Wings of Redemption (The Terra Nova Chronicles Book 3)

by Richard Fox

  “We will expect daily progress reports and immediate notification of any and all complications experienced during this process,” the Herald said.

  Pantos bowed his head again slightly. “Of course, Master. By your command.”

  A third visual feed appeared in MAC’s optic display. Drone Two was moving toward the far edge of the collection area, its camera zooming in on a group of hooded figures moving through the shadows. CID tagged seven individual targets, all armed with small arms, and one armed with a shoulder-fired ground-to-air rocket launcher. The weapon’s statistical information and payload estimates appeared next to the panel.

  Gruldal and Alcorg. CID identified two of the figures, keeping to the middle of the group.

  “I guess they took Mortas at his word,” MAC said.

  It appears-appears so. Also, zzzzt…the variant signal is-is-is coming from the area directly surrounding the shuttle-shuttle craft. It is possible it is coming from…zzzzt…the shuttle craft itself.

  “Now that is interesting. Can we get a drone close enough to solidify the trace without being detected?”

  I do not-not-not have enough information on the Triumvirate’s technological capacities to make an informed-informed-informed decision, CID said. However, I will attempt a closer examination…zzzzt.

  “I don’t think you’re going to have time,” MAC said.

  The group of hooded Ultari figures had stopped, partially concealed behind several waste disposal bins and shadows cast by multicolored fabric overhangs. They spoke in rapid, hushed tones. Drone Two zipped through the air, moving to hover several meters above their heads.

  “…we don’t act now, we might not get another shot,” Gruldal was saying.

  “There’s too many Netherguard,” Alcorg said. “The message said there would be minimal security here. They’ve got an army out there.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Gruldal said. “They have no idea we’re coming.” He produced a small comm unit from within his dusty cloak. “This is Gruldal. We are in position.”

  A chorus of responses came over the radio.

  MAC switched his primary optical feed back to the Herald and the Archduke, zooming in on the two figures as they moved down the line of captured droids, seemingly unaware of the impending attack. Then something happened he didn’t expect. As the hidden Ultari attackers began counting down to their strike, the Herald looked up and stared straight at the location where Alcorg and Gruldal were hunkered down. He only held his gaze there for a microcycle, but it was enough. The Ultaris didn’t even notice.

  “CID, did you see that?” MAC asked, loading a replay of the incident in his optical feed. Slowing the replay to half speed, he watched it again. As the video played, CID overlaid the recording with red lines, marking the angles, giving no doubt to the location of the Herald’s attention.

  He is aware of their presence, CID said, without a trace of his usual glitches.

  “But he’s not engaging.”

  A sharp, high-pitched whine rang out, followed by an abrupt whoosh as a Type-III GTA rocket shot from its launcher tube. Even before the rocket’s primary thrusters activated, CID had established sixteen possible flight paths based on its initial trajectory. Calculations for flight times, damage estimates, and fallout appeared in a scrolling column on the right side of MAC’s optical field. As the rocket reached the apex of its climb, the possible flight paths had been reduced to three, all of which aimed directly at the Archduke and his Herald.

  A few of the Netherguard reacted, heads snapping up to the incoming rocket. Some even brought up their halberds and managed to get several shots off, but they were rushed and missed their target.

  The Herald moved faster than MAC would’ve thought possible, placing himself between the Archduke and the incoming rocket. He raised a hand, palm out, fingers spread. For a brief microcycle, his palm glowed red, then a blast of energy lashed out, streaking through the air, slamming into the rocket. It exploded in a brilliant fireball above the mass of collected droids. The blast wave threw droids in all directions, ripping off limbs and incinerating chassis.

  As if that explosion had been a cue, rows and rows of droids seemed to come to life, charging forward toward the shuttles. The Netherguard quickly regained their composure and engaged, advancing on the attacking droids with no regard for their own safety. The droids engaged with bare hands, clawing and grabbing at the Netherguard, while others punched and kicked. A few managed to rip halberds free, tossing them aside to continue their assault.

  Another high-pitched whine cut through the square as a second rocket, fired from a position opposite the first, rose into the air. Then a third launched, and a fourth. The Herald destroyed the first rocket almost immediately, then turned and engaged the second rocket. He shouted something MAC’s translation protocols couldn’t decipher, then moved to engage the final one.

  From all around the square, small groups of Ultari insurgents appeared, tossing back hooded cloaks, emerging from shadows and side alleys. Gunfire filled the air. The docile prisoners corralled by the shuttles seemed to gain some courage from seeing their comrades attack and rushed the Prefects minding them, overwhelming them with sheer numbers.

  Explosions ripped through the surrounding buildings as the Herald’s energy weapons engaged rockets, droids, and Ultari, all with the extreme precision MAC would’ve expected from a Regulos battle unit. He ripped through brick and mortar, sending clouds of dust and debris into the air. He moved quickly, never wasting a step or a shot, sending bolts of energy through countless metal chassis and tearing them to shreds. He was obviously a high-skilled warrior, but as MAC observed his fighting, a concerning oddity presented itself.

  Anytime the armored figure fired at the droids, his weapons hit with deadly accuracy, taking limbs and heads off in quick succession. There was no stopping it. But when his shots were aimed at the Ultari insurgents, the shots missed—in some cases, just barely—but they did miss.

  “Are you seeing this?” MAC asked.

  CID identified a new group of Ultari on a roof to the east of the square. Red target outlines appeared around the insurgents just as two more rocket launchers appeared over the waist-high retaining wall and fired. The rockets trailed long streamers of smoke behind them as they cut through the air.

  “No incoming communication pings?” MAC asked.

  Negative.

  “The insider said he would be here.”

  Zzzzt…perhaps he is otherwise engaged-engaged.

  The Herald turned, shoving three Netherguard out of the way, and fired. His first shot missed, streaking through the air and slamming into one of the buildings beyond. His second shot hit the rocket square on the nose, turning it into a fireball. He fired again, missing a second time. His fourth shot tore the second rocket in half, slicing clean through the weapon’s chassis. The back half veered away, its thruster throwing it into a corkscrew, spiraling out of sight over the rooftops.

  He missed one, CID announced, tagging yet a third rocket streaking in from the opposite direction as the previous two.

  The rocket slammed into the shuttle behind the Archduke, ripping through the upper section and exploding inside the craft. The blast shredded the shuttle’s thin armor, sending mangled pieces of hull, flames, and smoke flying. A piece from one of the engines slammed into two Netherguard, slicing through their bodies just above the waist, separating top from bottom. Blood fountained from their lower halves, which remained upright for several moments before succumbing to gravity and falling over.

  The blast wave knocked the Archduke off his feet and into a line of nearby Netherguard, sending them all toppling to the ground in a mass of flailing limbs.

  The Herald shouted something else, his voice enhanced and projected by his armored suit, but again MAC’s translation protocols failed. Immediately, the remaining Netherguard formed into separate squads, each moving to engage a different group of insurgents. Two squads moved in to surround the Archduke, lifting him off the gr
ound and retreating to one of the remaining shuttles.

  The Netherguard ripped through the droids, laying waste to the hordes of unarmed and unarmored machines, their shredded bodies now littering the ground. At the sight of their droids losing ground, many of the resistance fighters hesitated, and some simply turned and ran. CID identified Alcorg and Gruldal retreating on the far side, disappearing into an alley before a group of Ultari were obliterated by Netherguard fire.

  As groups of resistance fighters vanished, others were not so lucky. Squads of Netherguard converged on their positions, raining down fire without mercy or hesitation. It was not a battle to regain control; it was a battle to destroy the enemy. A handful of Ultari attempted to surrender but were cut down by uncaring biomechanical killing machines.

  Two squads of Netherguard ended the brief insurrection, moving to assist the all-but-defeated Prefects. Some managed to give up, but most were simply shot where they stood, surrendering or not. Those that survived were herded unceremoniously back into their shuttles.

  Pillars of black smoke rose from burning wreckage and piles of charred droids, filling the air above the square. Screams of dying Ultari were quickly silenced as Netherguard located them and finished the job. There would be no prisoners, it seemed.

  I have located the-the-the source of…zzzzt…the variant signal, CID announced.

  “Where is it coming from?”

  A red outline drew itself around the armor figure as CID tagged the Herald.

  It is coming from him.

  ****

  The tension in the throne room was palpable as Pantos and Rygous approached the dais, and despite usually enjoying their torment, Jared couldn’t help watching them with more than a little bit of trepidation. Kyrios was angry. This meeting wasn’t likely to go well for the two Ultari leaders and everyone present was well aware of that fact.

  The Netherguard Elites were arranged in a row between the Founders and the Emperor’s throne, their black and red armor clearly intimidating the two Ultari as they knelt several feet away.

  Doesn’t matter how far away you are, Jared thought. Even from across the room, those Elites could engage and dominate without breaking a sweat, not to mention the two hundred regular Netherguard positioned around the chamber.

  Jared felt slightly guilty—but only slightly—about what he was about to do to the Ultari leader. The Ultari would never be a friend to humanity, and Jared needed a fall guy for his plan to work.

  After the attack on Cigyd and the processing facility, the Emperor was taking no chances. He’d halted the remaining transports scheduled to ferry the second round of Netherguard into orbit, deciding instead to deploy them around the palace and Network Control. He was taking no chances now, even if that meant delaying the fleet’s departure to the Regulos Core.

  The resistance hadn’t quite dealt a crippling bow to Kyrios’s plans, but they’d set them back a few days—and they’d all but vanished after the attack on the facility. Jared had missed his window to contact the infiltrator during the attack, and now that Kyrios had locked the entire network down, he wouldn’t be able to. Not even the Founders had access. It was as if the entire planet had gone dark overnight.

  “So,” Kyrios said, his voice barely louder than a whisper, “not only did we allow the traitorous unfaithful to escape once, they returned to attack and escaped twice. How do you explain this, servant? I find it hard to believe one such as you, who led my lost children for as long as you did, could fail so horrendously.”

  Pantos kept his eyes locked on the floor as he spoke. “Master, please, I beg you. The only explanation is that they had help. The leak—”

  “More traitors!” Cigyd barked from his position next to the throne. “More lies!”

  “My Prefects have been vetted, Master,” Pantos said, his tone more accusing than he’d probably meant it.

  The Emperor pointed a long, thin finger. “But you have not.”

  “Master,” Pantos whined, “I live to serve you and only you! I swear!”

  Zviera appeared opposite Cigyd, hands clasped behind his back. “We have traced several Network connections that were made during the attack on the warehouse, Pantos. Several transmissions that were linked back to this very palace. Only someone with very high access would’ve been able to establish those connections.”

  Pantos straightened but remained on his knees. “I made no transmissions.”

  “LIES!” Cigyd screamed, his robes flowing around him as he descended the stairs. “You have done nothing but lie to us since our arrival and your Prefects are an utter failure.”

  “We identified their stronghold!”

  “And they escaped,” Cigyd argued.

  “And destroyed two squads of Netherguard while they were at it,” Zviera added.

  “Master, I swear, we locked down the Network before we attacked!”

  Zviera lifted a finger. “Ah, but that’s not exactly true, is it?”

  Pantos opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out.

  Zviera continued. “My Network logs show that the area nodes weren’t shut down until just before the Netherguard launched their assault. An encrypted message was sent through the Network just prior to the lockdown, warning the resistance of our impending attack.”

  Jared’s breath caught in his throat at the Prince’s words. Multiple scenarios began racing through his mind, all of which ended poorly for him and his family. He’d already decided on focusing the spotlight on the Founders, but he’d thought he’d have more time.

  “Not by me,” Pantos said.

  “You’re a traitor,” Kyrios growled, his eyes locked on the Founder. “I bring you under my protection, I allow you the glory of serving my empire, and this is how you repay me?”

  The Netherguard snapped to attention at his words, anticipating their Emperor’s command to kill the Founder.

  Pantos wailed, pressing his forehead to the floor, arms spread wide. “I never did, Master! It wasn’t me! I’m only loyal to you! Search the logs! I can prove it.”

  Jared wasn’t going to have a better opportunity. He needed to set the hook and set it hard. “What can you prove, traitor? That your blood is part of the resistance? That your own brother leads the fight against our Holy Emperor?”

  Cigyd’s head snapped up at that, as did the Founder’s. Pantos looked shocked; whether it was actual or feigned, Jared couldn’t tell. Not that it mattered. He pressed on, activating his holo projector. An image of Mortas appeared, standing in the middle of the warehouse, firing a rifle at the attacking Netherguard.

  “This image was acquired during our recent raid on a resistance stronghold, shortly before they rallied and attacked. This…” Jared paused as another image of Mortas and Pantos standing next to each other at an event prior to the Triumvirate’s arrival appeared next to the first. “This is all the proof I require. This traitor has been providing the resistance with information about our movements, capabilities, and plans. Providing his brother with the way to destroy you and everything you’re trying to accomplish here.”

  Kyrios leapt from his throne with a roar and pointed. “Kill him!”

  Pantos screamed, scrambling to get to his feet as the Netherguard Elite advanced. “Please! I—”

  The first blade pierced his chest just below where his collarbone would’ve been; the second slid into his soft belly. His screams changed pitch as he reached out, trying to pull out the halberds even as a third rammed home. Pantos spasmed against the impact, rising up on his toes as a fourth blade entered his back. His screams quickly became nothing more than pained gasps for air…and those didn’t last long.

  For several long moments, no one said a word, watching as the Founder’s body went limp, held up only by the halberd blades that impaled it. They waited a moment, making sure Pantos was dead before letting his corpse fall to the floor. The Netherguard Elite moved back to their previous positions without so much as a word, the butts of their halberds clinking against the floor.


  Rygous, who’d jumped to his feet and backed away as soon as the attack happened, stared on in horror as his comrade’s blood poured onto the floor. Panic washed over the Ultari as his gaze flicked between Kyrios and the corpse. “I didn’t know,” he finally said.

  “Herald?” the Emperor asked.

  Jared took a step forward, bowing his head. “Master.”

  “What can you tell me about this—”

  The shrill blat of an alarm echoing through the chamber cut off the Emperor. Rygous and the Founders gathered at his back jumped, a few barking out surprised shouts as they all looked toward the domed ceiling, as if the answer lay somewhere in the air between them.

  A warning panel appeared on Jared’s HUD, showing him an incoming call from the Ultari’s Wrath in orbit. He frowned, hesitating before relaying the information to the Triumvirate.

  That was fast, Jared thought as a flood of distress calls began flooding the palace’s communication network. He scanned through the information. Attacks were happening all over the city. Resistance ground forces were approaching the palace and Network Control simultaneously as orbital forces engaged the fleet at anchor.

  Smiling, Jared stepped toward the throne. “Master, we are under attack.”

  Kyrios stood as several floating holo screens activated around the dais. A counter-grav tank fired, blowing apart a guard tower as an assault shuttle swooped low over a street, its pulse cannon chewing through ranks of Netherguard. A warship in orbit exploded.

  The Emperor stood, turning his fiery gaze on Jared. “End this.”

  Chapter 18

  This is not-not-not advisable, CID warned.

  MAC adjusted the aero fins on his legs and shoulders, studying the readouts on his optical display. “We don’t have a choice.”

  Their-their attack will…zzzzt…fail.

  “It doesn’t matter. Their attack is not important. Making contact with the Herald is the only thing that matters now.”

  MAC stood at the edge of the tall building, watching as several Triumvirate fighters zipped through the maze of towers, chasing one of the resistance transports that had broken through the line. A rocket screamed into the air from an unseen launcher, angling to intercept the fighters. It missed the first one, only to slam into the second, turning it into so much fire and smoke.