This is a fan translation of Dark Skies (Тёмныенебеса) by Mikhail Akhmanov, currently only available in Russian and, because of the author's passing in 2019, unlikely to ever be published in English. This is the fourth book in a six-book series called Arrivals from the Dark (Пришедшие из мрака), which also has a six-book spin-off series called Trevelyan's Mission (Миссия Тревельяна).
I claim no rights to the contents herein.
Chapter 20
Admiral Valdez
Awakening in his quarters aboard the flagship cruiser, Admiral Sergey Valdez lay motionless, listening to the quiet breathing of his sleeping wife. Her face was outlined on the pillow like a white oval, her eyelids were fluttering, and there was a barely noticeable smile on her lips; obviously, she was experiencing a happy dream.
But what had awakened him?
He glanced at the timer, it was 0320… Then he looked at the console with screens and equipment, which glowed in a scattering of green lights. Nothing alarming there… The night watch was vigilant, and there were no signals from it or the ship's computer. All of the cruiser's systems were fine, as were the systems of the other ships in the flotilla… No urgent messages from the Fleet Headquarters or New Hellas, and the captains would only deliver their morning reports at 0600.
The green lights were giving off an even dim glow, there was not a single glyph on the screens, and only the display board with the current coordinates kept blinking to Valdez, constantly updating its readings. The Balder Asteroid Swarm was circling its star, pulling the flotilla's ships and crews along with it, as well as the base complex with barracks, storehouses, docks, and arsenals. No causes for concern… None at all.
And yet he had woken up. Then there had to have been a reason… Valdez trusted his intuition.
He closed his eyes and listened. The ship's systems worked silently, but dead silence had a negative effect on sleeping humans, resulting in, at best, a sense of unconscious alarm, and, at worst, a nightmare. Humans had not been created for the sort of silence that was ever-present in the Great Emptiness, which was why various and familiar sounds were played during sleep. Some slept better with quiet music, while others preferred the rumbling of the waves, the rustling of the grass, the distant hum of a large city, or the whistling of the wind through the tree canopies. Valdez and his wife turned on their own recording, which they had made on T'har. It was the song of their home: the quiet creaking of the floorboards, the barely noticeable rustling and crackling of embers in the fireplace, the thin chiming of dishes, and voices of their children. Little Xenia snuffled in her sleep, turned, and, occasionally, laughed; Mark liked to read at night, and, from his room…
Mark! Mark, of course! His son used to get up to pick up a new book, which was when they had been able to hear his quiet careful steps. Tap-tap-tap… Usually, he got up from the bed barefoot, not bothering to put on his slippers.
Is that what woke me up?.. Valdez thought. The sounds, so familiar, were, of course, there, as was everything else that had been saved in the recording; he could hear burning logs crackling, a kitchen appliance strumming while brewing clo. However, usually, these songs of home only helped him fall asleep…
It wasn't the sound that had awakened him, but the thoughts of Mark, the Admiral suddenly realized. Thoughts that had transformed into a sense of foreboding… Something had happened there, on T'har, and his son needed his help.
He felt his heart skip a beat. The psychic line that connected him to Mark for a brief moment had already vanished, but Valdez did not doubt the purpose and nature of the signal. He was experienced enough to get a sense of trouble or, more likely, impending misfortune, and he knew that it affected not just his son and daughter but also many other people, maybe even everyone who was still alive on T'har.
He rose and, moving carefully, to avoid awaking up his wife, pulled on his jumpsuit and left their quarters. The hallway of deck A greeted him with emptiness and silence; there was no singing of winds, grass, or waves here and no home music. Keeping a slow pace, he passed the living sections, the Admiral's lounge, the conference room, the communication center, and other service compartments. He was on his way to the ship's bridge, where officers were busy with their duties.
The base's night watch was considered to be a calm one, and it was entrusted to junior officers. Today, the officer of the watch was Lieutenant Commander Pavel Khmelnitsky.
"Admiral on the bridge!" he shouted, jumped up, and raised his hand in a salute. The other officers quickly stood up and saluted. A navigator, two pilots, a communications officer, and a life support officer…
"Carry on," Valdez said, stepped up onto the central dais and got into his chair. Without looking, he felt for the controls for connecting with the tactical computer and touched the necessary key; a small screen window popped up over the armrest. Before sending his request, the Admiral bent over the vocoder, "Communications!"
"Yes, sir!" Lieutenant Clara Merz rose, turned towards him, and clicked her heels smartly.
"Contact New Hellas, their interstellar communication satellite. Have them prepare to send."
"Where should they target the antenna, Admiral?"
"I'll know in a few minutes. Contact the satellite."
"Aye-aye, sir."
Valdez tapped out a command to the tactical computer, and the screen showed the flight schedule of the flotilla sent to T'har. The Pallas had left for Earth several days ago, and, if his plan had been accepted, then the ships were even now jumping and would soon exit Limbo at Gondwana. He could verify that by merging his power with Cro's, but something told Valdez that there was no need for that. He knew that the ships were on their way to Gamma Malleus.
"Connected to the satellite," Merz reported. Valdez noticed that the officers were giving him furtive and curious glances, probably trying to figure out why the Admiral couldn't sleep. Then again, the men and women of the Seventh Fleet were used to his oddities.
"Target the antenna…" He named the coordinates of Gondwana, the Purple Heather Space Forces Base. "Prepare to transmit, Lieutenant."
"The antenna has been oriented, Admiral."
Valdez spent a few more minutes thinking on how to best word his message. He was located at New Hellas, many light years from T'har and, strictly speaking, couldn't get any news from the Dromi-occupied planet. Was it necessary to provide any explanations to that effect?.. To demand, convince, insist?.. No, he thought, by no means, no. Over there, on the Pallas was Gleb Prokhorov, an old friend, and, if someone needed explanations, he would give them. Or he would simply say that Admiral Valdez did not joke around.
He touched the keys of the holographic panel.
"TO: Purple Heather base, expedition to Gamma Malleus, flotilla commander. Crisis on T'har. Hurry. Admiral Valdez."
He didn't bother encrypting the message. He sat in his chair and waited, while the enormous antenna on New Hellas's satellite spewed a steam of energy into space, which would send his words to Gondwana. Then he rose, descended the dais, and left the bridge.
