Death’s Dimensions a psychotic space opera

Something grows through the roar. I sit gently against my chair, watching the corridor recede. Something tries to get my attention. Something from the past, from-

“Virgil!” a voice cried from the speaker. “The transponder on Circus Galacticus has triggered this encrypted message from the moon Charon.

“This is Dante Brennen. You and Circus are in extreme danger-or are likely to be-so listen closely.”

Wizard? No longer mad?

“I’m recording this on December Twelfth, Twenty-One Fifteen. Everything’s gone to hell.”

Virgil shifted his gaze to the viewport. He saw only the black of deep space. A few pieces of broken plastic floated in front of his face. He brushed them away and they tumbled across the command bridge.

“I tried to foresee this,” the recording continued. “The habitats in the asteroid belt finally achieved total independence from Triplanetary with the construction of Ceres Beta, the network of Bernal spheres, factories, and ranches they’ve been building for the last decade. The Autarchists have been able to convince enough of the four and a half billion Belters that trade with Earth had finally become a liability. I tried to develop the Valliardi Transfer in time but it just wouldn’t work. You were the only one, Virgil. The only one.”

Only now, Virgil mused, there is another. And you don’t even know that it’s you.

Brennen paused. There was a sound of ice cubes, of something being drunk. “They stopped trading. It was a net savings for the Belt habitats, since they could finally manufacture everything the Earth had to offer. They got along just fine for a few years. Then Triplanetary, instead of just going to another part of the Belt for raw asteroids, well-they fell in with the Recidivists. The trade cutoff didn’t hurt the Belters, but the Earth needs materials manufactured in the Belt. They need the asteroids and think that the Belters are somehow getting in their way.

“After well over a century of freedom, Earth has a State again.

“Earth and its orbital habitats are the seat of this nascent Empire. Most Martians are staying neutral, but split allegiances abound. And Lunarians, poor doomed misfits, have declared solidarity with the Belt.

“It’s war, Virgil, with you our one chance. Your anti-matter pods-and I pray to God you still have them-could turn the tide in this battle.”

Virgil shook. The restraining straps resisted the violent movements. I was the wild card. Wizard kept me up his sleeve, an ace for the master magician.

“Nobody knows when you’re coming back,” Brennen said. “I kept the secret of your mission. Maybe this will all be over by the time you return. If not, you are the random factor that could tip the scale toward freedom or death. I can’t offer you any advice-I’m behind the curtain of time. I can only warn you and relay encrypted updates to these message posts. I will keep doing this as long as I can. Good luck, my mad friend. You are humanity’s one dim hope.” His voice faded.

Virgil let go a desolate breath. Death Angel, why do you keep testing me like this? Madman speaks and give me runes. Where’s your ghost, pretty Death Angel?

Something crackled and Brennen’s voice returned. It sounded even more desperate.

“Virgil. It’s May Twenty-Second, Twenty-One Sixteen. Angel City has decreed new austerity measures which, as I predicted, are achieving the exact opposite of their intentions. Half the Earth is starving and the local habitats can’t feed them because they’re building warships at an incredible cost. Dissident habitats have been destroyed for attempted desertion. I was able to sabotage the government’s only functioning anti-matter plant and its stockpiles. Yes, I’m on the Belter’s side, but not the Autarchists. They’re becoming as bad as any Recidivist. The Trust has engineered an effective laser shield, which we installed on Bernal Brennen. It’s a rogue habitat now.

“None of the warring factions possesses the Valliardi Transfer. Your ship is the only spacecraft with that capability. Valliardi died under interrogation-he was old. He couldn’t have told them anything more than theory, anyway.” There was a pause, a long swig of something. “You’re our only hope, Virgil, our only hope. Delia Trine-you remember her-she told me that she didn’t want to live through the war.”

No! Don’t wrap yourself up and fly away!

“She’s with about five hundred other people who built a hide-out on Mercury.”

Dead, now. Dead and old and cold and gone. She waited out a war and-

“It’s a cryonic preservation unit, totally automated and run on solar power.”

What?

“She told me to tell you,” Brennen said, “that she’ll wait for you there.”

“Delia?” His teeth clacked against the breathpiece.

“I hope to be able to encrypt another update to you. Good luck, Virgil.”

Wizard’s voice goes beck to blank space where it came from and I sit. A soft roar begins to envelope me.

“I await your instructions,” the computer said.

“No other updates?”’

“None.”

Virgil flexed his fingers under the pressure suit. A stinging itch encircled his left wrist, then subsided quickly. “What year is it now?”

“A transmitting clock on the satellite indicates May Sixteenth, Twenty-One Sixty-Three. Four hundred twenty-six Zulu. I have recalibrated our clock to reflect this.”

“Do you have any preliminary scans of the solar system?”

“That will take several hours.”

“Straight.” Delia, Delia. Why must I always wait? You’ve waited longer, though. Long and frozen. And the years you waited before freezing down. Why wait for me? What has Master Snoop got in mind for you to do to me? Or has the Death Angel merely been waiting to claim her toughest catch? And what has changed since the last message, forty-seven years ago? What made Wizard risk madness to escape Earth? Too much. The roar… the roar!

Under the assault of changing events, Virgil’s battered mind shut down.

The body drifted limply about the confines of the command chair, driven by random muscle twitches and restrained by the single safety harness.

“Wake up,” the computer said, three hours later.

Virgil tried to roll over. “Didn’t anyone program you not to interrupt dreams?”

“What is your name?”

“Call me Ishmael.”

The computer made no sound for a moment. “That name is not entered in my files.”

Damned right. He kept his eyes closed.

“I am programmed to shut down in the event of a security breach by unknown personæ.”

“Virgil, damn it. Virgil Grissom Kinney.”

“Sequence Kinney. Virgil, you had thirteen days of sleep when you were being operated on. That ought to have been sufficient.”

“Where were we?”

“Epsilon Indi.”

“Where are we?”

“Sol.”

Virgil shifted in the chair and smiled. “Then I’ve gone over eleven years without sleep, objectively speaking.”

The computer was not amused. “I’ve finished the preliminary scans.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“The only neutrino flux I can read is from the sun itself. There are some low-level infra-red sources throughout the system, but concentrations are evident near Earth orbit, in the asteroid belt, and here, near the orbit of Pluto.”

Virgil opened his eyes and sat up. “Where’s Mercury?”