Hell's Reach (Galactic Liberation Series Book 6)

by B. V. Larson

  “Spot on. Maintain this comlink please.”

  “Gladly. We await glory.”

  “Yes, us too.” Straker’s eyes roved over the holotank as he tried to think of everything.

  Be the overall commander, he told himself. Mercy had the ship. The skimmers... they’d turned off their transponders and disappeared from the display, leaving only ghostly guesses as to their positions. Redwolf likewise...

  He wondered what the Predators thought of Redwolf’s activities among the rocks. No enemy ships were nearby, so hopefully they wouldn’t be alarmed. The two major groups were even now turning and burning to try to catch Trollheim, but the move between them and toward their wormhole had caught them by surprise. The enemy fleets wouldn’t catch her until at least half an hour after she’d established the blockade.

  Trollheim launched a missile spread just before she reached her flip-over point and began decelerating. That way, the shipkillers retained their high velocity as they preceded the big ship. The several Predator ships near the wormhole evaded vigorously, one returning through the gate and the others spreading out and running laterally from the deadly nuclear missiles. Salishan ordered the missiles to decelerate gently and cruise into the area, creating a threat that cleared away all enemies from the vicinity.

  Thus, the dreadnought came to relative rest near the wormhole without a battle. Like wolves around a bison, their enemies were biding their time while they maneuvered to arrive together and overwhelm Trollheim.

  But once the dreadnought was firmly in a position to destroy any ships or drones trying to pass through the wormhole and warn the Predator base, Straker spoke. “Elder Wiser, you may attack now.”

  “Gladly. Death or glory!”

  The bridge crew gave a ragged cheer as the enormous swarm of rocks accelerated toward the wormhole and the impending battle. It appeared as if the Predators didn’t notice them until it was too late. Minutes before the enemy would have opened massed fire upon Trollheim, the Lithoids attacked the enemy ships.

  Their crews clearly surprised, those ships had too much momentum to change course—but they tried to turn away, no doubt thinking this was some bizarre asteroid storm. That was a mistake, as it presented their sterns to the Lithoids. Had the Predators turned directly toward their ambushers and opened fire, they might have made a fight of it.

  Instead, they dropped mines and fired missiles, which were easily picked off by the Lithoids. Nuclear detonations screened the Predator ships for a short time, but as soon as those dissipated, the rocks sailed through the radiation—harmless to them—and began tearing the enemy ships apart. They raked the Predators with lightning, and they smashed rocks into their vulnerable sterns.

  But the enemy didn’t go down easily. They were composed of confident, warlike species, used to attacking and dominating all who opposed them. Each race used its own unique approach to try to resist their doom.

  The Arattak suddenly swung around on their gravity tethers, hurling themselves at their enemies—but aiming to pass through the rock swarms, aided by their surprising maneuverability. They fired their many beams, blowing rocks to bits as they ran the gauntlet of Lithoids, and unloaded all their expendable ordnance. Nuclear fire blossomed among the combatants.

  At the same time the Korven ships reversed course. They attempted to close with the rocks, no doubt to board them—but even if any were able, there were no controlling creatures to close-assault, no ships to seize. The rocks were simply rocks, animated by energy and intelligence—bizarre azoic machines.

  The Crocs turned also, allowing the rocks to come close before charging at them to smash into them. Some detonated their ships in self-destruction, but trading one vessel for one rock was a losing proposition, as each of the many adult Lithoid groups was composed of hundreds of pieces.

  The Dusics—centipede-like insectoids, far different from the communal Opters—demonstrated their favorite technology when their ships stretched into segmented shells, revealing high-velocity rail-cannon sheltered between the sections. The flexible ships slithered and rolled, exposing weapons in turn to fire bursts at their enemies.

  The Lithoids returned fire with their jagged lightning bolts, matching them burst for burst. The railgun bullets shattered rocks, while the rocks smashed the articulated ships like bugs.

  Sinden would have a field day with all this data on how the individual Predator species fight, Straker thought. Hopefully, the Lithoids would also be learning—and not paying too much for the knowledge. It eased his conscience to know that an individual Lithoid could lose pieces of itself and still live on, rebuild, or if damaged too much, would be incorporated into its fellows.

  The Vulps—small, clever foxlike mammalian carnivores—fared the best, for a time. As their allies distracted the Lithoids with their pyrrhic attacks, Vulps spread out and skimmed into underspace, dropping decoys and firing beams from longer range. The SAI and holotank soon showed an absence of enemies, but Straker wasn’t at all sure no Vulps had gotten away.

  “Sensors, try to track all those Vulps,” Salishan barked before Straker could give a similar order. “Underspace detectors on maximum sensitivity. Engineering, put our shields on auto-engage mode, linked with sensors. Comms, cue the skimmers and Redwolf on those Vulps. We can’t let them hit us—or get through the wormhole.”

  Straker spoke up. “Elder Wiser? You still there?”

  “We are here. Oh, what glorious battle! Tell me there will be more!”

  Straker suppressed a twinge of guilt. He’d seen first-time soldiers catch the battle-madness, carried away by the combat high, surviving and winning and charging after a fleeing enemy in an orgasm of slaughter. Yet, he had to use the Lithoids’ irrational enthusiasm against the enemy before it burned out.

  “There’s more glorious battle,” he said. “Lots of it. All you can handle, right through this wormhole.”

  “What life! What death! What songs of glorious destruction we will compose!”

  The rocks, the hundreds of groups, turned like a swarm of bees and lined up on the wormhole. Salishan ordered Trollheim aside, but there was no need. The Lithoids danced around the ship, flowing past and into the wormhole like a cascade, an avalanche of giant sand particles falling precisely through the chokepoint of a great hourglass. In long seconds, they were through.

  Salishan turned to Straker. “Follow them now, or wait?”

  “Follow. From Loco’s data, the base is at least an hour’s fast travel away, so we’ll have time to assess the situation and suit up for the ground attack.”

  “Follow it is. Comms, pass the word to the skimmers and Redwolf. Helm, take us through.”

  As the great ship surged forward, Straker’s comlink beeped and he stuck it in his ear. “Straker.”

  “Mara here. Come to the infirmary.”

  “Why?” But she’d already clicked off. Straker muttered a curse and shrugged. He’d head down there after a couple of minutes—after seeing the situation on the other side of the wormhole.

  Chapter 30

  Straker aboard SBS Trollheim. Axis of Predators secret base area.

  Trollheim’s holotank blanked before it quickly built a picture of nearby space on the other side of the wormhole. Wreckage of at least fifteen enemy ships spun through the void, and the storm of Lithoids spread out from there. Most of them cruised toward the only body of significance in the area, a planetoid—what might be called a small moon if it had a planet to orbit. That body must be the base: it swarmed with ships and small craft, and more were lifting from its surface.

  No, Straker saw—not the only body of significance. A strange icon pulsed off to the side. The holotank notations showed gravitic readings off the scale. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing.

  “Gravity source, sir,” the officer at Sensors reported. “Otherwise, few emissions. I’d guess it’s a black hole.”

  “A singularity?”

  “Probably, sir, but a natural one. At least, there’s no indication it’s bei
ng actively generated or controlled.”

  “Get me Zaxby on comlink as soon as he comes through the wormhole. Captain Salishan, move us toward the base and take whatever aggressive action you see fit. I’ll be in the infirmary speaking with Doctor Straker.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  When Straker stepped into the infirmary he nodded to his sister, and then froze stock-still with shock. Lined up against one long wall were two ranks of...

  Golems.

  They were Straker golems, at least forty of them. Intelligent weapons, like Hok, but a hundred times more deadly.

  This must have been what Sinden was going to show him.

  Would it have mattered? He wasn’t sure.

  The golems turned their knowing, intelligent gazes at him, and it was as if he looked into multiple mirrors, each with his distorted face.

  “Before you say anything, Derek, listen,” Mara said, stepping in front of him. “I’ve been making these guys and keeping them in stasis ever since the first one was so successful. Each of them is a battle-optimized copy of you—except they’ll only last a few days at most, until they fall apart.”

  “Fall apart why?”

  “Their structure is utterly unnatural—duralloy exoskeleton and bones, super-strong polymeric musculature, supercharged metabolism. Each one is a living battlesuit, times ten. But to make them super-troopers, they can’t last long. Not with my current level of subquantum tech knowledge. Yet each has your mind and your sense of duty. I’ve briefed them on the stakes, and they’re all in agreement. Just like you, they’d all gladly fight and die for Carla, and for the Breakers.”

  Straker ran his eyes over the ranks. “Mara, this is... wrong! This is monstrous!”

  “No, Derek. It’s necessary. Did you see the size of that base? They must have thousands, tens of thousands of defenders. We have five mechsuits and ninety-five marines. We need every edge. Every golem that dies is a real person who won’t. I wish I could build a thousand of them.” She touched his arm. “Anything that saves your life. Your real life.”

  Straker felt sick to his stomach. “You’ve gone too far this time. You and Zaxby, right? I knew he was amoral, but you... ”

  Mara turned to the golems. “Prime, come here, please.”

  The first golem in line walked up to Straker and held out a hand covered with articulated plates of duralloy—its skin. With a wink and a smile he spoke. His voice wasn’t quite right… it was like Straker’s voice after gargling some gravel. “Hello, Derek. I’m Derek. Nice to meet you.”

  A large, blocky number “1” was tattooed on his forehead. Straker noticed the others had numbers on theirs as well.

  He took the thing’s—the man’s—hand automatically and felt the effortless strength there. He himself was engineered, and he knew the pain of realizing he was a made thing, created as part of a weapons-system: the mechsuit.

  How much more must this golem feel that pain?

  “Likewise,” Straker said after a moment. “Listen—”

  “Please, shut the hell up, will you?” the Prime golem said. “Imagine if you woke up here, like this. What would you do? Don’t answer right away. Think, Derek. Think.”

  Straker thought, forcing himself to be plain and honest. “I’d do what needed to be done, with no regrets. It is what it is.”

  “Right. And I’m you.” Prime gestured at the others. “So now you know what I’m thinking. We’re all you, Straker. Most of us will probably die in the fight. The rest will fall apart, break down biologically. Too bad. It is what it is… We’ll do it for Carla, for you—and for the Breakers. For the people we’re saving from these Predators, and for all the people you’ll save from Steel and his regime once you return to human space and overthrow him.”

  “I’m not planning to—”

  “Sure you are!” the golem laughed. “You know, deep down, that you’ll eventually go back and set things right. But you won’t do it without Carla by your side, and your Breakers have to know you’ll move heaven and hell to get her back—and any other Breaker. This is fate-of-the-galaxy stuff, Derek. I know how I’d feel in your place. Think of how you’d feel in mine.” The golem never let go of Straker’s hand, and it was as if his strength and his certainty flowed from the creature into him, his resolve hardening like the armored battle-shell built into its body.

  It is what it is, he thought. Accept it.

  Straker took a deep breath, let it out, and extricated his hand from the golem’s grip. He turned to Mara. “As for you, little sister, we’re going to have a serious conversation about this on the way home.”

  “No problem,” she said. Her expression was flat. “Now get into the rejuvenation tank.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m going to juice up your Breaker Bug. It’s not recommended for long-term use, but for a day or two you’ll be damn-near unkillable. The other mechsuiters and battlesuiters already got it.”

  Straker searched her eyes, seeing the concern and determination there. “Okay. How long will it take?”

  “Five minutes.” She patted the canopy of the coffin-like tube. “Here you go.”

  Straker checked his chrono, and then hopped in. The canopy closed. Through the crystal he could see the golems watching. They all nodded at him in unison. He felt the sting of injections, and his consciousness faded for a moment.

  When he came to and the canopy opened, he checked his chrono. Five and a half minutes. Close enough.

  “How do you feel?” Mara asked.

  Straker sat up and flexed his hands. “Energized… Powerful.”

  “Good. You’ll take a lot of punishment, and you’ve got five times your normal strength—which is already five times a normal man. Your bones are toughening up even as we speak, otherwise you might break them trying something impossible. You’ll even be able to survive unharmed in vacuum for several minutes if you need to. Remember to recalibrate your mechsuit.”

  “I will. Thanks, sis.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He turned to leave. “Golems, follow me to the armory.”

  Mara spoke up. “Derek?”

  “What, Mara?”

  “This fight will be ugly. Don’t be human today. Be what you were made to be.”

  Straker lifted his head and stared at the blinking EXIT sign above the door. “A killing machine.”

  “Death on two legs.”

  He snorted derisively. “Like a golem?”

  “Like an avenging angel. And Derek?”

  “What, Mara?”

  She hugged him from behind, briefly. “Bring her back.”

  “Count on it.”

  He stalked out. Her touch and her words lingered like ghosts.

  The golems filed down the passageways behind him. Crew braced the wall or slipped into side corridors as the line of bizarre humanoids tramped in unison toward the armory, where they quickly equipped themselves with comlinks, weapons, gear and ammo. Of course, Straker didn’t need to say a word or give a command. Each golem had his mind, his memories, his expertise and decisiveness. Elite soldiers, elite leaders, elite followers, elite operators.

  What he couldn’t do with an army of these. He recalled his idea about special operations teams.

  No!

  That was a temptation of Biblical proportions. He couldn’t give in. Golems were little better than Hok, morally speaking. Perfect battle-drones, even if, once created, they chose to live and die for the Breakers. Their one saving grace was they didn’t destroy a real human in the making. Yet, creating sentient beings doomed to disintegrate and die within days was nearly as evil. He told himself he’d never do it again.

  He wondered whether he was lying.

  Once equipped, the golems marched to the flight deck. There, they loaded into landers. Straker could see the battlesuiters watch curiously, also loading. What could he say to them? Better not to go into detail, but they would need some explanation.

  “Straker to Bronke.”

  The battlesuit co
mpany commander responded immediately. “Bronke here.”

  “You heard about the golems, I’m sure. The ones that took down several enemy ships at Humbar?”

  “I heard through the grapevine, sir. I have to say, that’s creepy.”

  “Believe me, I know. They were made of me. So are these forty you see here. We’d never do this if the situation weren’t so desperate. The brainiacs made them and we have to use them—but they’re not me, not General Derek Straker. You don’t take their orders. Even so... listen if one tells you something. Coordinate with them. Use your best judgment.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “Straker out.”

  Along one wall five mechsuits stood—Hetson’s squad, already buttoned up, plus Straker’s own suit, standing open. He wished Loco’s suit were here. Loco could switch out with another pilot, but that would be horribly unjust. Besides, suits were individualized. It would take hours in diagnostic mode to fully adapt one to a new pilot.

  And they didn’t have hours.

  That reminded him to climb in gingerly and recalibrate his cockpit for his new level of strength. The wraparound body sensors were backups and augmentations to the brainlink inputs, everything working in unison, a system of systems that needed to harmonize: mind, body, machine.

  A killing machine, he’d told Mara honestly.

  He looked forward to the killing, ached for it, as a man thirsted for water in the desert or lusted for a lover.

  First things first. He opened the ship’s view in his brainlinked VR HUD, absorbing that familiar feeling of flying through space, the ship’s sensors becoming his own senses.

  Trollheim was on course for the enemy base and accelerating. The three skimmers followed immediately behind the dreadnought—covering her against the sneaky Vulps, no doubt. Ahead, the Lithoids readied themselves for battle with the Predator space forces.

  Straker tried to do a force comparison, rocks versus enemies, but the Lithoids were so unconventional and the data so thin that the SAI couldn’t provide an answer. The Lithoids were terrifyingly powerful, but they were far from indestructible... and he had no idea what awaited them at the base. Was it a fortress, or a logistical center? What was it doing out here in Hell’s Reach? What was the Axis of Predators planning?