Krikos: The Vertical Horizon

By Rishabh Dubey

It is 4697 A.D. and the Earth doesn't exist anymore. Humans reside in a celestial space station that is larger than the average star and is powered by the stars themselves. It is informally called a 'Star-Eater', but its official name is Krikos.

While exploring the eternity of space, humans find a possibly habitable solar system. Krikos sends out a mission under the leadership of the famed warrior, Captain Krawn Xanethius, to examine the ideal planet. Krawn soon realises that they are not alone in the Universe. But, his real ambiguity lies in the mysterious existence of a human colony in the system prior to their arrival.

A new war would engulf the Galaxy and plethora of lies shall be made known; making the anthropocentric yet existential human being question it all. The truth, though, lies in a small journal, written a thousand years before the birth of Krawn, by the creator of the Krikos and the smartest being to have ever lived - Dr. Flex D'Dustener.

Is the purpose of the Krikos to merely save humankind... Or is it much more? Embark on this journey of unknowns and get the answer to the greatest question of all - 'Why?'.

• Language: English
• Publisher: One Point Six Technologies Pvt Ltd
• Release date: May 22, 2021
• ISBN: 9789354382406

Rishabh Dubey

Rishabh Dubey, known by his pen-name 'Kridious', is a young author, poet and musician hailing from the city of Lucknow, India. Dubey is credited with writing and publishing six books so far in diverse genres of Science Fiction, Poetry, Fantasy, Anthology and Literary Fiction. He published his first book, The Mangoman, at the age of 18. A natural tech aficionado, Dubey pursued Computer Sciences as a profession whilst exploring Science Fiction as his passion. He is currently residing in the city of Mumbai, India and working on sequels to his published books. Rishabh also began an initiative, called 'The Voices of Silence', to give a platform to young aspiring authors of India to showcase their work without any hindrances.Website/Weblog: kridious.comFacebook: www.facebook.com/rishabhkridiousInstagram: @kridiousTwitter: www.twitter.com/rishabhkridiousGoodreads: bit.ly/kridiousgoodreadsEmail ID: [e-mail]

Book preview

Into the Dimension

The Explorers

1347 E.E. The Krikos slowly floated in a vast and seemingly eternal void. A world larger and stranger than any other. All around it, the heavens were freckled with stars, like glimmering dust frozen in time. However, that magnificent illusion of immortal inertness seemed to be a delusion, since a close inspection of the Krikos revealed that the monstrous ring was rotating freely in open space. As if to remove any ambiguity that our hypothetical observer may have in this regard, the Krikos gave off a massive fusion thrust. Apparently, guessed the observer, the Deuterium Capacitor of the Krikos was up to its tricks again. Curiosity got the better of the observer, and he moved in closer to look at the Krikos up close. The huge rings surrounded what seemed like a planet only a few ten or twenty times larger than the average star.

After the effects of the fusion thrust began to subside, a spacecraft ejected itself free from the clutches of the Krikos’ considerable gravitational pull and headed towards the tiny yellow star that loomed ahead. Meanwhile, inside the craft, a clear but pleasant female voice announced The Epilion is out of the Krikos’ gravitational field. Transition to Hexkon Thrust to commence within twenty-four hours.

The burly figure of Krawn Xanethius, quietly observing the panorama of stars displayed on the Visi-screen from his chair, sat perched on top of the command bridge. Muster, the ship’s navigator, lowered the velocity of the Epilion, and Ramalus toyed with variables on the control desk. A captivating aura surrounded the senior Captain, even though he stood a little shorter than most other males. Maybe it was owed to his classically long hair, his light brown and intense eyes or his composed and omniscient appearance and odour; Krawn was one of the most revered beings to ever exist. He was quite happy to be out there at last. After years of the training they’d had together, he did not have even a single shade of doubt on the capabilities of the crew. He was perfectly aware that they were the best – numero uno – in their respective fields. One thing was sure, though. He knew that no matter what they saw on Annaeax, it would have surely come as a shock to all of them.

Visi! Give me mission control! Krawn commanded, coming out of his reverie.

He couldn’t have afforded to get lost in thought when he knew that the Eutopium would be expecting a report of every minute event, now that the Epilion had left for its mission.

The picture on the Visi-screen changed to one showing a split-screen. One of the screens showed a large gathering of people, all with identical blue uniforms and a badge with the words ‘EMC’ – the Epilion Mission Control. The other half of the screen displayed a holo-projection of the whole Eutopium council – all old men with sombre faces and permanent frowns that even the widest of grins couldn’t have erased.

This is Captain Krawn Xanethius reporting, said Krawn in his most formal tone. The Epilion has left the gravitational field of the Krikos. The fusion thrusts have been discharged. A Hexkon jump has been scheduled after 24 hours. A crew meeting has been ordered within the next hour, by which time all the preliminary tests will have been finished. Meanwhile, the Epilion will be sending real-time stats to the Genetrix.

Very well, Captain, said Dragomir Lunarte, the First Speaker of the Eutopium council, directly addressing the Captain. We will expect the meeting to be beamed live to the Genetrix, with a priority channel to the control and the Eutopium.

The screen blued out of the mainframe server. The room sighed out of the pressure of formality.

Hey, Captain! exclaimed Muster, yawning shamelessly, once the holo-transmission ended. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if I nip off for a power nap, would you?

Krawn glanced at Muster, then at the exasperated look on Ramulus’ face, and said, Haven’t you slept enough before the launch?

A population of billions and we get a clown as a Navigator! Ramulus muttered sardonically under his breath.

And how many more deserving candidates did you have to kill to get to be the engineer, Ramulus? came the swift retort.

Cut it! Both of you! Muster, do whatever you want, but I want you at the crew meeting after an hour, said Krawn, before Ramulus could come up with a reply.

Well so, Captain, said Muster with a mock salute and left. In an hour, the crew assembled in a wide circle, which made the conference chamber look rather cramped, despite its considerable size by spacecraft standards. Every one of the members sat stiffly upright as the ship connected with the Flex Grid.

Krawn observed each one of them in turn. He looked at Muster; the bastard was grinning for no apparent reason. Beside him, across Krawn, sat Krawn’s wife Mira, the onboard physician. With her beautiful face poised in an expression of solemn seriousness, her storm grey eyes caught his brown ones, and a smile flickered across both their faces. He tore his glance away from Mira to look at the stout man sitting three chairs away from him, Cantor Baldan, the resource manager of the Epilion. Rush was the Weapons Expert. ‘One could have found one of those for two a penny’, thought many people. But Krawn knew that Rush was not just ‘a’ weapons expert, he was ‘THE’ weapons expert. He could make a weapon out of practically anything. It was a known fact that with genius came eccentricity, and Rush was no exception. Perhaps his oddest oddity was the fact that he despised modern synth music; he instead preferred an archaic form of music, used in ‘praise of ancient warriors’, which he called ‘Rock’.

Rush often referred to himself as the ‘Jimmy Page’ of weaponry. Krawn did not have the slightest inkling to who Jimmy Page was, and he never bothered to look into the Flex Grid or even ask Rush for that matter. Krawn continued to cogitate as Ramulus and Rush sat on either side of him. The two guests aboard the Epilion – Ambassador Castino Gorvez and Watcher Gart Lekinaten – sat sombrely beside Muster. Castino was a middle-aged, balding man who still retained the vestiges of the toughness that came with being the former head of the D1 Police Department. Watcher Gart looked like one of those gangsters of Earth that Krawn had seen in History Holo-films.

On the other side of Mira sat Steffy Damiens, the famous xenologist. Krawn did not see how a xenologist could have helped them with their diplomatic mission, but he presumed that the council had its reasons.

Live on the data grid in 10 seconds, the computer announced and began the countdown.

9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1…0.

A soft but clear beep sounded, signalling that the live stream to Krikos had begun.

The proceedings shall begin, Krawn started, with an overview of the current scenario.

In the almost perfect darkness of the restricted section of the Zone Alpha Command Library, Verdo Hoko, keeper of the records, with his eyebrows knitted, ran his fingers through the Krikos Archive Interface. Verdo liked the dark, not in the fashion of thieves or murderers, though. For him, darkness was simply demulcent. He often haunted the library like a dedicated poltergeist, browsing through the endless stream of information that was the by-product of almost every generation of his rather prolific race. That time, however, he was looking for something very specific.

The archive interface was the black box of the Krikos. Among other records, it stored all the crew logs that were ever created. Verdo narrowed down his search with more parameters since only an hour of his info lease was left.

The D1Z1 library was a relic of the early years of Eutopium’s existence, made hopelessly obsolete by the Flex Data Grid. Few realised that the data grid was not all that it seemed. Verdo was one of the last humans who was bent on keeping real information alive. Verdo Hoko knew that the Eutopium, those historically apparent rightists who were ‘loved by all and scorned by none’, had seen to it that all of the Krikos remained in the dark as they were but stooges of the Stillites according to the infamous myths and rumours that were a part of political conversations. The Stillites were an old and extinct sect of the ecclesiastical patricians. But what’s their game? he thought. He didn’t have an iota of a lead, but he was not going to stop till he found out. By Galacta, he’d find out, he promised. His fingers tapped dexterously on an ancient touchscreen as he searched through the Krikos archive database.

By Galacta, those mud bags have everything under Section 2379. How can I get through all of it?

Suddenly, a deafening crash sounded, startling the old librarian. Who is it? he shouted. Mrew? Is it you again? He said while running towards the holo-archive in the south wing following the vestiges of the crash. He saw the rubble of a data manipulation hub with splattered coils and archive apparatus, all drenched in an idiosyncratic liquid. Every archived file is probably done with, thought Verdo, along with all its contrivances. From the inside of the wrecked platform came a feeble sound, Yes, it is me, master. But this time, it was not my fault.

Time decides fate and delivers existence. It awaits none. Time is supposedly running. But is it? Running to what? For what? Is there a destiny? Is there a common end, a common fate for all? It all depends on what we think, what they thought… what he thought. While the world made plans for conquering the universe, Flex had other plans. His aim was time. Time…the sucker, you can’t reverse it, can’t change it, it runs on its own. But does it? If it was so very independent, non-deviant and immutable, isn’t it…somewhat…somehow…