Ruins of the Galaxy Box Set: Books 1-6

by Chaney, J. N.

  “Heads up, heads up, heads up,” Cyril said. “Cameras are showing the other side is clear. Good luck. Opening blast doors in three… two… one…”

  The massive metal barricade retracted, opening five leaves in an expanding iris formation. Magnus aimed down his NOV1, eager to lock on any target that presented itself, but the corridor was clear. “Move out.”

  Abimbola led Alpha Team first, followed by Titus, Zoll, Bliss, and Robillard. Magnus picked up the rear then turned as he walked over the threshold and waved a quick goodbye to Forbes.

  “You’re a lucky son of a bitch,” Forbes said.

  “Don’t worry.” Magnus turned away as the metal leaves closed back in. “We’ll save a few for you.”

  First platoon hugged the walls, its teams alternating sides down the corridor, while first cadre from Paladia Company picked up the rear with Magnus. Everyone ran forward along the glossy black floor in a crouch, watching as their first waypoint neared two intersections ahead. Abimbola ordered the foremost teams to slow as they closed on the first junction. Then the Miblimbian glanced right, Titus left, and Zoll, Bliss, and Robillard focused straight ahead.

  “Clear to the right,” Abimbola said, his suit playing with the red accent lighting that shone up the black walls.

  “Three tangos left,” Titus said. “Not looking this way, and unarmed.”

  “Bravo Team, cover but do not engage,” Magnus ordered. It felt wrong to put down unarmed sailors from behind even if this was a rogue navy vessel whose commander had Piper. If put in their shoes, maybe Magnus would have signed on with Moldark too—who knew? But everyone deserved a chance to make their own decisions, and killing unarmed sailors before the firefight had started was something Magnus didn’t want on his conscience. The killing will come.

  The four other units passed by Bravo Team while Titus and his fire team kept their NOV1s aimed at the unsuspecting trio. As soon as Magnus was clear of the intersection, he called Titus to rejoin. Bravo Team peeled out of the intersection and tracked the forward-moving platoon.

  As they approached the second junction, Abimbola ordered another slowdown. The teams stacked on either wall as Abimbola and Zoll spotted the corners. Cyril’s waypoint called for a left turn heading south.

  “Five hostiles,” Abimbola said, using the agreed upon term to designate armed Paragon troopers. He was set up on the right wall but looked crossways down the left corridor.

  “And I’ve got three,” Zoll added.

  These were hostile Marines who’d traded their Repub insignias for Moldark’s three white stripes. Magnus still didn’t like executing people preemptively, but unlike the unarmed sailors, these troopers wouldn’t hesitate to kill Magnus or anyone in his platoon if given half a chance. They’d known what they signed up for when they put on their armor today. It didn’t make the killing any easier, but it at least made it more understandable.

  “Set up, elites,” Magnus said.

  The two lead teams swapped sides and stepped into the open. Abimbola, Silk, and Doc assigned targets to the left while Zoll, Reimer, and Rix lined up to the left. The Jujari and mystics stayed back, reserved for CQB, or close-quarters battle, when the need arose.

  This was it—first contact. From here on out, the element of surprise was gone. Magnus moved forward and waited for everyone to go green. Once they did, he said, “Let’s light ’em up.”

  Blaster bolts tore down both corridors, dropping the Paragon troopers in quick succession. The targets hit the deck—arms and heads slapping the glossy black floor. Magnus heard shouting come from the left as someone took notice of the fallen troopers from around a bend.

  “Advance left,” Magnus ordered. “Bravo Team, cover our six.”

  Boot strikes echoed off the walls as the enemy responded to the pileups. In another second, half a dozen crew and two troopers appeared around the bend ahead of them while another sailor knelt to the rear. They looked toward the junction. If they saw anything, it was wavering apparitions. And that was the last thing they saw too. The nearest teams opened fire on the first responders, dropping them as quickly as the first set.

  The next Paragon trooper to approach the spectacle did so hesitantly enough that he was able to duck out of sight before Bettger got a shot off with her CK360. The high-powered sniper round bored a hole in the corridor wall. A beat later, the hallways filled with yellow strobe lights and a warning klaxon.

  “Come back here, you little runt,” Bettger said, probably unaware that her voice broadcast to the teams. Delta Team advanced first, tracking the trooper who’d gotten away. But he hadn’t gone far. He’d called in the security breach but remained hidden along a bulkhead, looking downrange. Magnus could tell the trooper still couldn’t make out the gladia because his weapon wasn’t on target, and his head was out way too far to be safe.

  Bettger lined up again, relaxed, and then fired. The round struck the trooper in the head. He flipped backward and hit the ground between his shoulder blades, blaster clattering away.

  “Security alert,” said a smooth female voice. “Security alert. Deck twenty-four, section ten. All units in the vicinity, please respond.” The automated voice repeated the warning while the yellow lights continued to spin.

  “Keep moving,” Magnus said. First platoon rounded the bend and came to another intersection, one they needed to cross straight ahead. Delta and Echo Teams covered the flanks, opening fire on two small groups of security units that followed the announcement’s directions. Robillard dropped two MPs on the left while Jaffrey sniped a third who rounded a corner further back. To the right, Bliss and Dozer eliminated three officers who made a hasty push toward the action area. They’d failed to see the intruders whose NOV1s screamed, sending double-tap shots into the officers’ chests. Sparks bounced off the floors as smoke trails twirled upward.

  Magnus heard Titus’s fire team open up on a larger squad appearing from the north. He turned to see more than a dozen troopers filling the hallway. The Paragon unit hugged the walls and used the bulkheads as cover, apparently wise to the fact that the enemy was using covert stealth tech—that, or they were just better trained. Bravo Team’s shots dropped three hostiles, but the majority of the Paragon troopers stayed concealed.

  “Time to see what this new feature can do,” Magnus said, and then took a knee beside Titus and Willowood. His eyes activated the AI-assist native in his NBTI and then selected the multi-target fire effect mode. As soon as the NOV1 registered the request, Magnus felt the weapon’s internal gyro spin up. To his wonder, the NOV1’s barrel remained steady despite the fractional movements he made. A new overlay appeared in his HUD, listing the threats in order of priority. It traced the body shapes of eleven troopers, even those hiding behind bulkheads and inside open doorways. A prompt pinged in the bottom center of his FOV that read Ready to Fire? Y/N. “Splick, yeah.” Magnus focused on the Y for Yes option and then pulled his weapon into his shoulder.

  Magnus squeezed the trigger, and the NOV1 blatted as eleven blaster bolts streaked down the corridor in multiple directions. The effect was a lot like watching a shotgun blast, but where the shotgun followed the spray-and-pray philosophy of more antiquated munitions, every blaster bolt the NOV1 fired downrange found its mark—or at least close enough. Rounds struck heads of those most exposed. Their bodies fell to the floor or slumped down walls. Other troopers, imagining they were safe behind protective cover, were struck in the chest. Still others were maimed by rounds that lost some energy piercing reinforced walls or bulkheads, but they were out of the fight.

  “Mystics, I love this weapon,” Magnus said to himself.

  Titus nudged Magnus. “Show off.”

  “Just ’cause I tried it first doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it second.” Then Magnus peeled a VOD off his chest, set it to remote detonation, and threw it on the ceiling. “For later,” he said to Titus. “Let’s pick up the pace, Granther Company!”

  The teams made their way south, crossing two more intersections. But now
the ship was on full alert, and enemy resistance—while not yet coordinated—was getting stronger. Magnus guessed that not being able to see the enemy was messing with Paragon command. The only way to track the Gladio Umbra was by the pile of bodies they left. As long as Granther Company’s destination remained a mystery, Magnus figured they’d be able to keep the enemy on their heels.

  “Sir, sir, sir! I’ve just lost control of a bulkhead blast door one section ahead of you,” Cyril said. “Recalculating now.”

  “How much time will it add?”

  “Standby.”

  Magnus worked with Bravo Team to keep their rear clear, taking down any troopers who dared fire into the wavy apparitions that moved through the hallways. Several security forces bobbed their heads back and forth, squinting in the near distance, trying to get a fix on the enemy. But Magnus dropped two sailors in quick succession who looked a little too long in his direction.

  “Three minutes, twenty-eight seconds at your current pace,” Cyril said. “You should be able see the revised route now.”

  Magnus looked at the path and noticed it had several more turns and junctions than their current one. “No good, Cyril. We’ll stay on the current course you’ve plotted.”

  “But, but, but, sir. How do you intend to get through that barricade?”

  “We’re Gladio Umbra, buddy. Nothing can stop us.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Cyril replied. “You’re super awesome.”

  Magnus closed the channel and brought Delta Team’s channel. “Bliss, I need that bulkhead blast door taken out.”

  “Copy that, LT. Dozer, you heard the man.”

  “On it.”

  Alpha and Charlie Team provided cover as Bliss led his unit toward the next intersection—one now cut off by a solid wall of metal. Repub designations were stenciled on the obstruction, including instructions for emergency procedures and the barricade’s tolerances. Dozer broke out demolition charges—what Azelon had termed XVODs—which were roughly ten times the power of the standard Novian VODs. But even with so much force, Magnus knew he’d need something more to make sure the obstacle went down.

  “Awen?”

  “What do you need?”

  “Can you help concentrate Dozer’s blast on the door? Maybe make a force field around it?”

  “I can make that happen.”

  “Good. Do it.”

  As Dozer finished setting the charge and stepped back, Awen stood in the middle of the corridor and spread her arms away from her hips. Then she bent her knees, bowed her head, and went still. “Are you prepared, Dozer?”

  “I am, miss,” he replied. “On your mark.”

  “Blow it.”

  Dozer triggered the directional charge from his HUD. A split second later, the wall went bright white as the XVOD detonated. Usually, such a breach explosion blew back on the operators. Instead, the blast acted like it occurred on the other side of an invisible wall. Not even the audio report came back—the only thing Magnus felt was a rumble through his boots.

  The massive door bowed, and the walls buckled. Then the partition blew apart and shot down the hallway. Awen had so successfully contained the energy, focusing it on the obstruction, that the liquified metal tore trenches down the corridor for twenty-five yards.

  Awen lowered the shield and bent her knees in relief. Magnus looked around her and saw several disfigured bodies scattered down the hall. “Good work, Awen,” he said, patting her on the shoulder. “Fall in with your team. Granther Company, let’s pick up the tempo.”

  “Sir, Gladia Lieutenant, sir,” Cyril said. “I’ve repopulated your original route based on your revised scenario.”

  “Roger. Make sure everyone has it.”

  “That’s a loud and clear, Lieutenant. Loud and clear all the way, sir.”

  The next corridor was clear, thanks to Dozer and Awen’s combined efforts. Smoke and molten metal lined the way ahead, and body parts lay scattered along the floor. The warning klaxon continued to wail but grew more urgent in tone, while the strobing lights changed from yellow to red. The ship’s emergency alert system issued another warning. “Security breach. Security breach. Deck twenty-four, section twenty. All security personnel respond immediately. Enemy threat detected.”

  “Well, that escalated quickly,” Bliss said.

  “Just means we have more blaster bolts to put downrange,” Robillard added.

  “Everyone, stay focused.” Magnus moved ahead with his NOV1 in high ready position. “Keep it smooth.” The hallway bent right and then turned left before straightening out. Magnus noted several black doors on either side and then got an uneasy feeling in his gut. He was just about to say something when Cyril cut in.

  “Movement detected, inbound, sir! I think they're using the side rooms.”

  Magnus didn’t have a chance to respond before half a dozen doors slid apart. Black-clad troopers surged into the hall, weapons blazing. For the first time since the raid began, Magnus’s shield took a hit. He leaned up against a wall to narrow his profile and wondered if the energy dissipation had given his location away. As if to answer the question, the enemy’s blaster fire tracked him toward the wall. That was also when he noticed he could visually see a few of the other gladia: the smoke was revealing hard edges under the ceiling lights.

  Up until this point, he’d asked Willowood to keep her mystics from deploying force fields for Granther Company. While sparing needless hits on personal armor, the force fields would give their position away by dispersing blaster fire over a spherical wall. Now, however, that might not matter.

  All teams returned fire, concentrating on the troopers who went prone, firing from the ground. Magnus noted that more than a few gladia registered hits on their shields as well. But their return fire was crippling, drilling holes in the enemy’s defenses. Bits of blackened flesh spat out the backside of Repub armor and sprinkled the floor. Some fighters fell off their feet while others—like those shooting from the prone position—just went limp, helmets lying on the ground.

  “Keep moving, keep shooting,” Magnus ordered. He kept one eye on their advance and one eye on their tail. Then he checked the master mission clock and noted that they were falling behind schedule. If they didn’t maintain the upper hand in every corridor, Granther Company would be fighting the whole ship before long. And that’s definitely not something I’m interested in doing today, Magnus noted. Every minute that passed was one Moldark could use to move Piper, and they couldn’t afford to lose her again. He couldn’t. And he wouldn’t. Mission failure was not an option today. They would win, and Piper would come home.

  24

  The Jujari’s fall was imminent. Moldark could feel it. The enemy was starting to fall back, and the Sypeurlion and Dim-Telok were breaking formation. Once the Jujari fleet was destroyed, the rest of the beasts would be confined to their desolate world. Full extermination would take more time, of course, but that would come later—Moldark’s priorities had taken an unexpected turn, and his newfound rage had to be satisfied.

  Now that Moldark had Piper’s cooperation, his mind had turned toward the Galactic Republic and, more specifically, the Nine. They had made an attempt on his life. He decided he would punish them, like the Jujari, pounding them into the dirt where they belonged. The most fortuitous part of this change of plan was that the girl had already started planting the seeds of hate, ones that would fuel the navy’s acquiescence to his orders.

  Piper didn’t know that, of course. She’d merely been asked to encourage the fleet. As a result, the hearts and minds of every sailor in three fleets had redoubled their commitment toward weeding out the enemy in the sector. There would be no more assassination attempts by Marines loyal to the Nine, no more condescension. From now on, the fleets would do his bidding.

  The naive child, Moldark mused to himself, rapping his fingers on the arm of his chair. The light of blaster fire through windowplex glinted in his eyes. How magnificent it will be when I show the fleets what to exterminate. It was l
ike training a dog to drink blood—if it liked it enough from a bowl, it would love it more from a heart. So I will show them a heart, and then loose them on the whole body.

  Of course, there was the other opportunity too—the one the sniveling ambassador had concocted for him. As easily as the fleets’ could annihilate enemies with their firepower, Bosworth’s creation could decimate planets. And with much less energy. The loathsome fool of a man irritated Moldark, but he was proving to be useful. And so long as Bosworth remained useful, Moldark would tolerate him.

  As for the child, Piper was sleeping in her quarters, exhausted from her efforts in the Unity. He admired her—at least as much as he could. For all her pitiful mortality, she was stronger than any mystic he’d ever encountered, and he had seen his share. But even with all her power, she was still susceptible to fatigue and needed nourishment.

  As do I, Moldark reminded himself. In a manner of speaking. The need to feast on a mortal soul stirred in him. He’d consumed the assassins too quickly for them to provide any true sustenance, so he’d need to look elsewhere. He’d taken several captives from Worru; perhaps he would order one to his chamber as he watched the Jujari’s final efforts to thwart the inevitable. A feast and a spectacle.

  A chime rang on his chair’s arm—an incoming call from the bridge. He swiped it open. “Yes, Brighton.”

  “My lord, it seems we have intruders on the ship.”

  First assassins and now intruders. What’s happening to my ship? He grunted his teeth and scowled at Brighton. “It seems we have intruders? Or do we actually?”

  “Um—that’s just it.” Brighton swallowed. “We have footage of troopers going down. But no visuals on an enemy threat, my lord.”

  Moldark didn’t like this. “Show me.”

  Brighton nodded and looked off-screen. A moment passed, and then security camera footage from a corridor somewhere in the Labyrinth hovered in front of his chair. Moldark spun away from his observation window so he could focus on the image better. A massive explosion washed out the view for a second. When it came back, the hallway was strewn with fire, smoke, and body parts.