Jon Messenger: Purge of Prometheus

“…lavished with praise by the Lords’ Senate,” Doctor Solomon’s message continued as Yen remembered his haunting encounter. “It was truly the highlight of my career. At least, it was, until a chance encounter with an Oterian smuggler flying through the Demilitarized Zone. After being taken captive, the Oterian revealed his cargo, a strange substance that was later designated as Deplitoxide. The disenfranchised smuggler agreed to provide more of the chemical to us, which we weaponized for rocket attacks against Alliance ships. Armed with the new weapons, I ordered the fleet into Alliance space.

“Initial tests were very promising, until the small fleet was destroyed by an Alliance counterattack. The rest, as they say, is history.”

The image of the doctor sat silently on the screen. Yen, lost in his own thoughts, turned away in disgust and prepared to leave, but froze when the doctor continued.

“Well, it would have been history, except that I wasn’t done with my research. Deplitoxide had too many uses outside of ship to ship engagements to be content with our results. The chemical’s ability to transmute heat and energy had far reaching implications, many of which the universe will experience now that I’m dead.”

Yen turned back to the screen as the image changed. Where the face had stood before, it was now replaced with a computer representation of a star system, the sun glowing brightly in the center of the concentric circle orbits of the planets. A small green disk appeared near the sun as the narrative continued.

“The Lords’ Senate had approved one last bit of research, knowing that a strike by the Alliance was highly probably after we invaded their space. The research was as intriguing as it was revealing. The thesis of our research was simple: if the Deplitoxide had the ability to transform the engine fuel of ships into a black tar, then the effects on a burning sun would be catastrophic.”

The excitement in Doctor Solomon’s voice was barely concealed as the diagram began moving. The green disk lowered gently toward the glowing representation of the sun. As it struck the sun’s surface, the screen flashed brightly before the glowing orb rapidly darkened and cooled, leaving behind a black husk where the sun had previously stood.

“To that end, the Terran Empire pre-positioned canisters of Deplitoxide in orbit around forty-three different suns in thirty-two star systems. As this message is playing, signals are being sent to these canisters. If we can’t defeat the Alliance by force, then we’ll simply have to kill them where they live.”

The image transformed back to that of the doctor, who was smiling broadly. “While I know I will always be remembered for this brazen scientific gambit, I can only hope my research is continued by those who would not live under the yoke of Alliance domination. I was known in life; let me be immortalized in death.”

With the message finished, the doctor’s face froze on the screen before the message began replaying once more.

“My name is Doctor David Solomon. If you are watching this video, it means that I am already dead.”

Yen shook his head in disbelief. Trillions of people lived through Alliance space, many of whom would now be in jeopardy if what Doctor Solomon was saying was correct.

“…the Alliance and the Empire have both stoically remained fastidious about the terms of the Taisa Accord…”

Without suns to grant life-giving warmth to the planets, they would be damned to unnatural winters. Crops would die in the fields. People would freeze to death as temperatures plummeted. Millions, if not billions, would die of exposure and starvation.

“…disenfranchised smuggler agreed to provide more of the chemical to us, which we weaponized for rocket attacks…”

Yen knew that there had to be a way to stop the signal before it was sent. He rushed over to the computer console and tried to access the control prompt. Every combination of codes he tried, however, resulted in a small red phrase flashing across the screen as the message continued. “Access Denied,” it read over and over again as Yen tried to hack into the Terran system.

“…we can’t defeat the Alliance by force, then we’ll simply have to kill them where they live…”

Yen slammed his fist into the computer console and gasped for breath as the power surged through his system. His nerves burned as his combined rage and frustration poured adrenaline into his blood. The air wavered before his eyes and bile burned in his throat.

“…I was known in life; let me be immortalized in death…”

“My name is Doctor David Solomon…”

With an angry flick of his hand, the screen exploded into a shower of plastic and glass. The room was suddenly cast into a soothing silence and the power, having found a release, slowly subsided. Yen turned to the soldiers, both mortified and furious.

“Gather your men,” he said, “and get ready for an immediate evacuation. We need to get back to the Fleet now!”

Keryn Riddell cut the heavy gravity acceleration as she entered the Orthorius Galaxy and began her decent toward Othus, the only inhabitable planet in a galaxy dominated by a burning, swollen yellow sphere. The eighth planet in the system, the atmosphere around Othus had evolved to repel the heavy radiation that poured from its large sun. As a result, the sky above the planet held a sickly, radioactive green hue. Despite being located so far away from the sun, the planet’s atmospheric temperature was significantly higher than most inhabited planets in the known universe. Keryn, who had already been suffering during the long voyage to Othus, was not looking forward to further discomfort added to that which she had already endured.

Twisting the latch that held her harness closed, Keryn stretched her stiff muscles as much as the cramped cabin would allow. Though the inhibitors on board her ship, the Cair Ilmun , greatly reduced the pressure of the increased gravities a craft would encounter during long transits between galaxies, the technology wasn’t able to transform the intense accelerations into a single gravity. As a result, a crew traveled for months at a time feeling as though a foot constantly pressed against their chest. They struggled for breath and moved as though they carried an extra thirty percent of their body weight.

Keryn clicked the microphone strapped to her throat, engaging the intercom that ran through the small vessel.

“Regular gravity restored,” she announced in a voice that seemed strained and tired. Though faint through the heavy metal door that separated the cabin from the crew quarters, she could hear the cheers from a relieved crew.

It was good to hear them cheer, she thought. The last time she had heard them cheer so exuberantly was when the entire team of seven first descended on Pteraxis, the last known location of Cardax and his black market organization. She remembered that their cheers were short lived. Their attempt to capture Cardax then had resulted in disaster, with two members of her team killed and McLaughlin, who was still in what passed for the ship’s the sick bay, only stabilized after being wounded severely when a grenade landed near by.

The door to the cabin slid open and Adam Decker, one of the only two Pilgrims that had volunteered for this mission, entered into the cramped cabin. His shaggy blond hair brushed the transparent ceiling as he stooped, his muscular upper body bent forward in the confined space. Keryn turned to the best of her ability and flashed him a warming smile, glad to finally have company on the bridge of the ship. The Pilgrims were an odd ally in the war. Born Terrans, they had turned against the Empire’s teachings, siding instead with the Interstellar Alliance.