Ruins of the Galaxy Box Set: Books 1-6

by Chaney, J. N.

“That’s the one,” Zoll replied. “Cyril, see what you can do.”

  “Copy copy,” the code slicer said, running ahead.

  “Rix, go with him.”

  “On it, chief,” Rix said.

  “Where are we going?” Balin asked, running hand in hand with his wife.

  Zoll switched to external speakers. “We need to get you to another atoll where a shuttle will be waiting for us.”

  “And we’re headed to a marina because?”

  “Because our A Plan is a no-go.”

  “So you’re improvising,” Giyel said.

  “Yup.”

  Zoll and the rest of the squad charged across the sand, heading straight for the sea skimmer rental stand when blaster fire erupted from inside the hut.

  “Get down,” Rix yelled, presumably to Cyril. Zoll noticed both of their shields take hits. More blaster fire turned the inside of the hut bright red as the rounds danced across the sand and ricocheted off the sea skimmers. Zoll looked for Repub troopers, but there weren’t any.

  “What the hell’s going on in there?” Zoll asked.

  “Some lunatic woman has us pinned down!”

  Zoll told Awen’s parents to stay put behind a cluster of palms and ordered Longchomps to keep watch. “Everyone else with me!”

  When Zoll reached the rental hut, the woman Rix had mentioned seemed to be reloading her weapon from behind the counter. Rix was about to stand from behind the hut’s half-wall when the woman started shooting again.

  “Take that, you thieving bastards,” she shouted above the blaster rounds, spraying the ground with bolts. “Try and take my property, will you? Think again!”

  “She’s crazy,” Rix yelled. “I’m gonna shoot her.”

  “Don’t shoot her,” Zoll said. “She’s a damn civilian.”

  “She’s gonna kill us!”

  Zoll needed to think fast. Not only was his team in jeopardy from this vengeful entrepreneur, but the blaster fire was sure to draw attention and risked tipping off Repub security.

  “Grahban,” Zoll said. “Go through the back of the hut and snag her. But don’t kill her. Wish, give our boys some protection.”

  The mystic put up a Unity shield to keep the blaster fire from doing any more harm to Rix and Cyril while the Jujari dashed around the back of the hut. A moment later, Grahban punched a hole in the wall—with his whole body—and grabbed the woman from behind. “Got her,” Grahban said.

  Zoll stepped into the hut and saw the Jujari restraining a snarling woman that seemed intent on kicking, clawing, or even biting her way out of whatever unseen force had her pinned.

  “Put me down,” she ordered. “I’m gonna kill you, little bitches!”

  “Told you she’s gonna kill us,” Rix said, standing hesitantly.

  “I will not permit her,” Grahban said. “Though she is stronger than her size suggests.”

  Zoll turned on his headlamp but didn’t de-cloak. “Jules, I take it?”

  The blonde-haired woman froze, squinting against the bright light. She was probably attractive when she wasn’t seething—perhaps thirty years old. “Who the hell’s asking?”

  “We’re not here to hurt you.”

  “That’s what they all say.” She spit into the light. “Just give us your skimmers, and no one gets hurt. Am I right? Well, not today, you son of a bitch.”

  “Can I subdue her?” Grahban asked. “Please, with sweet fruit on top?”

  “Negative, not yet,” Zoll said, though he appreciated the attempt at the human idiom. “We might need her.”

  “We definitely need her,” Cyril said. “She’s locked us out.” Zoll looked over at the code slicer who was already working on a sales console behind the counter. “Seems Magnus’s previous hijacking tipped her off, so she instituted a core systems firewall.”

  Unaware of Cyril’s VNET conversation, Jules nodded toward the console. “I can see some cloaked asshole on your team has discovered my lockdown. Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

  “Let me dispatch her,” Grahban said. “One of those skiffs in the marina is probably easier to be thieving.”

  “And slower,” Bliss said. “If speed is our priority, these sea skimmers are by far our best bet.”

  “Splick,” Zoll said, biting the inside of his cheek. He decided to try the impossible and removed his helmet.

  Jules winced as the light left her eyes and revealed a floating head. “What the hell?”

  “Jules, my name is Petty Officer Kar Zoll. I need you to remain calm.”

  “Calm? What in mystics’ name is going on around here? You some GR freak show or something?”

  “Not even close,” Zoll said. “We are the Gladio Umbra, here to rescue some hostages and help protect the planet from an impending attack by a madman who controls the Repub fleets. I know that sounds crazy, but you’ve just gotta trust me.”

  “If you’re here to protect the planet, then why are the GR shooting at you?”

  Zoll shrugged. “Since when does the Repub do what makes sense?”

  “Fair point.”

  “And we’re gonna need your skimmers. But we’ll reimburse you for each one.”

  “Get lost,” she said. “You know how long it took me to build this business? I ain’t letting them go just because some floating-ass head asked to buy them at four in the morning.”

  “We’ll pay you double.”

  Jules grimaced, then seemed to think of something else. “Nah. But, triple, and you have yourself a deal.”

  A Republic warning alert went off in the city.

  Jules looked back at Zoll. “And you tell me about this Glad Umbrella, cause it sure as hell ain’t the GR.”

  A new barrage of blaster fire hit the hut, but this time it came from the city. Longchomps roared over comms. “We have two more packs of bucketheads charging from the east!”

  “Get out here,” Zoll said. “Delta Team, covering fire!”

  “So, we got a deal or not?” Jules said.

  “Deal. Grahban, release her.”

  The Jujari let go, and Jules yanked her arms free then stretched them in protest. “Bitch,” she said under breath.

  “But I am a male,” Grahban said to Zoll.

  Jules raced to the console where Cyril was and then worked through several screens. “There,” she said, turning to Zoll. “The skimmers are yours.”

  “Thanks for your help,” Zoll replied. “It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

  “Not so fast,” Jules said, ducking as a blaster round whizzed through the hut a meter from Zoll’s head. “I’m coming with you.”

  “That wasn’t part of the deal.” He put his helmet back on.

  “Deal’s change, especially when the GR is shooting at you. Plus, I just ensured that those skimmers will shut down once they get out of range from my comms watch.” She raised her wrist and swished her arm back and forth.

  Zoll cursed. “Fine. But no more questions until we make landfall.”

  “I can live with that.”

  “That’s good, ’cause you’re dying otherwise.” Zoll flipped back to the squad channel. “Return fire and mount up. It’s time to blow this sea skimmer stand!”

  14

  “The sewers,” Magnus said to himself as his small squadron of sea skimmers approached Capriana’s shore. Hearing Zoll mention the city’s waste management system gave him an idea.

  “What was that, buckethead?” Abimbola asked.

  Magnus cleared his throat and spoke up. “Zoll said he was using the sewers to escape the lab.”

  “And you think we should use them to infiltrate CENTCOM.”

  “I do. It’s the only other way I can think to gain access without going down the elevator again. ’Six, Azie, can you give me a position on the Forum Republica’s waste management facility?”

  “Certainly, sir,” TO-96 said. “Please stand by.”

  A moment later, a new topo map appeared in Magnus’s HUD, displaying a portion of the city just north
of the capital complex. A small building glowed blue, and an ident tag featured its coordinates, distance, and time to target at current speed.

  “What can you tell me about it, ’Six?” Magnus asked.

  TO-96 began narrating as the building expanded and morphed into a three-dimensional schematic. “This particular public waste facility was first commissioned in 4121 by the Sentient Species Alliance in order to serve their newly founded headquarters. Upon its completion, Chancellor Ronruth declared it to be—”

  “’Six, kill the history lesson,” Magnus said.

  “But, sir, I feel that—”

  “’Six!”

  “Fast forwarding to today, this facility is the main distribution hub for all waste leaving the Forum Republica’s northern half.” The schematic oriented to follow root tunnels as they branched out and spread to numerous locations within the capital’s northern section. The view raced along one pipe in particular. “CENTCOM is serviced by this line, which bifurcates into east and west stems.”

  “Which one is closer to the command room?” Magnus asked.

  “The west line, sir. It terminates here”—TO-96 illuminated a small chamber—“in a collection stall directly below a utility room.”

  “How secure?” Abimbola asked.

  “Grates are locked and have standard pressure sensors.”

  “So no motion detection?” Magnus asked.

  TO-96 shook his head. “No, sir. Nor are there thermal sensors. Given the nature of sewage, both are rather futile.”

  “Right.” Magnus zoomed out and dropped a marker on the shore closest to the sewage plant. “Heads up, Granthers. I’ve updated the mission map with a new waypoint. Get clear of your skimmer as soon as we make landfall. Chameleon mode all the way to the sewage facility.”

  The team confirmed his orders and shifted left toward the new waypoint.

  “Thanks for your help,” Magnus said.

  “Happy to be of assistance, sir.”

  Magnus thought he detected a hint of sadness in the bot’s voice. “Listen, ’Six. When I get back to the ship, you can tell me all about the city’s municipal engineering history.”

  “Only if you wish, sir.”

  “Pal, if we make it through this, you can tell me all the stories you want.”

  TO-96 seemed to perk up. “I will gladly indulge you, sir.”

  “I’m sure you will. Magnus out.”

  * * *

  Magnus’s squad ditched the sea skimmers on the beach and moved into the urban sprawl without being noticed. For all the hell the Granthers raised at the three Repub locations, the city was relatively quiet. Though, Magnus guessed, the TACNET channels had to be a mess with comms traffic. The more chaotic, the better, he thought.

  His fire teams raced down the empty sidewalks and then dashed across the street once they’d arrived at the waste plant. Unlike the other buildings on the block—those made of composite materials and designed with sleek lines—this facility’s red brick exterior and tall windows made it look old and worn out. Fitting for a place that refines splick.

  “’Six,” Magnus asked. “What do we have for security?”

  “Just cameras, though I doubt they’re being monitored with any level of discipline.”

  “Copy that.”

  “I estimate two night guards and three technicians on-site,” the bot added.

  “Thanks.” Magnus looked to Rohoar. “Can you get us in the ally-side door without making a scene?”

  “Rohoar will do his best,” replied the Jujari.

  Just before Magnus gave the command to move out, he noticed Abimbola flip a poker chip, catch it, and slap it on the back of his gauntlet. “What does it say, Bimby?”

  The Miblimbian hesitated, his visor fixed on the chip.

  “Bimby?”

  “It says this path is bad luck,” Abimbola replied.

  “’Course it’s bad luck,” Haze said. “We’re about to get up to our necks in splick.”

  But Abimbola didn’t seem to register Haze’s comment. He was still fixed on the chip.

  Magnus touched the giant’s arm. “It’s just a poker chip, Bimby. It’s not fate.”

  “It is not just a poker chip, buckethead. It is the way of the gods.”

  Magnus sighed. Religion always seemed to mess with good people’s rational thinking. “But the gods don’t have a NOV1, do they. And they’re not the ones down here making their own destiny.”

  “The gods don’t need NOV1s to determine history.”

  “That may be so, but we need them to make it.”

  Abimbola finally looked up. “I trust the gods.”

  “Fair enough. And I trust my blaster.”

  “And if it fails you?”

  Magnus smiled, though his friend couldn’t see it. “I don't know if there are gods out there or not, but I've got you, Bimby, and you’re practically as big as one.” He slapped him on the arm. “Come on, we’ve got a job to do.”

  Alpha and Bravo Teams followed Rohoar around the side of the building and up a short staircase to a rusted out double-slider. The Jujari pierced the center seam with his claws and then pushed the panels apart. The door squeaked in mild protest, but that was all.

  “Everyone through,” Magnus ordered, and then double-checked their six before entering himself.

  Once inside, Abimbola and Titus led the teams down a series of hallways using TO-96’s schematic as an overlay guide. The team moved cautiously as they approached the security office, but it turned out there was little to worry about. One security guard was lost in a holo film while the other was sound asleep in his chair.

  “As you cross into the next building, you’ll find the treatment center’s fourth stage,” TO-96 said. “Were you not wearing your armor, I would be inclined to warn you about the smell and the need for a breathing apparatus.”

  “You’re a great tour guide, ’Six,” Magnus said.

  “I do my best, sir. A bot never knows what line of work they may be forced to undertake once their current owner has reached their expiration date.”

  “Gotta make a living,” Magnus said as his unit crossed an elevated walkway and filed through a decontamination lock. Once out the other side, the Granther’s emerged into a massive room, the floor of which was a veritable sea of—

  “Splick,” Abimbola said.

  “You can say that again,” Titus replied.

  “Why?” Rohoar looked between the two gladia. “Rohoar sees no reason to restate the obvious.”

  “Let’s just keep moving,” Magnus said. “Stay focused.”

  The teams crossed over the churning floor of waste, took the stairwell up a putrid waterfall, and then entered another lock. They followed the facility’s four-story progression of rooms, waterfalls, and locks, before arriving at the last set of doors marked Inlet Matrix. Magnus motioned everyone in and they found themselves in an enormous pump room with several giant pieces of machinery occupying the majority of the floor space far below.

  “There is an elevator toward the rear of the walkway,” TO-96 said, adding a vector to the squad’s HUDs. “Please proceed to the sixth subfloor.”

  The teams crossed the catwalk, and Titus called up the lift. It took two trips to get everyone down to sub-level six. From there, they found the main sewer shafts that left the plant.

  “Who’s first?” Titus asked.

  “I am,” said Abimbola. “Done plenty of this in the Dregs.”

  “I don’t even want to know why,” Awen replied as the giant leaped into sewage that went up to his waist. When she jumped in, the liquid went up to her chest. “I blame you, Magnus.”

  “As does Rohoar,” the Jujari said. “So much blaming.”

  The gladias followed the Miblimbian one at a time, careful to keep their weapons aloft. Fluids didn’t affect NOV1s, but there was just something about keeping a firearm clean that seemed to compel everyone to hold them overhead. Old habits, Magnus guessed.

  They trudged up one tunnel after a
nother, turning left, then right, then left, until Magnus was thoroughly disoriented. Without TO-96’s HUD guidance, the squad would have been lost. The sewage system was a vertical labyrinth of corridors, tunnels, and passageways. They encountered several barred gates, which Haze and Doc made quick work of with low-yield directional charges and thermal cutters.

  When their current shaft began to narrow, TO-96 informed them that the end was another 100 meters out. But the bot’s voice was intermittent, no doubt due to CENTCOM’s scrambling tech. “Then … overhead … find an access hatch,” he said.

  “We’re losing you, ’Six,” Magnus said, tapping the side of his helmet.

  “Ladder … to the utility … CENTCOM, as outlined.”

  “’Six?”

  “Careful … -ssure sensors,” the bot added.

  “Right.” Magnus at least remembered the bit about the hatch sensors from earlier, and then looked to Awen and Nídira. “Any thoughts on the pressure sensors?”

  “I have a little experience with them, yes,” Nídira said.

  “Do I want to know why?” Awen asked.

  “Probably not.” Nídira stepped under the hatch and lowered her head. Magnus was about to ask what she was doing and how long it would take when the mystic turned around. “All set.”

  “A little experience?” Magnus huffed out a chuckle. “I’d love to see what a lot of experience looks like.”

  “You’re welcome,” Nídira said, stepping aside for Magnus to grab the ladder’s first rung.

  “I’m going up first and will call down if and when it’s safe to proceed,” Magnus said. He felt a few gladias move to stop him, but he insisted. “I’ve made you endure enough with this mission, so if anyone’s going to put their life on the line here and now, it’s going to be me. No arguments.” His shoulders relaxed. “Good. Stay here and await my signal.”

  Magnus called up Azelon’s hand from the hard light emitter on his gauntlet and let her go to work on the keypad. The connection was intermittent, which slowed her progress down. Magnus was about ready to ask Awen to remove it but worried there might be redundant security measures. Suddenly, the deadbolts disengaged, and Magnus unwound the locking wheel. Trusting that Nídira had done her job, he pushed and flipped up the hatch. When no alarm sounded, he climbed the remaining five meters to the next hatch and opened it.