The Speed of Darkness: A Tale of Space, Time, and Aliens Who Love to Party!

Author

PROLOGUE

An ancient Djbrr creation myth:

In the time before time, there was Darkness and there was Light, eternal, constant, locked in unceasing struggle. When Light’s powers were at their height, it nearly destroyed Darkness before realizing one could not exist without the other. Now there was less Light and more Darkness, always less Light and more Darkness, and soon Darkness would dominate Light as Light had once dominated Darkness. For Light, this knowledge was more than it could bear. Better extinction, it reasoned, than survival in the Dark.

In retreat, its powers diminished, Light could no longer eliminate Darkness, even by means of mutual annihilation. What it could do was create a wall, a wall through which nothing more than the shadow of Darkness might pass. The force required would be a fusion of Light itself so powerful that existence would cease to exist. Light knew this would end its endless conscious awareness, knew it couldn’t know what might follow. But on the chance some other consciousness might arise in the aftermath of the destruction it was about to unleash, Light also knew it had to leave behind a warning, a warning about the wall, a warning about the Darkness.

In an instant, knowledge became action. Light collapsed itself to a point of infinite density. Then a massive explosion extinguished the Light, but threw the Darkness back, seething behind an impenetrable wall.

Inside the blast’s point of ignition lay all creation. Inside, the universe, rapidly expanding to fill the void, its arrival heralded by a new constant, a new light racing outward at the rate of 186,000 miles per second, never slower, and never faster. Inside, magic. Inside, a message.

Thus space-time began, Light’s gift to the Djbrr, and all creation.

After First Contact, when earthlings learned the Djbrr tale of Creation, they interpreted the story as a metaphor for Satan’s revolt against heaven, or the battle between good and evil, or the struggle of light and darkness inside the soul. As is often the case, the universe would prove them wrong.

CHAPTER 1

GEIGER

Roy Geiger accepted his appointment as First Officer of Grissom Base on Jupiter’s fifth moon, Io, the same way he accepted all his accomplishments—with a complete lack of ambition. Roy’s childhood neighbor, Jeffrey Graham, was always the ambitious one, the leader. Geiger was the sidekick, the second banana, the loyal best friend.

Had Roy grown up next door to anyone other than Jeff in their side-by-side mirror-image Florida homes, he never would have sought a scholarship to attend St. Petersburg’s Honor Naval High School, Admiral Farragut Academy, never received one of the school’s two appointments to the United States Naval Academy at Annapolis, Maryland (Graham got the other one), never achieved the rank of Lieutenant Commander, never been posted to Jupiter’s giant volcanic moon Io as second-in-command—to Commander Jeffrey Graham.

Now they sat together at the Grissom Base officer’s mess—Graham at the head of the table, Geiger at his right hand, eating breakfast and looking out at a vista neither of them could have imagined when they were children.

Gus Grissom Base rested within the shelter of Daedalus, an almost perfect bowl-shaped crater, twenty-six kilometers in diameter. With almost no atmosphere to obscure it, the 360-degree view around Daedalus’ rim was crystal clear and dramatically spectacular. Starting thirty feet below the crater’s surface, Daedalus had been built upward toward its rim, level upon level. After almost three decades of steady growth, in what was acknowledged as humanity’s greatest engineering achievement, the entire caldera of Daedalus was ringed with mining offices, science laboratories, military barracks and luxury hotels. Development had been somewhat haphazard and unzoned, more often than not determined by the transfer of large numbers of credits into the off-earth bank accounts of highly placed officials. But everyone wanted a view, and by unspoken agreement the outward surface of every level was faced with specially tempered glass, like ever-larger rings milled from diamonds. At sunrise, Grissom Base looked like a giant, glittering, crystal punchbowl.

Long way from Florida, eh buddy? Graham asked.

I still miss those sunsets over the Gulf of Mexico, but sunrise on Io is not bad, not bad at all.

And first mess beats those cold grits and fried eggs they used to serve at Farragut.

Roger that, Commander, but I sure could go for a glass of real Florida orange juice to wash it down!

Geiger spooned himself a second helping of Pancakes a la Io, the mess chef ’s breakfast specialty. Io’s low gravity made them extra light and fluffy.

Well, Roy, duty calls, Graham said, pushing back from the table. I am outta here.

You’re gonna miss sunrise.

Have to. Engineering requested my presence over at the mine-head, ASAP. Something about stress fractures in some of the structural supports.

Sounds serious, Jeff. Want me to come along?

And keep you away from all that paperwork that’s been piling up on your desk? Not on your life! Besides, that’s why they pay me the big bucks!

Suit yourself, Skipper. But I really don’t have anything pressing this A.M., so I’m thinking I’ll pass the time drinking coffee, watching the sun rise and contemplating my duties as an officer and a gentleman.

Duties like hitting on Ensign Deyo?

Commander, I am shocked at your lack of faith in the dedication of your loyal first officer. I assure you the lovely ensign was the furthest thing from my mind. But now that you mention it…

Still no luck, eh?

As our new interstellar neighbors the Djbrr are so fond of saying, ‘Failure is merely a prelude to success.’

Even repeated failure?

Geiger shrugged.

Well don’t let that paperwork slide too long, Roy. I’ve got a feeling this stress fracture thing will require another mountain of it today.

Graham got to his feet as Roy groaned.

That all you got to say for yourself, sailor?

Yes sir. I mean, no sir. I mean…aye aye sir! Geiger leapt to his feet, snapping to attention and saluting sharply.

Carry on then, young man, Graham said, returning Geiger’s salute and striding toward the mess hall door, and try not to do anything today that will embarrass the United States Navy…or your commanding officer!

Geiger lounged back in his swivel chair, taking a sip of steaming black coffee, contemplating the silence. The hour before dawn was one of the few quiet times on Grissom Base. Graham always made a point of waking Geiger with an intercom call ninety minutes ahead of reveille so they could work out, then enjoy breakfast together before the junior officers began filing in. Every morning Geiger grumbled his way out of bed, but he never rolled over and went back to sleep. Rising early also gave him, in theory, extra time to catch up on paperwork, (the scourge of every First Officer in the fleet), an opportunity Geiger routinely ignored. The Navy may have replaced sailing ships with starships, he thought, but it would never replace paperwork. To Geiger, that meant paperwork could always wait until tomorrow.

Through the mess hall door he could hear steps approaching down the passageway. That would be Ensign Deyo. Bright, ambitious, fresh out of Annapolis, and, as Geiger was almost constantly aware, quite attractive. Liz Deyo was always the first of the junior officers to arrive at every function. Be a heckuva commanding officer some day, Graham had once remarked. Geiger agreed. Working with Jeff all these years, Roy knew a good commanding officer when he saw one, though he had no such ambitions for himself. What he was, and what he wanted to be, was one hell of a great second in command, maybe the best in the fleet. While he may have let the paperwork slide a little too often for his C.O.’s liking, he never let Graham down on what they both considered his primary mission—backing up his C.O., as Graham had backed him since elementary school.

Morning, Liz.

Good morning, Commander.

Are you here early for the sunrise, the chow, or my charming company? After all, it is Friday the Thirteenth. Could this be my lucky day?

Just trying to get a head start on my work, sir, Deyo said, sliding a pocket computer from her tunic and setting it on the mess hall table next to her plate.

Geiger groaned. All work and no play, Ensign?

Deyo ignored him and began spooning salad and home-fried potatoes on her plate. No pancakes for someone who spends as many hours in the gym as Deyo, Geiger thought.

Just then the first rays of sunrise crept over the far rim of Daedalus, shining directly into the officer’s mess like diffused golden laser beams. On the other side of the crater, 180 degrees from where Geiger stood, the day’s mining operations had begun. The drill-head threw fine particles of sparkling red Ionian clay and Palomino sand high into Io’s thin atmosphere, turning sunrise into a spectacular, silent fireworks display. Jeff would be over at the mine by now, missing the wondrous sight they usually enjoyed together each morning.

Then Roy noticed something strange, something he would see when he was awake and asleep, in daydreams and in nightmares for the rest of his life. The slightest V, a notch in the crater rim at the drill head, allowing a premature and temporarily blinding blast of full sunlight to flicker out across the crater and into Geiger’s eyes. Roy blinked, clearing his vision, and watched as the notch grew, deeper, wider, with astonishing, shocking, horrifying speed.

Deyo, he said.

Hunh? Deyo answered, looking up from her computer.

Key in the General Alarm, security code Geiger; Echo, Lima, Lima, India, Sierra.

What?

Key in the General Alarm. Now.

But…

Do it!

Ensign Deyo looked back down at her computer and typed in Geiger’s General Alarm code, initiating an alarm that had never been used in the thirty-year history of Grissom Base. Immediately klaxons began blaring and warning lights flashing throughout Grissom’s seventeen vertical levels and twenty-six horizontal sections.

Geiger keyed the intercom on the wall next to him.

This is Lt. Commander Geiger. I am declaring a base-wide emergency. All personnel, repeat, all personnel proceed to Level 1 immediately and seal that level as soon as practicable. Use ladder-ways only. Do not, repeat, do not use elevators. Proceed to Level 1 immediately and seal when practicable. This is not a drill.

Geiger flipped the intercom’s loop toggle so his message would repeat continuously throughout Grissom Base, knowing many would ignore it in the belief it was a drill, or some kind of mistake.

Deyo rose from the table, confused, half wondering if Geiger had lost his mind. Then her eyes followed Geiger’s and she froze. The notch, now perhaps a kilometer wide and half a kilometer deep, was growing on the far side of the crater. Like a hole dug by children on a sandy beach, Daedalus, and all the human construction lining its walls and basin, was collapsing before the advance of a deadly, invisible tide. The rim was too far away, and there was too much smoke and airborne debris to see a lot of detail, but over there, Deyo knew, people were dying. It took a moment before she realized Geiger had grabbed her, was shaking her by the shoulders, speaking rapidly but calmly a few inches from her face, forcing her to look away from the calamity and into his eyes.

Liz—we’ve got to get down to Level 1, below the crater’s surface. You take Ladderway 14, I’ll take 13. Gather everyone you can as you go. But don’t stop, don’t stop for anything.

Still unable to fully grasp the scope of the disaster that was taking place, Deyo stared back at him, numb, disbelieving. As if in a dream, her eyes wandered back to the dissolving crater rim.

Liz, Geiger said, still calm, still quiet, look at me. Reluctantly she did as he asked. I don’t know why, but Daedalus is collapsing. We’ve got ten, maybe fifteen minutes to evacuate everyone down seventeen stories to the old subterranean level. In minutes we’ll be losing all power to the lifts, all power to communicate. Do you understand me?

Numbly, she shook her head. Yes sir.

All right then, let’s split up and get everyone down there we can. There’s going to be panic and disbelief. They need us to take charge and make them go.

I, I understand. Then Liz remembered her brother and sister officers, still in their hammocks, three sections away, awaking groggily to the sound of klaxons and Geiger’s recorded voice. But the officers, we’ve got to get over there, make sure they get below!

There’s no time, Liz. We’ve got to help everyone we can in these two sections. We’ve got to go now.

Liz took one step toward the door, then hesitated.

But what about Commander Graham? Where is he? Like all of the officers, especially the young ones, Deyo worshipped Graham.

Now! Geiger repeated, and Deyo turned, rushing off to do her duty, follow Geiger’s command.

Geiger glanced through the window. The scene he beheld was like something out of a Hieronymus Bosch painting or a vision of hell. The rim’s collapse was accelerating now, with human-made concrete and steel tumbling downward to the crater floor, crashing through windows as it fell. The lighter red sand and yellow clay of Daedalus’ crumbling surface billowed out and upward across the face of the sun, almost fully risen directly behind the growing notch in the crater wall. Shards of tempered glass exploded across the crater’s face, illuminated in the sunrise like millions of sparkling airborne diamonds. The collapse of Grissom Base continued spreading outward in almost perfect bilateral symmetry, like two embracing arms reaching around the crater, reaching for him. Yet above the blare of the klaxons and the sound of his own voice ceaselessly repeating its alert, Roy could hear nothing of the terrible disaster from across the great diameter of the crater and through Io’s near vacuum. For him, the calamity was occurring in eerie silence.

Geiger was no scientist. He had no way of knowing, as Djbrr physicists and engineers assigned to the Grissom Commission would later determine, that a rare alignment of Jupiter’s many moons had placed an unprecedented amount of tidal stress on Io’s surface, a surface already made unstable by Io’s many volcanoes. The gravitational pull of the rising sun, coupled with vibrations from the mining drills against insufficiently reinforced concrete, precipitated a catastrophic failure of the base’s architecture and a chain reaction of collapse. At the corner of Geiger’s mind he knew what he was witnessing had something to do with the stress fractures reported by engineering—the fractures Jeff Graham was, at this moment, examining on the other side of the crater.

Geiger tore himself away from the window and stepped through the mess hall door out into another vision of hell. Panic. Chaos. Men, women, children everywhere, running, screaming, trampling each other as they crammed into elevators that no longer worked. Then the lighting flickered and died, and during the three seconds it took for the dim illumination of the auxiliary lighting to cycle on, the mob, in almost a single voice, shrieked out it’s terror into the darkness. When the auxiliary lighting finally took hold, the panic redoubled.

Geiger braced himself, standing erect to the full height of his six-foot frame. People, he bellowed, using the same voice he’d employed in high school a decade-and-a-half earlier when Graham would let him take command and march the whole battalion of Farragut cadets back to barracks at the end of a parade. People, he said again, as heads turned toward him, frightened people responding instinctively to the voice of authority. "Out of the elevators and into the stairwells. No pushing. No running. Move down Ladderway 13 all the way to Level 1. Follow me—now!"

Geiger strode off toward the stairwell, not looking behind him, but aware the screaming had stopped, aware, though they were mostly civilians, that the three hundred or so people in the corridor who moments before had been little more than an out-of-control rabble, had stopped running, stopped pushing, and were falling in behind him like so many cadets on parade. Without breaking stride, Roy scooped a crying child into his arms. Seven, maybe eight years old, African, probably the child of Kenyan miners who left for work that morning leaving the frightened little boy in someone else’s care.

My parents! the boy cried.

Don’t worry, Geiger said, we’ll find them when we get below.

Slowly, steadily, he picked up his pace, wanting with every instinct he possessed to run, run down the seventeen flights of stairs, run for his life. But Geiger knew if he ran the crowd would again turn into a panicked mob. So gradually, he picked up his pace until they were all moving down Ladderway 13 at something