by Richard Fox
“It’s an oath to an ideal,” Martel said. “Nicodemus and the others left because they decided the Ibarras carried the mantle to protect humanity.”
“Why? Why would they think that?” Aignar asked.
Martel looked at Tongea and Sobieski. The two men nodded quickly.
“Aignar,” Martel said, “what do you know about the Hale Treaty?”
Chapter 20
Tomenakai made his way up wide stairs that narrowed to golden doors at the top. He’d walked these stairs many times before, always marveling at the craftsmanship carved into each step. The journey began with the moment the Sanheel and Ixio first communicated over archaic radio waves, master sculptures from each race had carved the other, the undeniable unity of their races captured in the subtext. While Tomenakai was critical of the Sanheel artist’s inability to capture the noble visage of that great Ixio scientist, he kept his criticism to himself. Such was not in the spirit of unity.
His new body was stiff, heightening the sense of dissociation that came each time his mind transferred between husks. To be thrust into a raw body so soon after a passing close to the veil of death was normally an auspicious honor. But now…
The tale of the Kesaht peoples continued as Tomenakai and Primus Gor’thig marched higher. The First Meeting. The celebrations as their two peoples built cities on the other’s planets. Images of Ixio and Sanheel were notably absent from the steps depicting the Ash Time. To imply that either side was responsible for the conflagration was not in the spirit of unity. Not that such carvings were necessary to remember this moment in Kesaht history. The irradiated wasteland beyond the grand domes was reminder enough of what happened when the Ixio and Sanheel acted of their own accord.
Gor’thig pressed closer to Tomenakai as the steps narrowed to the Great Unity. Tomenakai’s cyborg body always tingled when he passed over this spot. Then the Rakka Inclusion, then a missing section as artists across the Kesaht Hegemony worked to perfect the moment of their savior’s appearance, then the steps became blank. The Kesaht’s future was up to those that walked this path to the birthplace of their sacred union.
Once, Tomenakai had dreamed of his deeds added to the steps…now he feared his failures would be immortalized instead.
A pair of saurian guards crossed crystalline halberds over the door. While their six limbs and body composition echoed the Sanheels’ form, Tomenakai found few other similarities between the savior’s guards and one of the Kesaht’s founding races.
“No weapons,” a guard hissed. A forked tongue flicked between sharp teeth at the Sanheel’s ceremonial sword on his front hip.
“We were summoned,” Gor’thig said.
“Summoned for failure,” the other guard said. “Failures are not trusted in his presence.”
“We cannot question his wisdom,” Tomenakai said, dropping a hint to his companion.
Gor’thig unsnapped his sword belt and handed the weapon over.
Gears turned in the walls around double doors. The gold doors slid into the walls, and a gust of air rushed over Tomenakai. The smell of rot and disease stung his nose, but he did not show any outward sign of unease. If Gor’thig, with his more developed sense of smell could keep his composure, Tomenakai would do the same. Such was the spirit of unity.
The savior was as Tomenakai always found him; working. Stasis pods filled the back section of the savior’s chambers. Open pods with a cross section of the galaxy’s known intelligent species were placed in a semi-circle around the savior’s laboratory. A Naroosha spawn leader, little more than a pink lump of flesh with hook-tipped tentacles, floated in a null field over the lab. Robot arms performed surgery on the creature, adding cyborg components to its flesh. If the creature was in any pain, Tomenakai was unsure. Sometimes the subjects screamed while the savior worked. Sometimes they did not.
“Pathetic,” the voice came from behind the laboratory. Tomenakai went to his knees and bowed his head. Gor’thig followed suit, albeit with some reluctance.
The savior ambled around the lab. His people were once called the Toth, and he had ascended to a more perfect form when his entire nervous system was installed into a tank that moved on four mechanical limbs.
“Master Bale,” Tomenakai opened his hands over his knees, an old gesture of contrition, “the operation met with difficulty.”
“‘Difficulty?’” The Toth overlord’s nerves writhed within his tank. “I warned you against underestimating the humans. Told you that wiping out a few outlying colonies and capturing a few small ships was nothing compared to what the humans are capable of. Was I somehow unclear when I described how they destroyed my home world?”
“Their evil is well known,” Gor’thig said.
“And yet you thought you could defeat them ship to ship. Soldier to soldier. How well did that work? Tell me?” Bale asked.
“We lost most of the expeditionary fleet,” Gor’thig said. “Our fighter craft were inadequate, our ships too brittle, our ground forces had some success until the humans’ accursed armor arrived.”
“And we both suffered a corporeal dislocation,” Tomenakai said.
“You were both killed!” Bale’s fore limbs hammered against the floor. “If your immortalis implants hadn’t functioned properly, you would both be lost to the unity forever.”
“And we thank you for the gifts,” Gor’thig said.
“They are a mistake for frontline commanders,” Bale said. “What is the incentive to win if there is no consequence for losing?”
Tomenakai lifted his head.
“The consequences were severe. Ships lost, Ixion and Sanheel lessers dead with no hope of recovering their gene codes or soul cores. Entire broods of Rakka—”
“Fodder!” Bale shouted. “The Rakka are nothing. The lesser officers will be replaced in days. Your failure is twofold. The Terrans on Earth know. They know of you and they will come for us all. Are we prepared?”
Gor’thig’s mouth moved before he spoke.
“The armadas are nearly complete. But if we are so clearly overmatched when the Terrans are in force—”
“Then we are not ready,” Bale said. “I’ve worked tirelessly for so many years to prepare for this threat. Worked so hard to improve your cybernetics, build your fleets, the great work of constructing our own Crucibles…all put into peril because of your incompetence.”
“While I will never question your wisdom,” Tomenakai said, “please enlighten my ignorance. Why did you send us to Oricon?”
“Your second failure,” Bale said. “The Ibarran faction got what they were after, didn’t they?”
“We were…indisposed during the final stages of the battle,” Tomenakai said.
“Then we must assume the Ibarrans found the map to the Qa’Resh weapon. The humans once used such a device to murder every Toth but me. I am the last of my kind because of them. If the Ibarrans find another—one even stronger than the first—they will destroy every last race in the galaxy until only their false minds and weed bodies are left.”
“Then we must attack,” Gor’thig said. “We can capture more Ibarrans, learn where their leaders are hiding. To wait here for them to kill us all is madness.”
“To burn their worlds is not enough,” Bale said. “Imagine what would happen if we found the Qa’Resh weapon. The rest of the galaxy would rally behind the Kesaht, and they would beg to join our unity.”
Tomenakai’s spirits lifted. To imagine scores more species joining the Kesaht, the perfect peace that could be had by all once they submitted to the mind vise…He looked at the laboratory behind Bale, curious just how much progress Bale had made in his experiments.
“We can incorporate less sophisticated species easily enough,” Bale said. “Unity with the other great powers must be built in increments. Thankfully, we are not the only ones that fear the humans,” Bale said. “A plan is in motion. One in which we have a part.”
“What can we do?” Tomenakai asked.
“You will return to
the battle,” Bale said, “but with a slight modification.” Lights at the base of his tank blinked on and off.
Tomenakai felt the connection to his body fluctuate, then return with a rush that sent his teeth chattering.
“Your immortalis implants are disabled,” Bale said.
Tomenakai slapped a hand to his chest and his jaw fell open. The implants marked him as a first among equals, proof that his essence was worth more to the Kesaht unity than the enormous cost of the devices. Even worse, to have his immortalis rendered useless…
“Your next death will be your last.” The Toth ambled back to his laboratory. “Succeed in your next mission and I may reactivate the implants. Or not. Go to the armada and teach from the lessons of your failure. You die again and that should provide a nice incentive for the rest of the Kesaht to succeed. At least you’ll be useful, alive or dead. Now get out of my sight.”
Chapter 21
Roland drifted between waking and dreaming. He felt his amniosis slosh around him, but if it was real or just his body creating some manner of stimulus after so long locked away in the womb…he wasn’t sure.
He felt a tingle at the base of his skull. There was a whine as the neural spike from his umbilical lines withdrew from his plugs. There was a pop as the umbilicals detached.
A line of light appeared around the width of his womb. Amniosis flooded out of the armored shell and Roland fell out as someone opened the front hatch and dumped him onto a cold concrete floor.
Roland lay face down, coughing as his body expelled the hyper-oxygenated fluid from his lungs and stomach. His weak eyes made out a blur of two men dragging his womb away. He tried to crawl after them, but his muscles were too weak from disuse to do more than lift a hand. He gagged as he expelled the last of the amniosis and his lungs breathed actual air for the first time in what could have been days or weeks. Time passed oddly while in the dark of the womb.
He slapped a palm into the puddle and pushed his chest off the ground. Fluid dribbled down his face and dripped onto his reflection. He looked haggard and pale. Roland squeezed his temples with one hand, trying to avert the headache that came after every extended mission in armor.
Around him was a simple cot bolted to a waist high wall, toilet…and bars. He was in a cell with a brick back wall, bars running up from the half walls connected to the cell door. He pulled himself up onto the cot and rubbed his legs. Reengaging his body always came with pain, the feel of needle pricks after a limb fell asleep. A bottle of water and a tube of nutrient paste sat on a thin pillow.
Chill air sucked heat from the amniosis still clinging to Roland’s body. His ears, fingers, and toes ached like he’d been on a snowy mountain for too long.
“Hello,” a man said.
Roland sat up, startled. In the corner cell next to his was another man on a cot, this one cloaked in shadow.
“Are you real? You look real,” the man asked.
“If I wasn’t real, I doubt I’d feel this bad,” Roland tried to unscrew the nutrient paste, but his hands and forearms couldn’t manage the dexterity just yet.
“You must be armor, unless traveling around in those pods has become in vogue since I was last outside,” the man said.
“I’m Roland Shaw. Iron Dragoons. Who’re you and where the hell am I?”
“Iron Dragoons aren’t one of hers,” he said. “My my. Here I thought you might have just pissed her off. If a Terran like you is here, then she must be busy.”
“No offense, buddy,” Roland’s stomach rumbled, “but I’m really tired of cryptic garbage.” He tried to open the nutrient paste tube again, but his fingers were too stiff.
“You’re on Navarre,” the man said. “Capital of the shiny new Ibarra Nation. I take it the promotional material hasn’t made it to Earth yet. The marketers should be fired. You want some help with that? I can hear your tummy from here.”
“Fine motor control takes a while to come back,” Roland pressed the tube against his chest and took a wobbly step off the cot. He leaned against the half wall his cell shared with the other man’s, breathing hard from the exertion.
The man stood up and stepped out of the shadows. At first glance, he had a patrician look of one on the tail edge of middle age. As he came closer, his face was eerily still and his eyes were as unblinking as a doll’s.
Roland dropped the tube into the other cell and scrambled back, slipping in the puddle of amniosis and landing hard on his side with a plop.
“What’s wrong?” the man asked.
“You’re like her! Like Stacey Ibarra,” Roland said.
The man unscrewed the cap from the tube and tossed it onto Roland’s cot.
“No, my boy. The problem is that Stacey is far too much like me,” he said. “Name’s Marc Ibarra. Nice to meet you.”
THE END
Roland’s story continues in The True Measure, coming Fall 2017!
FROM THE AUTHOR
Hello Dear and Gentle Reader,
Thank you for reading The Ibarra Sanction I hope you enjoyed the story as much as I did writing Roland’s next chapter. The Iron Dragoons continue the universe of The Ember War Saga, and there is much more in store for Roland and his lance.
Please leave a review on Amazon and let me know how I’m doing as a storyteller.
I’ve been a fan of science fiction since I saw Star Wars in the theater when I was a wee lad. My love for all things space ship and giant robot has only grown over time, I’m fortunate that I can add a few new stories to the genre.
Drop me a line at [email protected].
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Also By Richard Fox:
The Ember War Saga:
1. The Ember War
2. The Ruins of Anthalas
3. Blood of Heroes
4. Earth Defiant
5. The Gardens of Nibiru
6. The Battle of the Void
7. The Siege of Earth
8. The Crucible
9. The Xaros Reckoning
Terran Armor Corps:
1. Iron Dragoons
2. The Ibarra Sanction
3. The True Measure (Coming Fall 2017!)
The Exiled Fleet Series:
1. Albion Lost
2. The Long March
3. Their Finest Hour (Coming Fall 2017!)
Iron Hearts
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IRON HEARTS
Elias, soldier of the Iron Hearts and pilot of a mechanized suit of armor, lies comatose in a hospital. His mind trapped within the prison of his failing body. With no other option but to watch their friend wither away, his fellow Iron Hearts concoct a dangerous plan to save him.
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The Ember War
Before Iron Dragoons, humanity fought The Ember War.
The Earth is doomed. Humanity has a chance.
In the near future, an alien probe arrives on Earth with a pivotal mission—determine if humanity has what it takes to survive the impending invasion by a merciless armada.
The probe discovers Marc Ibarra, a young inventor, who holds the key to a daring gambit that could save a fraction of Earth's population. Humanity's only chance lies with Ibarra's ability to keep a terrible secret and engineer the planet down the narrow path to survival.
Earth will need a fleet. One with a hidden purpose. One strong enough to fight a battle against annihilation.
The Ember War is the first installment in an epic military sci-fi series. If you like A Hymn Before Battle by John Ringo and The Last Starship by Vaughn Heppner
, then you'll love this explosive adventure with constant thrills and high stakes from cover to cover.
Here’s a sample for you:
Chapter 1
THE NEAR FUTURE
Humanity’s only hope of survival entered the solar system at nearly the speed of light. The probe slowed as the sun’s heliosphere disrupted the graviton wave it rode in on from the abyss of deep space. Awakened by the sudden deceleration, the probe absorbed the electromagnetic spectrum utilized by its target species and assessed the technological sophistication of the sole sentient species on Earth.
The probe adjusted its course to take it into the system’s star. If the humans couldn’t survive—with its help—what was to come, then the probe would annihilate itself. There would be no trace of it for the enemy, and no chance of humanity’s existence beyond the time it had until the enemy arrived. The probe analyzed filed patents, military expenditures, birth rates, mathematical advancement and space exploration.
The first assessment fell within the margin of error of survival and extinction for humanity. The probe’s programming allowed for limited autonomous decision making (choice being a rare luxury for the probe’s class of artificial intelligence). The probe found itself in a position to choose between ending its mission in the sun’s fire and a mathematically improbable defense of humanity—and the potential compromise of its much larger mission.
Given the rare opportunity to make its own decision, the probe opted to dither. In the week it took to pass into Jupiter’s orbit, the probe took in more data. It scoured the Internet for factors to add to the assessment, but the assessment remained the same: unlikely, but possible. By the time it shot past Mars, the probe still hadn’t made a decision.
