Dark Field

There were many colonized worlds. Some were colonized by one of the two nations known to the human race; the Celian Democracy and the Rillian Empire. Others were syndicated planets under the control of an interstellar corporation, of which there were several. One such corporation was Star, commanded by C.E.O. David Sok.

David Sok sat in the captain’s chair of his diplomatic spaceship, which was a sleek, silver ship of medium size. It descended through the atmosphere of a moon located on an outskirt of the Rillian Empire. He pushed several bright coloured buttons on his armrest. In tiny cups built into it, several pills of corresponding colours appeared, having dropped into them. Sok popped them into his mouth and swallowed them with a cup of water he had next to him.

“Are you sure you want to do this sir?” asked the third in command, a female senior executive named Hara Pillot, seated to his left. “It’s not too late to back out. Emperor Isophes will stop at nothing. He won’t stop with Celia. He’ll try to destroy Star in the end.” Sok turned his gaze pointedly to his first advisor, Vice President Paul Wixer, seated to his right.

“He’ll try to destroy Star,” Wixer said. “But we’ll try to destroy him first. We aren’t so different, him and us.”

“I don’t know why you want Paul to go with you so badly. He won’t even be able to remember everything.” She referred to an oddity related to Paul Wixer. Unlike other executives in Star, he did not use drugs. Most used them to control mood and to enhance performance, including memory performance, despite the life shortening aspects of such drug use. Paul also abstained from cybernetic enhancements, which made him doubly anathema to most of the cyborgs who owned Star.

“And yet he still sits to my right, not my left,” said Sok seriously. Pillot reclined in her chair, the point taken.

The meeting began one hour later. Sok was shown into an intimate though soulless black room. On the other side of a black table, dressed in a stiff black uniform, Isophes, Emperor of Ril, sat. His skin was pale. His face was vaguely predatory, as if his heritage included a leopard. His hair was thick, pale, and short. Each of the leaders had one advisor with them. Sok’s advisor was Vice President Paul Wixer.

The subject of their meeting was a basic business arrangement. Sok and Star hoped to gain preferential treatment in the music, planetary vehicle, and film industry markets with the repressive nation of Ril. The plan was to engage in a temporary alliance with Ril in exchange for these. Since Star was not involved in any wars, the treaty would effectively mean that Star would enter into war with Ril’s bitter rival, Celia. Through extensive negotiation and strong nerves, Star managed to hammer out a contract with Ril to the effect that for one year, the provisional alliance would be in effect, pending further extension.



On the Celian world Osa, in an apartment building occupied by a middle-aged widower and hovercar mechanic named Herb Allit, Allit sat at his computer, which was on video phone mode. He chatted with an old friend who lived elsewhere in the city.

“I don’t like it,” Allit said grimly to his friend. “It isn’t a fair fight. It’s two against one. What are we going to do?”

“Die well?”

“Most likely not,” said Allit darkly. “If we lose, it will most likely be slavery.”



Lieutenant Joseph Percy was at his station at the navigation console on board the famous Celian spaceship the Monk. Nobody around him in the command center was speaking, but thoughts swirled in the air and in Joseph’s head. Joseph was the only known telepath in the universe. Apparently a mutated or highly evolved human, Joseph had been a celebrity since early childhood. He was a celebrity officer in the Celian fleet. The crew had become used to Joseph, or rather as used to Joseph as human beings could naturally be. Thus they did not attempt to censor their thoughts. They knew that he had heard everything already. With word of the new alliance, the mood was dead serious.

What would Monk say? thought the captain in Joseph Percy’s head. Monk didn’t say anything about this. Victor Monk was the single most venerated and respected personage in the history of the Celians. He had been a philosopher whose thought formed the basis of their social democratic system. The ship, the Monk, was named after him.



Atred Zekar was refitting the Dog, the flagship of the Celian space fleet, along with ten thousand other workers. Zekar had largely designed the ship fifteen years earlier. He was one of the few Celians who was in fact a cyborg. He owed this status to his enthusiastic campaign to gain cybernetic enhancements to his brain. He was the first Celian to undergo the still unpopular procedure.

As he typed a complex mathematical formula into the pad built into the section of the stern that he worked on, he thought (mainly with the organic section of his brain) “The old Dog will see some action yet.” He was excited about the coming war in spite of himself. The Dog had never had an opportunity so great to prove herself.

But his excitement was tempered by his technical understanding. He had read the intelligence appraisals of the fleet of the Rillian Empire, as well as that of Star. While neither had a ship as powerful as the Dog in his opinion, they had very advanced ships, and overall Celia was outnumbered at around three to one. Fifteen years earlier he would have fantasized that with the Dog leading the fleet it would be unbeatable. At fifty, though, he knew that it was not the truth; further, he knew that Celia had almost no chance of victory in an all out battle against the new alliance.



Paul Wixer stood in his office on the two hundredth floor of Star headquarters, located on Blue, the capital world of Star’s empire. It was a huge office, and took up a fifth of the large floor, which was the second highest in the building. It was very early in the morning and he was alone in it, having slept there, although beside him sat his robot secretary, a white and red unisex automaton he had eccentrically named “Suzie”. He stood by the window and gazed over Star City, the capital city of Star. The city was mostly a combination of enormous skyscrapers, advertisements, and gimmicky entertainment structures, such as “Meteor Casino” in the shape of a giant space rock, and “the Coliseum”, a multipurpose sports arena which sometimes featured death sports.

The government of Star was minimalist and cited the laissez faire theory of economics. Every section of Star competed constantly against every other section. Star was the state as well as the corporation. Star City was a place where one could get virtually anything for the right amount of money, and where one could get virtually nothing for free. The state provided an intrinsically corrupt police force, in a legal system where the right sum of money officially entitled one to do the majority of immoral acts. People starved frequently in Star’s empire, and most frequently of all in Star City, the richest city in the known galaxy. Some broke and homeless people squeaked by an existence on good willed charity; most did not.

“Did I ever tell you Suzie,” said Paul Wixer without turning his face from the window, “that my mother sacrificed herself to get me here?” That was basically true. The Wixer family, which consisted of a widowed and unskilled woman and a small boy, had lived in the horrible slums located at the core of Star City. She had prostituted herself, a legal position in Star. Occasionally she had killed people; generally pimps who were trying to muscle in on her business. She worked all the time. They did not have a home and Paul engaged in child labour, which, in the slums, was a dead end in terms of a career, although it was also legal in Star. To Paul, as long as he could remember, his mother, a beautiful woman, had seemed an insane person, obsessively fidgety, abrupt, and manic. She died mysteriously at the age of thirty eight when Paul was ten; an out of work doctor told him that it was from anxiety caused by overwork. She bequeathed to him ten thousand dollars in bills; enough for a chance.

Paul stared ahead with his usual impassive expression. Then he smiled. “The old girl sure had life in her,” he said and turned to look at “Suzie”. He himself sometimes used prostitutes. He had no time for an actual relationship with a woman. But he did not engage in the pedophilia of some of his colleagues. He was not sensitive, and neither could he declare himself against it, just as he could not declare himself against anything. That was not changed by the haunting of his life by memories of sexual abuse when he was a street orphan. He was an abstainer, not an activist. There were no activists in Star; they didn’t last.

“One day, Suzie, I’ll buy you a nice pink hovercar,” he said, his face turned back to the window. “And you can take me on picnics on another world.” The delusion was multilayered. Paul Wixer’s real intention was to stave off retirement for as long as possible. As for vacations to other worlds, he had never had one before, and certainly did not have time for one. He was at that time forty years of age.



The battlefield spanned fifteen star systems, but all sides seemed to be sucked to one system in particular. It was located at an intersection between the three, the only such system. There were no settlements in the system, except one experimental colony which had a population of two settlers.

The colony was located on a small, rocky, barren world. Twenty five years earlier, biologist Jay Totin had arrived with his young wife Mary and the two had proceeded to set up their experimental bio-dome. Ten percent of the planet’s surface contained fertile soil, thanks to the hard work and scientific ingenuity of the couple. Forests had sprouted; moss had grown in the artificial lake; and a wild garden of flowers had sprouted beside the log cabin that the couple had built inside the bio-dome. Sometimes tourists came from around the known galaxy, but the Totins did little for them except try to ensure their survival in the developing conditions.

Someone who was not a tourist had come to see them. Above the planet the mighty ship the Monk was in orbit, and Admiral James Dest, the humane face of the Celian military, sat across from Jay Totin at his wooden dinner table.

“We are willing to offer you our protection,” Dest said. “If you’re crazy enough to stay here during the coming battle, we won’t prevent it. But we will only stick our necks out for you if you become repatriated to the Celian Democracy.”

“There’s no border here,” said the gray haired Totin solemnly. “I do not belong to Celia, any more than the world belongs to me.”

“Think of it this way,” Dest said. “If a star was going to go supernova, and you knew it was going to happen, wouldn’t it be wise to get out of its way? This whole solar system is going to go supernova in only a few weeks. Why not leave? You don’t have to become a Celian citizen: You’re welcome in Celia and there’s enough room for you to enjoy a retirement in a log cabin on Osa.”

“I have become like the woods,” said Jay Totin. “I can no more move now than the woods.”

“What about your wife?”

“The same goes for her.”

“She’s doomed if she stays here.”

“She’s ready to accept the consequences.” Jay Totin was standing pointedly. James Dest rose sluggishly. He paused at the door.

“I hate to see it end this way Jay,” said Dest.

“I don’t,” said Jay. The Monk departed two hours later. The next day another large ship arose which bore the five pointed star insignia of Star. Senior executive Hara Pillot offered him a fortune for the world. He turned her down flat, not bothering to explain to her that it was not his to give.



Paul Wixer was travelling between the worlds Blue, where Star City was located, and Violent, in another star system, where his new warship, the Man of War, was located. He had craftily left Blue quietly without saying goodbye to anyone but “Suzie”. He was travelling in a very small craft, ostensibly because he enjoyed piloting, but in truth to have an excuse to be alone in his secret rendezvous with Admiral James Dest. Dest’s craft was similar, and in the dead of space between solar systems the two docked and Wixer shortly found himself face to face with the handsome, fatherly face of the Celian fleet.

“Thanks for taking the time to meet me,” said Dest.

“It’s my pleasure,” said Wixer with a smile. He pushed an electronic pad onto the table at which they sat. Dest picked it up and studied it. “It’s the customized schematics of the ship which will be captained by C.E.O. David Sok. Along with mine, it will be the strongest ship in the fleet. Notice the painted over soft spot in the middle of the aft section.”

“Mr. Wixer, why are you doing this?” asked the admiral.

“The way it works in Star, as I’m sure you know, is that when the majority shareholder dies, the stock of the company goes up for auction. Sok is the majority shareholder. When he dies nobody will be able to stop me from filling his place; nobody will have enough wealth. Especially with the gems that you will now give me.” Dest nodded, and walked over to a safe. Paul Wixer put on an impassive face, but was on the edge of his seat, ready to leap at Dest and murder him if he discovered treachery. Dest unlocked the safe, pulled out a suitcase, placed it on the table in front of Wixer, and opened the suitcase. The gems were literally blindingly bright and had to be kept in translucent shading foil, but Wixer could tell from their touch, weight, and obscured look that they were legitimate; he scanned them anyway, and the scan concluded the same thing. Star gems, the most valuable item by weight in the known galaxy. They were crystallized stars. “You see, admiral, I do think you have gotten the worse end in this deal. After all, even with the Bloody Sun destroyed, Celia will certainly fall to the combined forces of Ril and Star. Surely you see that.”

“Would you like to defect to Celia?” asked James Dest. Paul Wixer laughed.

“Absurd.”



Within two weeks the preparations for the great battle were complete. Three mighty fleets from three great powers drifted into the contested Verus system. It was popularly supposed to be the most important event of the past two hundred years, since the martyrdom of Victor Monk and the split between the Rillian and Celian factions of humanity. Ten thousand space ships were counted between the three factions. Celia was outnumbered three to one.

In the command center of the Dog, the mighty flagship of Celia, Admiral James Dest was at the height of his powers. Unsmiling, he issued orders clearly and urgently. As crew members of every rank passed by him, Dest singled out an ensign who he recognized. “I promise this will be more exciting than reading Marco Polo’s reports, ensign,” he said and patted the young man’s shoulder as he passed. Ensign Daniel Guff worked with the sensors on the Dog; normally he worked with deep space probes which scanned systems millions of light years away. One such probe was named Marco Polo.

Emperor Isophes was on board the Rillian flagship. He turned to his chief advisor. “What is the status of that world with two Celians on it?”

“The same my dread lord. The exact relationship with Celia cannot be determined with certainty.”

When in doubt, purify, thought the emperor. Then he said “Irradiate the world.”

From the Dog, ten thousand crewmembers watched in horror as the beloved and blossoming world was consumed by a harsh red cloud which emitted as a beam out of the Rillian flagship, a behemoth named the Godship. The world, formerly gray with a green patch, speckled with blue, turned to a blood red, and remained so. In the Star fleet, in the captain’s chair in the command center of the Man of War, Vice President Paul Wixer looked on impassively. Behold your enemy, Celia; it is the plague, he thought.

The fleets engaged soon after. The weaponry in style at that time consisted mostly of guns that fired concentrated and destructive rays. The best ships were armoured with an extremely durable metal found in the centers of some asteroids. The less important crafts were built from a variety of metals, some of which were resistant to energy weapons, and some of which were not. Crafts of all sizes weaved through blazing beams, or absorbed them, or exploded from them. More than one ship collided with another and caused an explosion which devoured smaller crafts from both sides.

“This is Bloody Sun,” C.E.O. David Sok’s voice bellowed across millions of miles, and to the ears of the command executives in Star’s major ships. “We’re pulling back into a support position. We’ve got your back.” The unstated reason for the change in strategy was that the Bloody Sun could not withstand much more of the heavy fire that had been laid upon it with amazing accuracy and apparent knowledge of the ship’s weaknesses.

“Bring the ship around and open fire on the Bloody Sun,” said Paul Wixer in the command center of his ship, the Man of War, to his executives. Most of those in the room had been bought by him before the battle. The Communications Assistant had not, and pulled his handgun out of his holster. He was tackled by a security guard, who led him off to the ship’s prison.

There was a crew of three thousand on board the Man of War. Half of them had become passive or active members of the conspiracy. The other half had not, and most of them were arrested before the order to attack was given to their department. They were crammed into whatever rooms were available to hold people, and with a skeleton crew, the Man of War slowly turned and, after an impressive buildup of light blue energy at its head, fired a direct hit into the Bloody Sun’s underbelly at a point where the armour was relatively light. Straight after, the Communications Executive monopolized half of the ship’s energy to open an emergency channel with the Dog. “This is Paul Wixer of the Man of War,” said Paul Wixer. “We’re with you now, admiral.”

“It’s an honour, Mr. Wixer,” said Admiral James Dest, who beamed with pleasure. “James Dest out.” He opened a channel to the Celian fleet in which he commanded that they cease all fire on the Man of War. The Dog concentrated all of its fire on the Bloody Sun. With a concentrated purple ray which the Dog fired at the precise point on the Bloody Sun that had just been hit by the Man of War, and which stood in space a full minute as the enemy relentlessly tried to stop it, a huge hole burst open in the Bloody Sun and sucked crew members and equipment into outer space. A minute later the flagship of Star exploded in a flurry of red and blue light. The parts of it fragmented wildly in outer space and impacted ships on all sides.

The Monk, one of Celia’s high grade ships, was a sitting duck. Its engines were broken by fire from the Rillian Empire. Its armour remained strong, however, as did its weaponry.

The sensors picked up a missile fired from the Godship. It approached too fast to shoot down and impacted the door of a minor docking bay, but, surprisingly, inflicted no damage. A moment later an obnoxious beeping went off in the command center. The hull had been breached at the point of impact.

“What was that?” the captain asked, shocked. Nobody knew. Nobody was stationed in that docking bay. The breach was contained and the area was remotely sealed to prevent decompression, but the ship had a new weak spot. An emergency repair crew was dispatched to deal with it.

A minute later, the situation looking rather grim with more Rillian than Celian ships around, the captain spoke into the small microphone on his collar, set to the frequency of the communication devices of the repair crew, “this is the captain. How are the repairs going?” There was no response. The second in command tried her microphone, but the result was the same. Suddenly there were the sounds of gunfire, shouts, and screams from outside the door. The chief of security burst out of the command center, and requested backup from his microphone. As the automatic door opened and the security chief charged out, the command crew caught a glimpse of what was causing the disturbance. It was some kind of giant, black, robotic monster. Its great claw-like blades and invincible hide brought out primal reactions in those who saw from times obscured by the passage of history. Then the door closed again.

The security chief faced the monster, which was drenched in the blood of slain security officers, the mangled corpses of whom lay at its feet. The Celian drew his state of the art pistol, which, unlike the gunpowder based weapons that were still current technologically, imitated the concentrated energy beams of space combat. He fired his powerful gun at what might have been the thing’s heart. The beast, not seeming to feel pain, recoiled at the impact of the blow and jumped quickly and gracefully onto a wall to its side, then rebounded off of it towards the tall and powerful man. The impact killed him instantly. Without hesitation, it then threw itself at the door, which had been locked from the inside. The impact pounded a crater into the door. A moment later it stuck a super-powered electric saw into the door, which it produced out of its body as a magician might produce a rabbit from a magic hat. It quickly and precisely cut a large circle in the door. The cut slab of metal thudded to the floor of the command center. The monster collided with the hole it had created, which was smaller than it was, and warped the edges as it leapt into the command center. It observed Lieutenant Joseph Percy standing in front of it with his arms spread and then it observed that it was flying through the air and back out of the command room at an alarming rate. It collided with a wall twenty feet away and devastated it. In the hallway, Joseph Percy pulled a red latch on a doorway which led to an escape pod and pushed the door open. He stood squarely in the hallway in front of the escape pod and, his hands spread to either side, telekinetically drew the robotic Grendel swiftly toward him. It fired something at him from its shoulder. It was a gunshot, but it only grazed his own shoulder and hit a computer in the command room behind him. He telekinetically thrust the monster into the escape pod and pushed the large red emergency launch button in the space of a second. The escape pod fired quickly from the ship. Faster than the pod, however, the Monk fired a brilliant flash of concentrated, white energy at it, and the pod exploded in space upon the impact. There were cheers in the command center.

“That got it,” said the captain happily.

“Him,” said Lieutenant Joseph Percy.

The fleet of Star, leaderless and betrayed, fought with confusion and clumsiness. The Rillian fleet proved stronger, but saw its numbers diminish rapidly against the heroism and raw power of the Celians. Eight hours later, Star’s ships had generally been routed. The remainder of the Rillian ships fought on, matched by the number of Celian ships. Eventually, thanks in large part to the majesty of the Dog, Celia gained the upper hand, and held it. Emperor Isophes was forced to retreat in the cyclopean Godship, which was the only Rillian ship that managed to escape. In total, Celia had deployed 2563 ships and had seen 1990 of them destroyed, but they had won. The Monk, the Dog, and the Man of War were all still in one piece, if sometimes only barely.

“You know, Paul,” said Admiral Dest in the audience of an awards ceremony on the planet Osa to Paul Wixer, with a smile, “we don’t have money in Celia.” The unstated point was that Paul Wixer’s enormous fortune would be relatively worthless in Celia were he to become a citizen.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” said Paul.