Derelict: Book 2, Counterattack (A LitRPG Dungeon Core Adventure)

by Dean Henegar

  A lucky hit from his copycat Fitzfazzle took out one of the eye beams, the round hitting into the space near the barrel of the weapon and the explosion warping the end of the laser. The gnomes apparently didn’t have a failsafe for this type of problem, and Slater watched the end of the weapon glow, turning from red to white as the heat finally broke whatever was trying to power the laser, but not before melting a good chunk of armor off that side of the contraption’s face.

  Blasts of flame burst from the mouth of the device, and Slater could no longer hold the shield in place against that much damage. With a final flare of blue energy, the shield collapsed, and his Fitzfazzle gnome was consumed by fire; in the heat, the ammunition in the MOBS’ mag pouch ignited. The contraption continued down the passage, the barricade proving to be only a small impediment as it pushed through using its many clawed appendages to take the barricade apart, piece by piece.

  The machine was forced to turn around another corner—the Franklin’s design didn’t give an attacker a straight shot through his vessel—and ran into another turret in the next passageway. Not being afraid of missing a target that filled the entire passageway, Slater set the turret to its maximum rate of fire. The turret’s rifle chugged out rounds as fast as they could be fed into it. The constant stream of impacts began to strip away the armored face of the gnomish machine. While the remaining laser’s random fire rarely hit the small turret, it did, unfortunately, sever the feeder mechanism, shutting down its fire.

  Claws on the top of the contraption tore the turret apart as it passed under the weapon. Once the monster had passed, Slater disconnected the turret, letting it drop, and the laser globe held behind it descended. The blast of lasers from the globe didn’t do much other than blacken the armored hull where they hit at the rear of the contraption; the weapon was designed to take out squishy humanoids and not armored behemoths. Slater was annoyed at himself for not saving the weapon for the swarm of gnomes that were even now following in the monster’s wake.

  Needing to change things up, Slater ordered the last defenders on this level—his pair of reaper drones—to leave the barricade they were defending and enter the small side compartments right next to it. The turret mounted in the ceiling over this barricade engaged the gnomish contraption as soon as it revealed itself. Having a magic shield covering it this time, courtesy of Slater, the turret remained in action despite glancing laser hits. Its rounds were finally whittling down the armor on the front of the machine enough to allow a few hits to penetrate. A blast of fire from the monster’s mouth took out his shield but didn’t stop the relentless fire from the turret.

  As the contraption breached the barricade and the claws took apart the turret, the sides of the monster were positioned in front of the reapers in his compartments. The compartment doors opened, and the reapers began to fire into the weaker side armor of the behemoth. Every third or fourth round penetrated, and the explosive tips wreaked havoc inside the machine. Liquid began to leak from the section the two reapers were targeting, and as that section of the machine died, the legs and claws attached to it ceased moving. A panel on the side of the contraption popped open, and a bloodied gnome fell out and into the hatchway one of the reapers was standing in. The gnome tried to raise a laser rifle at the reaper, which paused its fire long enough to slam its shield into the gnome’s head, popping it like a grape.

  “Woah, are there gnomes inside each section of that thing and controlling it?” Harris asked.

  “I have no idea, Private, but I think we’re about to find out,” Slater replied as the monster dragged itself past the destroyed barricade at a much slower pace now that one of its sections wasn’t contributing toward its movement. The next section scraped into view of the reapers, which resumed their fire on the contraption with similar results. This time, no panels opened to spew out wounded gnomes, but the blood dripping from the bottom of the machine and the fact that the second section had also stopped moving told Slater that Harris’s theory was correct.

  The plan repeated itself with the third section of the monster, and then the machine shuddered to a stop, the dead weight too much for the following sections to handle. With the bulk of the death contraption thingy blocking the passageway, Slater wasn’t sure what the gnomes would do next, but whatever they did, it was going to take time. His reapers were trapped inside their compartments until the machine was moved out of the way. The loss of so many sections had also stopped whatever was powering the flamethrower and laser eyes, rendering the monster harmless for the time being. With this threat neutralized, Slater checked on the continuing assault against the station.

  Resistance to his attack had stiffened, the gnomish defenders doing much like his reapers had done against the machine: hiding in small passages until the assaulting force passed. Slater’s MOBS didn’t care if they were flanked or if enemies popped out of small, hidden compartments; they had no morale that could be broken by annoying attacks. Instead, the reapers continued their assault, stopping only to engage any enemy that popped out. More often than not, the resulting exchange of fire left a dead gnome, but sometimes a reaper was taken out of action. The kill ratio was still in his favor and was running about fifteen to one. His squad of orc MOBS, which had been following behind the main attackers, had taken a beating; they didn’t have anywhere near the same level of armor as the reapers.

  The attackers in the center passage had made it nearly to the midpoint of the station when resistance began to falter. Attacks by hidden gnomes ceased, and the ones in front of his drones would only fire a few blasts from their lasers before fleeing. Worried he was being lured into some kind of trap, Slater slowed their advance to allow the reapers in the two flanking passageways to keep pace.

  “Commodore, we’re getting sections of the station separating from the main structure. Looks like the same thing that happened with the mothership when we beat them,” Captain Guzman advised. It was true: several large compartments had separated and were moving deeper into the system as fast as their emergency thrusters could push them.

  “Shall I target the new contacts?” the weapons officer asked.

  “That’s your decision, Commodore, but I have to think these might be the noncombatants fleeing,” Guzman added. The captain was right; the assault hadn’t run into anything other than gnomes armed for a fight. Numerous empty—and filthy—living quarters had been passed. The occupants, he assumed, had fled deeper into the station. While he wanted all the salvage and biomass he could get, he wasn’t about to shoot down an escape pod that could be filled with kids.

  “Keep an eye on them. As long as they’re just fleeing, let them go. If they target us with any weapons or even look at us cross-eyed, light them up,” Slater ordered as more compartments separated and sped away, followed by smaller emergency pods. The rats were leaving the ship. He intercepted a comm signal from one of the escape compartments to the gnome named A, who was in charge of boarding the Franklin.

  “Are you going to be able to take Fitzfazzle’s ship?”

  “Not if all the defenders come back to attack me after chasing you off, Father. You fled before the battle was decided. I can now take the hat of command and the title of Keeblhar. The clan will not follow a coward,” A told who Slater assumed was Keeblhar on the other end of the connection.

  “I’m surrounded by incompetents and traitors! I’ll have your head posted on the stick of shame outside the station and place B in charge. She, at least, is loyal.”

  “Don’t be so sure, Father . . .” A said as a laser blast was heard over the channel.

  “I did it, Brother. You are now the Keeblhar of the clan. Long may you reign. What are your orders?”

  “Dear sister, you are now A, and I order that we flee. Too much has been lost by Father’s poor defense of the station. I’ll meet you at the rendezvous with what’s left of our forces,” the newly anointed Keeblhar ordered. The mass of boarders began to swarm back to the raider vessels.

  “Something tells me this n
ew Keeblhar isn’t much smarter than his father was,” Slater said as he shared the comm with everyone. “When they separate from the hull, take them out, Captain Guzman.”

  “With pleasure, sir.”

  “Target R1 and R2 are firing up their main drives,” the crewman on sensors advised as the boarding hatch closed.

  “They’re off. Engage them with point-defense weapons until we can target with the main battery,” Guzman advised. Fresh streams of kinetic rounds and bursts of laser fire began to pepper the raiders as they fired up their main drives. The gnomes made a huge error in their escape route. When they initially came in, the Franklin could only target them with missiles and the rearmost weapons batteries. Their new route took them farther into the system and into the firing arc of both forward batteries.

  “Entering minimum range for main battery. Firing,” the weapons officer advised. The five-inch rounds of the forward turret shredded the already battered raider, which was being used as cover by the second vessel. It took only two volleys to leave the ship broken in half and dead in space, venting the last of its atmosphere into the void. The second vessel didn’t fare much better, gaining a few more seconds of life by keeping the first vessel between it and the Franklin’s guns for as long as possible. The main battery laser pulsed beam after beam into the raider. Shields failed on the second pulse, and the others began to burn deep into the ship. The raider’s drives cut out, and the following beams left it dead in space like the other.

  “Board is clear of threats. Your orders, Commodore?” Captain Guzman said.

  “Good shooting, Captain. We’ll have the construction drones start clearing up the debris on the Franklin while we finish taking the station. I suspect most, if not all, of the gnomes have fled,” Slater ordered. There wasn’t much for the humans to do unless more spaceborne threats showed themselves. For now, Slater had them monitor the feeds on the station for any indications of prisoners or armed holdouts.

  * * *

  By the time the ship was cleared, a total of ten of the large sections used as escape vessels had left, along with over fifty of the smaller escape pods. Only a few gnomes continued to fight, and none of the gnomish kids or elderly were found. Slater felt relief that he hadn’t shot down any of the escape pods; it looked like they were indeed filled with innocents whose blood he didn’t want on his hands.

  “I’ve got something, sir. Station deck seven, what we’re calling compartment ninety-five, looks like their brig,” one of the crew advised.

  “Captain, send a boarding party over to release the prisoners. It will be better for them to see a human face than a heavily armed reaper, I’m assuming,” Slater said. His drones had cleared away the wreckage of the death contraption thingy, having a scare or two when a still-living gnome popped out of one of the sections and attacked a construction drone before being taken down. Slater then had the reapers thoroughly blast each section of the death contraption thingy before processing it for salvage and biomass.

  The Franklin had briefly left the station to gather up the drifting mothership, which was now attached to the other docking port. Several escape pods had left the mothership as well, and they had found it empty of gnomes. The only downside was that the gnomes had trashed anything that could be considered even marginally useful on the mothership, leaving some . . . biological surprises here and there. It didn’t matter a whole lot to Slater since he had taken the much more important station with relatively little damage. The station’s databanks would hold far more than what was lost to him on the mothership. One disturbing sight was found in the mothership’s brig; it was full of fresh bloodstains, and the compartment had been intentionally opened to space, the bodies of any prisoners having drifted past sensor range. The knowledge that the gnomes had murdered helpless prisoners seemed to harden his crew, and they took to their tasks with fresh enthusiasm.

  “Sir, do you have a feed into the station’s brig?” Lieutenant Camden asked. It took Slater a few seconds to crack the firewall on that section of the station; gnomish cybersecurity was a bit better at critical locations. Once he passed the feed to Camden, they checked out the prisoners before his humans approached them. Thankfully, his assault had been swift enough that the gnomes were more concerned about escaping than killing off the prisoners or damaging equipment.

  Like Captain Guzman and the others had been when they were rescued, these were a pitiful lot. This time, not all the prisoners were human. A half dozen gnomes were also incarcerated and looked to have been even more poorly treated than the humans. The brig area was more than double the size of the ones on the motherships, and all the cells were stuffed full.

  “How many prisoners are there? Something’s going on. A clan with only two rundown motherships can’t have captured enough human vessels to give them this many prisoners,” Captain Guzman said, looking at the feed. He was right; the prisoners all wore the remains of naval uniforms, and there were only a few civilians in the bunch. Even the smallest combat vessel in a human navy shouldn’t have had a problem with the relatively weak force this clan could bring to bear. The gnomes’ only hope would be to capture a small corvette out on its own with no support. He had to hope that debriefing the prisoners would reveal what had happened.

  “Get down there and start helping the prisoners, Lieutenant. Give them some aid kits along with food and water, but don’t let them out until we have a better idea on who they are,” Slater ordered, not wanting to bring aboard another Diaz if he could help it. He had been thinking of some plans for his new prisoners and how to integrate them, plans that took a turn in a different direction once he noticed the majority were ship’s crew.

  “Commodore, if there are any in critical condition, we may need to bring them here for treatment as soon as possible. The newly upgraded med bay can work wonders on even the most advanced cases,” Doctor Cheng advised. She was right; Slater wouldn’t let someone die while they were sorting things out.

  “Good call, Doctor, but I’m keeping a squad of reapers in the med bay to keep an eye on any patients you bring over. Unless they’re critical, they stay on the station for the moment,” he replied.

  Lieutenant Camden gathered his soldiers and made his way over to the station, along with the first swarms of construction bots, which were even now starting to gather salvage. He sent most of the drones over to the mothership to begin processing it before turning his focus to the station. Other drones were sent to hunt down data and important equipment that might help him with upgrades. A few drones were kept aboard the Franklin to gather up the remaining detritus of battle. He also queued up replacements for the MOBS lost in the fight. He had new insight into how the gnomes functioned, and the databanks on the station should unlock more clues to help him devise further ruses against the remaining stations. At the very least, he knew not to have his gnome MOBS wear the hats of command unless he wanted to start a fight.

  There was an amazing amount of salvage for him to work with, and he couldn’t wait to get started. While the humans sorted out the prisoners, he had to take himself offline for a bit; his core was ready for an upgrade after the experience gained in this battle. He opened a private channel to Captain Guzman, Lieutenant Camden, and Doctor Cheng.

  “It’s time for me to upgrade my core again. I’ve got all the drones issued with tasks and I have permitted you to command the reapers if you need them, Lieutenant Camden. Captain Guzman, you are in command of the Franklin and her prizes until I return. Keep people off the mothership. I have the drones focusing on breaking it down first. Doctor, I know it’s not your specialty, but I would like you to take the lead on sorting out the injured. Comb the new prisoners for anyone with medical experience that can help you, but keep them on the station if at all possible. I have locked down my core room, and the defenses in there are now very formidable. Don’t let anyone inside.”

  “We’ll take care of things until you return, Commodore,” Captain Guzman added. The crew went about their duties while Slater prepared for
his upgrade. Pulling up his interface for research, he took a gamble on what he wanted to do with the windfall of salvage and made his selections.

  Automated Ships Systems: 20%

  Reactor Efficiency: 20%

  Hull Armor: 10%

  Sensors: 20%

  Signal Booster: 10%

  Combat Drones: 10%

  Missiles: 10%

  With the research locked in, Slater began his core upgrade process.

  — 22 —

  Slater could feel that this upgrade was something more than he normally experienced. His core processes were accelerating, and he could sense the improvement with each passing moment. The glowing ball he had become was now too small to contain his power; he needed to grow, and the protective space he had designed to hide his core was no longer large enough. The additional power he now possessed allowed him some control over his MOBS and ship during the upgrade process. He moved his core back into the original core room and sent some drones to begin expanding his hiding space. While he was at it, he also had a pair of drones print up additional automated defenses inside the core room since it would serve as his home and not a decoy for the time being. He then had the drones begin to build a new armored shell around his core to both shield his signal and protect it from damage.

  Since he had defeated the parasite and removed the shackles of the council, his derelict signal had been nearly extinguished. It was now blazing brighter as the upgrade progressed. There was little Slater could do other than begin building better shielding into the room itself and keep from announcing to the entire system that a derelict core was here. He watched his drones work and felt himself improve with each passing moment. His research completed on all lines, and he was now able to set new research paths whereas before he had to wait until the core upgrade was done. The results were better than he expected, each line of research benefitting from his improved processing power. Having gained fresh insight into the best way to assist humanity in its war against the rest of the galaxy, Slater made a final few tweaks.