The Dry Earth (Book 2): The Nexus

by Orion, W. J.

  “Yasmine…” Trey said, stumbling to the side as the chassis systems fumbled with the energy she’d just flooded into it.

  “Well shit,” her uncle said as he dropped down beside her. “That’s some serious comic book hero stuff out of left field. Are you okay?”

  “I think I will be.”

  “Cyborg upgrades don’t seem as cool anymore,” Knox said. “What the hell did you just do?”

  “Cover your eyes. I have to fire or this chassis will melt,” Trey said as he aimed the fat barrel of his mining laser up towards a small gap between the shields.

  Yasmine didn’t look away as Trey’s weapon erupted with a violent, harsh ray of light. It pierced through the shields as if they weren’t there and hit the underside of a fifth-floor shopping sidewalk. The entire structure exploded into a million pieces of steel, plastic, and stone as the force of the laser’s energy destroyed the ground the crab attacking them stood on. It too exploded in a shower of debris as it was shredded by the storm of shrapnel created by Trey’s fire.

  “Grilled. Cheese. I would call that a significant upgrade,” Trey said in his mechanical voice. “I can stretch the juice left into two more of those shots.”

  “We face five more,” Dwen said. “And if the human can do what she just did again, we have at least two more shields requiring depletion. All we must do now is stay the course and keep her and the crab alive.”

  Yasmine made fists and grinned.

  “Are you in pain?” Dwen asked her. “Are you able to follow through on the plan?”

  Yasmine got to her feet with a hand from her uncle.

  “Staying the course is what I do, Dwen. You see, unlike most others, no matter how scary it gets I never turn around.”

  She walked over to the other Galon guard with the maxed shield and pulled the cable out. She had work to do.

  “Tough creatures,” Dwen said.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Is it Mutiny If the Jerk Already Running the Ship Switches Sides?

  [TRANSLATED FROM SOUTHERN DIALECT MULGOROD]

  Through wide nostrils Vice Apex Madrap inhaled the sharp, burning smoke that lingered from the firing of a gun on the bridge of Titan’s Horn. Reared up to his full height on his hind arms, he held the gun in his giant forepaw and at his feet was the corpse of the former duty weapons officer. Sitting in their wooden chairs arranged around the two-story tall bridge, around an enormous, half-mechanical oak tree at its center, were his bridge crew. Mouths agape, fangs white from the light blaring in through the wall of windows, they watched on as he holstered his weapon.

  “There will be no further insurrection. My orders will be followed immediately, and exactly, or I will have you shot,” he said, indicating two of the ship’s security guards standing at the exit. They’re loyal to me. “And if they run out of bullets, I’ll shoot anyone attempting mutiny myself.”

  A murmur of frightened but affirmative responses rattled across the giant bridge. Some of the affirmatives came to him in a rumbling, mechanical hiss–the voice of the Umbrals, one of the member races of the Mulgorod Coalition. Five-foot-tall cylinders filled with smoke and gas, the Umbrals were valued members of the Coalition, offering brilliant minds and fantastic ability with electronics. The Umbrals aboard his Titan’s Horn had their cylinders plugged into the central bridge tree as if they were test tube branches. From there they boosted his crew’s ability to calculate space, and the data moving through space created.

  “Move this damned body,” Madrap grunted. Several of his staff swooped in and spirited the bleeding body away. As they did the work, he stroked his temple where one of his horns grew and felt up to the insignia ring on it. “Vent him into space without honors.”

  “What are your orders, sir?” Lt. Wash asked the Vice Apex.

  “Fire upon the hard park system as I ordered,” he commanded his loyal officer. “Then provide cover fire as we navigate to the Perenall gate for jump.”

  Many of his crew on the bridge gasped in shock at his order, but none dared disobey.

  His Lieutenant stepped forward to the varnished wooden control panel where three junior Mulgorod warriors sat. “Forward batteries,” Lt. Wash began, “are charged and armed, yes?”

  “Yes sir,” one of them replied.

  “Fire on the aft engine lock with our hyper cannons in two-round salvos until it is destroyed. Fire on the port retaining wall with the missiles. Make a hole large enough for shuttles to pass in and out. Make sure the EMP systems aimed at the cruiser are damaged as well. Commence firing.”

  There was a delay before the weapons crew followed his orders, and Madrap almost drew his handgun to show them what hesitation would cost them, but they did as Lt. Wash directed.

  Deep inside the bulk of the Mulgorod warship the grinding, humming machinery that operated the hyper cannons activated. In his imagination, Madrap saw the alloy warhead sliding along the track and into the breach of the massive cannons. On cue, the sound of the hypersonic motivators kicked on and the ship shook as the first gun fired.

  Out the bridge window—two stories tall to match the central bridge tree—the surface of the moon-sized Nexus station dominated. Each floor of the station ran flat to their orientation and the crab vessel was half into the giant opening designed for their style of ships. The tentacles of the aft drive portion jutted out from the side of the mechanical globe, held in check by a series of mammoth clamps holding the tentacles three or four at a time. A retaining wall the size of a massive male Wardonda tree slid up against the ship’s hull, preventing it from disgorging the shuttles and defense fighters stored within. The Ravager cruiser couldn’t fight back or the resulting explosions might tear itself apart.

  Below, Madrap watched as one of the enormous mechanical clamps that was affixed to a pod of the massive engine tentacles exploded in a bloom of destruction. The hyper warhead—as big as a human sedan—smashed into the building-sized security device at thousands of miles per hour, inflicting divine levels of destruction. The clamp arm disintegrated under its own weight and fell to the surface of the station where it sat idle.

  The ship grumbled in anger again, spitting out a swarm of missiles from launchers on both sides. The cloud of deadly explosives swam through space like rocket-propelled piranha until they crashed into the lifted portion of wall that prevented the side of the Ravager ship from accessing open space. The warheads on the missiles exploded, tearing holes in the wall and venting the atmosphere of the habitable space inside. Madrap watched as a trio of Galon technicians ejected into the void, tumbling end over end to their doom.

  Casualties mount, he thought. They will be remembered for their dedication. The first of many heroes in this war. “Fire faster,” he demanded. “We have only a minute. Helm, plot a course for the Perenall gate and depart on my command.”

  “Yes Vice Apex,” Lt. Indara responded.

  “Fire!” Lt. Wash bellowed, spittle flying from his lips.

  The weapons control crew obeyed and the ship’s hyper cannons erupted with another salvo of thousand-mile-an-hour projectiles the size of vehicles. They crashed into the remaining clamp arms as more missiles flared out of the side batteries to crash into the retaining wall of the hard park. Secondary explosions began as his ship’s teeth bit deeper into the flesh of the Nexus, setting free the explosive life bloods within.

  Were it not for the sounds of the crew and the life aboard Titan’s Horn, these first few shots of the impending galactic war would’ve happened in complete silence.

  Such a loud act executed in silence. All will hear of this within a lunar cycle. Every world, every citizen. “Helm, set course,” he commanded Lt. Indara. “I want to see the red sun of the Perenall system before I take twenty breaths.”

  “You heard the Vice Apex! Fire engines to tactical speed and follow the plotted course for the Perenall gate.”

  “Weapons control,” Madrap started, “Defend Titan’s Horn against any and all defensive measures from the Nexus or any rogue
ships who want to start a war with the Coalition.”

  “Why are we doing this?” One of the Ensigns hanging from the upper navigation branch of the bridge tree asked the Vice Apex. “Sir? Why? And where are the other ships in our battle group?”

  The Vice Apex grabbed the lowest branch and pulled his bulk up. Paw over paw, the officer climbed past the banks of electronics and sensors built into the bridge tree until he was horns to horns with the Ensign who asked the challenging question. He stared into his eyes for several long seconds, challenging the junior officer to match his resolve. When the Ensign looked away, Madrap spoke to the entire ship.

  “The Crab Empire will be declaring whole war on the galaxy, and the Nexus, within hours. We are here at the moment of war’s birth, firing the first salvos of a confrontation the likes of which the stars have never seen before. I refuse to be on the losing side of any war, and I do not believe the collective power of all races can defeat the Empire. In order for the Mulgorod species, and those species who are members with us in our Coalition, to survive, we must be willing to join in with those who was once our sworn enemy. We can either be annihilated in defeat or reign victorious as conquerors. Thus, Titan’s Horn and all of its crew now serve me, Vice Apex Madrap, in service to our new leaders, the Core Collective of the Empire.”

  In the wake of his statement, silence more thorough than that of the void beyond the window reigned.

  “The crabs have promised us wealth and power beyond anything the Coalition could have, or would have offered us, and I intend to lay claim to a forest-covered island on a world where there is no war when we have won this battle. I hope for my children to have fat babies. Maybe perhaps you can all have an island as well.”

  To live on, or be buried under.

  “Sir, the defensive moon launched a squadron of fighters. Inbound for our flight path,” Indara said. “They will have a firing solution on us in moments.”

  “They’re that close already? They must’ve launched minutes ago. Activate the canopy guns to deflect anything heading our way and speed us up from tactical twenty percent. More if you think you can steer us through the hoop.”

  “Yes sir,” Indara said. Below, at the deck level, she replaced a junior officer in the pilot’s chair and took over direct control of the massive battleship.

  The gravity stabilizers neutralized most of the g-forces she created speeding the ship up, but Madrap still felt the ship’s massive engines burn up to propel them faster than what was acceptable–safe–in Nexus space.

  But we must escape. We must get away and inform the other crab ships and support the Harvester fleet. He turned his attention to the window and watched as the ring in space that served as a portal to the distant Perenall system grew larger. He saw the distortion field inside the hoop and knew that they had seconds to pierce through to the other side of the galaxy before the station’s flight control shut down all interstellar transit.

  The whole ship rattled and shook with a tremendous vibration. The canopy guns. Massive multi-barreled spring-powered guns capable of firing tiny alloy bullets into space at great speeds had begun to empty their magazines at the fighters heading their way. Too small and too far away to truly damage the Galon warfighters, the canopy guns instead created a roof of metal that incoming missiles and projectiles exploded on and incoming lasers deflected and dissipated through.

  The ship tipped away from the incoming fighters in a sudden jerking motion. A terrible explosion shook the ship’s frame as at least one warhead fired from their attackers made a successful run through their defenses to impact Titan’s Horn.

  “Damage report, and speed us up another twenty percent, Indara!” Madrap called as he hung from the bridge tree’s branch with his massive paws clenched tight. He swung back and forth as the ship righted itself and hurtled closer to escape.

  “Starboard weapons batteries are damaged sir, minor hull damage,” a junior officer called out.

  Another volley of incoming fire smashed into Titan’s Horn, tipping the battleship on its side like a kayak in vicious rapids. Madrap almost lost his hold on the branch but gripped the center trunk of the electronics-riddled tree with his foot-paws.

  “Life support damage starboard side, massive venting of atmosphere and water. One engine has taken cooling system damage and is shutting down. Nanites are active, and fire control responding. We’ll get it back online in the next few minutes,” the damage control officer added.

  “FASTER,” he screamed at Indara. Madrap looked to a view screen that showed him an external camera view of the wall of alloy bullets from his ship’s defenses. Beyond that hazy mesh of defensive steel soaring through space he saw twoscore of the familiar triangular Galon fighters bearing down on them.

  Flashes sparked the dark void of space on the ship’s wings as heavy weapons fired at them again.

  Madrap closed his eyes.

  If Titan’s Horn fails this day, may the forest protect me and my crew and carry us to the promised lands in our death. I did only what I thought was best.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Twelve Doors Close

  Benno soared through the hallway past three teams of Galon shock troopers, each group numbering three. This wasn’t the only hall with nine guards, either. The master of flight on the station blew past the guards without giving them heed and allowed the door at the end of the passage to slide open.

  He entered the humming room. Wider than deep, the control facility’s long wall opposite the entry was all window looking out over the void of space. In the space between hung segmented spherical workstations designed for his people, the Irib’dirari. Hollow like a socket, the round floating orbs would levitate up into them and they’d shut, giving them near 360-degree access for their manipulatory cilia to observe information, activate controls, and then act on it. Each Irib’dirari did the work of thirty of any other species in their suspended cells, and as Benno entered the room he watched their frenzy of microscopic activity through the seams of their control orbs and knew they were doing twice that under duress. He moved to the center of the room where a central pedestal with thirteen flat, circular sensors arranged in a clock face shape on it stood. He ceased movement and reached out to touch the central thirteenth control node.

  The master switch.

  “Where are we at?” he asked as his cilia brushed against the black disk, activating the three-dimensional holographic control of the Nexus and the twelve wormhole portals in orbit around it.

  “The squids were able to deploy seventy of their combat chassis into the station using some kind of breaching ram. Security blocked their ability to deploy further, but there have been considerable losses that continue to mount. A Mulgorod battleship slipped off from its dock and fired on the hard park containing the crab cruiser, and several of their shuttles burst out of the gap beside their hull and are heading towards multiple portals,” one of the senior control technicians said. “Fighters are engaging the shuttles as well as the battleship and it is taking damage.”

  Benno floated a bit ahead and triggered the wormhole shut down with an elaborate three-dimensional movement code of his cilia. One by one, a second after the last, each of the gray hologram projections of the rings linking the station to the twelve anchor points deep in the reaches of the galaxy turned red. In twelve seconds, the Nexus was isolated from the rest of the galaxy, save for the decades-long voyage vessels could take at sublight speeds. On another screen across the room Benno saw the available power in the station skyrocket.

  “What escaped?” Benno asked.

  “We’re running the data. There was a fantastic amount of movement for us to backfill. You should look at the video feed for the market level,” the Irib technician said. “While it still works. The crabs disgorged something we’ve never seen before. It’s heading for a confrontation.”

  Benno turned his core attention to a video screen projected into the air adjacent to the wormhole control podium. In the display, something new and horri
fying appeared.

  Gliding through the air along a length of public passageway leading from the docking facilities to the grand market was a machine of crab manufacture. Like all of their technology, it seemed grown and synthesized from creatures that existed on their home world, but this abomination was new.

  Just a bit smaller than the six-legged, cannon-carrying crab tanks, this purple, iridescent vehicle slithered through the air like one of the tiny squids inside that powered it. Like the crab tanks, this vehicle had multi-jointed legs, but the limbs were mounted in all directions, giving the vehicle no discernible up or down orientation. On the front of the machine’s head it sprouted four thin, crustacean arms tipped with scissor-pincers and mounted with what looked like variants of their medium plasma cannons. The whole monstrosity emanated hatred and threat, and it hunted down the corridors, shooting indiscriminately at anything that moved, heading to the heavily populated area inside the massive grand market.

  “It has already killed nearly a hundred, including eleven Galon Aegis guards with the new shields,” the Irib continued. “On its way it has destroyed fifteen access locks and the power lifts in section Eridani. It’s pumping out heavy electromagnetic radiation that is interfering with everything within its vicinity. It is crippling us with alarming ease. Before it started broadcasting its interference we identified that its internal power signature matches the wavelength of the entity calling itself the Diplomat.”

  “That’s quite an ill wind blowing through. What forces do we have heading to face that thing?” Benno asked.

  “Peace Keeper Dwen is on that level with three Aegis guards. They are moving with a small group of the new species and what we believe to be a Beru’dawn. We haven’t been able to contact them due to the interference. The group is engaging Collective Elite, apparently heading towards the disabled powerlifts, and are faring well, all things considered. The Diplomat is heading to them with singular purpose.”