Wings of Redemption (The Terra Nova Chronicles Book 3)

by Richard Fox

  I will save you, Mary, he told himself. Even if it kills me.

  “Ultar security patrols are aligning at the edges of our formation, Emperor,” one of the Ultari crew members said from his station in front of the main display screens.

  “Let them assemble,” Kyrios said. “However, if they so much as twitch, you will blow them out of the stars. Is that understood, servant?”

  “I understand, Master.”

  “Reentry maneuver will be complete in thirty seconds,” the Prince said. “Our landing craft and escorts have been prepared.”

  Jared sent orders to his Netherguard, already assembled, who immediately began loading into their assigned transport craft. The troops were as much for security as they were for show, a display of the Triumvirate’s power and might.

  “This world is hideous,” Cigyd said, stepping forward to consider the large main displays.

  “Perhaps,” Kyrios said, “but take heart. We will return to our home—our true home, not this pathetic excuse for a world—and make it great again.”

  Jared brought up several display screens, splashing them across the inside of his helmet’s visor. Despite the numerous restrictions the Triumvirate placed in the armored suit’s operation systems, he’d managed to access several network protocols, giving him access to the data cores of the Wrath and the surrounding Exiled Ships.

  Their homeworld had been ravaged during the Regulos Uprising hundreds of years ago, rendering it unlivable. The survivors had been transplanted here by the Regulos soon after and kept under heavy watch for several hundred years, until it’d been determined that they weren’t a threat. The Ultari had since renamed their new world after their destroyed home, a fact that irritated the Archduke to no end.

  Jared smiled behind his visor. I hope it consumes you.

  Ultar spread out before them, Tulingar, the capital city, taking up much of the coastal peninsula and stretching back to the horizon. The core area of the city was centered near the coast, and tall skyscrapers dotted the cityscape, surrounded by countless multistory office buildings and residence towers. As they neared, however, Jared could see that most of the taller buildings were in various states of disrepair. Some even showed signs of battle, with blackened craters and missing sections.

  “It’s a war zone,” Jared said before he could stop himself.

  Kailani, silhouetted by the main display screens, turned. The once-leader of the Exiled Captains had been deemed worthy by Kyrios to carry the torch and now commanded the Emperor’s space fleet. Having discarded her usual red armored pauldrons, she now wore only her black leather jacket, buttoned over a red shirt and black leather pants. Her long black hair hung loose around her shoulders and her face, which—unlike many of her male counterparts—was unadorned with jewelry.

  “The clans have been in an almost constant state of civil war for years,” Kailani said. “Each believes their own family should rule, not the Founders.”

  Kyrios visibly tensed at the reference. His hatred for the self-proclaimed governing body of the Ultari was barely overshadowed by his hatred for the Regulos, a feat Jared wouldn’t have thought possible. Kyrios had made it clear that the blasphemous leadership would be the first thing he abolished, but Jared knew simply wiping out the Founders wouldn’t solve the issue of control.

  While the majority of the world was controlled by Collectives, the Founders had managed to gain control of the Central Control Network, which gave them access to almost everything on the planet—not to mention the orbital bombardment platforms, which kept the more aggressive clans at bay. But even with those resources, the Founders’ grip on the world was tenuous, as evidenced by the damage throughout the city.

  “The Yudda and Planet Strider clans control much of the city,” Kailani continued. “Lately, though, the Young Stars have been making an effort to control more lands along the eastern edge. They aren’t well-equipped, however, and the Planet Striders have succeeded in holding them back.”

  “A lot of the core city is unincorporated, people who have decided not to ally themselves with any of the clans. They are definitely the minority, but even so, they amount to almost ten percent of the population and because they aren’t aligned with any one clan, it makes controlling large areas almost impossible.”

  “These bombardment platforms,” Cigyd said, “they are operated and maintained from their Central Control Network?”

  Kailani nodded. “Yes, Master. Though it’s rumored they have a backup site somewhere on the planet, perhaps even in orbit. Their security forces keep a close watch on Network access. It’s available for all, but with severe limitations.”

  “It is a primitive construct,” the Prince said without looking up from his screens. Zviera’s thin fingers danced over the keys as his eyes flicked among several displays. “I have already broken through the first layer of encryption. I have access to their general communications grid and power systems.”

  “Lock down their communications for now,” Kyrios said. “I want our arrival to be observed by all. Return to your ship, servant. I have another task for you.”

  Kailani bowed. “Yes, Master.”

  Kyrios rubbed his chin, a habit he’d picked up since becoming flesh and blood. He was constantly touching his skin, whether his hands or face, almost as if he were reassuring himself he was no longer trapped inside his robotic shell.

  Cigyd growled. “The heresy runs deep on this world.”

  “Do not be troubled, Cigyd,” Kyrios said. “Soon we will put right the wrongs and return our people to their proper glory.”

  There it is, Jared thought. Kyrios wouldn’t miss this opportunity to spout off his rhetoric. He was like a politician who never left the campaign trail.

  “What a grand entrance we will make,” Kyrios said, standing and moving down the stairs from his throne.

  A metallic clang echoed around the bridge as Kyrios’s twelve elite Netherguard in their obsidian armor trimmed in red, their eyes glowing like hellfire, snapped to attention. They stood in two rows on either side of the bridge, awaiting instructions. Although part of the overall Netherguard command structure, these twelve reported directly to the Emperor and never left his side.

  “It is perhaps a little more elegant than I prefer,” Kyrios said, “but that can be managed. Soon all will see the glory of their new God.”

  “God,” not “Gods.” Jared wondered if that specific phrasing held any significance to the order of things within the Triumvirate. He flipped down his faceplate and activated his connection to his Netherguard commanders. “Prepare to deploy.”

  NG2-12-4A responded, “By your will, Battle Commander.”

  “Come,” Kyrios said. “Let us present ourselves to our long-lost children.”

  ****

  The amount of inaccurate-inaccurate information we received during this operation is troublesome, CID said.

  “Indeed,” MAC replied, stepping out onto a wide roof covered with old storage crates, broken furniture and trash.

  He’d deactivated his olfactory senses as soon as they’d entered the district, knowing the environment was going to be less than sanitary. The fact that no standard biological disease could affect his hardware wasn’t the point; he preferred to remain as clean as possible, and trekking through blocks of unconfined filth, even as a droid, put MAC off slightly.

  For a millicycle, he’d considered what that said about him as a machine, then dismissed the ideation as a distraction, unnecessary to the mission. After all, he knew that despite his long-running assignment—longer than any previous mission in the history of the Regulos—he’d have to return to the Core eventually, and if they saw anything they didn’t like, it would mean they’d be wiped.

  He allowed the thought of not returning to linger for the briefest of instances in his memory and then removed it entirely from his drives. Even that millisecond of consideration was enough for MAC to question if the Core really understood what they were designing when they’d built him. If the hi
gher echelon of Intelligences had foreseen his amount of divergent thought, they would have scrapped the project immediately—of that, MAC had no doubt.

  He needed to remain completely focused on the operation at hand.

  He understood why the majority of the other sentient races in the galaxy were reluctant to deal with the Regulos bureaucracy. A plea to the Core would be dismissed as a program deficiency, and he’d seen agents wiped for less. He’d become accustomed to his personality matrix and actually liked the nonlinear way he digested and processed information. It made him feel less artificial.

  They’d been following the brokers for several days now and the weapons had passed through so many local dealers, it gave the impression that the Ultari criminal underworld was as full of bureaucracy as the Core. They were all part of a network of individual cells, calling themselves Ultar’s Fist. At every stop, they’d dole out more weapons and supplies. By MAC’s count, this was the ninth stop, and judging by the dwindling stockpile of equipment, it was probably their last. MAC hoped that meant they’d finally get the opportunity to uncover the leader of this group.

  You do not seem concerned by the fact that this group has escaped our detection for almost eleven hundred cycles, CID said. I find that more than a little troubling.

  MAC stepped to the edge of the roof and looked over the waist-high retaining wall. A narrow street separated two copper-colored six-level buildings, both in the same state of disrepair as all the surrounding structures. The tenements housed almost seven hundred Ultari each, not to mention the rest of the undesirable foot traffic constantly coming and going. The street was filled with Ultari and droids and even a few Burathi and Pindiki here and there, moving in an endless progression, stepping around and past each other with seemingly no effort at all. CID tagged all of them for further review, searching for matches in their already extensive list of flagged individuals.

  “It is concerning.” MAC focused his optical sensors on an entrance way several meters to his right, zooming in on the two door guards. His infrared filter showed both were armed—more heavily armed than any of the others in the area—and their body language and biometric readouts indicated they were on high alert.

  “This is definitely the location,” MAC said as secondary routines attempted to match faces on the street to any in his alert database.

  I would have to agree-agree with you, CID said.

  “Did the Core just blow a transistor?”

  Your attempt at humor is…zzzzt…wasted on me.

  “I know,” MAC said. “Pity.”

  MAC stood motionless at the roof’s edge for several cycles, letting his secondary routines scour the crowds, waiting for the final shipment to arrive. If the other deliveries were any indication, the trucks would be arriving shortly.

  It was slightly concerning that the group had not appeared on their radar prior to this mission, but at least this time, CID would have some new information to relay to the Core, which, of course, would inevitably lead to an endless stream of inquiries and probably warnings to stand down and wait for instructions—orders from Intelligence nodes light-years away, who didn’t possess the requisite knowledge of the operation to make an educated decision. Their instructions would almost certainly be flawed, and MAC wasn’t too particular to those kinds of directives.

  Target Gruldal will be entering the alley here, in .2 cycles, CID announced, placing a target icon above one of the alcoves leading into the busy street.

  The Ultari arms dealer appeared in the crowd below, followed by two of his executive team and two armed security guards. He stepped out from the alcove to MAC’s left and immediately began moving in the direction of the target location, to MAC’s right. Some in the crowd seemed to recognize Gruldal for what he was—if not who he was—and stepped out of the way. Others received abrupt shoves from his security.

  CID redirected a microdrone to follow.

  Stopping a few paces from the door, the Ultari said, “I’m here to see—”

  “I know who you are,” the lead guard said, stepping forward with a scanner.

  After finishing the short scan, the guard nodded to another standing by the door, who opened it without a word.

  Gruldal grunted at the guard, then disappeared into the building.

  An internal alert notified MAC of a facial match, and data began flowing into his processor. “Finally.”

  A red outline drew itself around a new Ultari arrival walking through the crowd below. MAC’s secondary targeting routines identified three additional Ultari keeping pace with the primary target, giving strong indications that this was the contact they’d been waiting for.

  Captain Alcorg, owner of the-the-the Cosmic Dawn, freight hauler registered out of the Yudda Collective, CID reported, accessing the data stream. A review of his…zzzzt…dossier indicates he is, or was at one time, personal acquaintances with Captain Tral.

  “Tral?” MAC moved along the edge of the roof. “Our last information put him on to the Fortress, didn’t it?”

  It did.

  “This is it, CID. Our way in. Get a drone down there.”

  I am not-not-not convinced, CID said, dispatching one of the microdrones. Even if the available evidence indicated-indicated a solid connection to Tral and, by proxy, the…zzzzt…Exile’s Stronghold, which it does not, we still do not have access to the station. We can’t simply stroll through the-the-the airlock and mingle with the local droid population. Zzzzt…the security out there is leaps and bounds ahead of anything the Ultari have here locally-locally. It’s not like you can just pack-pack yourself into a shipping container and mail yourself to the station.

  “Actually,” MAC said, tracing the captain as he moved through the crowd toward the target location, “that’s not a bad idea at all.”

  You’re not…zzzzt…serious, CID said. You’re not packing-packing me into a crate.

  “No one said anything about a crate.”

  There is no way to-to connect Alcorg to Tral in any way other than they met once and it was recorded. We must still follow the…zzzzt…shipment. We need to get inside that building-building and identify the parties involved.

  “You have to have a little bit of—”

  Do not say faith, MAC. It is a flawed concept.

  “For you, maybe, but I believe there is something to playing a hunch. If we can get inside the Fortress and destroy the Exiles, we might be able to restore some of the balance in this sector.”

  I am picking up increased Prefect activity on-on-on the Network.

  “Again?” MAC asked, watching as the two door guards ran a scanner around Captain Alcorg’s body. They went through the same protocols as with Gruldal, and after a moment, the guard let Alcorg pass. The door shut behind the Ultari and the group of guards moved to block further access.

  “I guess that means we’re not invited,” MAC told CID.

  Perhaps if you…zzzzt…asked nicely.

  “Can you tap into the building’s node?”

  Accessing, CID said. There doesn’t appear to be-be-be a network access point to the building. I’ll have to set up a hardwired…zzzzt…connection with one of the drones.

  “Do it.”

  Working.

  MAC waited patiently while his counterpart sent instructions to the drone. Above, two shuttles screamed past, heading north at full speed. A microcycle later, two more shot past. On the street below, several Ultari stopped dead in their tracks, pulling data pads from pockets and accessing various Network feeds, exchanging furtive glances with those around them.

  “What’s going on?” MAC asked.

  Planetary network usage just shot up almost six hundred percent in the last five microcycles. The number of users logging in to the system is quickly reaching capacity.

  “Show me what they’re looking at.”

  An octagonal display panel appeared in MAC’s optical feed, overlaid against the real world, which became an unfocused haze of color and movement. Secondary routines engaged to mo
nitor his surroundings as his primary matrix focused on what CID was showing him.

  The video feed was from a security camera positioned high above the grand Founder’s Palace. Three large shuttles were setting down into the middle of the square, which was quickly filling with hundreds of Ultari. Several Founder flyers circled overhead, directing the assembling crowds to disperse. Surprisingly, no one seemed to heed the instructions.

  Those spacecraft are registered assets of the Exiled Captains’ fleet, CID said.

  “The Captains, here? How long has it been since one of them returned to Ultar?”

  Two thousand nine hundred twenty cycles, CID told him.

  The ramp at the side of the lead shuttle folded down as a hatch opened. A bipedal figure stepped out of the shadowed interior and paused at the top of the ramp. Sunlight glinted off the red and black armor it wore, its faceless mask giving the figure a distinctly ominous look.

  The armored figure raised its arms, apparently calling for quiet as the mass of Ultari pressed in around the shuttles.

  “Do we have audio?”

  Working.

  A microcycle later, a mechanical voice came through MAC’s internal audio speakers.

  “…do not be afraid. Your salvation is finally come. Your rightful lord and master will set all on a path of righteousness.”

  Ramps folded down from the two trailing shuttles and lines of tall, skeletal Ultari began filing into the square. Their movements were in perfect sync, all seeming to move as one. They carried long halberd weapons and wore matte-black segmented armor over their torso and limbs, as well as armored helmets, decorated with two red stripes that ran vertically down one side of the faceplate. The helmets resembled Ultari skulls, and two red photocells appeared locked on the unit ahead.

  “Run a comparison scan on those,” MAC said.

  Already in progress. They-they-they are biomechanical constructs, not previously cataloged, CID said. I find no reference or…zzzzt…mention of them in any of my data files.