Void Piercer

Chapter 1: Not All Good New is Bad News

Space is empty, an airless void with nothing of interest dotted with a few islands of air that our species cling to, and even these we are constrained to the surface, destin to only inhabit the first kilometer of thousands. The universe is empty and even the points of importance are just that, points, indefinitely small compared to the infinity that surrounds them. Or so the misinformed may tell you, or so I might have once told you.

While we may be infinitesimal compared with the scope of the universe, that does not make it empty. There are ten thousands something stars inside of Terran controlled space, and three times that many in the rest of the council. Each star has an average of four planets, seven once you factor out those pesky binary stars. These islands of light cast merely a glimmer on what truly fills the void. Oort clouds and rouge world's, brown dwarfs only visible on the lower edge of the infrared spectrum and tachyon stars visible on no spectrum. But the item of biggest interest are dark matter storms.

When I first rode up Yggdrasil, I was not concerned with what lied amongst the stars, or even around the stars. What held my attention was the darkening of the sky as we first cleared the atmosphere. Familier pinpricks of light being joined by new ones to faint to reach the land below. As we reached geocentric orbit, I was entranced by the sleek ships docked there. Built like daggers and made of something akin to silver, I was struck by the thought, I wouldn't have to resign myself to just looking at the distant stars, I could visit them.

And now here I am, obsessing over a dark matter pocket far from the nearest star, and no more massive than the elevator I rode up on for that first taste of space. In the grand scheme of things, this little pocket is nothing unique. Most are larger, many are smaller. Trillions of such points have been found, catalogued, and forgotten but for the navigators who worry about such things.

The thing that grates on my nerve is that this is the last one on the map. We're three days out from Myra, where we underwhent our final checks. Since then we've beelined out to this point on the edge of known space.

The ship eases out of warp, an event I perceive only from the readout on my console. I glance up from my work and out the forward window into the abis. The space in front of us is no more empty than the space behind us, but despite this, the space in front of us is truly a void. Not of matter, but of information. While space is full, it is quite lonely. Humanity is not alone, and I'm not talking about their stupid decision to make sentient animals. Space is packed with not just life, but sentient life. Eight species exist within three hundred light years of Terra, but this leaves more questions than answers. If intelligent life is this common, why the hell are we alone?

I mean, we have the Shike to one side of us, but where are the other aliens. We are eight races packed into a tiny corner of the universe, theoretically the space directly adjacent to us should have another twenty something races, and that doesn't account for the ever expanding empires that should at least have brushed ours.

Or so was the thought until two years ago. An exploration vessel for a distant race known as the Quellin came barreling through Council space with stories about what lies beyond known space. Of empires that dwarf the council and of technology our engineers even now are calling imposible. And since the end of the Shike war...

"You can take a break..." Nogesten tells me, interrupting my train of thought. "The last of the refueling won't be done for another hour, and at that point it will Hir's shift."

I turn my head back to look at Nog. We don't have any official government affiliations so the uniforms are unique, although a bit derived. Nog is wearing a blue long sleeve t-shirt and a similarly shaded pair of pants. Braided into their long hair is a Blait captain ribbon of the same color.