by Chris Fox
Khar watched as the warriors approached, the leader a female with a wicked scar across one cheek. She rested her hand on the hilt of a long knife, and the other warriors did the same. Khar tensed, studying their body language closely. They were guarded, ready for a fight.
He looked to Zakanna, and to her closest attendants. None seemed overly concerned, and the empress delivered a warm smile as the warriors approached. "Welcome. This is an unexpected gathering of clans. The Nyar and Kthul do not normally cooperate, and I am pleased to see you standing together. What request have you brought before us today?"
"Death," the woman said, simply. All six warriors moved as one, fanning out around the empress. Two of the attendants, both robed adepts, were in the way. The first was stabbed in the back repeatedly by a warrior, her body toppling to the warm grass. Blood already covered her back, and a thin stream ran into the grass.
The other attendant was quick, dropping into a defensive stance. He batted away the dagger that came for his throat, delivering a vicious counterattack with a punch to the gut. The warrior's armor absorbed the blow, and he responded with a head butt. The adept's nose shattered, and before he could dance away another warrior rammed a long knife into his side. The adept dropped, but the warrior continued to stab until the warrior stopped moving.
Most of the rest of the attendants fled. Not a single one moved to support the empress, leaving her alone in the midst of half a dozen assassins. She stood there, regal, beautiful, and deadly. The first warrior glided forward, staggering back as a kick flashed into his face.
Khar hesitated. Many of the attendants were still boarding disks, and now would be the perfect opportunity for him to do the same. He could likely escape the palace, while the guards swarmed this island trying to find the Zakanna's killers. He was certain there would never be a better opportunity.
Yet Khar struggled. The empress had shown him nothing but kindness, had demanded nothing of him. Her death would throw the Imperium into chaos, but Khar already thought he knew who'd most profit from that chaos. Utfa would seize control, and Khar had the strong feeling that Utfa would be far worse for the future of the Coalition than the empress.
Khar made his decision. He glided forward, igniting his plasma dagger. One of the warriors broke off to face him, and Khar triggered his evaluation subroutine. He'd been studying the way each warrior moved, and knew their precise speed. The warrior lashed out with his long knife, and Khar allowed it to pass within millimeters of his throat.
He lunged, ramming his cracking plasma blade through the warrior's eye. The scent of burnt flesh and hair filled the island as the warrior collapsed, giving Khar a moment to assess. Four warriors had surrounded the empress, while the fifth hovered in the background clutching a broken arm
Khar charged the pair of warriors behind the empress, forcing them to turn to deal with him. Both moved with skill and grace earned through years of combat, and even with his enhanced body Khar knew that beating them would not be easy.
He lunged at the first, his plasma blade finding nothing but empty air as the warrior leapt backwards. Khar shifted his attack to the other Ganog, reversing his momentum and launching a roundhouse kick. The kick caught the Ganog's hand, knocking the long knife spinning away. It landed in the grass half a dozen steps away, and the Ganog made the mistake of looking at the weapon.
Khar pounced, ramming his plasma-blade into the Ganog's chest. Such a blow would have killed a human, but the Ganog merely stumbled back clutching its chest. Khar followed up, ramming the blade into the throat. This time the Ganog collapsed.
The move was costly, and allowed the other warrior to get behind Khar. Red warning lights bloomed through his lower back as a long knife punched through and emerged from the chest, coated with the sticky red fluid that lubricated Khar's artificial body.
Khar brought his elbow back, crushing the Ganog's cheek with a sickening crunch. The warrior stumbled back, and Khar brought his plasma-blade around in a wicked slash. It caught the Ganog's arm just below the elbow, severing the arm and sending both weapon and arm tumbling to the grass.
"Khar!" Zakanna yelled. He spun to find her beset by the three remaining opponents. Two had a grip on her arms, pinning her in place while the last readied a strike with his long knife. If the blow connected, she'd be decapitated.
"No!" Khar roared, sprinting forward. His power reserves were down to 24 percent, but it would have to do. He leapt into the air, tackling the Ganog around the waist. They tumbled through the grass, wrestling for control. The Ganog was strong, far stronger than a human or Tigris of comparable size.
Khar was flung onto his back, and the Ganog straddled him. It pinned both his arms, then bit down into Khar's throat. It tore out synthetic flesh, leaving Khar's throat a ruined mess.
Then the Ganog made a mistake. It assumed Khar was dying, and rose from his chest, releasing him.
Khar rammed his plasma blade into the creatures crotch, then leapt to his feet. He seized the Ganog by the throat, pitching him off the side of the island. Khar spun to face the empress, who'd gotten free from the last two opponents. She was fighting defensively, one hand covered a red stain over her right side.
"I. Am. Tigris!" Khar roared, sprinting at the next opponent. His reservers dropped sharply as his body affected repairs, sending the gauge down to 9 percent. He didn't care. Khar rammed his blade into the warrior's spine, dropping him to the grass. He pivoted to face the last warrior, who shifted to match him.
The Ganog charged, but Khar was already moving. He leapt into the air, over the Ganog. As the Ganog sprinted by underneath, Khar's plasma blade darted out, sinking though the Ganog's skull. The warrior ran several more feet, then fell dead to the grass.
Khar landed heavily, his HUD a mass of conflicting warnings. He was low on power, heavily damaged, and unable to recharge without assistance.
"Are you all right?" the empress murmured, helping him back to his feet.
"I will live. Are assassination attempts a common part of your day?" Khar asked, sinking to one knee. Down to 7 percent. He shut down everything but critical repairs.
"No. Assassination is rarely used among the Ganog. This reeks of the seekers, of Utfa and his dark masters. If he's making his move, especially just after Takkar left with the bulk of my fleet, it can only mean one thing." The empress released Khar, groaning as more red welled across her robes. "I can use my metabiology to deal with this wound, but it will take time--time we may not have. I'm going to warn my people, then we will flee to my dreadnought."
The words were far away. Khar was briefly conscious of falling toward the grass, and then descended into darkness as he dropped into power conservation mode.
32
Rumors
T'kon was thankful for his environmental armor. His face was known on Imperalis, especially near the Royal Spire. All it would take was one warrior to recognize him, and he'd have far more attention than he'd enjoy.
He ducked into the arena, a small, ramshackle affair. It had a simple cage in the center, and seating for about fifty drunken patrons. The arena was utterly unremarkable, save for one thing. T'kon had been told that he could locate Bik here.
He'd never met Bik, but T'kon knew the type, and knew it well. After his fall from grace he'd needed to fight in arenas to survive, and every arena attracted scavengers like Bik. They sought warriors to prey on, earning their bread from the sweat and blood of their charges.
A drunken warrior from the Vkash clan bumped into T'kon, his fur darkening as he rounded. Another day T'kon would have bowed and apologized, despite the warrior being at fault. Today, time did not allow for such niceties. T'kon's hand balled into a fist, and he rocketed three rapid punches into the warrior's ample gut. The warrior staggered back, fighting for breath with all four nostrils. T'kon smashed his nose, and the warrior fell unconscious to the floor.
"I can see you're a true warrior," came an oily voice from behind. T'kon turned slowly to size up the speaker, a Ganog with ragged
fur and no clan markings. Just the sort of masterless warrior T'kon had become, except one that appeared to have given up fighting. His body had become flabby, his muscles flaccid. "The way you dealt with that fool? Your talents could earn you a lot of credits in the arena."
"What's your name?" T'kon asked, already suspecting the answer.
"I am called Bik," the Ganog said, giving a quick nod. "I can get you a spot in the arena if you--"
T'kon's hand shot out, wrapping around Bik's throat. T'kon squeezed, not hard enough to kill, but enough to stem the flow of words. "Hello, Bik. I've been looking for you all day."
"Why?" Bik choked out. His eyes had gone large, and his fur was a watery, cowardly yellow.
"I'm looking for a friend, and I heard that you may have encountered him. An alien came through here, an alien with a tail, fangs, and short tan fur. His name is Khar, and I've been told that you sold him to the Royal Spire," T'kon explained, his grip tightening slowly. He pulled Bik closer to his face. "I'm going to set you down, and you're going to tell me about it. If you try to run, not only will I kill you, but I will eat your heart, worm. I will leave your body in the street as carrion." T'kon reluctantly set Bik down, waiting for a response.
"You don't need to choke me, and you certainly don't need the threats," Bik protested, rubbing at his throat. "I did work with Khar, first in the arena here, and then with the games. I didn't know him before, and we haven't been in contact since. I don't know how I can help you."
T'kon fumed, considering. He wasn't sure how Bik would be able to help, beyond confirming that he'd sold Khar to the spire. But T'kon was out of leads, and had no idea what to do next.
"Umm," Bik muttered, pointing at one of the banks of holoscreens along the walls. "Is he the one you're looking for?"
T'kon turned to the screen, and the instant his back was turned he heard Bik break into a run. T'kon considered pursuing, but there wasn't anything else he could learn in the short term. Besides, the screen Bik had pointed to was of great interest.
The empress stood regally in the center of the frame, a delicate hand wrapped around her side. The white cloth was stained a deep purplish-red, but she stood proudly. Behind her stood a single figure. A familiar figure. T'kon hadn't met Khar, but he'd seen enough holos to recognize the Tigris. Somehow, Khar had been taken into the service of the empress, and now stood protectively behind her.
T'kon watched numbly, wondering. Had the Tigris defected? Or was something larger at play here? He stilled his thoughts, listening to the empress's words.
"Earlier today I was assaulted by a group of six assassins. These assassins were warrior castes, from four different clans. I do not hold the clans responsible for their actions, yet such a thing has not happened in decades. This attack is troubling, and I will not stand idly by while waiting for another." The empress's clear voice competed with the noise of the arena, but T'kon tuned out the rest of it, focused on the beautiful monarch. "Thanks to Khar, the warrior behind me, I still draw breath. Had he not defended me, I would be dead--and even with his help it was a near thing. I strongly suspect who is behind this attack, but will not speak without proof. To that individual, I will say this: I am coming for you. Ready yourself."
The feed went dead, then shifted to a replay of an arena fight. T'kon cocked his head, considering. There was only one reason to make such a public pronouncement. She hoped to spur her enemies into another rash action, to force them to react, rather than proceed with whatever their plan was. The question, though, was who had the power to launch such an attempt on the empress's life? And why?
T'kon turned on his heel, heading for the door. He needed to get this news back to Nolan. They were swimming in deep currents, and he suspected they were about to find out just how deep those currents ran.
33
Ready for War
Takkar's organs ached, twisted apart and put back together by the energies of the warp. He knew from experience that the discomfort would soon fade, and he ignored it as he sized up the system they'd arrived in.
They'd appeared at the nadir of a blue-green world this Coalition called Atreas. It was closer to the star than many habitable worlds, and that, combined with vast oceans, made it both hot and unnecessarily humid. Cities crisscrossed the face of the world, as tattoos covered the faces of the thrice-damned seekers.
A single spire rose from the surface of the world, extending thousands of miles, past the atmosphere and into high orbit. That spire, a space elevator, the humans called it, connected to a fungus-shaped station. If their intelligence was accurate, it was here that many of their vessels and soldiers were produced.
Material from the planet flowed up the space elevator, enabling an endless production line. That production line, in all likelihood, was active right now, making more enemies. He couldn't see inside the station to verify that fact, but the truth would be evident soon enough.
"Readiness?" Takkar snapped, not looking at the techsmith.
"All vessels have reported, Clan Leader. We are ready for war, on your order." Her answer was clipped and efficient. Still laboring under fear, but not so much that she was useless. Excellent. She was the best techsmith he'd had in several full planetary cycles.
"What of the planetstriders?" Takkar demanded. This war would be fought in two parts, in the sky and on the surface of this world. Takkar must win on both fronts.
"They have arrived, on the southern edge of the target area," the Saurian confirmed. "A single planetstrider opposes them, and a number of small mechanized infantry. They match the specifications of those we encountered on Ganog 7."
"Interesting," Takkar murmured. He'd expected the planetstrider--they'd stolen it from him, after all. It made sense they'd used it against him. Yet they only had light mechanized infantry to back it up. It sounded like suicide. His planetstriders would make short work of theirs, and the mechs couldn't inflict enough damage to really matter. "What of the enemy fleet?"
There were a few visible ships around the station, but they looked like cargo vessels. There was not a single warship, not even a random patrol. Takkar's eyes narrowed. Was this a trap, as he'd feared?
"We're picking up a mass of cloaked vessels surrounding the station." His techsmith closed her eyes, purple pulses feeding into her from the arcanotome. "We cannot get accurate specifications due to the cloaking, but their configuration does not match that of any other vessels we've encountered."
"So our intelligence was correct. This system is clearly manufacturing a fleet of new vessels. Trap or no, we must advance. Order all vessels forward. Keep fighters docked until I give the word."
Takkar's fleet moved slowly forward, a dozen dreadnoughts surrounded by three times as many support ships. They closed with the station, moving deeper into the system. The ship rumbled briefly as it synced with the planet's gravity well.
"Fire a volley at the station, let's see how they react," Takkar ordered. He folded his arms, watching as every dreadnought primed its main cannon. A flurry of fiery blasts left their ship, streaking toward the station.
Sleek blue ships materialized, one after another. A dozen in total. Each ship intercepted one of the blasts, sacrificing itself to the attack. Takkar estimated the vessels as medium-sized cruisers, each with curved wings curling outward in front of the main body. They looked nothing like any of the vessels he'd already fought.
The new ships exploded spectacularly, not a single vessel surviving the volley from the dreadnought cannons. The sacrifice was troubling. It was unlike previous encounters, when the Coalition had done everything possible to keep their ships from destruction. There was a trap here, but Takkar couldn't yet see it.
"Clan Leader," the Saurian gasped, pointing up at the dreadnought's transparent upper hull.
Takkar stared up at the materializing ships, these of a much more familiar variety. There were far more than he'd faced in previous battles, perhaps seventy or eighty in all. Most were smaller destroyers and corvettes, but there were a healthy
number of cruisers, and nearly a dozen capital ships.
The cloud of enemy vessels opened up on a dreadnought on his right flank, firing a mixed barrage of missiles, particle cannons, and bright, glowing stars. Those last were fired from the new weapon they'd deployed back at Ganog 7. It was that last weapon that made the difference, caving the dreadnoughts shield under the weight of artificial singularities.
He would enjoy that technology, once he'd wrested it from them.
Once the dreadnought's shields were down, the enemy fleets intensified their fire, and explosions bloomed all over its surface. Freshly repaired turrets detonated, deepening the scars in the hull.
"How long until the main cannon is primed?" Takkar growled, more than a little angry with himself. He should have staggered the volley, so that a few of his dreadnoughts could have fired at other targets. Using all the main cannons at once had been an error, and the enemy commander was punishing him for it.
The Saurian closed her eyes, pulses flowing furiously. "Forty microns, Fleet Leader."
"Deploy all fighters," he roared, clenching a fist and wishing he had something to smash. "Now. Do it now!"
A few moments later, fighters belched from nearly every dreadnought, hundreds winging their way toward the enemy fleet. The enemy continued to deliver a savage beating, focusing their fire on the dreadnought. Structural fires could be seen throughout the ship, and something bright exploded along the stern. The engines sputtered, then died. The dreadnought began to fall slowly into the planet's gravity well, drifting toward its inevitable death.
"Order all vessels to counterattack the moment they can fire." Takkar stalked back and forth, watching powerlessly as his fighters crept toward the enemy. He struggled to be patient, knowing that this was merely the battle's opening gambit. Fizgig had struck a blow, but he would strike back--and soon.
