by Chris Fox
He should be grateful that the empress had tended to his fleet at all, yet anger still smoldered in his chest. She'd restored all five of the main cannons, the gleaming barrels a brighter white than the rest of the ship around it. She'd restored many of the turrets, perhaps fifty percent per vessel.
The worst of the gashes had been closed, including the one the enemy fighters had used to enter his flagship. Yet the scars remained. Half the turrets were too damaged to fire. The hull was battered and pitted, with some sections weaker than others.
Almost, Takkar opened a channel to the empress. Almost he asked her why she did not wait another ten-day, or ideally why she did not wait three. Yet he did not. It could be construed as greed rather than prudence, and he knew he balanced on the tip of a spire. One sudden gust of wind and he'd be knocked into the abyss.
He knew that launching the attack prematurely was a mistake. This Fizgig was simply too canny a leader, and had already had several ten-days to prepare for his coming. He wasn't naive enough to assume they'd find this factory world undefended. She would be there, waiting.
His only hope lay in springing the trap, and somehow overcoming her. That was going to be damnably difficult with still-damaged ships.
"Clan Leader, I have been assigned to guide you." A raspy voice came from behind.
Takkar turned, his fur reddening as he faced the speaker. It was one of those cursed black-robes, a skinny male with sunken eyes.
"To guide me?" Takkar asked. He walked toward the seeker. "My techsmith hasn't arrived. I take it you are the cause of this?"
"That is correct, Fleet Leader. I took the liberty--"
Takkar stopped listening. He lunged at the black-robe, seizing him by the cable that connected his temple to the arcanotome. Takkar took three running steps, and heaved the black robe over the side of his island. The fool screeched his shock, arms windmilling and robes flapping as he fell. He made it all the way down to the fourteenth island, where Takkar's elites were dining. The black robe smashed to the ground near one of their tables, every bone shattered. After a moment the warriors began to laugh.
Takkar smiled, too, his fur lightening. He tapped a button on the backside of his gauntlet, waiting patiently for the long seconds it took a techsmith to arrive.
"You summoned me, Clan Leader?" the Saurian asked, stepping reluctantly from her disk.
"I did. You will attend me, as you usually do. If a black-robe seeks to take your place, have my warriors tear them apart. A few more deaths and I imagine they'll get the message."
"Of course, Clan Leader." The Saurian gave a low, correct bow. "Clan Leader, a message request was received three minutes ago, and has not been addressed."
"Who is it?" Takkar demanded. He wasn't terribly popular since his defeat, and requests for audiences were vanishingly rare.
"Ro'kan, of the Azi clan." She finally straightened. "Shall I open a connection?"
"Do it." Takkar turned to face the holo unit built into the pedestal near the center of his island. It saw little use as he preferred face-to-face meetings, but warping a man he'd never met onto his island without first asking permission would likely earn him an enemy. He had too many of those as it was, and Ro'kan had cause enough to hate him. No need to fuel that.
The holo unit hummed to life, displaying a life-like representation of Ro'kan's island. Unlike Takkar, Ro'kan was surrounded by a cloud of attendants. It was one of the most obvious signs of inexperience. That many voices caused confusion when a Fleet Leader most needed clarity.
"What do you wish of me, Ro'kan?" Takkar asked. His eyes narrowed when he spotted several black-robes standing behind the Azi clan leader. He counted quickly, realizing they outnumbered the warriors. Takkar's fur blackened.
"The empress has commanded that I am to fight in the vanguard when we assault the Coalition. I wanted to ensure that you were aware of this directive." There was a note of hesitation in Ro'kan's voice.
Yes, definitely new, this one. T'kon would never have made such a mistake.
"The empress has asked that I consider placing you in the vanguard," Takkar allowed. He exposed his teeth, glaring at Ro'kan. "I only allow true warriors into my vanguard."
"Are you questioning my honor, Takkar?" Ro'kan snarled, though not all the fear had left his eyes.
"I count seven black-robes behind you. You court the seekers like a child seeking his mother's breast. No true warrior would allow them to pollute his command island, certainly not during a battle." Takkar took a step closer to the holo unit, leaning toward the image of Ro'kan. "Have them removed from my sight. If you wish to curry to them, that is your own path to ruin. But if you wish to join me in battle, to fight at the head of this mighty fleet, then I had best not see a seeker on your command island again."
Ro'kan looked deeply troubled, and one of the black-robes stepped from the back ranks to whisper in his ear. He nodded, then turned back to Takkar. "Of course, Fleet Leader. You will not see them again."
Takkar severed the connection, frowning. The seekers were growing alarmingly in strength, and their influence over both the Azi and the Yog was deeply troubling.
28
Preparation
Fizgig used a paw to push the icon representing the Tigris orbital defense platform. The nudge moved it next to the top of the space elevator, where the factory itself loomed like a giant mushroom. That factory could produce hundreds of Void Wraith an hour, day after day, year after year. Provided one were willing to feed it both raw materials and a steady supply of sentient beings, of course.
The continent below glowed with a spiderweb of lights, the trams leading to mining operations crisscrossing the continent. There were thousands of deresium deposits, meaning they could make a near endless supply of troops and ships.
"Admiral, the 4th Fleet just arrived," Juliard called from her console. Fizgig nodded absently, filing the fact away. The 4th was the last of the fleets to be outfitted, and its arrival was bittersweet. It strengthened their numbers, but it also meant that no further reinforcements would be arriving. Not before the Ganog did, anyway.
"Have we had any word from Nolan?" Fizgig demanded. She kept her attention on the hologram, dragging a series of dreadnoughts from the palette of enemy ships. How many would they bring? A dozen? More?
"Uhh, I haven't checked in the last hour, sir. It's been hectic dealing with the fleet captains." Neither the slip nor the apology were typical for her. They underscored the intensity of the stress everyone had been under for the last several weeks.
"I will tend to it," Fizgig said. She fished her comm from her belt, scanning her messages. Fizgig tapped the message from Nolan, purring softly as she scanned the contents, then keyed in her priority channel and requested the president's office.
"This is Secretary Watts. How may I help you?" asked a dark-skinned human.
"Where is Dryker, human?" Fizgig demanded, leaning closer to the holo.
"Uh, I'll tell him you'd like to speak to him, Admiral." The human quickly vanished, and Fizgig heard retreating footsteps. A few moments later Dryker ambled into view. He wore a dark, tailored suit, with one of the slender neck ropes the humans seemed to enjoy.
"Hello, Fizgig. It's been a hell of a day." Dryker said. He withdrew a flask from jacket, taking a pull. "Has the payload been delivered?"
"Indeed. The payload has been delivered. There was more news." Fizgig licked her wrist, grooming behind her ear.
"You're going to make me ask for it, aren't you?" Dryker asked, replacing the flask in his breast pocket.
"Yes."
"Okay, what's this extra news, Fizgig?" Dryker asked, rolling his eyes.
"Khar is alive, and on the enemy's capital world." Fizgig didn't suppress the purring.
Dryker's bearded face split in a broad grin. "Is Nolan close enough to extract him?"
"The report doesn't say, but you know Nolan as well as I. He will not leave Khar behind, if there is any way to retrieve him."
"Wonderful. Keep me
posted." Smiling Dryker vanished, replaced by The President. "I'm told the 4th arrived. That means you have all the forces you're going to get. I won't ask you to share it, but tell me you have a plan to beat these bastards."
"I do indeed, Dryker," Fizgig allowed. "I have had ample time to study them, and we are not starved for ammunition as we were in the last battle. When Takkar comes for me, I will be ready. We may not destroy them all, but they will leave here bloodied. What of your...political problems?"
"It's very simple, Fizgig. If you beat the Ganog, and we reveal the ruse, the waters will calm. If we mess up, they'll use this to hang me. You'll end up having to deal with a far less cooperative president." Dryker gave the tale matter of factly, giving an uncharacteristic shrug at the end. "So don't mess this up, and everything is fine. No pressure or anything."
"Yes, 'no pressure.'" Fizgig's tail thrashed behind her. "I will do all I can, Dryker. Just keep the jackals from your throat until I deliver you a victory."
29
Imperalis
"Mmm, Captain." Aluki's voice echoed through the cargo bay. "We've broken atmosphere and are making for the capital. They haven't challenged us, and it looks like we should be able to land safely."
Nolan looked up from the rivet he'd been tightening on the booster mech's right foot. "Acknowledged. Let me know when we're on the ground."
He squeezed the drill one more time, satisfied that the bolt was as tight as he could get it. The booster mech had taken a beating, and he was working on the left leg, while Annie focused on the right.
"You got that thing tighter than Bock's fist around a credit. Come on, we've done a good job. Admire our handiwork, Nolan." Annie gestured proudly at the mech, and Nolan had to admit to a little pride. The leg boosters had been repaired, a bank of bent missile pods was now straight, and they'd replaced the armor on the right shoulder.
T'kon and Hannan ducked through the hatch, both in full environmental armor, both armed with every weapon they owned.
"They're really going to let us walk around dressed like that?" Nolan asked, blinking.
T'kon laughed. "Captain, you still believe our culture resembles yours in some way. Here, might is all that matters. If you express a viewpoint someone disagrees with, they may decide to kill you. If you wish to avoid that fate, you kill them."
"It sounds like chaos." Lena said, scrunching her feline nose in distaste.
"It sounds like my kind of city," Hannan shot back. "I can't wait to see this place. Finally, a city where we don't get busted back to private for putting morons in their place."
"Figures that you'd fit in here," Nuchik said, eyeing Hannan balefully as she strode into the cargo bay.
"Says the girl who violated orders to pop a lizard like a grape. I think you'll fit in fine here too," Hannan taunted.
The exchange lacked the usual heat, though. It felt more like a ritual they were both obligated to perform. Nolan hoped so, anyway. He needed that pair working together.
"So here's the deal," Nolan explained. Everyone focused on him. "This is T'kon's show. He's got a few friends here, and we're just backup. We're going to help him find whatever info he can about Khar. T'kon calls the shots. If he tells you to do something strange, do it. We clear?"
There was a chorus of nods. Nolan clapped T'kon on the shoulder. "All yours."
"Thank you, Captain." T'kon turned to face them. His posture straightened, and his fur settled into a neutral grey. "Finding your companion will be easy enough. The games we observed back on Azi were from the royal spire. Somehow, your friend battled in the royal games. These games are designed to kill, and kill quickly. Yet if your friend somehow lives, those who tend the games will know. I have friends there, and am hoping one will tell us what we need to know."
"Assuming he is there, how do we extract him?" Nolan asked. "I'm guessing the Royal Spire is heavily fortified, right?"
"A direct frontal assault would normally be impossible--however, I was in a battle recently where a ship punched through the defenses of a full spire, disgorged angry death, and carried me to safety." T'kon's fur took on a faint, purplish tint. He gave a wide grin.
Nuchik started to laugh. The sound was a little terrifying at first, simply because Nolan had never heard it before. "You want to punch a hole in their palace, so we can take Khar right out of the middle of a televised sporting event? Captain, I know we don't see eye to eye on many things, but I have to say...I have never been so happy I requested an assignment."
"If you're happy about the prospect of kicking a hole in a hornet's nest, then pissing inside, well you're probably in the right outfit, sister." Annie elbowed Nuchik in the side, and Nuchik smiled. Annie turned to Nolan. "This plan sounds stupid enough that they might not expect it."
"Maybe. T'kon, if we pulled this off, wouldn't they mobilize an aerial response? We need to reach high orbit for the cruiser to warp, and there are a dozen dreadnoughts up there."
"You are correct." T'kon nodded. "If we were to attempt an extraction right now, we'd be unlikely to escape. However, if we wait a few days, it's very likely the fleet will be departing to make war on your people. When that happens, that would be the time to strike."
30
The Time is Now
Utfa's footsteps echoed through the cavernous spire, up into the darkness near the tip. At first glance the place appeared deserted, piles of rubble and refuse dotting a room that had not seen light in years. Empty spires had become increasingly common in the last few decades, making this place unremarkable, save for its proximity to the Royal Spire.
"They are waiting, Emissary," hissed a quiet voice from the shadows.
Utfa couldn't see the speaker, but he knew the Ganog's voice. They'd served as warriors in the Kthul clan, an eternity ago. Before either one of them had sought the gaze of the Nameless Ones.
"You have done well, brother," Utfa murmured, following the robed figure through a gap between two piles of rubble. They led to a hastily erected mound, a miniature version of the ones that sheltered planetstriders. Stone, metal, and garbage had been drawn together to create a simple refuge.
Utfa ducked inside, removing his hood as he stepped into the smoky dimness. A fire flickered in the center of the little room, a thin streamer of smoke disappearing through the gaps in the rough ceiling.
Six warriors knelt in a half-circle--three female and three male. They were the best of the latest crop, the strongest warriors who had yet to throw off the shackles of their caste. Any one of them would have been a formidable opponent, but together they were a force of nature. And they'd yet to take the arcanotome. There was no way to identify them as seekers.
"Welcome, brothers and sisters," Utfa began, moving to stand before the assembled warriors. Not a one looked up, a product of the earliest phase of their training. "You have been called here today to fulfill a mighty purpose. You will usher in the next world, the world of our masters, those whose names must not be spoken."
"In their gaze shall we be reborn," the six chanted as one.
Utfa gave a long, slow smile. They were prepared.
"Here is what you will do. You will approach the Royal Spire as supplicants. You will await the call to attend the empress. When you are summoned into her presence, you will slay her."
"Elder," one of the women protested, raising her head. Not high enough to look him in the eye, of course. "Will she not recognize us?"
"You will remove the robes you have been granted, and you will don the armor you wore when you were members of the warrior caste," Utfa instructed. He had, after all, considered this very problem. "When you have finished in this task you will be formally inducted into the seekers, and you will receive your tattoos. If you die in the attempt, you will be elevated by the Nameless Ones."
"Thank you master," the woman murmured, bowing her head.
"Go now. Remember that this death is necessary to the plans of our unknowable masters. If the empress draws breath when the sun sets, their terrible gaze will fall
upon you, wherever you seek to hide." Utfa growled, making the words the direst of threats. Several of the warriors had their fur pale to ashen grey.
Utfa raised his arms, and the warriors stood as one. They filed from the room, drawing a second smile from Utfa. The volley had been loosed. It was the first herald of the great change that would soon overtake Imperalis and the whole of the Ganog Imperium.
Now, he needed to learn about these guardians.
31
Decision
Khar stood rigidly behind the empress, every inch a Tigris honor guard. He was out of place among the rest of her attendants, who stood in relaxed clusters, chatting amiably as they waited for the next audience.
This had been going on for several hours, as group after group of supplicants met with Zakanna. She'd been true to her word, allowing Khar to observe as she met with fleet leaders, clan leaders, and clusters of black-robed Ganog. Khar understood that they were part of a religious caste, though he had no idea where they fit in the hierarchy. Given the mixed reactions from the other attendants, it seemed they didn't either.
Almost, Khar believed that she'd keep her word and let him go at the end of the nine days. Almost. He knew it was unlikely, and was still resolved to escape before then. He knew where the warp portal was now, and knew how to get enough credits to use it, in theory at least. All that remained was finding the time and place to best slip away.
"Approach," Zakanna called in a high, clear voice. A cluster of six warriors had just arrived on the edge of the island, their fur a uniform brown-grey. Their armor was a variety of colors, and while Khar couldn't yet place the individual colors he knew enough to guess that they each belonged to a different clan.
That caught his attention. It was rare for the clans to work together, from the little he'd seen. They were in an endless game of one-upmanship, trying to outdo each other in their endless quest for glory and tribute. It wasn't unlike the Tigris, if he were being honest. If anything, the Ganog more closely resembled his race than humanity, or the Primo.
