by Chris Fox
A dozen mechs painted a muted grey and white stood in a precise line, their pilots clustered around a mess table a little ways off. Only their commanding officer was missing.
Behind the mechs stretched an abandoned human city, left empty when the Void Wraith had harvested the entire colony. They'd constructed a massive factory, sprawling around the base of the largest space elevator Fizgig had ever seen. A thick white cable stretched into the sky above, disappearing into space.
It was a practical, effective design. Raw materials were harvested all over the planet, then refined into usable components on the ground. Those components were ferried into space, then assembled into their final form. Had the factory been online for more than a few days, it was unlikely they'd have won the war.
"You wanted to see me, Admiral?" Burke asked from behind her.
"I did." Her tail flicked behind her, sketching her anxiety. She turned to face Burke, pleased that the newly promoted Major was able to hold her gaze. "We've given you what you've requested. You have the latest iteration of our booster mech. They're lighter, faster, and pack the new handheld theta cannons. Yet every combat exercise has resulted in your total destruction at the hands of a planetstrider."
"Was there a question in there, sir?" Burke asked. He still stood at attention.
"Can your unit learn to kill planetstriders?" Fizgig asked, clothing the question in pragmatism.
"Yes, sir," Burke said. He licked his lips. "Sir, permission to speak frankly?"
"Granted." Fizgig folded her arms, leaning against the balcony behind her. She liked Burke. He'd been an excellent choice, perhaps even better than Nolan. Nolan was good, but he was far too self-reliant. Officers learned to make use of their subordinates.
"There are two problems we need to solve. The first is that a mobile planetstrider is a hazard in and of itself. The wind generated by one of their steps can knock a booster mech out of the air, and once we're on the ground we're helpless." Burke raised a hand to shade his eyes, looking at her candidly. "We need a way to immobilize the striders if we want to take them out."
"And the second problem?" Fizgig asked. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sun on her fur.
"You've got to find me more experienced pilots." Burke's boots clicked across the tile, and he stopped next to her. She could smell the goop humans smeared under their armpits. "We only have two months to get ready, and seven of my pilots have never fought a battle. The other five have never seen more than one. A third of them are going to break during their first engagement, and that's going to spook another third."
Fizgig opened her eyes. "Burke, I received a holo call from Dryker this morning. The Senate is attempting to pass a resolution banning the use of any Void Wraith technology. There is talk of impeaching him. Dryker fears that if we fare poorly against the Ganog here, it could lead to civil war. The races will fragment, and the survivors will be gobbled up by the Imperium."
"Sir, I--that's terrible, but what does that have to do with Alpha Company?" Burke rested his hands on the balcony, staring down at his new command.
"It has everything to do with it," Fizgig snapped. She turned to face the new company as well, staring down at the gleaming mechs. "I have been assigned an impossible task, Burke. I must use inferior resources to triumph over a superior foe. This Takkar is a canny, bold commander. He will come with a force many times stronger than our own. For our triumph to have even a glimmer of being born, I must best him in space. That is where this war will be decided."
Fizgig's tail thrashed behind her. She turned to Burke, fixing him with the same stare Admiral Mow had used on her in her youth.
"You have also been assigned an impossible task, but I cannot aid you any farther. You must work with what you have. Teach these men to fight, Burke. And find a way to immobilize the enemy. Do it without getting your unit wiped out."
"It doesn't make me feel any better that your job is harder than mine, but for what it's worth you've got my sympathy, sir. I should get back to training." Burke sighed, then started for the door. He paused in the doorway. "Admiral, I will do everything in my power to get them ready. I can't make any promises past that."
Fizgig closed her eyes again, once again enjoying the sun. "None of us can, Burke. None of us can."
14
The Price
Takkar hopped from the transport disk, moving to join the empress on her observation island. The empress was alone, save for a single adept. Not just any adept, either. Master Yulo himself.
The wizened master's fur was a pristine, snowy white. The type of color that every Ganog strove for, one adepts trained lifetimes to attain. Almost all failed. Takkar didn't fear very many adepts, knowing that as an elite he could overpower them with size and strength. Yulo was the exception. Even an elite would need to take care with him.
"Come join us, Takkar. We have much to discuss." Zakanna called, in that high, clear voice of hers. Her mannerisms were different than they'd been during his audience, more precise. More dignified. Almost as if her demeanor the previous day had been an act.
"Highness," Takkar muttered, giving her a respectful half-bow as he approached. "I'm surprised you were willing to meet me alone."
"Yes, that move will surprise a great many people, the seekers most especially." Zakanna smiled at Takkar. "I have a feeling that pleases you, does it not?"
"Of course it does. You know how I feel about the seekers--black-robed leeches, leading good warriors astray. They can't be trusted. Why do you allow so many in your court?" Not a wise question, perhaps, but if ever there was a time to be bold, it was now.
"Tell me Takkar," she replied, turning her attention to the space docks orbiting above the dreadnought. "How badly do you wish your fleet repaired?"
"Ah, here it is, then. The real reason you summoned me." Takkar didn't know why she was reluctant to speak of the seekers, but he wasn't in a position to protest.
"Indeed. You knew there would be a price for my aid. Are you ready to pay it?" Zakanna clasped her hands behind her back, staring up at the cluster of berths. Each held a wounded dreadnought, and a fleet of drones swarmed around them, slowly repairing battle damage.
"You know I have little choice," Takkar admitted. He loathed it. "Make your demands, Zakanna." Using her name was an insult, but if it bothered her she didn't show it.
"I want twelve worlds, of my choice," Zakanna said, mildly, as if asking him for a horn of nectar. "I want their labor-slaves, and their resources. Those worlds will be chosen from those you stole from the Yog a decade ago."
Takkar closed his eyes, flaring his lower nostrils. He sucked in several greedy breaths, struggling to find the words he knew he needed to speak. "Very well. I accept. You realize the position that places me in?"
"Of course I do." Zakanna smiled coyly at him. "You'll be committed. If you give away those worlds your own people will unseat you...unless you deliver them something even greater--such as a world that can produce cores."
"You are a cruel woman, Zakanna. I must admit that I am impressed." Takkar glanced at Yulo, and found the master's piercing eyes fixed on him. He looked quickly away. "I am neatly trapped. I must accept, and I must commit everything to victory against the Coalition. If I succeed, you are enriched. If I fail, you still gain back a dozen prime worlds."
"Indeed." Zakanna's expression grew serious. "Make no mistake, though, Takkar--I am also committed to your success. You must win this battle. Tell me, what have you learned of the enemy commander?"
"I have learned much about her." Takkar's fur settled into a blue-green, more curiosity than anything else. "The colonies we raided possessed many public archives. These archives speak plainly about the commander, a Tigris by the name of Fizgig. The humans speak of her with fear and anger, the Tigris with reverence. Her battle record is long and storied, and she's never lost a battle of any real significance."
"Can you best her?"
"I can best her, if I have the full support of the Yog Clan--if my dreadnough
ts are repaired, and your planetstriders added to mine. You say that you are committed to this victory. Are you really?" Takkar eyed her soberly. Such candidness was rare among Ganog nobility, and he found it refreshing.
"Indeed I am. I will begin repairs on your fleet immediately. I will have a techsmith send you the list of worlds I require. You do not need to make their acquisition public until after the battle." Zakanna's gaze had taken on a strength Takkar would have sworn she didn't possess. For the first time he realized just how cunning she must be.
The Imperium believed in her decadence, her fixation on becoming an adept. They dismissed her, never realizing just how canny she was. That was a mistake he'd never make again.
15
Nameless Ones
Nolan took a deep breath, then forced himself into motion. He and T'kon walked into the spire, into the stronghold of a potentially hostile host. He glanced at T'kon. "You're certain you want to do this?"
"It is the only way, Nolan. Please, do as we've discussed." T'kon trailed off as they approached a pair of Ganog elites flanking the entryway into the heart of the spire.
"Hannan, sitrep," Nolan whispered under his breath, nodding politely to a Ganog elite as he threaded after T'kon into the crowd of Ganog thronging the main room.
"We're all in position, sir. If you get into trouble, give us the word and we'll blast the ever-living shit out of anything that chases you out of that building."
"Acknowledged. Thanks, Hannan." Nolan kept his plastic smile in place, unsure how he was supposed to interact with these Ganog.
The party was somehow both dignified and raucous. Laughter boomed throughout the room, warriors slapping each other on the back. Most held drinking horns, Saurian attendants moving quickly to refill them. Oddly, there was nothing resembling a chair in the banquet hall. Thus far, every last Ganog he'd seen had been standing.
He spotted a black robe moving in his direction, and suppressed the urge to ignite his plasma blade. T'kon had insisted Nolan not wear his sidearm, as that identified him as a warrior. Doing so meant other warriors could challenge him, and at least a few of the more drunken elites would probably do exactly that.
As Nolan had no wish to become a Ganog soccer ball, he was fine with just the plasma blade.
"No-lan," called a gruff voice. "I would have words with you."
Nolan sighed, then plastered his smile back in place. He turned to face the speaker, the black-robed Ganog who'd been approaching. Not just any Ganog, either--Nolan was fairly certain he was looking at Oako.
The Ganog had broad, well muscled shoulders under his robes. Tiny purple tattoos lined his eyes, some sort of sigils. The Ganog's breath was fetid, almost rotting. Nolan fought a gag reflex.
Oako clutched an arcanotome to his chest, the purple circuitry giving his features a demonic cast.
Nolan wasn't certain how to address a seeker, but clearly Oako expected a response. "Hello, Oako. What can I do for you?" he asked, rather lamely. He was out of his element, dealing with an entirely new species.
"Your race, what is it called?" Oako asked, his eyes narrowing under his shadowed hood.
"Human," Nolan supplied.
There was a brief flicker where Nolan caught recognition from the seeker.
"Where do you come from?" Oako pressed. Pulses of purple flowed up the black cable into his temple. Nolan darted a glance at the source, but could only see a corner of the arcanotome.
The casing looked like a book, the elaborate kind found in archival libraries. It was forged of a dark, oily metal. Large runes dotted the cover, their purplish glow peeking out from under the Ganog's robes.
Nolan was damned impressed. If you wanted to be feared, having your priests use technology you didn't understand, while looking like pre-dawn nightmares...Machiavelli would be proud.
"I'm told that this area of space is called the 2nd octant, right?" Nolan asked. He found the notion of dividing the galaxy up into eights both interesting and useful. It made it easier to classify where different species lived.
"That is correct."
"My species comes from the 3rd octant. We're called the Coalition of United Races, or the Coalition for short." Nolan studied Oako, and again saw recognition. He decided to seize the initiative. "I'm told that you seek the gaze of the Nameless Ones. I apologize if this is offensive, but can you tell me what that means?"
Oako eyed Nolan appraisingly for a long time. "The Nameless Ones are timeless entities that arrived in our space countless millennia ago. They devoured worlds, seeking to sate their endless hunger."
"I see." Nolan blinked. The similarity to the Gorthians was unmistakable. "I've heard T'kon speak of avoiding the gaze of the Nameless Ones, and given what you just described I can see why. Why do you seek their gaze if they're going to devour everyone?"
Oako's fur darkened, and his eyes narrowed to slits. He leaned closer, his hot fetid breath wafting over Nolan like chemical warfare. Nolan wished he'd worn his helmet. "You are ka'tok, but still a skilled warrior. I am told you killed Krekon in a duel. For that reason alone, I will converse with you as an equal. If you will tell me more of the technology you brought, I will answer your questions about my faith."
Nolan shrugged. "I'm not authorized to divulge much, but I'll answer what I can."
In truth, he could tell the Ganog whatever he wanted--but far better for him to think of Nolan as a servant to a higher power. Make him chase the secret, thus making it all the more believable.
"Is it true that your techsmiths constructed the core?" Oako eyed him with furious intensity.
"Yes, we manufacture them. They're used in many of our war machines." Nolan studied Oako right back. The Ganog gave a slight smile. "Most are manufactured at a single world, thousands every day. The shipyards are incredible."
Interest bubble up in Oako's gaze, but the Ganog didn't press. "You asked why we seek the gaze. At the dawn of our species, the Ganog fell under the terrible gaze of the Nameless Ones. They devoured many worlds, yet our form pleased them. They knew us for mighty warriors, and they gave us ships, and weapons. The Nameless Ones built Imperalis, birthing the Imperium. Aided by their Ganog fleets, the Nameless Ones devoured the second octant. When they finished, they left our space to seek other worlds to devour. Seekers understand that the Nameless Ones will return one day, and when they do we will stand ready once more. We will take up our arms, enacting their terrible will. That, little human, is why seekers seek the gaze of the Nameless Ones. We do this knowing that our race will suffer greatly, but after the Nameless Ones have enacted their plan they will depart, and our descendants will once again be free."
Nolan went numb. Pieces clicked together, enough that he finally thought he saw the whole picture. Or most of it at least. The Gorthians had come to the Primo empire, creating the Void Wraith. When they'd completed their eradication they were still hungry, so they must have come here.
The Milky Way was a damned large place. What if the Gorthians were migratory, slowly devouring the entire galaxy? They could stop in each octant, and by the time they made it back around the worlds they'd depopulated would be ready for another eradication.
"Thank you for explaining your faith, Oako." Nolan finally said, suppressing his growing anxiety. "Is that device your holy book?" Nolan nodded at the arcanotome.
"All books are holy," Oako countered. "The 'device' is my arcanotome. It is linked to my mind, sharing its vast repository of knowledge. Your kind do not possess such devices?"
"We store our data differently--in a central repository anyone can access using one of these." Nolan held up his comm device.
"You freely share such knowledge?" Oako's fur blackened. A riot of pulses flowed to and from his temple, and his eyes took on a faraway look. "Our conversation is at an end, human."
And he turned on his heel, stalking back the way he'd come.
"Sir," Hannan's voice whispered into Nolan's earpiece. "I can have Nuchik core that bastard if you'd like."
Nolan coul
dn't answer of course. He merely nodded at the seeker's retreating form, then turned on his heel and walked the other way. He muttered under his breath, "That didn't go well, but we stick to the plan."
"Didn't go well is an understatement," Lena's voice cut into the comm. "You and I both know who these Nameless Ones must be. All our fears are confirmed."
Nolan didn't reply, instead keeping his head down as he threaded a path as far away from Oako as he could get.
Ganog knowledge was a tightly guarded secret, with only certain castes ever allowed to see it. That made the warrior caste easy to control, because they were dependent on other castes to provide their weapons of war--and to tell them how and what to think.
He accepted a horn offered by a Saurian, but didn't drink. T'kon had warned him what they'd likely serve at the feast, and other sentient beings weren't on his meal plan.
Nolan drifted toward the back of the room, finally catching sight of T'kon. He stood at the back of the room, chatting with a trio of warriors. The conversation seemed amiable, though T'kon kept shooting distracted glances at the central dais. A light-furred Ganog adept in a white robe stood talking to Ro'kan. Her garment looked a identical to the ones the fighters had worn in the holo where he'd seen Khar.
She was pretty, in an exotic way. Her eyes rose briefly, and a soft red rippled through her fur. It was gone quickly, but Nolan saw who she was looking at. T'kon, her former husband.
It was straight out of Homer's Odyssey. The king had come home.
Nolan passed by T'kon, trying to catch the Ganog's eye. T'kon looked his way, and Nolan jerked his head at the corner. He turned to scan the room while waiting for T'kon to approach. Oako had moved onto the dais, and was conferring with two other black-robed seekers. All three had a flurry of pulses flowing to their arcanotomes.
"I've got to get one of those back to R&D," Nolan muttered, though he knew that this wasn't the time.
