KING’S FLEET
The King gazed out at the stars of creation and rejoiced. In his galaxy, one hundred billion twinkling lights hinted at the possibility of a trillion unknown worlds. Somewhere in the endless spiral were creatures rising from the dirt and seeking out the truth. All He needed to do was to find them and bring them into the fold.
At His command, the Armada left the safety of the Home System and began the journey outward. Watching the massive ships tear free from the planet’s grasp and ascend into the black night, the King stirred with emotion. He would see the end of this crusade, and the banner of his kingdom would rise over countless worlds in triumph and glory, but this galaxy would be his grave. He imagined what could exist in the Far Keeps, the blossoms of white and blue and yellow that floated just out of reach. In the end, He accepted that even Gods must have their limits.
In the sky overhead, the Elder Star churned and tumbled. It had long ago collapsed into darkness, well before the Horde took a single step on dry land. The King gave his thanks to the True Father and asked for a blessing of protection for his brood. There were untold dangers lying ahead, and so He prayed for His children’s survival. Then, settling down on a throne of bone and rock and skin, the King waited for news of victory.
It didn’t take long.
PART ONE
LUNA
“We didn’t find gods in the stars. Only darkness.”
–Tractate of the Guiding Light
October 12, 2236
New Armstrong Station
Luna
Earthrise always took his breath away. Standing on the bustling train platform, the old man breathed in recycled air and yawned. His first coffee stirred restlessly in his stomach while a second warmed his hand. The freshly pressed fabric of his uniform hugged his shoulders and waist. He didn’t stand out, even with all the medals and ribbons on his coat. This was Luna Station, and there were plenty of veterans around.
“Come on,” a voice said. “We’re going to miss the train.”
Commodore Hiro Osaka turned to face his escort, a handsome young soldier whose name was already forgotten. The sixty-year-old officer took a sip of bitter liquid and grimaced. He couldn’t wait to get back to his boat. Midway always had fresh Paradiso brewing in the galley. Hiro gestured for the soldier to lead the way to the tram. Fort Yonkers waited at the end of the line, along with briefings and paperwork and, just maybe, a little sleep.
Hiro stole one last glance through the triple-paned window. Through the cloud and heavy satellite cover, he could just make out the island of Japan. His father’s home stood out as a vibrant green crescent against a deep blue canvas. His heart swelled at the sight. Hiro paused. He’d seen the homeworld from Luna—the moon—many times before. Why this feeling now?
“Sir? We really need to go.”
He nodded. “Lead the way.” Hiro matched the soldier’s brisk gate and followed toward the sound of an arriving train. He let the odd sensation drift to the back of his mind for later inspection. Right now, he had a more pressing concern. Midway needed to get off Luna.
Earth Orbit
On the opposite side of the moon, in the absence of the sun’s light, space began to bubble. A small weather satellite drifted too far off course, its fuel reserves depleted long ago and never refilled. As it meandered into the depths, it suddenly sparked and shuddered. Blue light engulfed the satellite in its final moments, before the truck-sized capsule vanished into the ether.
Beside this new vortex, a dozen motes of light winked into existence and began to grow.
Terran Space Initiative (TSI) Observatory
Andretti Crater, Luna
The wail of an alarm shocked Raymond Lee awake. He rubbed his eyes and looked at the computer screen. Glowing text popped onto the monitor, creating an endlessly scrolling list of notices. Raymond thought first that the machine had glitched, but then he saw each alert came from a unique ISP. Of the three hundred satellites controlled by the observatory, nearly all were calling for help.
Raymond hadn’t been with the Terran Space Initiative long; he’d only just been promoted to full time. TSI paid well for the graveyard shift, and the long hours left him with enough time to study for school. During his orientation, he’d been taught what to do in case the AI controller broke down, or if there was a fire in the lab, or if the CO2 filters malfunctioned. No one ever brought up an invasion.
A number of satellites reported anomalies consistent with a spatial disruption; something was leaving interdimensional space and arriving near Earth. Raymond double-checked the coordinates, relieved to see they were nowhere near the Earth gates. An invasion force would have to arrive as close as possible to the station, otherwise they’d never survive more than a few minutes. This strange signal seemed more and more like a transport ship using an old traffic code.
It had taken Olivia—his boss—a full six hours to explain, but Raymond figured he understood enough about the science of space travel to be absolutely terrified. Given the advances in quantum mechanics, quantum physics, and something called AeroSpatial Disturbance Theory, there were now three ways to cross distances in space: Standard, Stride, and Blue.
The first was simple and had been around for hundreds of years. Normal engines and rockets could propel any vessel at what was known as Standard speed. This was good for travel between stations, in orbit, or from a planet to a moon. Ships used their rockets and zipped about, agile as figure skaters.
For longer journeys, intrasystem travel required Strider drives. At Stride speed, the time it took to cross the Solar System dropped from decades to days. Precise calculations were required to avoid slamming into an asteroid at Stride speed, but given the network of relays in the system, it was a fairly painless process. Not every ship had the Slush Erbium Drives—or sleds—built in, so smaller craft often had to hitch a ride.
The final form of travel, and infinitely more dangerous, was Blue. Discovered only a century before, and more regulated than any other form of travel in history, Blue Space allowed interstellar travel and became the backbone of the colonization movement. The first probe sent into Blue Space transmitted a report back via FTL one week later—from over one hundred lightyears away. Using nodes—building-sized relay stations around the colonies—ships could pinpoint their destination within a few kilometers and arrive hundreds and billions of kilometers away in a manner of days, if not hours. The only requirement for “safe” travel was a linked terminal at both ends of the journey. Otherwise a ship could exit Blue Space anywhere in the universe. Anywhere.
But what made a Blue jump really terrifying was the fact that, aside from the evidence that it worked, no one in any field of science understood how. Ships ripped into the fabric of space, emerged unscathed, and all of it happened without solid proof that it made any logical sense. TSI devoted one quarter of its budget every year to plumbing the depths of Blue Space in search of answers, but so far had come up empty. That thought alone convinced Raymond that he would never, in a million years, travel through the “Blue Tunnel.” Especially with the stories one heard about civilian ships that never exited and simply floated in another dimension for eternity.
Curiosity kept Raymond’s mind racing. He found himself at the telescope controls, not entirely sure why he was there. The powerful lenses responded to his commands, rotating until they faced the indicated coordinates. The entire room
