"Before I was made prisoner, I had discovered an Ancient artifact. It granted me a vision, but it was interrupted when my traitorous brothers cast me into the Void. When Chimera first found me, they broke the seal on my prison, and the vision resumed. I caught a glimpse of the plane of ascendance and of the doorway that leads there. Even as I recorded what I saw, the memories fled."
The white mists around the Primelord began to dissipate.
“When I checked what I had recorded, I realized I had the plans for an engine the likes of which I had never seen. The Project Zero plans the Omnion gave to the Terrans and Shanti were of my making. The Omnion believed their gods had passed them through their oracle-drive, of course. But I had Project Zero built. When powered with a black crystal, her core will create a bridge to the Void."
Grimshaw’s mind slipped further, and all but the white sand around his feet was swallowed by shadow. "You just broke free of the Void, yet you wish to return?"
"Once I've established power, I will use Project Zero to pull my Valayru brothers free from the Void. Then we will complete the rending."
"You believe you can conquer the galaxy so easily? The other species will see past your lies eventually. They’ll lock you away again."
"The knowledge to lock anyone in the Void has been lost." The Primelord laughed, the echoes growing louder. "Besides, you set your sights too low. I have no desire to be lord over a glorified prison system."
"You've already broken free of the Void."
"Don't you see?" He gestured to the dark spaces around them. "The entire universe is a prison. In leaving the Void, I have only broken free of my cell."
An unbearable weight crushed Grimshaw’s spirit, and his celestial legs wobbled wildly. "You aren't making...sense. I've seen visions. All those lives you and your people took. You killed...so many...all so that you could be trapped in the Void."
Their wrestle for power continues, but Grimshaw knew he was done.
"I don't expect you to understand, Grimshaw. Though, you will once I’ve finished consuming your mind. Not that it will matter by then. How many mortal lives is an Ancient's life worth? How many lower life forms have you consumed, whether it be animal or plant?"
"Animals aren’t as intelligent as us. And plants aren’t intelligent at all.”
"If it is a matter of intelligence, are Ancients not significantly more intelligent than all other sentient life forms? Are they not above sentience? The gap between an Ancient's intelligence and a Terran’s makes the difference between Terrans and plants a meagre thing. Have you even considered that some animals and plants are more intelligent than the so-called leading species of the galaxy but have chosen not to reveal as much?"
Grimshaw kept prodding for a chink in his armor. "But...you are not an Ancient."
“Soon, I will become something greater, and I will show all forms of life the way.”
“No…life deserves to be free.”
"Free? Free to do what?"
"To choose!”
“Grimshaw, you are to me as wild beasts are to you, but you do have a choice. Whether you become an oxen that pulls the plow or a cow on the dining table is entirely up to you.”
"That is not freedom."
"It is more freedom than what is given to a piece of steak. All this talk of freedom and death is beginning to bore me. We are caught in a constant state of birth, death, and rebirth within the third dimension while those who have ascended enjoy a reality we can't even begin to comprehend. A reality beyond such petty considerations as life and freedom. When some die, they are granted an opportunity to ascend. Most fail and return to another flesh golem within the prison walls, and the cycle continues. I wish for all life to ascend to that higher plane. I wish for all beings to enjoy true freedom."
"That would require all life dying."
The Primelord nodded. "Exactly."
"Then what?"
"Once all life has entered the higher planes, we will educate those who held the doors closed on us.”
"You want to conquer gods?"
"Conquer is a strong word...I merely wish for them to understand."
"Understand?" Grimshaw asked, clutching at straws.
"Understand," the Primelord repeated with more vehemence. "I will have them understand how much they need us. How wrong they were to hold us here in our ignorance. They will understand."
Hoping he'd worked Asheroth up sufficiently, Grimshaw pushed what little he had left into the trap.
The last of the white sand vanished. White mist swirled and tightened around Asheroth's corporeal form.
Grimshaw pulled back control, flinging his awareness back into his body, knowing it was the last time he would be able to do so.
He hung by the end of the tether, the rope's fringes pressed between his thumb and index finger.
"You want the gods to understand?" He held his hand above O'Donovan's console. "How about you understand this, asshole!”
His hand slammed down on the weapons terminal and activated the nuke detonation protocol.
A ten-second timer counted down on the display.
Memories of his contact with the Kragak gods flashed in his mind. Knots twisted in his gut. Even if he took Asheroth out of the picture, other Valayru would eventually break free of the Void.
But he had delayed the end.
He had bought the others time.
He just hoped it was enough.
And he hoped that Clio survived, for even if she didn’t know it, the fate of the galaxy and all life in it rested in her hands.
46
Incoming
The pod’s warning lights turned red, and the launch alarm rang out. If Clio didn’t strap in, she’d be plastered all over the pod’s rear panel.
She quickly stowed the camera spheres in a wall compartment before jumping into her seat.
Her blood-covered hands slipped as she tried to fasten her harness.
"Brace," Ascari announced.
The pod fired its primary thrusters.
Clio was almost flung from her chair.
She pulled on the harness with everything she had, the effort almost tearing an arm out of her socket. She fought for every inch and finally hoisted herself back into the chair just as the pod accelerated. She gritted her teeth and wrestled with the buckle, trying to force the clasps together.
They snapped with a hiss and a click.
The red light faded to yellow.
Clio’s chest heaved hard against the harness as she caught her breath.
She activated her chair’s VD and watched the North Star disappear in the shadow of the Monolith. The Chimeran ship began to shrink.
White streaked behind the dreadnaught.
Clio ran the pod’s scanners.
Grimshaw had detonated the nuke O'Donovan planted inside the debris field.
She squeezed her armrest as she zoomed in for a better visual.
The Monolith was pelted by a wave of rocks and ship debris.
Lightning sparked across the dreadnought, and the vessel jumped, leaving the tiny spec of the North Star on its own.
Scattering rocks and debris smashed the frigate, tearing it to pieces.
Clio covered her eyes as the North Star’s core erupted.
"No…" she whispered.
"Objects incoming," Ascari warned. "Brace for impact."
The pod rocked violently.
Clio scrunched her eyes as debris pelted the hull like hailstones.
The pod shook and screeched.
Clio broke into a cold sweat.
Asheroth wanted the North Star to take him somewhere, but it was gone now. And Grimshaw was gone with it. Did that mean the Primelord was dead? Who was Professor Munro, and why would he have been interested in her? Why did the Tal’Ri want Booster so badly? And what about everything that had happened on the Foundry? She was supposed to be a Nahvoy…his protector. She was supposed to protect the Sar Hadarr.
She had failed.
She couldn'
t believe Grimshaw had forced her off the North Star against her will, but a small voice in the back of her head told her that she should have known better. Grimshaw had always looked out for her…even in a roundabout kind of way.
The pelting debris abated.
She closed her eyes and stepped through a series of breathing exercises Zora had taught her and took stock of the situation. She hoped Taza had found out where Zora was.
I hope they’re okay.
The rocking stopped entirely, and Clio opened her eyes.
She ran a diagnostics check and found that the pod was largely okay. Booster was stable, though his injuries required urgent attention.
"Secondary blast wave incoming," Ascari warned. "Brace for impact."
The pod shook and clunked again.
A crash behind almost deafened Clio.
She checked the VD in time to see a spinning asteroid.
The rock struck.
Alarms whined.
The pod spun into oblivion.
Clio spun with it.
And she didn’t care.
To Be Continued in Bridging The Void…
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Battle of Gorthore
A Galactic Sentinel Story
1
Zeta Team
Confederation Marines brave the narrow line between light and shadow. Under the gaze of death, they battle humanity’s greatest foes. For the greater good, they give their years and sometimes their lives. By all accounts, Confederation Marines are heroes.
At least, that’s what the recruitment flyer said. But crouched inside a cramped bomber-class service tube, Lance Corporal Grimshaw wasn’t feeling very brave. And he sure as hell wasn’t a hero.
Thin emergency lighting strips cast a red dullness through the Narwal V-3 bomber’s interior. The ship wasn’t built for passengers, but that didn’t stop Fleet Six from ripping her guts out and stuffing eight Marines inside. Even with all but her most necessary innards removed, there was barely enough room to crouch let alone stand.
Grimshaw’s shoulder plate scratched the bulkhead as he forced his way deeper into the weapons hold. The lack of power going to his suit’s servos didn’t help matters. They had been ordered to run emergency systems only, in case any enemy ships in the areas picked something up.
He emerged in a slightly broader space, the torpedo launch bay. Two rows of hollowed out missiles hung above launch tubes on each side of the bay. There were eight retrofitted drop pods in total. Both rows of four faced each other. The covers were open, exposing the empty spaces inside the two shells closest to Grimshaw. The others were also uncovered but contained six suited-up Marines.
Bar Sergeant Richards, who was running final checks with the Narwhal’s crew, Grimshaw was the last to climb inside his torpedo. He threw one leg forward and twisted his body. His other foot caught on the edge of the torpedo’s opening. He slid inside, one leg sticking out at an awkward angle. He clenched his jaw and hoisted himself up with one arm. Using the other, he bent his uncooperative leg at the knee and dragged it inside the tube. He fell into place the way he initially intended.
Johnstone chuckled, but Grimshaw was breathing too hard to bitch about it. His fingers, also clumsy without power, fumbled with the harness buckle for what felt like an age. Finally, the metal clip clicked into place with a hiss and the harness retracted automatically, tightening around his waist and shoulders.
Craning his neck, he could just about make out the edges of the black hole under the makeshift pod. Soon, he’d sail down that launch tube into the void.
Such an orbital drop wasn’t exactly conventional, but the mission called for creative thinking, and Sergeant Richards had always said that being conventional in war was a sure way of getting more people on your side killed.
The Narwhal hurtled towards Gorthore using momentum borrowed from one of the planet’s moons. With a bit of luck, the bomber would release the stripped-down torpedoes, sending eight Marines to the planet’s surface unnoticed.
Grimshaw wasn’t feeling very lucky either.
“We’ll be within range of planetary scanners soon,” Corporal Lynch said in the pod to Grimshaw’s left. With the vox offline, he strained his ear to hear. “Deactivate all tactical exoframe kit emergency systems minus life support.” Her voice, though lower than usual, was no less commanding.
Grimshaw obeyed, tapping the serial interface gate on his left forearm. The quiet hum inside his TEK stopped, and the warmth surrounding his limbs subsided immediately.
“All we’re running on now is air, folks,” Johnstone quipped louder than anyone wanted. He looked at Grimshaw from the row opposite. “Let’s hope our TEK insulation systems hold up. Or we’ll hit the ground with our balls and tits frozen off.”
The Marine chuckled at his own joke.
Johnstone was six-foot-four and full of muscle. He was something of a loudmouth, but the biggest idiots usually were. One day, he tripped over his own feet and fell on top of a Commander, breaking the guy’s collar bone. That earned him the nickname Sledge. At least that was the story Grimshaw was told. He’d never worked up the nerve to ask whether it was true. The meathead was also known for his short fuse.
“Space can’t freeze what you don’t got, Sledge,” Corporal Lynch hissed. “Keep your damn voice down! Intel couldn’t confirm what scanning tech the Krags got out this way, and I’d sooner burn in hell than let your loud trap get us all smoked.”
The exchange elicited quiet laughter from the other Marines.
Sledge merely grinned like a fool.
It didn’t take long for the mirth to die down, however.
Silence descended, broken occasionally only by the faint clanking of expanding and contracting metal.
Low bleeping issued from Grimshaw’s left as Corporal Lynch worked at her serial interface gate.
He checked his own SIG and found only five minutes had passed since he’d climbed into the torpedo. It felt more like an hour.
Lynch continued working, probably running over the mission details again. She was obsessive that way, but Grimshaw couldn’t blame her. When Sarge wasn’t around, Lynch acted as squad leader. If anything happened to Sarge on the ground, the buck stopped with her. That was a heavy load to carry. But Lynch was more than capable. Her cool head and steely resolve when under high-stress conditions weren’t the only things that landed her the gig. She brought a long list of skills to Zeta Team, but she specialized in scanners and comms.
Hell, every Marine on Zeta Team brought something to the table.
Everyone but Grimshaw.
Sledge was a slab of meat with a few brain cells, but he could deploy a mobile artillery unit in seconds. Garcia was a tech wizard and could repair gear on the fly with spit and a roll of duct tape. Of all the Marines Grimshaw had ever known, she was the deadliest with a knife. Despite being the smallest in the group, no one could take Chao down in hand-to-hand combat. Perez and his rifle could hit a target at seven-hundred yards without augmentation. Sanderson knew everything there was to know about demolitions. And Sergeant Richards was a legend in his own right.
The best Grimshaw could do was bandage a wound, and he wasn’t even competent with a medical kit at that.
Every other Marine had seen at least one deployment on or near the front lines.
Grimshaw’s involvement in the Kragak War was limited to bolstering defenses in the Sol system, two years on the moons of Jupiter, and a rotation in the Centauri System. He expected to see at least some action while guarding Galactic Gate Alpha, but Krag ships had little need for jump-gates, and the aliens preferred mindless assaults over tactical strikes on key locations. The Krags were a galactic hammer and humanity was a bunch of nails.
In fact, the post at G-Gate Alpha came with plenty of down time. That was why he partook in the Confederation Science Division’s little experiment. That was the one thing everyone on Zeta Team had in commo
n. They were among the few to make it to the other side of the Fury Program with their minds still intact…for the most part anyway.
That was the real reason Grimshaw got assigned to Gorthore. Not because he packed mad skills or was some kind of hero. But because he was one of the few test subjects to survive a lab experiment involving highly classified and somewhat controversial technology. He’d seen what the Fury Drive implants had done to less fortunate subjects. The sudden descent into madness and what followed.
He pushed the thought from his mind. He was about to land on Gorthore by a mere stroke of luck, and bad luck at that.
Grimshaw eyed Sledge. He wasn’t the brightest star in the sky, but the others on the squad respected him all the same. Even his jaw looked like it did push-ups. The lump-of-a man looked like a giant toy stuffed inside a box that was too small for it. He had short-cropped, blonde hair, eyes that spent most of their time glazed over, and a tanned, pockmarked face.
Lynch couldn’t have cut a bigger contrast. She had shoulder-length red hair and green eyes sharp as razor blades with a silver tongue to match. She was average in height, her build slender yet powerful. Her hard-set expression occasionally took on a softer, friendlier edge.
As heat seeped from Grimshaw’s TEK, breath misted his visor. Each puff of white didn’t last long on the anti-misting layer, but the fading clouds grew anew with every breath. Cold worked its way into his fingers and toes. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing like Chao had once shown him during training. Slow deep breaths in through the nose and out through the mouth. He told himself that he wasn’t cold, that it was all in his head. But even as he thought the words, images of frozen Marines floating through space flashed through his mind. The cold didn’t bother him so much as the thought of tumbling through nothing until he either suffocated or froze. Outside the Narwhal, only two narrow layers of armor plating would separate them from total oblivion.
It took all Grimshaw had not to piss in his suit. Shouldn’t have drank so much water before leaving the SS Hermes. Damn temperature change squeezing my bladder, he lied to himself.
The Galactic Sentinel: Ultimate Edition: 4 Books with 2000+ Pages of Highly Entertaining Sci-Fi Space Adventure Page 116
