Lacuna by David Adams
Copyright David Adams
2012
“Never again attempt to develop this kind of technology.”
It is with these words that an unknown alien attacker destroys the Earth cities of Tehran, Sydney and Beijing. Fifty million people die... and nothing is ever the same again.
Some call them Demons, some call them Aliens, but to Chinese Naval Captain Melissa Liao they are the enemy. She is given command of one of three great warships built to fight the “demons”, the TFR Beijing.
Her task is simple. Find who attacked Earth and why... then stop them.
Book one of the Lacuna series.
Books by David Adams
The Lacuna series (science fiction)
Lacuna
The Sands of Karathi
The Spectre of Oblivion
The Ashes of Humanity
The Prelude to Eternity
The Requiem of Steel (coming 2015)
The Kobolds series (fantasy)
Ren of Atikala
The Scars of Northaven
The Empire of Dust (coming 2015)
Stories in the Kobolds universe
The Pariahs
The Pariahs: Freelands (coming 2015)
Sacrifice
Stories in the Lacuna universe
Magnet
Magnet: Special Mission
Magnet: Marauder
Magnet: Scarecrow
Magnet Saves Christmas
Magnet: Ironheart (coming 2015)
Faith
Imperfect
Other Books
Insufficient
Insurrection
Injustice (coming 2015)
Who Will Save Supergirl?
Evelyn’s Locket
––––
A writer does not write in isolation,
for we are the sum of their experiences.
It is from these experiences that inspiration comes.
I thank my family, who allowed me to be who I am,
My friends, who love me in spite of me,
And as always, to my readers.
You made all this possible.
Special thanks to UFOP: Starbase 118 for teaching me how to write,
and Shane Michael Murray,
my tireless proofreader, motivator and partner in crime.
––––
Lacuna
空
白
“The history of advanced races meeting more primitive people on this planet is not very happy, and they were the same species.
I think we should keep our heads low.”
- Professor Steven Hawking
Prologue
In Medias Res
*****
Sydney, Australia
2029 A.D.
Moments after the attack on Earth
SENIOR LIEUTENANT MELISSA LIAO OF the People’s Liberation Army awoke facedown in the dark, pinned under a shattered steel girder, concrete dust swirling all around her.
She was dimly aware of a dull pain in her feet that became sharper as her consciousness returned. Overcome by coughing, she found the dust made it impossible to open her eyes, causing a spike of panic. She remembered a flash of light and then the rumble of the collapsing building. Was she blind?
When she finally forced her eyes open, her vision was blurred, her eyes watery. In the inky, dusty blackness, she could barely make out the shattered blue jug of the office water cooler. Its frigid contents had spilled onto the carpet, creating a cold, wet fuzziness that was strangely more uncomfortable than the crushing weight of the debris pinning her to the floor.
Her survival instinct kicked in, and she began to cry out, “救命啊! 救命啊…!”
“Found one in here!” someone called from above her in accented English, and through the concussed shroud of her mind, it sounded familiar. The sound of rubble being shifted filtered through the debris.
Liao recognised the language, and she shouted back in kind, “My legs! My legs are stuck!”
“Melissa? Is that you?” The voice sounded surprised.
Her memory clicked; the voice belonged to Captain James Grégoire, a native of Belgium. He had met Liao in Sydney as an observer and guide. He had been nearby when the huge explosion had happened.
“Yes, it’s me! Hurry!”
“We’re working as fast as we can!”
More debris was shifted, and some weight lifted from her. As it did, Liao suddenly felt reassured. Very relaxed. Perhaps it was just a combination of the pressure relief, an obvious concussion, and blood loss, or perhaps it was Grégoire’s voice that steadied her nerves.
Though they had met only earlier today, Liao thought Grégoire was a strikingly attractive man. With a deep voice, dark skin, and a bald head, he struck quite the imposing image, especially being so tall.
Of course, he was a naval captain in the European Union, and she a naval lieutenant in the Chinese People’s Navy, so it could never work out. Nevertheless, they had struck up a fast friendship despite their vast ideological differences.
Liao coughed again, sending up clouds of concrete dust from the ruined carpet below her.
“What happened, James? A bomb?”
No answer came from above.
Liao began to panic again, the comforting feeling evaporating. “James!”
“Don’t know,” James finally replied, his tone grave. “Something really bad. You’ll see when we get you out of there. Okay, you two, lift up that beam right there.”
The pile of rubble shifted, followed by the rumble-clatter of debris as it resettled. Liao shrieked as a sharp piece of metal sliced open her hip.
His voice boomed above her. “Stop, stop, stop! You’re hurting her!”
“他妈的，好痛… 哟…”
Liao passed out again.
Noises above her and around. She came to as the metal was lifted. Soon she was stretchered away from the ruined building, fading in and out of awareness. Grégoire was by her side, holding her hand, his coal-black skin covered in chalk-white dust. A thick flow of blood trickled down the side of his head. Liao could hear rotor blades thumping nearby.
“Hang in there, okay? We’ve got a helicopter ready to take you to Canberra.”
She blinked groggily, glancing down at the IV line attached to her arm. From her training, she knew the effects of morphine but had never experienced it. She felt as though she had just woken up from a particularly deep and relaxing sleep and felt no pain at all. Everything seemed distant and foggy.
“Why Canberra? Why not a local hospital?”
The Australian medics began loading her into the helicopter. Rolling her head weakly to the side, she saw a civilian craft bearing the logo of an Australian news outlet. Liao could see other medics, off to one side, tending to a dust-covered, hyperventilating redhead who was frantically sucking on an asthma inhaler. Their contact, Summer Rowe, had survived too—apparently against all odds.
“See for yourself,” Grégoire said, his tone grim. He pointed out the side of the aircraft. The helicopter's blades began to chop faster, signalling imminent liftoff.
As their impromptu ambulance took to the air, she saw the extent of the devastation firsthand.
Barely a building stood. Nary a landmark had survived. She saw the Harbour Bridge—an icon of the beautiful city they had driven across only hours ago—lying splayed out on the harbour, its wires hanging limply in the water like the tendrils of some horrid beast. The Opera House was broken, its sail-like sweeps shattered like blackened, roasted eggshells.
The city centre and suburbs were naught but blackened, burned fields devoid of form. In the heart of Sydney, the skeletons of her tall skyscrapers, cut down like freshly mown grass, were the only structures taller than waist-high rubble. Fr
om her superior vantage point in the helicopter, Melissa could see hundreds of tiny dots moving around as people flooded into the debris-covered streets.
In terms of construction, however, aside from the occasional skeleton of a building, there was almost nothing left of the whole city.
A radio lying by her head crackled to life. A voice, unearthly and strange, came filtering through.
“永远不要再次尝试开发这项技 术.”
The message repeated itself three times, and then the radio abruptly went silent.
Above them, seen through the thumping rotor blades, a bright, white flash burst in the sky and quickly faded like a firework exploding in the distance.
Grégoire’s hand found hers again. “That sounded like Chinese?” he asked, his tone questioning rather than accusatory.
It had been Chinese, heavily accented and barely clear. Liao hesitated a moment, trying to find the best translation through the fog of her sedated mind.
“Never again attempt to develop this kind of technology.”
The remainder of the helicopter trip was conducted in silence. When they arrived and were debriefed, they learnt the demons—what the media called them, for lack of a better term—had not stopped with the Australian city. Tehran and Beijing, both research centres and both host to roughly the same technology as Sydney, had suffered the same fate.
In all, fifty million men, women, and children had died in an instant—and the world had changed forever.
Act I
Chapter I
Chekhov’s Armoury