Ruins of the Galaxy Box Set: Books 1-6

by Chaney, J. N.

  * * *

  Azelon had brought the Spire as close to Oosafar as she felt comfortable—statistically speaking, of course. She’d been emphatic about the probability of discovery, both via intentional sensor sweeps, which seemed highly improbable, and accidental collisions, which was far more likely. Still, with the void being as big as it was, Azelon’s idea of far more likely was everyone’s definition of impossible.

  She chose to keep the Spire on the side of the Jujari homeworld opposite the space battle. This meant that a ship like Geronimo Nine could seemingly appear around the planet’s shadow as if it had jumped in from subspace with no one being the wiser. And, in Ezo’s case, that was precisely what they were planning to emulate.

  Contrary to most people’s ideas of space battle as portrayed in the holo movies, actual conflicts were protracted, drawn-out, messy affairs that required far more ships than the civilian world supposed. While the Dreadnoughts, Battleships, and Battlecruisers got all the attention, it was the smaller resupply vessels, repair and rescue convoys, and salvage ships that made the dirty business of war-making a reality.

  Since Geronimo Nine was already registered with the Republic as a licensed trade ship—saying nothing about the other undeclared cargo Ezo may or may not have had onboard at any given time—it made sense for the Katana-class Light Freighter to be in-system. A ship like Ezo’s could be under contract by the Republic for any number of menial tasks. Of course, no one had seen the ship for several months, nor had it popped up on anyone’s sensors or logs. But in the heat of battle, who was checking those records anyway?

  Cyril made child’s work of forging a contract for Geronimo to service several different ships in Third Fleet, making its coming and going not only believable but expected.

  “Nothing quite like your enemy asking you to come aboard and mess with their stuff, eh ’Six?” Ezo asked from on Geronimo’s bridge.

  “Whereas the first part of your statement might be true enough, sir, the second part is far from accurate.”

  “Just work with me, pal.” Ezo reduced speed and reversed thrusters. “Mystics, she’s a big ship.”

  Ezo, Cyril, and TO-96 all strained to look out the forward windows to see the Black Labyrinth stretching from left to right. What truly betrayed the vessel’s sheer size was that Ezo was still several kilometers away, and the ship just kept getting bigger and bigger as they flew forward. The Labyrinth was near the back of the action, so unlike the rest of the ships in Third Fleet, it only lobbed occasional rounds at enemy targets. Instead, it seemed to prefer keeping pesky swarms of Razorback starfighters at bay, swatting at them with its quad cannons and auto turrets.

  “You’re sure we’re not gonna get targeted, right Cyril?” Ezo asked.

  “All systems green. Green to go,” Cyril replied in his mousey voice. “You should be hailed any second.”

  Right on cue, TO-96 brought up an incoming transmission request. “We’re being hailed, sir.”

  “Audio only,” Ezo reminded him. “Remember?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  The voice that spoke was that of a control operator who was either extremely sick of their job and needed a vacation or was preoccupied with watching their favorite holo feed. Either way, it meant no one would be looking too closely at Geronimo’s ident or logs. “Light Freighter hull number 2R14-7299G1 bearing 97 tango, this is Labyrinth control. Please identify yourself and confirm ship ident.”

  “Labyrinth control, this Captain Stick E. Lipps, requesting docking permission for Geronimo Nine in hangar bay…” Ezo looked at TO-96, who looked at Cyril. The code slicer flashed some fingers at Ezo. “Twenty-three. Schedule says we’re slated to pick up some—let’s see here. Uh, yeah. Some depleted core canisters.”

  Ezo muted the channel and then glanced at TO-96. “This control operator sounds like he’s eating something. Or picking his nose. Or maybe both.”

  The bot shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine, sir.”

  Finally, the operator cleared his throat. “You’re clear to dock at hangar bay twenty-three, Geronimo. Please remain on your present course, adjusting at waypoint 009 alpha zulu to the revised heading we’re transmitting… now.”

  “Got, got, got it,” Cyril said.

  “Copy that, control. Everything looks good. Should be outta your hair in no time. And a big thank you to the Galactic Republic for your business.” Ezo heard a small click sound followed by the appearance of a Transmission Terminated icon.

  “Well, he wasn’t exactly the chatty type,” TO-96 said.

  “Definitely not, ’Six,” Ezo replied. “Take us in, nice and slow. Don’t wanna draw any unnecessary attention.”

  “Like thanking the Republic for their business over comms, sir?”

  “Why? I meant every word.”

  * * *

  Geronimo Nine passed through one of the atmosphere force fields in the Labyrinth’s starboard side amidships, and—once within the Super Dreadnought’s gravity harness—used heavy thrusters to ease the crescent-moon-shaped freighter onto the landing deck. Since several ships were coming and going from the wide bay already, few people took much notice of the vessel, save for the small contingent of support personnel who scurried under the ship. Standard protocol warranted that the host vessel provide auxiliary power and life support, and then drain, cleanse, and refill all bio-fluid systems. It would be several minutes before the ship inspector made it over for the mandatory ship inspection. Unless, of course, said individual was unusually efficient.

  “Splick,” Ezo said, pointing out the cockpit window. A man in a black Repub NCO uniform walked toward Geronimo, along with two blaster-carrying helmet-covered troopers. “They’re early. Looks like you’re on, ’Six.”

  “Right now, sir?”

  “Yes, right now. Come on.”

  Ezo grabbed his bucket and MC99 blaster and headed toward the loading ramp. He flipped up the safety cover on the deployment panel, charged the system, and then punched the Open button. The ramp hardly started to open before Ezo pushed TO-96 toward it. “Do your thing, pal.”

  “Affirmative, sir.”

  “Cyril?” Ezo spun on his heels. “How’s that upload?”

  “Forty more seconds. Maybe forty-two if the—”

  “Make it faster.”

  Ezo watched TO-96 proceed down the ramp and then stand at the base. Then Ezo put his helmet on and booted up the operating system. The visor powered on and presented environmental sensor data as well as his body’s vital signs. His heart rate and body temperature were elevated enough that the system displayed a warning indicator. “Yeah, no splick,” Ezo said.

  “Credentials and manifest,” said the ship inspector, holding his hand out to TO-96.

  “I beg your pardon, sir?”

  “Credentials and manifest. I don’t have all day bot.”

  “But we’ve already surrendered them, sir. I apologize if—”

  “What do you mean you’ve already surrendered them?”

  Ezo stepped into view at the top of the ramp but made sure to act preoccupied with something deeper in the ship. As soon as the inspector saw Ezo, he pulled up his data pad and began scrolling.

  “I don’t understand,” the man said. “I was just assigned to this vessel.”

  “Uh, yeah, we already got this one,” Ezo said over external comms. “Pretty sure you were supposed to be over there.” He pointed his blaster toward a rusted out Lardvac-class freighter that had seen better days. Its service bot stood at the bottom of the ramp, bearing a striking resemblance to its ship.

  “No,” the inspector said. “That’s not possible. I—” His eyes froze, no doubt on the transfer order Cyril had just uploaded. Then he looked over at the other freighter and winced. “How come I always get the pieces of crap?”

  “Sorry,” Ezo said with a shrug. Then he yelled to an imaginary someone down a corridor, “Hey! Put that down and keep your scrawny-ass mitts where I can see them.”

  “I am most sorry for
any inconvenience, sir,” TO-96 said to the inspector. “I hope the rest of your day is—”

  “Quiet, bot. And get back to your job. Sounds like your captain’s gonna need you.”

  “Right away, sir. Thank you for your consideration.”

  The inspector ignored TO-96 and waved his escorts toward the other ship.

  “I think that went smashingly well, sir,” TO-96 said as he moved back up the ramp.

  “Agreed.” Ezo took off his helmet and threw it in a crash couch in the common room. Cyril was busy pouring over a holo schematic of the Labyrinth. “How we looking, Cyril?”

  “Well, I think I’ve found a data node that should give me access to the ship’s mainframe. This Super Dreadnought is a one-off though, definitely not standard. No way, no how. I won’t know until I try. So it’s a gamble, you know? It’s like going on a date with a Grathnian—you don’t really know if it’s male or female until…”

  “I get it, kid. Breathing is a gamble. How far away is it?”

  “See, see, see, that’s the good news. It looks to be on the far side of this hangar bay.”

  “Does that mean there’s bad news?”

  “Not terrible, not terrible. It’s just—in the open.”

  “So you’ll be exposed.”

  “Yep, yep, yep.”

  The Novian armor was amazing—everyone recognized that. But the telecolos tech wasn’t without its limitations. If an observer looked carefully enough, they would see the background bend behind a figure in chameleon mode. Of course, someone needed to be looking right at the person in question, and even then, the brain would make excuses for what it saw. But Ezo didn’t like the idea of Cyril standing in the middle of a busy hangar bay without cover. He was a code slicer, not a covert ops military vet.

  “’Six and Ezo will take care of keeping everyone’s eyes off you,” Ezo said, doing his best to exude confidence for Cyril. “You ready?”

  Cyril nodded, picked up his helmet, and then put it on. Ezo gave him a thumbs up just as the kid activated chameleon mode. The armor-clad code slicer vanished. Ezo felt the wind move and saw the corridor warp as Cyril passed. “Not bad,” Ezo noted. Except for the sound of Cyril’s nasally breathing over external speakers. “But Cyril?”

  “Copy, sir. Yes, sir?”

  “Make sure to keep your speakers muted. You sound like a Paglothian mule pig with a sinus infection.”

  “Yep, yep, yep. Got it.”

  “We’ll be monitoring you from here. If you need help, well…”

  TO-96 stepped forward and raised a forearm with his micro missiles. “We’ll be ready.”

  “Thank, guys,” Cyril said. Then he paused at the top of the ramp, and Ezo wondered if Cyril was having a heart attack or something. The kid had an odd way about him—twitchy… but also cool under pressure, somehow. Or maybe he was just so focused on his formulas and tech that he was oblivious to real-world danger in the way certain kids could be.

  “You cool, kid?” Ezo asked.

  “Ready to slice, ready to dice—ha, ha. Here goes nothing.”

  “No, kid. Here goes everything.”

  21

  Ezo and TO-96 kept a close eye on Cyril’s movement from inside Geronimo’s bridge. Azelon had updated the ship’s sensor suite to track Gladio Umbra units even while in chameleon mode. Since the armor limited both heat and life sign radiation, conventional scans were largely ineffective—a good thing when deep in enemy territory, but a bad thing when friendlies needed to monitor an asset.

  “You’re looking good,” Ezo said. The main holo display projected an outline of Cyril’s body against a camera feed of the hangar. “Nice and easy.”

  Cyril crept down one of the hangar’s center aisles, taking his time to hide behind supply containers and maintenance equipment whenever enemy personnel walked by. Ezo doubted the kid needed to be so cautious given the hangar’s frenetic level of activity, but with such a critical step in the mission plan, he wouldn’t complain.

  Several freighters lined either side of Cyril’s route to the hangar’s far side, and he made quick work of ducking under resupply gantries, darting around access ladders, and hopping over empty pallets. The only moment Ezo felt a surge of adrenaline was when a small shipping crate fell off an overhead track and landed on Cyril’s shoulder. To anyone who’d been watching, the falling box looked as though it mysteriously changed direction about half a meter from the ground.

  “Dammit,” Ezo yelled. “You okay, kid?”

  “I’m good, copy. Good to over and out.” Cyril hurried away from the box and took temporary cover behind a ship’s rear landing gear. A foreman cursed at the deckhand responsible for the mishap, and two other crew members worked to recover the cargo.

  “No one looks any wiser,” Ezo reported, his eyes studying the scene and also Cyril’s stats. “And your suit looks good. Keep moving.”

  “Right. Loud and clear, loud and clear all the way, sir.”

  Cyril left the freighter’s cover and continued across the hangar, nearing the far side. Within another minute, he was at the data node console. It was a wide desk with several holo displays that protruded from a small recess in the wall right beside a set of large access doors. Already, Ezo could tell there was going to be a problem.

  “The armor’s going to render the details of those holo displays in ways the eye can detect,” Ezo said to TO-96.

  “Sir?” the bot asked.

  “Cyril’s armor. If anyone’s looking at those displays, and he’s standing in front of them, they’ll notice something’s off.”

  “That is a good point, sir. The telecolos emulation system will indeed convey too much deviation.”

  “Then I guess it’s time for a distraction.”

  “I have just the one,” TO-96 said, raising his missiles.

  “For mystics’ sake, ’Six.” Ezo put a hand on TO-96’s arm and pushed it down. “We don’t want to alert the whole ship. We just want to keep people from unnecessarily looking Cyril’s way.”

  “What do you have in mind, sir?”

  Ezo thought about it and then opened comms to Cyril. “Hey, Cyril, buddy?”

  “Ten ten, copy, sir.”

  “How’s it coming?”

  “I’ve just inserted the spider drive. Shouldn’t be long. Maybe three and a half minutes. Possibly four. Definitely not four and half, though, because with this new spider drive I’ve got—”

  “Well, you’re going to have one or two,” Ezo said, cutting the kid off.

  “But, but, but—”

  “You’re more exposed out there than we thought, kid. So you’ve gotta put the speed on.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “As soon as it’s done, get back to the ship, and don’t worry about any explosions you see.

  Cyril gulped over channel. “Explosions, sir?”

  “Just get back to the ship.”

  “Affirmative, roger,” the code slicer said, and then Ezo closed the channel.

  Picking up Cyril’s line of questioning, TO-96 looked at Ezo and said, “Explosions, sir?”

  “Remember the resupply station on Limric Prime?”

  “I have a complete data set of the entire time, yes.”

  “Right, but remember how we got clear?”

  TO-96 tilted his head at Ezo, and then his eyes increased their glow as if surprised. “You mean, you want to chase—”

  “Yup.”

  “And I’ll need to—”

  “As fast as your little legs will carry you.”

  * * *

  “Naked monkey butts,” TO-96 yelled as loud as he could. He streaked across the hangar bay, bumping into cargo crates and bashing into a mobile lift. “Naked monkey butts everywhere!”

  Ezo charged after the bot, amplifying his voice over his external speakers at max volume. “Hey, you! Come back here.”

  TO-96 ignored Ezo’s command, and threw his hands in the air, shaking them wildly. “They’re chasing me! Help!”

  �
�We’ve got a runner,” Ezo said again, trying to get everyone’s attention.

  “Get that bot locked down,” someone ordered nearby. Ezo looked to see a loadmaster pointing in TO-96’s direction—which was good.

  “Trying to, sir,” Ezo yelled back.

  TO-96 veered left and circled a skiff towing a mag lift filled with crates. With the thrust of his hip, the bot jarred the trailer enough to send several boxes flying. The skiff’s driver yelled an obscenity as TO-96 dove for cover between two rows of air canisters. Ezo followed him into the shadows.

  “How we doing, Cyril?” Ezo asked, out of breath.

  “Another thirty seconds.”

  Ezo nodded and then looked at TO-96. “Head back toward the ship, and I’ll tackle—”

  “You got him?” a voice asked from behind Ezo.

  “Splick.”

  Suddenly, TO-96 threw a fist against Ezo’s helmet and yelled, “Get off me, you dirty monkey!”

  Ezo hit the deck, dazed, and watched as the bot ran through the canisters, knocked over half a dozen, and exited the far side.

  Ezo shook his head and got to his feet. “I’ll get him.” He proceeded to chase TO-96 around two ships, and then followed the bot back toward Geronimo. But more eyes were on them than Ezo felt comfortable with. He glanced at a cluster of crew members tossing credit chips onto a crate in the unmistakable sign of a bet. A few more started cheering for TO-96 as he dashed around a wall of energy capacitor pylons.

  “Think we got their attention, sir?” TO-96 asked.

  “Maybe a little too much, pal. Now I need you to stumble.”

  Right on cue, TO-96’s feet entangled one another. He slowed just enough for Ezo to catch up and throw a shoulder into his back. The bot slammed headfirst into the ground with Ezo on his back, sliding to a halt twelve meters from Geronimo. Ezo pulled a set of flexicuffs from his hip, tied the bot’s hands behind his back, and shouted, “Gotcha!”

  Whoops of celebration and groans of disappointment went up from those who’d wagered on the race as Ezo helped TO-96 to his feet. Ezo turned and waved his blaster in the air, assuring everyone he had the bot in custody. Suddenly, TO-96 brought his heel down on Ezo’s toe.