Ruins of the Galaxy Box Set: Books 1-6

by Chaney, J. N.

  “Son of a bitch,” Abimbola said from across the semicircle. Laughs went up all around—including from the Miblimbian, who mouthed to Magnus, “I’m gonna get you back.”

  Magnus winked back at him, knowing the Miblimbian would make good on his promise. Magnus powered off the weapon and placed it back in its container. When the laughter subsided, he said, “Each of you will receive six energy magazines located in the drawers below the blasters.”

  He pulled open a bin and withdrew a mag. It had the same connection as a Repub standard issue but was almost twice as long. It was also the same glossy white as the NOV1 and bore an illuminated capacity indicator on one side.

  “Each mag will adopt whatever skin you’ve employed on the main weapon. And for those of you used to Repub issue, these mags will last almost three times as long as you’re used to. Six magazines will give you three full reloads and will be more than we’ll need for this mission.” He replaced the mag and closed the drawer.

  “Next,” Magnus said, walking to another vertical container and opening its secure maglock, “comes your sidearm.” He spread the doors apart to display a row of pistols seven across. He removed one of the glossy-white pistols and held it aloft. It had a rectangular front receiver leading back to a grip molded into the body. The weapon was sleek and raked forward, like a single-seater racing skiff leaning into rapid acceleration. “This is the VD2. Yes, in case you were wondering, that stands for Very Deadly Too—a play on words lost on all you non-common speakers. Sorry.”

  Several laughs went up from around the teams.

  “You can just call it the V for short. Like the NOV1, the V was co-created by Azelon and me. It features bio-linked operational access, smart-fire AI-assistance targeting, single-round and five-round burst modes. It sports a special visual emulation compound and can accept both the NOV1’s extended mags and the smaller ones we’ve designed here.”

  Magnus opened a drawer below the pistol rack and withdrew an energy magazine almost a quarter the size of the NOV1’s. “You also can expend an entire magazine in one squeeze if you want. I call it death-wish mode. Should you select it, know two things. One, your mag will drain to completion, and there’s no way to stop the discharge once initiated. And two, you will need to wait for the mandatory cool-down period to cycle before attempting to reload. But I can promise you that whatever you were aiming at, it won’t be there when you’re done. Oh, and hold onto her hard on this setting—she bucks like a bitch.”

  Magnus replaced the weapon and walked to a third container, then unlocked it and opened its doors. “In here, we have a play on the Repub-issue variable-output detonator—or VOD.” Magnus removed yet another glossy-white device, but this one was perfectly spherical, interrupted only by a small input screen on one side. “Those familiar with the devices, which I think would be all of us”—Magnus looked around the room for any dissenters—“know that it has options for emitting a flash bang, crowd-deterrent gas, or smoke. Well, this beauty also includes options for fragmentation, thermite, electromagnetic pulse, and a directional breach charge. Essentially, it’s a one-stop-shop grenade that you won’t find at your local stores, and you each get four.”

  More whistles and laughs went up. That was good—Magnus knew they needed as much levity as they could muster to break the tension that was mounting in the room. For as much fun as they were having at seeing their new toys, Magnus also knew an inverse emotion was at play: anxiety. He was talking about weapons, after all—killing tools that were about to be deployed in combat, where people were going to die. Talking about weapons always created a strange mix of unbridled enthusiasm and grim disbelief.

  “And last but not least…” Magnus walked to a fourth and final container along the first row. It was much wider and deeper than the others. He unlocked the unit but held it shut for a moment. “May I present to you…” He flung the sliding doors apart. “The Gladio Umbra Mark I combat suit.”

  Granther Company came unglued, to put it mildly. Shouts, grunts, howls, and hollers went up from across the room.

  Inside were two different suits of armor standing side by side. One was human shaped, consisting of a fully enclosed combat suit and helmet in the same glossy-white finish as the firearms. Its articulated joints and multilayered plate-armor appearance made it seem incredibly dexterous yet menacingly resilient. The all-white helmet tapered to a leading edge that swept vertically from the chin to the back of the head—it resembled two halves of a knife blade meeting in the center of the face. And Magnus had to admit, it looked badass.

  “Humans and humanoid-sized equivalents, your Mark I armor features a high-density, low-weight composite-nano-fiber weave that makes up the majority of the fabric and the armor plating. The material is not only able to mitigate the damage of most material strikes delivered in a range of velocities, but it also contains electrodes for a personal-shield emitter—PSE—capable of displacing blaster energy equivalent to about ten direct hits from a standard MC90 blaster. Observe.”

  Magnus touched a screen on the armor’s wrist pad and activated the PSE. A soft blue glow emanated a centimeter off the suit’s entire surface, almost indiscernible to the naked eye. It followed every contour and corner, fully encasing the armor in a shield. Magnus pulled his Z from his chest plate and fired three rounds into the suit at point-blank range. It happened so fast that many of the gladias winced at the Z’s report. Each blast, however, was absorbed and displaced into the suit’s shield, causing small waves to ripple around the body.

  “This suit’s shield is now depleted by thirty percent,” Magnus said. “But don’t worry—it has my name emblazoned on it, not any of yours.” The acknowledgment was met with more laughter. He’d have wanted to know the same thing if his superior had just used armor for a demo that might potentially be assigned to him.

  “All your weapons can maglock to any part of the suit that you desire,” Magnus continued, “allowing you to customize your loadout. The suit includes full life support, nano-bot triage, thermal-radiation suppression, and autorehydration—hell, this thing even lets you piss in it and won’t throw a fit.”

  Magnus liked making them laugh. This is the last you’ll get to for a while. When the room quieted down again, he continued.

  “The vertical clamshell-style helmet has the very latest tech that I’ve ever seen—thanks entirely to Azelon and the Novia Minoosh—which includes a vast array of functionality. We’re talking a full neural-sensor suite, tactical navigation, quantum squad communication, spatial-coherence extrapolation, and weapons-system interfacing, just to name a few. The rest, you’re gonna need to read the manual when you have some downtime.”

  “What are those marks?” someone asked.

  Magnus assumed the speaker meant the small icons on the side of the helmet and the shoulder plate. He pointed to the blue broken circle with an open-bottomed triangle touching the top. “That is the symbol for the Gladio Umbra.” Then Magnus indicated the shoulder icon—four claw-like lines in dark gray. “And this is your new unit emblem for Granther Company.”

  Magnus looked about—several people nodded in approval.

  “Then, over here…” Magnus indicated the next suit. “We have an armor line branded for our more robust warriors. I’m looking at you, Redmarrow.”

  “What?” the Jujari said. He was easily the most rotund of his platoon.

  Where the human version of the Mark I was fully enclosed, the Jujari equivalent was not. The helmet, for example, left the entire snout uncovered while a white clamshell visor and helm covered the eyes and head. Likewise, while the chest, back, shoulders, pelvis, and thighs had limited armor plating and straps of nano-fiber to hold everything together, the forearms, hands, calves, and feet were exposed, leaving them free to tear into enemy targets. Magnus had figured that millennia of evolutionary development shouldn’t be covered up by a shiny new suit—a conclusion that Azelon had praised.

  “And, Saasarr,” Magnus said.

  The Reptalon’s head
perked up.

  “We made a special one for you.” Magnus opened a drawer and lifted a suit similar to the Jujari’s but fashioned to fit the lizard’s unique body shape.

  “Thank you, sir,” Saasarr said with a quick bow. “I am most grateful.”

  Resuming his address to the rest of the room, Magnus said, “The best part about the Mark I isn’t how it protects you from being struck by enemy fire. No. It’s how it protects you from being seen at all.”

  Magnus reached over to both suits and tapped the control panel, activating chameleon mode. Suddenly, the telecolos coating went live, and the two suits of armor disappeared.

  The gladias gasped. Several took steps closer to the container, unable to resist their curiosity. They were like a class of schoolchildren seeing a Venetian mawslip for the first time during a trip to the zoo. If there had been windowplex separating the Gladio Umbra from the suits, their faces would have been pressed up against it for a better look.

  “The only reason we have access to anything like this is because of Azelon passing along the Novia’s advanced technology to us. Without it, well, you’d be stuck in Repub armor, and who wants that?” A few in the company clapped at that one. “Like your firearms, the telecolos compound on each suit can completely camouflage it into whatever the surrounding environment is. And yes, it can display standard colors and patterns too—but chameleon mode is by far the most impressive and my personal favorite.

  “Lastly, each suit has your name on the right chest and has been custom tailored to your measurements. Make sure you take your suit and not someone else’s. It could make for a long and painful day if you’re not careful.”

  As Magnus concluded his showcase of the new armaments, resetting the suits to their normal visual states, he returned to the front, where he’d started. “Listen,” he said more solemnly than he’d intended. “I know you’re walking into all of this a little blind.” Magnus gestured to the containers. “Hell, you should have had six months to a year to train with this kit before moving out. For that, I’m sorry. And if I didn’t believe in the weapons systems so much, I wouldn’t even spring it on you. Truthfully, I thought we were going to have more time—Azelon’s printers only finished the last suit yesterday. But I don’t get to tell the enemy how to set their clocks. However, with all this”—Magnus swept his arm to indicate the new tech behind him—“we do get to tell the enemy when to run.”

  The room erupted with a loud “La-raah!” which honestly surprised Magnus.

  Hell, yeah. Now they’re getting it.

  “Azelon’s sensors tell us that there are twenty-four of Kane’s Recon troopers down there,” Magnus continued. “They’re good. Real good. One or two of them I probably trained myself at one point. The important thing, though, is to remember that what we lack in practice or skill, we’re going to make up for in heart, determination, and pure overwhelming fire supremacy. ’Cause I can sure as hell promise you the enemy hasn’t seen anything like this.”

  “La-raah!” the gladias shouted.

  “Now, listen… listen,” Magnus said, bringing the energy of the room down with his hands. “It’s time to get you suited up and kitted out. If you have any questions, don’t be afraid to ask. Help one another out too. You see someone struggling, lend a hand. And for the love of all the mystics, do not power up your blasters until we’re on the shuttles headed for the LZ. Copy?”

  * * *

  The row of containers had been thoroughly ravaged. Old armor, helmets, clothing, and firearms lay scattered across the shuttle bay floor. Magnus had even placed his MAR30 on a table, quietly thanking it for its service. It was the end of an era—one he never thought he’d say goodbye to. Now he couldn’t imagine returning to it.

  Just then, Magnus noticed Ezo mag-locking four additional blasters to his armor. “Hey, Ezo…”

  The former smuggler looked up, eyes wide as if he were a kid caught sneaking snacks before dinner. “Just in case, boss.”

  Magnus shook his head.

  “Alright, fine. But then it’s not Ezo’s fault is you die today.”

  “Understood.”

  “Hey,” Valerie said from behind Magnus. “Mind zipping me up?”

  Magnus turned around to see her bare back. “Sure thing,” he said, swallowing hard.

  The suits required that each wearer be nude. Life-support functions, as well as rehydration and triage, all required direct contact with the skin. While everyone pretty well managed to be discreet, being so close to Valerie’s unclothed back made Magnus uneasy—not in a bad way but not in the best way either. These kinds of thoughts clouded his judgment, and that was the last thing he needed at the moment. Magnus pulled the suit tight and drew the zipper up as Valerie gathered her hair and held it out of the way.

  “There you go,” he said.

  “Thanks.” Valerie turned and looked up at him, quite stunning in her suit. It was so form-fitting that he needed little imagination to—

  “You know, we haven’t had a lot of time to spend together over these last few weeks,” Valerie said.

  Magnus was about to mention all their training time but figured that wasn’t what she meant.

  “I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate you.”

  “I appreciate you too.” It was all Magnus could think to say, and it sounded stupid even to him.

  “And that no matter what happens down there today, I’m with you. Always.”

  Magnus was about to say something in reply but didn’t know what. She was just too pretty, and his brain wasn’t working right. Fortunately, he didn’t have to say anything. Instead, Valerie went up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek.

  “See you on the ground, Lieutenant.”

  * * *

  It took almost forty-five minutes for everyone to get squared away—longer than Magnus had wanted. But damn if they didn’t look sharp in their new armor. The members of Granther Company returned to their positions in the semicircle. Where before they’d looked like a ragtag bunch of miscreants and vagabonds, now they stood like a veritable shock troop—humans, humanoids, and Jujari, each arrayed for battle. Magnus couldn’t help but notice that they stood a little taller too. He could have sworn that their chests were puffed out a little more as well.

  When Magnus had their attention, he said, “I’d like to present two extraordinary people to you. Many of you have already met them, and I think most of you have already seen them around camp. For numerous reasons, we’ve needed to keep them apart from us. But they’ve been vital members of this mission from the very beginning. In fact, I’d wager they are more Gladio Umbra than any of us, myself included. May I present Awen dau Lothlinium and Piper Stone, guardians of the Unity.”

  Awen held Piper’s hand as they emerged from around one of the shuttles near Magnus. They were outfitted in their own power suits and carried helmets under their free arms. Awen made eye contact and smiled at the many faces among Granther Company, while Piper seemed only to have eyes for Rohoar. The former mwadim raised a single finger and waved at Piper. Those two definitely have a connection, Magnus had to admit, thinking back to when he’d found them on the bridge together. He’d never forget that moment.

  “If you see them on the battlefield doing something you can’t explain, something that messes with your head, don’t stop, don’t admire it—just keep on going. Because whatever they’re doing, they’re doing so you can get your job done. La-raah?”

  “La-raah,” the company replied.

  “Now, you probably won’t see Awen and Piper up front much, if ever. But that doesn’t mean they’re not there, fighting as hard as you are. And trust me when I say that they’re in harm’s way just as much as you, if not more. They deserve your respect and admiration. And more than that”—Magnus looked at Piper—“they deserve our lives.

  “Hear me out,” Magnus continued, raising his voice so that it echoed in the shuttle bay, “and I’ll be as clear as I can. If either of these ladies die, there is no mission. Mission
success includes the preservation of these two lives above all others. Awen and Piper must go downrange with us. There is no battle if they cannot fight with us, and there is no victory if they do not survive. Our existence is tied with their survival, and if you have the choice between saving yourself or saving one of them, you save them every time, no questions asked. Do I make myself clear, Granther Company?”

  “La-raah!” cried the battle group in one voice.

  “Good,” Magnus replied, giving their shouts a chance to die down. He motioned for Awen and Piper to move into formation with the rest of the company. “From this point forward, we’ll be outside the wire. It means we’re committed. It means we’re in harm’s way. Unless you’ve fought a recon team before—and I know some of you have—you’ve never fought an enemy quite like this. They’re fast, they’re highly coordinated, and they never stop coming. But that’s precisely what we’ve trained for. So remember the simulations—not the bad days but the good days. Remember your training, and remember how you got to those wins at the end of every street. Work together, call things out, and move with your team.”

  Magnus moved his helmet to his left hand. “I know you might be feeling a little nervous right now. Maybe even afraid. But I want you to remember something and hear me: I don’t care if you feel afraid. Everyone feels afraid. Fear is there to remind you that you like being alive—that you have something worth fighting for. What I really care about is why you decide to stay and fight. Why you decide to clear one more room, why you decide to take one more step down a street filled with blaster fire. Everyone’s afraid, but not everyone’s a hero. That’s why you’re here.”

  Magnus straightened up, brought his feet together, and tucked his helmet in his left arm. “Granther Company?”

  The team members stood up straight.