His speech had grown clearer over the months as their L-viruses became more aligned, but Andrews was right. It was a mere patch on an open wound. Clio was sure she’d noticed his speech regress when he was tired. She suddenly wished to leave on the North Star and wondered what was holding them up. The dreadnaught-class’s interior was more spacious than any other vessel Clio had ever been on, but that didn’t stop it feeling like a prison at times.
They had to figure out a way to cure the virus soon or the Omnion and Booster would be doomed. And they still had Chimera and the Aphnai to contend with. Her desire for revenge hadn’t been completely extinguished, but she had learned to bide her time. She would still make Chimera and the Aphnai suffer for what they’d done. It was just going to take a little longer than she’d expected. Time she didn’t have.
3
Night Shadow
Grimshaw fought back a cough as acrid smoke stung his eyes.
They’ll hear me.
He advanced through the blood and mire, the stench of iron and burning flesh raking his sinuses. Some had called Zeta Team mankind’s final hope. Others had called them a hopeless sack of vets; a sad excuse of a squad of Marines. Either way, Zeta had accomplished their primary objective. They had delivered the package and had almost lost everyone doing so. Everyone but Grimshaw…but he was as good as dead anyway. He knew it. He felt it. Right in the pit of his stomach. They knew the odds were stacked against them, but they couldn’t have foreseen an ambush.
Grimshaw’s legs buckled and he fell into the forest litter. He lay panting, trying to steady his nerves. He knew he wouldn’t make it off Gorthore, but that wasn’t going to stop him from trying.
He struggled back to his feet, forcing his boots forward until he stumbled into a cluster of tall bushes. Reaching the edge of the growth, he pushed a handful of branches out of the way. His free hand pressed the plasma burn on his hip, the wound emitting pulsing waves of agony as the last of his painkillers wore off.
He scanned the grassy plane ahead, working out his coordinates using a pointed peak in the distance as a landmark. The extraction point was six miles beyond the next tree-line. The trees weren’t far, but he’d be out in the open for several minutes before reaching them.
He’d be able to hide for a time in there, but the Kragak and their war hounds would find him eventually. At least the forest would cover him from their terrible plasma canons.
He took a deep breath and checked his TEK’s power supply. His battery levels hovered below nine percent. He’d be lucky to make it to the extraction point without them failing. Ditching his armor on a planet like Gorthore was as good as signing one’s own death warrant.
He checked beyond the bushes one last time and gathered himself, steadying his breath. He sprinted into the open. Several times, the unsteady terrain under the tall grass almost tripped him, but he somehow managed to keep his footing.
As he reached the first copse of trees, fire flashed before his eyes. Wood crackled and boughs snapped under the heat of plasma. Thick black smoke clawed at his eyes and choked his lungs. Another flash erupted, flinging Grimshaw from his feet, the world spinning as he descended into hell.
Grimshaw gasped as he lurched forward in bed, clutching his sheets with an iron grip. He eased himself back onto the soggy pillow, wiping cold sweat from his forehead. He checked to make sure he hadn’t disturbed Faye.
She lay next to him, her chest gently rising and falling under the thin sheets.
His SIG showed 0447.
No point in trying to go back to sleep now. Faye will be heading back to her own cabin before Krystine awakens.
He ran his hand through his lengthening hair, making a mental note to get it cut again soon. The food on the Orinmore, if food was what one could call it, was bland at best, but it made his nails and hair grow faster than usual.
He stretched out a knot in his right shoulder and it released with surprisingly little effort. Soon after arriving on the Orinmore, Grimshaw felt rejuvenated. He put it down to being allowed to rest for the first time since the Bakura crashed on Colony 115. Barely a year had passed, but so much had happened since escaping with the North Star. It seemed like a lifetime ago. But being well rested didn’t stop him from drinking coffee in the morning. Despite also being replicated, the java on the Orinmore wasn’t half bad.
He peeled the sheets away and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, once again careful not to bother Faye. She moaned and rolled over but didn’t wake, her breathing easing back into a slow, gentle rhythm.
Grimshaw slipped into a fresh gray uniform and strapped a holster to his hip. Their hosts preferred that guests didn’t use TEKs or arms on board, but they allowed senior officers to carry unconcealed.
He tiptoed to the door and slid into the silence beyond. He made his way to the dorm kitchenette. He turned into the main corridor, and spotted movement out of the corner of his eye. A door shut as someone exited the dorm.
Grimshaw quickly checked the schedule on his SIG and confirmed that his team’s duties didn’t start until 0600.
Probably someone else having trouble sleeping.
He thought it best to make sure they were okay. He hurried into the adjoining corridor in time to see a figure turning into a hallway leading to one of the deck’s primary atriums. Whoever it was, they were in a hurry.
What the hell could be so urgent at this time of the morning?
Grimshaw followed the figure as it wove through unoccupied maintenance hubs and winding corridors. At his distance, he couldn’t make out anything useful about the figure under auxiliary lighting. He maintained a brisk walk in order to keep up.
The shadowed figure stopped and looked over its shoulder.
Grimshaw crouched behind a terminal, hoping he hadn’t been seen. The footsteps continued their hurried pace and Grimshaw resumed his pursuit, taking care to skulk as far back in the darkness as he could without losing the figure. He trailed for about ten more minutes before it disappeared into a systems relay suite.
Grimshaw approached the door and pressed his ear against the cold, white metal. The low hum of machinery vibrated against the side of his head. He counted to ten before waving his hand. The door melted open silently, the hissing storm of cooling fans exploding into the passage.
Keeping low, he crept up against a server rack. A narrow walkway, cutting through two lines of server terminals, led to a wide operations hub. A chilly gust blasted Grimshaw from above as the cooling system’s fans swayed back and forth.
The figure sat with its back to Grimshaw, its silhouette framed by a row of bright displays.
Grimshaw crept closer, weaving in and out of the gaps between the server racks. Reaching the last rack, he peaked through the gridded covers. He could make out a male with dark hair but no details. Several people in his dorm fitted that description.
More importantly, why is he sneaking into a systems relay?
He decided to wait and find out. The man turned sidewise and reached for a control panel. Grimshaw had to stop his jaw from sliding open when he recognized Swigger’s side-profile.
Grimshaw shifted his weight as he considered announcing himself. Instead, he slumped back to wait and see what the sharpshooter was up to.
The Omnion kept a tight control on all incoming and outgoing communications. Hell, it had taken Grimshaw weeks to convince them to let his people hook into the Orinmore’s internal comms systems so they could use their SIGs. His request to contact Admiral Axton had been denied the instant he’d made it. He had to fight tooth and nail to get a short, encrypted message authorized, and leaving a tag for a response had been out of the question.
Grimshaw couldn’t work out who Swigger would need to contact inside the Shroud. Taza was still out on his investigation, but as far as Grimshaw knew, they weren’t the kind of friends who kept regular contact.
Unless he’s trying to get a signal outside the Shroud. But the Omnion claimed that it was almost impossible.
Swigger
worked at the terminal and the display changed color, a blue hue driving back the shadows. A crackled voice spoke. Grimshaw strained his ears but couldn’t make anything out over the server and cooling fans. He cursed the Omnion for making him leave his TEK aboard the North Star. He could have done with his helmet’s directional audio amplifiers.
He shifted his angle for a better look at the display, but Swigger’s head blocked the view regardless. The voice spoke again.
Taking care not to make a sound, he hugged the nearest rack and slid forward, keeping low behind the terminal desk behind Swigger. His eyes darted to the blaster at Swigger’s hip. The sharpshooter hadn’t been cleared to carry. Grimshaw made sure his own blaster was ready and the safety was off.
From the low angle, he couldn’t see the display at all, but he could make out the conversation.
"…it’s been months since we’ve heard from you," a rough male voice said.
Grimshaw wasn’t sure but the accent sounded vaguely Shanti.
"You try hacking an advanced alien vessel and getting a signal through a nebula," Swigger muttered. He seemed to have difficulty speaking.
"We still need the North Star."
"It’s still on board the Omnion dreadnaught. You know I can’t get the ship out of here without Grimshaw," Swigger said. "The computer won’t take orders from anyone else. The damn Omnion made sure of that when they gave the Terrans the designs."
Grimshaw could hardly believe his ears.
"You don’t need to steal the ship by yourself, you idiot. Give Grimshaw and his team a reason to travel to the coordinates we gave you. We’ll take care of the rest."
"Even still, General, that’s easier said than done. Captain Grimshaw is an…obstinate character."
Grimshaw’s hand rested on his blaster. Swigger had betrayed them…but then the person speaking looked like Swigger, but it didn’t sound like him…not exactly. Had he been a double agent pretending to be someone else all along, planted among their ranks by the Confederation?
Have the Confederation found out about my communications with Admiral Axton? Why were the Shanti interested? Was it related to the Shanti civil war? Countless questions raced through his mind, each one giving rise to further questions.
"There’s talk of us leaving to find a cure for the retrovirus soon. That part of the plan is working. Getting the pilot to fly to where we want, however, will be tricky. She’s almost as stubborn as the Captain."
"So, the virus has taken effect? We spent vast resources to deploy the latest strain. Any word from the agents who deployed the virus?"
"The Omnion captured one. They killed another. Those Quamat who remained on the transport escaped to Loth."
"While transporting the Quamat, we kept them in a state of semi-stasis so they didn’t learn how they arrived inside the Shroud. However, if the Omnion have taken one as their prisoner, it is best that you dispose of him, just in case."
"I’ll see what I can do. You might be interested to know that the Omnion have dispatched Taza Arkona to find out how the Quamat made it into the Shroud."
"Even if he does figure it out eventually, it’ll be too late for the Omnion, and we’ll have already taken care of business. This Taza Arkona character has proven more troublesome than we thought. If he continues to get in the way, we’ll deal with him. However, the North Star is your priority. The way in has limits. We need the North Star if we are to reach the Void. You must hurry. Between the Shanti war and maintaining control of the Sentinel, our resources are spread thinner than I would like."
Grimshaw’s stomach suddenly dropped. Swigger wasn’t working for the Confederation or the Shanti in an attempt to retrieve the North Star. He was colluding with Chimera.
But how? And since when? Why didn’t we know?
Questions tossed his mind around like a lump of driftwood. It took everything he had not to launch for the sharpshooter there and then. He found himself with a rare opportunity to learn more about the enemy. He had to wait.
"It would have been so much easier had you disabled the ship while they fled the Sentinel," the General said.
"I couldn’t get control of the host at the time. The Terran they call Zora was also watching me closely."
"Yes, that woman has been another thorn in our hip at every turn," the General said, exasperated. "We will take care of her and Taza Arkona after we’ve secured the North Star. Do what you must to make it work next time. We might not get another opportunity. I suspect the Primelord is ready to choose a body. I wouldn’t like to be the person who has disappointed him when he finally makes the transfer from the Void."
"Of course," Swigger said, his voice shaking.
"The Primelord wants that ship. If we can give it to him before he arrives in the flesh, he’ll reward us both."
"As long as he can provide me with a new body. This one is…weak."
"What did you expect?" the General said. "You hijacked a stinking Terran. You should have taken a Shanti."
"I took what was available to me at the time. Swigger was the best of a poor selection. Besides, I’ve never had a Terran before. The experience has been…interesting. They are an unusual species…their thought matrix is a mess. It’s why I can only bring this one to heel as he sleeps. To be honest, I can’t decide whether the random nature of their mind is genius or immensely stupid…The crazy part is, neither can he. It’s a wonder Terrans have made it so far."
"Does the host suspect anything?" the General asked.
"He thinks he’s been having vivid nightmares, but he is growing more suspicious by the day. We don’t have long before he works it out."
"All the more reason to get the North Star to us sooner rather than later."
Grimshaw had heard enough. He drew his blaster and stepped out of his hiding place. "Swigger, what the hell are you doing?"
Swigger quickly switched the display off and pulled his blaster. A shot fired and the room flashed yellow.
Swigger slumped forward onto the comms controls, smoke rising from the hole in his chest.
"Requesting emergency medical assistance and security at the following location," Grimshaw said on his SIG’s emergency channel.
"What is the nature of the emergency?" a Zaqaran said.
"Blaster wound to the chest. Possible respiratory damage. I caught a member of my team communicating with Chimera. He’s been immobilized, but he might still be a threat. Send security too. Transferring our position."
“Dispatching teams immediately.”
Grimshaw kicked Swigger’s fallen blaster away and removed a knife stowed in the sharpshooter’s utility belt. He leaned in to make sure the threat had indeed been neutralized, ready to fire again if needed.
He found a weak pulse.
I might be getting old, but I’ve still got it, Grimshaw thought with more surprise than pride. He hoped he hadn’t killed the kid. They would need him alive if they were to get answers.
A flashing light on the comms terminal caught his eye. He leaned across and switched channels.
A Shanti appeared on the display and stared at Grimshaw quizzically. He wore a black uniform, not unlike those worn by Chimera troopers on the Sentinel. Rows of medals decorated his right breast. Eyes, more orange than yellow, shone from under the Shanti’s bushy brow, and particularly long ears twitched above his head. Mottled black and silver hair flowed from his head, and countless scars adorned his face, marking him as an experienced combatant. One particularly bad scar cut across his face diagonally, etching notches in his lips and nose, and twisting one bushy eyebrow so that it pointed higher than the other.
"Who are you?" Grimshaw said.
"How nice to finally meet you, Grimshaw…though a pity it’s under such…unusual circumstances." He eyed Swigger slumped over the terminal. "I’m General Ovious."
Grimshaw vaguely recalled that Straiya had mentioned the name once. "You work for Chimera?"
"It seems like you’ve caught on to our little game."
"Swigger�
�s been a Chimera mole the entire time?"
"Not the entire time." The General’s smirk deepen his scars.
"But he fought the Chits on Colony 115. And he fought your people on the Sentinel."
"None of that matters. Let it suffice to say that Chimera possesses various methods of bringing a person to heel. Speaking of which, I have a proposition for you."
"You really think you could turn me to your side?”
"You don’t want to turn down useful information, do you?" General Ovious smirked again. "I know what kind of man you are, Grimshaw. I don’t expect you to accept. But it would be rude of me not to at least extend an offer."
Grimshaw doubted he would share anything useful, but he listened on the off-chance. "Go on."
"Let me start by explaining that if you decline…well, we both know where it will ultimately lead. We’re holding all the good cards. You may be tucked up nice and safe in your little hole right now, but you can’t hide in there forever. When you finally come up for air, we’ll be waiting." The Shanti gave a wicked flash of his canines. "Unless you deliver the North Star to us without trouble. Then we could come to a more amicable arrangement."
"You’re right to assume I wouldn’t accept. I would never hand the North Star over to Chimera."
"I’m sorry to hear that, Captain. But, as you pointed out, I’m not surprised. Warriors like you and I must uphold our honor."
"Honor?" Grimshaw almost spat the word. "The slaughter of civilians on Colony 115. The attacks on the Sentinel. The assassinations. Those are acts of evil. Not honor."
"Ah, but evil is as subjective a notion as good. Good is necessary. As is evil. Without one, you cannot have the other. The trick is in where we direct such evil—if that’s really what you want to call it. As unsavory as they were, the incidents on Colony 115 and the Sentinel were necessary evils. If you could see the bigger picture, as I can, you would realize that they were alternatives to an even greater loss of life."
"Who appointed you the judge over all those lives?"
The Galactic Sentinel: Ultimate Edition: 4 Books with 2000+ Pages of Highly Entertaining Sci-Fi Space Adventure Page 72
