Lights continued to shut off across the board. The world was going dark.
Denial still seemed to be the most immediate solace most find themselves in. Everyone is surrounded by some of the best and most experienced veterans, with decades in the field. They are on the most remote, armed, and heavily defended planet in all of history. The logistical support here dwarfs entire sectors. The Coalition is the most powerful hegemon across the Myriad Worlds. Surely that should at least mean something, right?
And then, what?
To reject the evidence of their own eyes and ears that the horizon itself deformed earlier?
Signals continued to be frantically sent out. Someone. Anyone! Why is nobody picking up? How is nobody picking up?
Vertan continued to survey the torched landscape outside with Hilgo. The air inside had become suddenly suffocating. Perhaps airflow had been shut down somehow inside the buildings. Perhaps there were too many people taking up space. Perhaps it was all too surreal and overwhelming.
Screams of alarms and sirens blaring in vain far off in the distance continued, wailing as though the systems themselves were frightened and injured. Fire storms raged incessantly, now providing the brightest source of light on Thoma; the water and fire extinguishing systems fought futilely against the inferno.
“Breathe, Vertan,” instructs Hilgo.
Vertan turns over to look at Hilgo incredulously.
“—Wh—What—?” stutters Vertan.
“You’re not breathing, Vertan,” says Hilgo.
“How are you calm?! Do you not see what’s happening before us?!”
“I know.”
“Don’t you—”
Vertan suddenly throws up over the railing, his muscles extracting every last drop out of his body, the contents of his stomach leaving for the ground a mile below. Nauseated and disoriented, he spits out the last drops before reorienting himself.
“Don’t I what?” asks Hilgo.
“Don’t you see—”
“You said that already.”
“No, did you not literally see—!”
“I said I know.”
“Then why are you calm?!”
“Should I not be?”
“We are going to die!”
“I know.”
“You know?!”
“I. know.”
“You know we’re going to die this whole time—?”
“What—no, okay, look, shut up for a second—”
“No—I’m not going to—”
“Shut up!”
Vertan was stunned at this. Hilgo looked visibly angry now, trying his hardest to collect himself back in.
“Look,” said Hilgo. “I didn’t know that this would happen. I just accepted that we’re not going to make it out now that it did!”
“So you’re going to just take it like that, huh? I thought—”
“I accepted the risks coming here with you! Don’t give me that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I said, I accepted the risk that I could be injured or die coming here with you, five years ago when we first started this!”
“...”
“You’re telling me you got into this thinking everything will go fine?”
“I didn’t think we'd be witness to a world-ending event!”
“Well I didn’t think so either! So what are we going to do about it now—?”
“I don’t fucking know!”
“You’re just going to keep making a fool of yourself running around like a chicken screaming ‘I don’t know?’ How is that going to help?!”
“Man, fuck you!”
“No, fuck you!”
“What do you suggest we do then, huh? Go tape and screw this planet back together?”
“I don’t fucking know! But holy shit, pull yourself together, how is freaking out more going to help us any?!”
“What the fuck do you think we could do right now to help anything—?!”
In a bout of frustration, Hilgo slaps Vertan hard across the face, leaving him red. Somehow, the shock of the slap struck as offensive to him, and for the moment overshadowed any pain he would have otherwise felt.
“We’re the Special Expeditioners,” continues Hilgo, still frustrated but attempting to calm himself now.
“What?” says Vertan.
“Right?”
“Right, why? What’s that got to do with anything right now?”
“We took a step nobody even dares consider, remember?”
“Yeah?”
“We’re the noble few who bring light to the dark uncharted corners, remember?”
“Hilgo, what does this have to—”
“You’ve been parroting this shit to me for five years, and now—!”
“Alright, alright, I get it!”
“We’re Special Expeditioners! Act like one, damn it!”
Vertan could only scowl in acknowledgement. He straightens his posture and proceeds to control his breathing.
“I’m going back in,” says Hilgo. “I have an idea.”
*****
The communications room is still crowded with an intensely anxious fervor. On the map board, various lights still blink frantically, signaling severe damage to Thoma’s global systems.
The main light for Base Four flickers, sending everyone into a nervous chatter.
It blinks off. Panic.
It blinks back on. Relief, followed by hope.
Suddenly, the lights indicating Base Four and all of its systems and satellite bases shut down completely. The bottom hemisphere of Thoma is now halfway dark. Over a billion missing in action.
“Is there any powerful searchlight still operational?” Hilgo demanded.
“Why would that be of significance at this moment?!” the platoon leader retorts, being held back by the Fifth Squad. “There is enough chaos as of this moment. You are to follow orders and stick to protocol, or risk—”
“Rank be damned!” Hilgo shouts, continuing to sift through the dense diagnostics map.
“You are not authorized to be here!”
“Hilgo, I found one!” Vertan exclaims. “Floor 56763A, Deck JT0. This one powerful enough for you?”
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Let me see!” says Hilgo. “Yes, that should be good, let’s move it!”
“Company command will hear about this!” shouts the platoon leader, finally being released by the Fifth Squad.
Rushing to the elevator, Hilgo and Vertan are whisked with the rest of the Fifth Squad up to Floor 56763A, and begin running over to Deck JT0. Sure enough, a searchlight the size of a small room sat there, having survived the carnage relatively unscathed.
“Alright, how do we turn this thing on?” asks Etrad, looking across the control panel just inside. “I’m flipping this switch and it’s not working yet.”
“The power lines should already be secure based on what we saw downstairs,” says Hilgo. “Ah—try turning that key over there!”
Turning the switch, a blinding pillar of white light beams from the searchlight, casting a clear line into the sky, and shadows of everyone next to it onto the ground and walls nearby.
“Alright, now aim that between Base Eight’s gateway and ours!” commands Hilgo.
Obliging, Etrad moves the controls, and the searchlight begins rotating slowly and steadily towards their preferred angle. With a thumbs-up from Calian and Vertan outside, they bring the searchlight to a stop.
“You said you’re fluent with standard kasun code, right?” Hilgo clarifies.
“Yes, that’s right,” replies Etrad.
“Calian! You too, right?”
“What?” says Calian.
“You’re also fluent with standard kasun code, right?”
“That’s right!”
“Alright, good, keep an eye out!”
Looking over the control panel, Hilgo finds a switch that, upon turning, shuts the searchlight closed, whilst still keeping the light powered on. With a huge mechanical shunt, the light beams back into the sky.
“Alright, hopefully this works,” says Hilgo. “Send out this message, Etrad.”
Etrad obliges, and slowly, each letter comes out as signaled from the flashing beam.
“THIS IS B7. DO U READ?”
Tense minutes pass as the message continues repeating. A soft pulse continues to be felt every minute through the ground. Downstairs, preparations and repairs continue to be made for a potential demon assault. Firefighting squadrons are sent out, not all of which come back, to subdue the firestorms headed their way.
“THIS IS B7. DO U READ?”
“Look, look!” exclaims Vertan, pointing to the distant horizon. “We have a reply!”
A very faint, dimly flashing beam of light peers weakly across the great distance, just barely making it into their view. Miles away from theirs, it stretches upwards in between the two gateways they pointed towards in the sky.
“THIS IS B8. WE READ U.”
“Reja!” commands Hilgo. “Syani! Fero! We have you on local comms through the suit! Go back downstairs and bring the news!”
And with swift acknowledgment, the other half of the Fifth Squadron runs back to the elevator to be whisked downstairs, the story soon spreading amongst the lower levels.
Slowly but surely, each letter is deciphered by Calian, and written down by Vertan. Etrad flashes the mighty searchlight as its shutters thunder mechanically in response.
“B8, WHAT IS YOUR STATUS?”
“HEAVY CASUALTIES INCURRED.”
“COMMS STATUS?”
“DISABLED. YOURS?”
“OURS ALSO. NO MSG FROM REINFORCEMENTS?”
“LAST BEFORE CUT OFF STATED ‘CAN’T TRACE’”
“TRANSPORT?”
“CRIPPLED.”
“PILLAR STATUS?”
“TEMPORARILY DISABLED. WORKING TO GET IT BACK UP.”
“ASSISTANCE NEEDED?”
“NO. STAY WHERE YOU ARE. TOO FAR AND RISKY. MAINTAIN COMMS HERE.”
“STATUS OF B9?”
“ALL IN SAME BOAT. STATUS OF B12?”
“SILENT.”
As the messages carried with each thunderous mechanical shutter, word soon spread through Base Seven.
Base Eight is alive!
The survivors at Base Seven cheered at the knowledge that thousands of miles away, there were others like them at Base Eight trying to make it just like they were.
The temporary high of hope and excitement almost distracts and drowns out Base Three blinking off.
*****
The hours passed with increasing tension.
One by one, each Base went dark, their pillars and gateways likewise collapsing in dramatic fashion. Communications were established with Base Twelve only a mere twenty minutes before its ultimate demise. The cutoff appeared ominous—they appeared to have been under siege by such an overwhelming force. But what it was exactly would remain a mystery as Base Seven and Base Eight continued to exchange communications.
Word began to spread around Base Seven as preparations were made. There was something that appeared systematic to how this went about.
Firstly, all communications, recon, and reinforcements have been cut off, isolating Gateworld Thoma.
Secondly, the first initial strike had taken out Base Six, working its way across the southern hemisphere and taking out all the Bases there, working westwards in order of Six-One. Following Base One, Base Twelve followed, meaning whatever it was is now in the northern hemisphere, and based on global diagnostics, has now headed eastwards to Base Eleven.
However, thirdly, and most importantly, is that the fall of each Base also saw the simultaneous fall of its pillar and corresponding gateway. This, they soon realized, is not something that “just happens”. They are designed to work in tandem in a stabilizing loop; a sabotage or loophole must be tampered with on both ends for a collapse of such magnitude to occur. It seemed to signal some form of coordinated effort.
And lastly, perhaps their greatest glimpse of hope, is that upon reviewing the timestamps under which each collapse occurred, each one continually took place longer and longer apart from each other. The fall of Base Five occurred about an hour after Base Six. However, the fall of Base One occurred one hour and forty-three minutes following Base Two’s. Whatever was coming seems to have a limited capacity.
Despite all of these findings, the front was eerily calm. No ghosts, no spirits, no demons, as they have come to typically expect. Even veterans that claimed to have fought against demon legions are surprised.
The fires have been mostly put out by now, and the previously wailing sirens have now quieted. The band of collective debris, wreckage, and corpses creating an artificial ring orbiting Thoma appeared an oddly captivating and morbid spectacle from the surface.
It was of course obviously wrong as to how quiet everything was, considering the typically busy traffic of moving freight, arms, and logistics, but in those moments, many found it ironically easy to forget the dire predicament they found themselves in. This was of course until everyone realized that they have thus far received no survivors coming in from outside Base Seven.
*****
The Fifth Squad has finally been relieved of their post for now. After hours at the searchlight, others have volunteered to take up communications to be maintained with Base Eight.
“You feeling better?” asks Hilgo.
“As much better as one can get here,” replies Vertan.
A silence passes between them.
“I shouldn’t have come here,” mutters Vertan.
“Hm?” says Hilgo.
“I shouldn’t have dragged us out to these stupid expeditions!”
“...”
“I regret it. I regret it all. You were right, and it was stupid of me to throw away the life we had back home, and now we’ll never see it again. I should’ve known, I should’ve known! My father didn’t come back, and I thought I would?”
“...”
“All the risks we’ve taken, and I thought we could have continued to dodge them. All your warnings, and I kept on brushing you off. It’s all my fault for us, and—”
“So you think your choice was a mistake then?”
“Yes! Have you been listening?”
“I have.”
“Yes, I think it was a mistake.”
“I don’t.”
“...What—?”
“I don’t think it’s a mistake.”
“I thought you were going to be mad at me?”
“Oh, I am.”
“Oh.”
“Well, I was.”
“What about now, then?”
“That was all long ago. I’ve come to accept it all since then.”
“I know we can get some of our hopes up, but you do realize we’re probably going to die still, right? No Base so far has survived—”
“I know we’re going to die, Vertan.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying I don’t regret my choice.”
“But…why? Hilgo? After all I did—?”
“I made a decision to come with you on this journey five years ago, Vertan.”
“And? You don’t regret that?”
“In the five years since, yeah, it wasn’t all nice. We’ve fought and argued. I didn’t connect well most times. But in the end, we still stuck with each other. I still had many great experiences I would otherwise never have had, had I stayed home. And hey—we all die someday, at least I get to go out with a banger here.”
“...”
“Besides, what kind of man is one who isn’t committed to his choices, right?”
In spite of it all, Hilgo managed a smile for Vertan.
“Base Eight is falling!” someone shouts.
Rushing outside into the darkened night amongst the others, the millions across Base Seven watched as Base Eight’s light beam flickered desperately. The searchlight on Base Seven continued to send messages back to Base Eight.
Base Eight continued flickering, growing ever more desperate and urgent. It had been signaled earlier that Base Eight had initially encountered the Abomination an hour earlier. A growing hope emerges amongst the crowd, as they realize that Eight might actually hold up, and survive in the struggle.
“Go Base Eight!”
“Go Base Eight!”
“Go Base Eight!”
The chants and cheers ring out across Base Seven into the abyss.
“They’re really going to make it,” Vertan whispers to himself.
The faint, flickering pillar of light continued to command its presence until finally, it shone as a constant beam.
No more messages came through.
Confusion spreads for a brief moment. Was that a signal of victory? Of hope? Did they make it?
Suddenly, in chaotic fashion, the beam of light swings wildly across the sky, lurching and flailing violently as though screaming a desperate final cry before it cuts away, extinguished against the vacuum.
The gateway above Base Eight visibly collapses and implodes, and likewise on the surface, mountains of upheaval shoot upwards to the sky before collapsing back inwards at frightening speed. The spectacle occurred in eerie silence from the perspective of Base Seven, who wouldn’t feel the sound and shockwave for another few hours. The crowds have now quieted to a solemn murmur.
Base Eight has fallen.
And they are next.
