rob Dobozy, Rafael Gutierrez, Rod Gotty, Shane Haylock, Sandra Roan, and Wade Whitaker. You guys made editing this book a whole lot easier!
Thank you, all of you!
To those who dare,
And to those who dream.
To everyone who’s stronger than they seem.
“Believe in me /
I know you’ve waited for so long /
Believe in me /
Sometimes the weak become the strong”
—STAIND,
Believe
Dramatis Personae
Ortane Family
Ethan Ortane
Alara Ortane
Trinity Ortane
Atton Ortane / Darin Thardris
Heston Family
Strategian Hoff Heston
Destra Heston (clone)
Atta Heston (clone)
Avilonians
Valari Thardris / Neona Markonis
Grand Overseer Vladin Thardris / Omnius
Strategian Galan Rovik
Jena Faros
Lena Faros
Nulls
Farah Hale
Ceyla Corbin
Human Refugees
Destra Heston (original)
Atta Heston (original)
The Rictans
Rictan One Sergeant Cavanaugh - Deceased
Rictan Two Lieutenant “Magnum”
Rictan Three “Hop”
Rictan Four “Rockhead”
Rictan Five “Streak”
Rictan Six “Blades”
Rictan Seven “Carnage”
Rictan Eight - Deceased
Gors
Torv
Matriarch Shara
General Raka
Sythians
Shallah “The Supreme One”
Queen Tavia
Lady Kala
High Lord Kaon
High Lord Shondar
High Lord Worval
High Lord Rossk
High Lord Thorian
High Lord Quaris
Drones
Drone 767 / Bretton Hale
Drone 999 “Triple Nine” / Lena Faros
Others
Captain Marla Picara
Therius “The Redemptor”
Part One: The Shadow of Death
—The Year 11 AE (After Exodus to Dark Space) Twelve Years Since the Original Sythian Invasion—
“There He will remove the cloud of gloom, the shadow of death that hangs over His people.”
—The Etherian Codices
Chapter 1
D
estra Heston sat on a hard cot in her prison cell, staring at the cracks in the castcrete floor between her feet. She eyed one toe, which had begun to peek out through a hole in her left boot. That hole had been worn not from the month of being stranded in the frozen warrens of Noctune, but from the past five months of endlessly pacing around her cell.
It was hard to understand her captivity. After daring to explore the labyrinthine depths of Noctune and its ancient ruins, she and the other survivors from the expedition had stumbled into none other than the lord of all the Sythians, Shallah.
They’d all been promptly thrown into isolated jail cells, and since then the Sythians only came to give them food, water, and soap. Their captors never spoke, never lingered. They hadn’t interrogated or executed any of the prisoners—at least not that she knew about. All she knew was the endless monotony of her cell.
From what little Shallah had divulged at the moment of their capture, Destra had realized that the Sythians were hiding from Omnius, the ruler of Avilon. That was a strange concept given that what she had learned of the Sythians was that they were impossibly numerous and they had invaded the Adventa galaxy to find new worlds to colonize. Was Omnius powerful enough to frighten a species whose warships numbered in the millions, and whose people numbered in the quadrillions?
Destra didn’t know much about Omnius, but based on what she’d learned from Admiral Hale and the rest of the Avilonian rebels who had traveled with them on their fateful expedition to Noctune, he was a force to be reckoned with. Omnius was an artificial intelligence who had somehow managed to clone and resurrect everyone who had died during the Sythian invasion—including her husband Hoff.
That was probably the worst part of all, knowing that Hoff was alive, and that she was stuck on Noctune being held prisoner by Sythians, unlikely to ever see him again. Somehow she’d ended up on what was probably the wrong side of a civil war, a war against the ruler of the planet where her husband now lived.
Destra felt despair begin a slow march toward her heart, the one warm spot left in her body. Even here, in the heated confines of the Sythians’ refuge, Noctune was freezing. Destra shivered violently, and something stirred in her lap.
Atta moaned softly and buried her face into the relative warmth of Destra’s insulated pilot’s suit. Destra reached out with a cracked and worn glove, and stroked the back of Atta’s head, admiring her daughter’s long, dark hair. Somehow it still looked lustrous and healthy. That was a good sign. It meant that the cold green mush they were given to eat every day must have sufficient nutrients in it to keep them healthy. Atta’s cheeks were rosy and red, her small, button nose flushed pink at the tip from the cold. Destra supposed it was too much to ask the Sythians for a blanket. Not that she hadn’t tried.
They were trying to drive her skriffy with isolation, but it wouldn’t work. She still had Atta to talk to. Dear sweet Atta. Seven years ago she and Hoff had conceived her while stranded together on a world not unlike Noctune. Now she and Atta were back on another dark and frozen world. There was some irony in that.
Seven years…
No, that wasn’t right. By now Atta had to be close to eight, but there was no way to know for sure. Destra’s eyes burned with a sudden heat. She didn’t even know when to celebrate Atta’s birthday. A tear ran hot and wet down her cheek. Destra sniffled and laid her head back against the castcrete wall of her cell.
Thud.
She rocked her head back and forth, as if to deny the reality of their circumstances. A lump rose in her throat, and then the sobs came. She kept them muffled for Atta’s sake.
Atta stirred once more, and Destra took a deep, shuddering breath. She forced it all down, kept it bottled in. She had to be strong. Had to show Atta that there was still hope, even if they didn’t know exactly what they were hoping for.
Destra’s despair retreated a step, and in its place came a creeping numbness that had nothing to do with the cold. She rolled her head to one side, her ear pressing up against the frozen wall of her cell, and she allowed her eyes to drift slowly shut. Her mind gave up the agony of consciousness. It was a sweet surrender of not-knowing and not-feeling.
And then the dreams came.
She saw herself sitting on the floor of her cell, mindlessly scraping away at it with some kind of stick that she’d found. Atta was nowhere to be seen, but perhaps she was asleep on the cot behind her.
Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.
Her stick broke. She stared at it in her callused and shaking hands. Dirty fingertips showed through holes in her gloves. The tool she’d been scraping the floor with was white and dirty, splintered on the end that she’d been scraping against the concrete. Then she saw it for what it was.
It was a femur—the longest and thickest bone in the human body. Destra recoiled from it, dropping the bone with a hollow-sounding clatter. She scuttled back into the farthest corner of her cell, terrified and sick with horror.
Scrape, scrape, scrape,
came the echoes inside her head. Where had that bone come from?
Scrape. Scrape.
Where?
Scrape.
Where was Atta?
Suddenly she felt something sharp and protruding between her and the wall, something had been pushed into that shadowy corner, something that was not meant to be seen.
Destra felt around behind her. Her fingertips grazed more bones, and she screamed.