Chapter One
"Jenna, have you seen Vila?"
Midnight on the Liberator, artificial hours in a place as far away from Earth as it was possible to be. Known as The Void, position a ship directly at its centre and there was not a star to be seen in any direction, just an expanse of endless night. People died out here. They lost their bearings, their ships and their minds.
Better to call it The Lost, Jenna had always thought, because that was how it felt. A nothingness, devoid of warmth, colour and sensation. It was unsettling. But above all, it was safe. No one came to The Void, not even the Federation. And safety was what mattered right now.
It had had to happen sooner or later. Within an hour of teleporting back from a meeting with the resistance leaders on Koalemos, Vila had complained of a headache. From there to chills, followed by sweats and Orac confirming Jenna's diagnosis of Terran Ague. It swept through the Liberator, felling the previously uninfected members of the crew one by one.
Their responses had been typically varied. Vila had whined and complained and took to claiming that his last hour had come – every hour. Gan had taken Jenna's advice and gone to rest, Avon had barricaded himself in his cabin, and Blake had been determined to persevere regardless, right up to the moment he had passed out on the flight deck.
For Jenna, who had had it before, and Cally, immune by virtue of her Auronar origins, it had meant alternating between shifts at the helm and trying to tend to their ailing companions. Trying being the operative word, since Vila was given to wandering, bewailing his lot, and Blake refused every well-meaning gesture, his standard answer being that he was "fine" when he was clearly the opposite.
After five days, Jenna found her patience starting to wear thin with their antics.
"Vila is here, Cally," she said in answer to her question.
"What is he doing here?" Cally said with concern. Vila was curled up on the forward seating, swaddled in a blanket, mouth hanging open and snoring gently. She went over to inspect him. "He should be in bed."
"He says he's dying. He wanted company."
"No, he isn't. When I last checked him, he was improving."
Jenna gave a soft laugh. "He's looking for sympathy."
Cally knelt at his side and gave him a gentle shake. Vila stirred and opened pained, bleary eyes. He gave a weak cough and tried to sit up, shedding his blanket as he did so. Cally helped him upright and offered him a drink. He took a few hesitant sips, coughed piteously again and fell back against the cushions, bereft of energy.
"Am I dead?" he said.
"No, Vila," Cally said patiently. "You are almost better."
"Am I?" His wheedling tone suggested he did not believe her. "I'm dying, I know I am. I'll give you everything I own if you make me well again."
"You don't have anything."
"Yes, well, when I do get something, it's yours."
"Get that in writing, before he changes his mind," said Jenna with a conspiratorial smile. "How are the others?"
"Gan is much improved," said Cally. "He said he would be coming to join us when he felt stronger."
"Good. We both need a break."
"Blake is through the worst of it, although he is still very weak. He keeps trying to get up. I had to sedate him to get him to rest."
More of Gan's stocism and less of Blake's unnecessary bravado would have put an end to this nonsense a good deal sooner, Jenna thought. "And Avon?"
"I don't know," said Cally. "He won't open his door. He tells me he is all right."
Jenna glanced across at her. Of all of them, Avon had been the least trouble. Either he did not want to fussed over or rebelled at the idea that anyone should see him sick, lest it was interpreted as weakness. Both probably, she had decided. That being the case, she had been expecting him to emerge from his cocoon with never a trace that he had been ill. After five long days, his refusal to break his isolation was starting to give her cause for concern.
"You might want to check on him, Cally," she suggested. Complications were rare with Terran Ague, but they did occur. "He might actually be very ill. Force the door, if necessary."
"Avon won't like that."
"He'll like dying even less."
"I'll do it now."
"Wait," Jenna called. A marker had suddenly appeared on the detector screen. If the readings were correct, it was less than three hundred spacials away. "Zen, is there a fault with the detectors?"
"All systems are functioning normally," Zen replied.
"There is something registering at grid reference one three seven. Identify."
"Negative on all systems. There are no space vehicles within detector range."
"That's odd," said Jenna as Cally came up to her station to join her. "Zen, three-sixty degree survey. Put it up on the main screen."
"What's going on?" asked Vila weakly.
"Either Zen is malfunctioning or something has crept up on us undetected."
Jenna stared at the screen as the survey swept the area around the ship. Something slowly slid into view. A first glance, it appeared to be a series of boxes randomly joined and stacked one upon another and side by side. Selective magnification revealed small squares of light cut into their sides, some with shadows that moved from one side to the other, as people might when drawn to the view from their windows. Like a cliff face hewn from living rock, the massive complex dwarfed the Liberator in size, flooding the hull with light, its presence bringing illumination into one of the darkest regions of the universe.
"That thing crept up on us in the middle of nowhere?!" Vila blurted, his eyes wide with alarm, all thoughts of illness forgotten. "What have you two been doing?"
"Looking after you, Vila," Jenna said with annoyance. "It must have a detector shield to have got that close to us. Zen, does it have weaponry systems?"
"I hope not," Vila said.
When the computer did not answer, Jenna tried again. Zen remained silent.
"Wonderful!" said Vila. "Zen's gone into hiding. I might join him. That thing is enough to give anyone the collywobbles."
A brilliant pinprick of light suddenly materialised on Zen's bronzed surface and expanded to fill the screen. The image was of a group of humanoids, tall and slender, dressed in pale grey robes, with silver-white hair that fell to their shoulders. A sparkling silver symbol like a bird in rapid descent flying down the bridge of their noses sat between their brows, with wings extending across the forehead. As placid as they looked, Jenna could not help thinking there was something vaguely sinister about them.
"We are Thirteen," announced the member of the group who stood front and centre. "We would address your Whole."
"Our what?" said Vila.
"You are Eight," said the being. "To all of you we would speak. Your Whole must be assembled."
"Several members of our 'Whole' are unwell," said Jenna. "We speak for them."
"Let them be gathered. You have the time unit of 600 seconds to facilitate this process."
The image contracted to a silver point and vanished.
"Who are they?" Vila asked earnestly. "Did anyone know what they were talking about?"
"We have ten minutes to gather everyone," said Jenna. "Cally, go and get Gan. I'll try Blake. Vila, wake up Orac." So saying, she activated the intercom. A tired voice answered her. "Sorry to disturb you. We need you down here."
"On my way," Blake replied. "What's wrong?"
"A group who call themselves Thirteen. They want to speak to our 'Whole'."
"Our what?" he returned.
Jenna smiled to herself. He would be amused if he knew he had just done an exact imitation of Vila. "Their words, not mine. I'm sure we're missing something in translation. Oh, and Blake, you'll have to get Avon. They did stipulate all of us."
Leaving Blake to rouse himself, she stepped down to where Vila was remonstrating with Orac.
"That's not very nice," Vila was saying.
"I state it as a probability," Orac replied. "If Avon remains in his cabin, there is a fifty-three per cent chance of his demise."
"What about the aliens, Orac?" Jenna asked.
"Fascinating," chirruped the computer. "This region has provided a wealth of opportunities for the acquisition of information."
"Forget that. The Thirteen, who are they?"
"They are a technologically advanced race–"
"We know that!" said Vila.
"Who recognise all forms of intelligence as valid."
Vila blinked. "Eh?"
"He means himself and Zen," said Jenna. "Eight, remember. The Thirteen included them."
"Oh, right," said Vila vaguely. "So who are they?"
"That information will become available at their discretion," Orac replied.
"You mean you can't access their ship or whatever that is?" asked Jenna.
"No. Their systems are not based on the tarial cell."
Vila pulled an unhappy face. "Perhaps that's why Zen's sulking. No one to talk to."
"Continue to scan and see what you can find out." Jenna paused. "Would now be a good time to raise the force wall, do you think?"
"I'd have it up all the time," Vila muttered. "You never know who you're going to run into on these trips."
"Well, they haven't done anything yet. And I don't see us posing much of a threat to them, do you?"
Cally chose that moment to return with Gan, who was looking a little worn by his experience, but otherwise almost back to normal. He stopped and stared aghast at the image of the floating city on the main screen.
"When Cally said we'd been approached by a ship," he said in awe, "I wasn't expecting this."
"We weren't expecting it at all," said Vila. "We didn't see it coming."
"That doesn't sound right."
"You're telling me! Where's everyone else? Our ten minutes are almost up."
Blake came padding along the corridor, his pace less energetic than usual to match the tiredness reflected on his face and the dark rings around his eyes. Like Gan before him, he came to an abrupt halt.
"This is Thirteen?" he asked. Jenna nodded. "Are they hostile?"
"We don't know," said Cally. "All they said is that they wish to speak to all of us."
"Is Avon coming?" Jenna said.
"He was behind me." Blake was thoughtful. "With technology like that, they could be useful allies in our fight against the Federation. Let's not antagonise them."
"I doubt anything we could do would worry them much," came Avon's voice as he appeared at the top of the stairs.
Of all of them, he had been affected the worst. He looked awful, Jenna thought, taking in his appearance. His skin was ashen, his eyes red-rimmed and sunken, and a sheen of sweat still clung to his face. Fully dressed and perceptibly shivering, he was upright, barely, and the effort of walking seemed to be draining him of his last ounce of energy.
"Come and sit down," said Cally, hurrying to his side to help him down onto the flight deck.
Her offer was curtly refused and Avon made it to the forward seating with difficulty under his own power.
Vila gave him a wary glance when he took a seat beside him. "I don't look as bad as you, do I? You look like you've just risen from your grave, Avon."
He struggled to muster the enthusiasm for a reply, a testament to just how ill he really was. Cally forced a glass of water into his hand and, despite putting up a good show of resistance, he finally downed it in one.
"Forty-seven per cent," announced Orac.
"What's that?" said Blake.
"Oh, just Orac predicting the odds of Avon's death," said Vila.
"You should have said you were this poorly," Cally chided, returning to Avon's side with a medical patch. "Roll up your sleeve, I want to give you a vitamin shot."
He looked like he was about to refuse and instead offered his wrist as a compromise.
"Forty-three per cent," said Orac.
"There you go," said Vila to his scowling companion. "Getting better all the time."
"Let's hope it's not about to get worse," said Blake. A silver point of light had appeared on the main screen. "Here they come."
The image of the aliens reappeared, standing in the same formation before, with the individual at their head speaking for them.
"We are Thirteen," he announced. "You the Eight are convened."
"Why's he speaking like that?" Vila whispered. Cally nudged him into silence.
"This is acceptable in our sight," said the leader. "That your Whole may gather to make your peace is necessary."
"What can we do for you?" said Blake cautiously.
The leader ignored him. "The First must speak for the Whole," said he, directing his attention to Jenna.
Blake glanced over at her, smiling. "We couldn't be in better hands."
"Very well," she said. "I speak for us. What do you want, Thirteen?"
"For what you have from us taken, there must be an answer," the leader began. "We will take back what is ours. The destruction of your vessel will follow."
"Now wait a minute," said Jenna, echoing the growing consternation on the flight deck.
"For this we regret. You have been gathered to mourn the end of your Whole."
"We have taken nothing from you!" she protested. "Tell us what it is."
"Our child," came the solemn reply. "His name was Zen."