Lacuna: Demons of the Void Read online

  Contents

  Dedication

  Title Page

  Map

  Prologue

  Act I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Act II

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Act III

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Act IV

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Act V

  Chapter XIV

  Chapter XV

  Epilogue

  The Lacunaverse

  –––-

  A writer does not write in isolation,

  for they are the sum of their experiences.

  It is from these experiences that inspiration comes.

  I thank my family, who allowed me to be who I am,

  My friends, who love me in spite of me,

  And as always, to my readers.

  You made all this possible.

  Special thanks to UFOP: Starbase 118 for teaching me how to write,

  And Shane Michael Murray,

  my tireless proofreader, motivator and partner in crime.

  –––-

  Lacuna

  空

  白

  Demons of the Void

  “The history of advanced races meeting more primitive people on this planet is not very happy, and they were the same species.

  I think we should keep our heads low.”

  - Professor Steven Hawking

  Prologue

  “In Medias Res”

  *****

  Sydney, Australia

  2029 A.D.

  Moments after the attack on Earth

  Senior Lieutenant Melissa Liao of the People’s Liberation Army awoke face down in the dark, pinned under the debris of the destroyed building, concrete dust swirling all around her.

  She was dimly aware of a dull pain in her feet which became sharper as her consciousness returned to her. Overcome by a spasm of coughing, the dust made it impossible to open her eyes, causing a spike of instinctive panic to rise deep in her belly. Was she blind? She remembered a flash of light, then the rumble of the collapsing building...

  When she finally forced them open, it was with watery, blurred vision she saw in the inky, dusty black the shattered blue jug of the office water cooler... its frigid contents spilled out onto the carpet, creating a cold wet fuzziness that was strangely more uncomfortable than the crushing weight of the debris pinning her to the ground.

  The survival instinct kicked in and she began to cry out.

  “救命啊! 救命啊...!”

  “Found one in here!”

  A voice from above her in English, accented... and through the concussed shroud that was her mind, familiar. There was the sound of rubble being shifted. Liao recognised the language and she shouted back in kind.

  “My legs! My legs are stuck!”

  The familiar voice that called back sounded surprised.

  “Melissa? Is that you?”

  Her memory clicked – the voice was Captain James Grégoire, a native of Belgium. He had met Liao in Sydney as an observer and guide. He had been nearby when the huge explosion had happened.

  “Yes- it’s me! Hurry!”

  “We’re working as fast as we can!”

  More debris being shifted. Liao, despite herself, felt very reassured. Very relaxed. Perhaps it was just a combination of an obvious concussion and blood loss, or perhaps it was Grégoire’s voice that steadied her nerves.

  Though they had met only earlier today, the woman thought Grégoire was a strikingly attractive man, with a deep voice, dark skin and a bald head... he struck quite the imposing visage, especially being so tall.

  Of course, he was a naval Captain in the European Union and she a naval Lieutenant in the Chinese People’s Navy, so it could never work out. Nevertheless, they had struck up a fast friendship despite their vast ideological differences.

  Liao coughed again, sending out clouds of concrete dust from the ruined carpet below her.

  “What happened, James? A bomb...?”

  There was no answer from above. Liao began to panic again.

  “James...?!”

  “Don’t know,” was James’s reply from above, his tone grave. “Something really bad. You’ll see when we get you out of there. Okay, you two – lift up that beam right there...”

  There was a shift in the pile of rubble above her, followed by the rumble-clatter of debris as it resettled. The Chinese woman shrieked as a sharp piece of metal sliced open her hip.

  Grégoire’s voice boomed above her. “Stop, stop, stop! You’re hurting her!”

  “他妈的，好痛... 哟...”

  Liao passed out again.

  Her next memory was of being stretchered away from the ruined building, fading in and out of awareness. Grégoire was by her side, holding her hand, his coal-black skin covered in chalk-white dust. A thick flow of blood trickled down the side of his head. Liao could hear rotor blades thumping nearby.

  “Hang in there, okay? We’ve got a helicopter ready to take you to Canberra...”

  Liao blinked groggily, glancing down to the IV line attached to her arm. From her training she knew the effects of morphine but had never experienced it herself. It was like she had just woken up from a particularly deep and relaxing sleep and there was no pain at all. Everything seemed distant and foggy.

  “Why Canberra...? Why not a local hospital?”

  The Australian medics began loading her into the helicopter. Rolling her head weakly from one side to the other, she was able to see that it was a civilian craft, bearing the logo of an Australian news outlet. Off to one side, Liao could see other medics tending to a dust-covered, hyperventilating redheaded woman who was frantically sucking down an asthma inhaler. Their contact, Summer Rowe, had survived too... apparently against all odds.

  Grégoire’s tone was grim, pointing out the side of the aircraft, whose blades began to chop faster signalling imminent lift-off.

  “See for yourself.”

  As their impromptu ambulance lifted from the ground and took to the air, she saw the extent of the devastation first hand.

  Barely a building stood. Nary a landmark survived. She saw the Harbour Bridge – an icon of the beautiful city they had driven across only hours ago – lying splayed out on the harbour, its wires hanging limply in the water like the tendrils of some horrid beast. The Opera House was broken open, its sail-like sweeps shattered like blackened, roasted eggshells.

  The city centre and suburbs were naught but blackened, burned fields devoid of form. In the heart of Sydney, the skeletons of her tall skyscrapers, cut down like freshly mowed grass, were the only structures taller than waist-high rubble. From her superior vantage point in the helicopter Melissa could see hundreds of tiny dots moving around as people flooded into the debris-covered streets.

  In terms of construction, however, aside from the occasional skeleton of a building... there was almost nothing left of the whole city.

  A radio laying by her head crackled to life. A voice, unearthly and strange, came filtering through.

  “永远不要再次尝试开发这项技 术.”

  The message repeated itself three times, then abruptly went silent.

  Above them, seen through the thumping rotor blades, a bright white flash burst in the sky and quickly faded like a firework exploding in the distance.

  Grégoire’s hand found hers again. “That sounded like Chinese,” he asked, his tone questioning rather than accusatory.

  It was Chinese, heavily accented and barely clear. Liao hesitated a moment, trying to find the best translation through the fog of her sedated mind.

  “Never again a
ttempt to develop this kind of technology.”

  The remainder of the helicopter trip was conducted in silence. It was only when they arrived and were debriefed that they learned the Demons – that’s what the media called them, for lack of a better term – had not stopped with the Australian city... Tehran and Beijing, both research centres and both host to roughly the same technology as Sydney, had suffered the same fate.

  In all, fifty million men, women and children died in an instant... and the world changed forever.

  Act I

  Chapter I

  “Chekhov’s Armoury”

  *****

  Sydney

  Australia

  Two hours earlier

  The tyres of the giant jet squealed as they touched down at Sydney airport. The giant Boeing 747 slowly rolled to a stop. As the aircraft taxied to the terminal, Liao mused angrily over the circumstances that had brought her here.

  She was a career naval officer and she had enlisted from a young age, something she had done against the objections of her parents who wanted her to be a homemaker... but Liao had ambitions. This was probably the result of her father’s encouragement.

  “If you aim for the mud and dirt,” he was fond of saying, “...but manage to poke your head out a bit, you think you’re doing pretty well, even if you’re really just a fool covered in slop.”

  A dramatic pause here. Her father loved dramatic pauses, much to Liao’s chagrin.

  “But if you aim for the stars and only make it to the Moon, then you’ve accomplished great things even if you don’t recognise them.”

  Liao wanted to accomplish great things. Yet, here she was, visiting one of the PRC’s minor trading allies to inspect their so-called advanced technology. Most of it was cribbed from the Americans anyway, or reverse engineered from Chinese designs... or so she had been told in the scintillatingly boring mission brief.

  The plane disembarked and Liao collected her bag. She stepped out of the airport into the cool autumn air, breathing a sigh of relief. Fresh air...

  “Senior Lieutenant Melissa Liao, right?”

  Liao glanced over her shoulder. A man in his mid forties with a bald head and black skin stood nearby, his hands clasped behind him.

  She turned to face him, nodding. “That’s right.”

  “My name is Captain James Grégoire. I’m with the EU, here as the envoy to inspect the new technology.”

  Liao felt vaguely offended. “As am I, but I was under the impression it was a private invitation... I didn’t know it extended to other Australian allies.”

  Grégoire chuckled and shook his head. “Well, yes and no. The Iranian Republic and the PRC have full inspection rights, as per the agreement, but the Australia Prime Minster feels that, in order to maintain diplomatic relations with the rest of the world, she should offer to permit the EU and the United States to send envoys.”

  Ugh, Americans. Liao rolled her eyes. “Well, where is he then?”

  Grégoire laughed. “I’m guessing the U.S. didn’t send anyone. With their economy the way it is, you honestly think they could afford to send someone to check out the latest toys? They’re still trying to fix things after the latest collapse...”

  Liao chuckled along with him. America’s financial troubles were well known in the international community – since September 11th, an event still influential decades after the fact, they had taken on war after war, borrowing from the international community to finance their various struggles against imaginary enemies. They had subsequently tried to inflate their way out of their debt but had gone too fast, ruining countless lives. And their debtors indexed the debt in Euros anyway making the deliberate inflation pointless. Now their economy lay in ruins.

  It was sad, but Liao’s country had gone through similar trials. The Americans would recover... eventually. She shrugged.

  “I guess it’s just you and me then. Do you have a ride, Captain?”

  Grégoire nodded. “Yes, a hire car. Follow me.” A pause. “And please, call me James.”

  The two made their way to a vehicle which was parked in a large, multilayer concrete area. Crowds of homeless people hassled them for money but the two ignored the throng.

  “No driver?” Liao observed dryly, taking in the view of the modestly priced vehicle.

  “Times are tough,” he replied with a shrug.

  Liao glanced back at the airport building. Sydney terminal had been completely renovated during the 2000 Olympic Games. Since then, economic pressures had prevented any significant work on the structure... and now it looked faded and worn.

  They embarked, programmed their north-shore destination into the car’s GPS, and James drove them out of the car park.

  “Not as pretty as it used to be, is it?” Liao remarked, watching the city from the passenger window. Buildings looked run down and dilapidated, and many badly needed a coat of paint.

  “Not quite.”

  “Reminds me of home,” she remarked, rolling her shoulders. “The Western World used to be an enigma for the Chinese. Something to be admired, to be feared, to look down your nose at... all at once.”

  Grégoire turned a corner, the electric car’s engine humming as it picked up speed. “What happened?”

  Liao shrugged again, clicking her tongue. “I guess we just realised that the West wasn’t so different from us. And that while they had their successes, we hadn’t had as much luck. Now it’s our turn to succeed.” She paused. A barely legible sign stood, crookedly but proudly proclaiming the suburb as Redfern.

  The Chinese woman tossed her shoulder length black hair. “Don’t worry,” she continued, “I’m sure the Western powers will have another turn at greatness soon enough.”

  Grégoire grinned. “Agreed.”

  They chatted idly for the rest of the journey and the mood picked up substantially. Given their backgrounds, politics wasn’t something they agreed on, obviously, but they did both have naval careers and that was something they could share. By the time they were approaching the harbour, the two were chatting away like old friends and Liao was recalling some of the war games she’d participated in.

  “...but my first big piece of the action came during Operation New Dawn. I was the navigator for the number 404, Han class... they’re cramped alright, but they get the job done. Fun times.”

  Grégoire laughed. “Little miss Melissa? A submariner?”

  “Yep. I originally wanted a surface vessel, but I guess I got allocated to the Han class. Fell in love with them honestly.” She smirked, leaning over and giving the man a playful shove.

  “Hey, careful! I’m driving!”

  James laughed, then reached down and flicked on the auto-drive. Instantly the car took over the work, its electric engine humming along as it gracefully took the curve. Up ahead the front of the Sydney Harbour Bridge loomed.

  Grégoire cocked an eyebrow, examining the structure. “Pretty impressive, no?”

  Liao shrugged, smirking. “We have bigger bridges back home.”

  The car changed lanes, bringing them closer to the outermost lane of the bridge, closest to the rail lines. The thick suspension wires of the bridge flew past.

  “The Opera House is pretty, though,” Liao conceded.

  There was a pause as the car carried them over the bridge.

  “So, how’d you go from being the chief navigator on the 404, to...”

  “...to being the PRC’s envoy to a minor trading ally who can’t even afford a driver to pick her up?” Liao’s tone was dry and pissy. “Well, my XO told me that I was picked because I spoke English, and because I was pretty.”

  The car’s tyres gave a gentle thump as it completed the trip across the bridge, changing lanes again. The Belgian man twisted in his seat, looking surprised. “He flat out told you that?”

  “Even today there are still powerful people in Chinese society who believe that women are better off being homemakers.”

  James frowned. “A very outdated idea, even in China.”r />
  Liao nodded. “You’d think so, but it’s a product of the One-Child Policy and I guess those kinds of ideas take a long while to stamp out. Women are allowed to serve in any branch of the Chinese armed forces, but we’re expected to resign when we get married. You know, settle down, start the family... pump out their sole male heir. Spoil it rotten.”

  Her tone carried a kind of bitterness about it James found entirely justifiable. The car flew through the suburbs making its way to the research facility on the north shore.

  Grégoire turned to face Liao again. “So, how’d you go on New Dawn?”

  Liao grinned. “Sunk some pretty impressive tonnage before they got us. 19,000 tonnes – six ships. Not bad for a bunch of women and men from China, hey?”

  With a grin, Grégoire waggled an eyebrow. “We got one ship.” A pause, letting the gravity sink in. “100,000 tonnes.”

  Liao sat up in her seat, eyes wide. “What..?!”

  “My crew and I nailed a Nimitz class aircraft carrier. Cost us the ship, but we did it.”

  Liao stared at her companion as the car drove itself between traffic, pulling up at one of the many sets of traffic lights that stood between them and their destination.

  “废话.”

  “No bullshit. Hand to my heart, we sunk the USS George H. W. Bush. Her Captain was... bushed, you could say.”

  “Surely not. I would have heard about that... the Americans would be furious!”

  “They were, but I think they kept it quiet internationally. Wouldn’t you?”

  Liao’s face screwed up in doubt. The light changed and the car took off again. “How...?”

  Grégoire smirked, holding up his flat hand as though to mimic the aircraft carrier.

  “Pretty simple, we pulled a Thunder Child on them. You know? From H.G. Wells’ War of the Worlds...?”

  Liao shook her head. “Actually, I never read it.”

  James nodded anyway. “Well, I was in command of the F1004 Leopold III. We reported that we’d struck a mine and were disabled, then waited until the aircraft carrier was in range... and rammed it when they arrived to take the crew prisoner.”