Attack of Shadows (Galaxy's Edge Book 4)

by Nick Cole

  Things got worse inside the cockpit. Hydraulics were gone, and fly-by-wire was barely communicating with her HUD.

  First the number one engine went down. Then, over the lush tropical coast, south of the main city, the number two engine flamed out.

  Her ship was nothing but a glider in the barest sense of the word. A glider heading out over a vast dark ocean.

  She held the stick and did the best she could. But her speed was too great, and she hit the water hard. Pieces broke off, but the reinforced canopy and cockpit held. Her helmet slammed hard into the controls, cracking in half.

  She had to open the canopy. The ship was already sinking fast into the choppy sea. High troughs were replaced by sudden waves that raced across what remained of the battered and shot-to-pieces ship.

  Dazed but alert, she remembered the manual process for cycling the canopy. She reached down and began to crank it open. Seawater immediately rushed in and flooded everything. She shut off the master electrical panel as the ship slipped below the water line and seafoam and ocean crashed down on her. Cranking hard, she looked up and saw the surface of the water falling away.

  It looked like silver. Like quicksilver. Moving and beautiful.

  And it was a kind of peace to her soul.

  That vision had been one of the first in this waking dream she called a life.

  After all, she was a Tennar. Aquatic amphibians from a world of water.

  The battle-scarred Republic fighter surrendered to the depths, its minimal buoyancy overcome, and fell away toward the distant sandy bottoms of an alien world. Shifting greens and dark depths called to her.

  And Atumna Fal kicked free of her harness, peeled off her flight suit, and swam away into the blue shadows of the sea.

  Epilogue

  Eastern Gun Bore

  Fortress Omicron

  Goth Sullus leaned heavily on Exo as the two men emerged from the command core of Fortress Omicron. The repurposed MK1 armor was incredibly heavy, and Exo struggled to hold up the weight as they moved past shock troopers guarding their legionnaire prisoners of war. Some of these leejes, Exo knew, would resist. They would see it as their duty to the Legion to attempt escape and disruption at every opportunity. He hoped others would see the new dawning of the Legion. Hoped that the Black Fleet would absorb the Legion and its legionnaires. With or without Goth Sullus.

  Though, Exo had to admit, Sullus had proved himself to be the most capable warrior he’d ever seen. Wounded, shot in the chest, and then what he’d done in the tunnels… it was supernatural. There was no other word for it. Exo shuddered at the thought of such a powerful being in the universe. The man’s existence made him fearful, and he began to understand for the first time why some men dared not even speak Sullus’s name.

  But Exo would not give in to fear.

  “Bring me to my shuttle,” Sullus whispered, and something inside Exo’s mind knew exactly where to look. Like a picture had been painted for him, though he’d seen very little of the eastern wall prior to his descent into the moon itself.

  There was a Republic landing platform farther in. A place where supply shuttles would touch down to deliver ordnance and food or to take leejes shipside for leave or reassignment. Now it was empty save for a burnt-out repulsor tug. The kind that moved starfighters and other heavy vehicles around when the trip was too short to bring in a pilot and go through all the pre-flights.

  Exo wished he could lay Sullus on the ruined tug and drive him to the waiting shuttle at the end of the landing platform. His knees threatened to buckle beneath him with each plodding step.

  No other shock troopers made an attempt to help. Whether from fear or awe at seeing their leader as he was, Exo couldn’t guess. He thought about ordering a gawking shock trooper to come over and help, but somehow felt that such a request would be beneath him. Certainly it would be beneath Sullus.

  From above, an Elixir-class shuttle began a slow ascent. This was a Republic model, likely from the Third Fleet, which Exo heard had mutinied and defected. Two squadrons of Raptors roared by on escort duty. They looked untouched from the battle, as if they were ceremonial craft. The type hauled out for air shows to entertain the populace.

  “The hero arrives,” Sullus said. His voice was acid and bitter.

  Exo knew enough to keep his mouth shut.

  The shuttle descended gracefully, touching down between Exo and Sullus’s shuttle. Its forward ramp lowered, and clouds of white gases released to join Tarrago Moon’s atmosphere.

  Who was this? Admiral Rommal? One of the generals?

  Sullus straightened himself and began to walk on his own power. Slowly. He left Exo standing alone, mouth agape. How did the man find the strength?

  From inside the shuttle a man dressed in the white garb of a Republic admiral appeared. He walked boldly down the ramp, his black calf-height boots gleaming, a white cape flowing behind him.

  Exo squinted. Could it be? He magnified the view on his visor.

  It was Devers.

  “Point sonofabitch,” Exo said, and began to slowly raise his rifle, hoping that no one would see. That no one would get the impression that he was seeking to shoot Goth Sullus in the back. He would end that point before Devers could do to these shock troopers what he’d done to the leejes on Kublar. And so many leejes thereafter.

  “Lord Goth Sullus,” Devers said, dipping down into a gentlemanly bow. “With the orbital defense gun secured, my forces have arrived on the moon to secure the remaining three walls. I ordered the remainder of my fleet to jump in, adding to the damage suffered by Admiral Landoo’s Seventh. The Third Fleet’s losses were… minimal. I hope you would do me the honor of reviewing my battle plan. I believe you’ll find my variations—”

  Sullus simply walked past the admiral, not even acknowledging him.

  Devers stood there, his proud face etched with annoyance, his tongue pushed against the inside of his lip. He did not turn. He continued facing forward, speaking to Sullus, who walked beyond him. “I’ll remind you, Lord Sullus, that ours is a partnership. You must acknowledge my contributions to this battle!”

  Exo’s blaster was almost up. Slowly. Almost high enough. He wouldn’t fire from the hip. He didn’t know if he’d get more than one shot. One double-tap.

  Goth Sullus stopped and looked over his shoulder. He held up a hand… then squeezed it into a fist.

  Devers’s head suddenly bent sideways toward his shoulder, twisting to nearly a ninety-degree angle. An excruciating snap filled the air of the Tarrogan moon, and Exo could see the admiral’s severed vertebrae pushing into the side of his neck like some macabre goiter.

  The admiral stood motionless but somehow remained upright—perhaps by the power of Goth Sullus. Exo did not know.

  “Your contributions have been acknowledged,” Sullus rasped.

  Admiral Devers fell face first onto the landing pad and expired.

  Black Fleet

  Bridge of the Imperator

  0928 Local System Time

  The Battle of Tarrago was over.

  Admiral Rommal ordered the fleet in close to Tarrago Moon. Now that the orbital defense gun was theirs, they were safe within its range. A shame it couldn’t have been made operational in time to strike at the remnants of the Seventh Fleet. But it belonged now to the Black Fleet, and that was enough.

  He watched as Goth Sullus’s shuttle left the secured LZ within the smoking ruin of Fortress Omicron. A moment later a comm officer announced a shuttle traffic request.

  “Prepare to receive Shuttle One.”

  Everyone knew that was the call sign for Goth Sullus’s personal shuttle. He was returning to his ship.

  Rommal looked over at the comm officer. “ETA?”

  The man indicated five minutes.

  “Deploy a battalion of our best troopers to receive him on the main hangar deck.”

  The officer looked up at him, the unsure look in his eyes clear. What, exactly, was the meaning of this?

  “Now!” s
houted Rommal.

  Crodus drag-stepped from across the bridge. “What are you playing at, Rommal?”

  For a long moment the fleet admiral watched the various feeds. Repub officers and marines being frog-marched out from their positions on Tarrago Moon, and on Tarrago Prime itself. Under the close eye of shock troopers. He watched as an artillery captain was loaded onto a stretcher by medical techs. That one was from the feeds on Tarrago Moon. At the base. Deep inside it.

  He knew that man’s fate was uncertain at best. As was the fate of all those who had been captured.

  Just like the corvette they’d hauled in by tractor. A corvette that had been singlehandedly disabled by one shock trooper sergeant. He’d watched the videos of its crew being herded off the ship, hands up, by crack shock troopers from Second Division. The corvette’s captain had looked none too pleased.

  No doubt Goth Sullus would want to meet this hero sergeant who’d captured a capital ship all by himself.

  “What are you playing at, Rommal?” Admiral Crodus asked again.

  There had been heroes today. Even Vampa, in her own bold and reckless way, had seized the moment at great personal risk to protect his flank. Goth Sullus would see her for the hero she was. Just as he would see others. The shock trooper, certainly.

  But how will he see me?

  He turned to Crodus.

  “We won,” Crodus reminded him. Probably because there was that sick look on Rommal’s face. The look of command responsibility. The look that said you never really win—you just don’t get as many people killed this time as you did the last. The look that’s seeing only the operational failures and none of the victories. Whatever side you were on, as a leader, there would always be that look.

  That was as old as warfare.

  “We didn’t capture, or destroy, the carrier,” Rommal said. “It got away. We didn’t knock out the orbital defense gun on time, and your spies seemed to do little good in defeating their advanced warning system, or delivering the operation of the gun into our hands. We lost the shipyards, too. And I’ll remind you that was the primary objective of this operation.”

  Rommal let that hang for a moment. He watched as Crodus’s mask of constant watcher changed to one of dawning realization.

  The realization that your position might not be as strong as you thought it was.

  His fellow admiral swallowed thickly. “And,” began Crodus slowly, “what do you intend to do with all those shock troopers once his shuttle arrives?”

  As if there were other ways to survive.

  Admiral Rommal watched the man, realizing there were other options than the one he was considering.

  Then he spoke just one word and left for the hangar bay.

  “Survive.”

  Levenir Orbit

  The Galactic Core

  Cade Thrane felt sick. He had been listening to sections of the now-decrypted comm bursts with growing horror.

  Delegate Orrin Kaar.

  Admiral Silas Devers.

  These were pillars of the Republic. The greatest the galaxy had to offer. And, it would seem, they were in league with someone named Goth Sullus, involved in a plot to topple the government.

  Thrane searched the holoweb for references to Sullus to see if he could find some context. There was nothing. And soon Thrane grew fearful that even with his own encryptions, someone might be watching. Looking to see who out there might be poking their noses where it didn’t belong.

  He gave up the search.

  But that didn’t stop the upset in his stomach. Breaking the encryption had brought a euphoric sense of joy. Finding out what was inside Pandora’s box had brought him existential dread. It was a burden, this information. What should he do? To whom should he go?

  Thrane examined the faded fabrics of the once top-of-the-line furniture. The interior of his luxury yacht had lost its luster. It no longer shined. But this information… this information could buy him an entirely new life. A gleaming luxury yacht direct from the factory assembly line. Custom-built. He could live on a core world. Vacation where he pleased. Permanently.

  And all he had to do was sell the recordings to the kind of person who would do exactly the wrong thing with them. A syndicate lord or pirate. Someone who would use their contacts to blackmail the recording’s participants out of a sum of money far greater than the fortune they gave Thrane to acquire it.

  “I’m a smart guy,” Thrane told himself. “I could blackmail Kaar directly. I could use his own comm system to let him know what I know…”

  No. This was a man willing to leverage Republic assets against the Republic’s own military. He would have no difficulty sending a kill team in to end Thrane’s life. Wasn’t that exactly what he’d paid Aldo Kimer to do in taking down the relay stations at Tarrago? Thrane bet that Kaar never imagined anyone else would have been privy to that little secret. It only went to show that, beyond whispers in the dark, there were no safe communications. Thrane had proved that much in his achievement.

  There was a lot of money to be had. But what was the good of it if the Republic fell? The Repub was far from perfect, but revolutions brought uncertainty. Millions of credits might set him up, or they might be just enough to buy him a month’s worth of rations. Who could say? And what was his duty? Could giving this information to the right people save lives? Save the galaxy?

  Thrane cranked up the volume on his shipboard audio system. He let the raging music carry him away. So he could think.

  Who did he know? Who might be able to help?

  The name of Garrett Glover entered his head for the second time that day. He’d sent Garrett only a snippet of the encryption, just enough to get him familiar. And if the other coder would soon decrypt it on his own, if he hadn’t already. Garrett was that good. Which meant he, too, would know who was involved.

  Perhaps… perhaps his old friend could provide some guidance. Maybe he would know what to do.

  Thrane sent a comm burst to Garrett and was surprised with how quickly the other man answered.

  “Hey,” said Garrett. “I thought you might call. Did you decrypt the message?”

  “About an hour ago,” replied Thrane. “You?”

  “A little before that. This is a big deal, Cade.”

  “I know. And there’s a lot more to it that what I showed you. Like… end-of-the-world level stuff, man.”

  “Send it to me?”

  Thrane hesitated. “Why? You gonna try to sell it? I’d… I’d want a cut.”

  “No,” Garrett answered. “I’ve met some guys. Legionnaires. They’re good guys, man. They need to know what’s going on.”

  Hand it over to the Legion? Just like that?

  Was this the right thing?

  Would Thrane regret not cashing out on this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity? Would he live long enough to enjoy it if he did?

  “Okay,” Thrane said, and he felt a sudden comfort in his decision. “Transmitting the full archive now. Nothing’s gonna be the same, Garrett.”

  “I know,” the coder answered.

  House of Reason

  Utopion

  Orrin Kaar sat somberly in his office. Admiral Devers was dead. Not from battle, though that was what Kaar would report to the Security Council. Devers would be remembered as a martyr to Kaar’s purpose, that was certain. But that wasn’t how it happened. The word Kaar had received from Devers’s second in command was that the admiral was summarily court-martialed for failure to follow orders. Executed on the spot by Sullus himself.

  So much for the two being equals.

  But that didn’t mean that Sullus would reign. The prize of prizes, the Republic itself, would belong to Orrin Kaar. He needed now only to remind Sullus of this. Needed to express in no uncertain terms that Sullus needed him… if he wished to achieve anything beyond a Pyrrhic victory in Tarrago.

  A black-clad comm officer appeared on the holofeed.

  “Stand by for… him,” the officer said. There was fear in both his voice and ex
pression.

  Good. That Sullus was taking this call meant that the leader of this uprising recognized the role Orrin Kaar played in his rise. Certainly Sullus had the resources and wherewithal to amass an army on his own—when Kaar had discovered Sullus’s activities, he was already on his way—but even Sullus would have to admit that his ascendance onto the galactic stage could not have come so soon without Kaar’s help.

  Goth Sullus appeared before Kaar. He wore battle armor reminiscent of the earliest legionnaire design. But upgraded. Newer. Better.

  Yet Sullus seemed to struggle to stay upright. He was wounded. His voice betrayed his pain. “You may speak, Delegate.”

  You may speak. Kaar bit his tongue at the audacity of that comment. “I understand that you have summarily executed one of my most useful political tools.”

  Sullus hissed menacingly. “I will not be questioned.”

  “I meant to do no such thing,” Kaar said, his diplomatic skills recovering him naturally. “You have my apologies. Admiral Devers was not a capable commander, but he was a priceless figurehead. Years have gone into positioning him as a trusted representative of the Republic military. He could have won over scores without your having to fire a shot. I do not question that we will still be victorious,” Karr made a point to emphasize that this was a “we” operation, “however now it will be at a much higher cost in lives. Your war against the Republic will require more direct fighting than stealth now, I’m afraid. The Republic must be conquered outright.”

  “So be it.”

  This man’s overconfidence will be his undoing, Kaar told himself. “A difficult task, do you not think, when the shipyards we’ve been relying on lie destroyed by a Republic kill team…”

  Sullus betrayed no emotion, but neither did he speak.

  Ah, Kaar thought to himself. So he did not know.

  “Lord Sullus,” Kaar said, taking a stab at a proper title, “I came not to praise Admiral Devers, nor second-guess the strategies in today’s conflict, but to bury our… difficulties. Now, I can control the Legion from my position in the Security Council. I can send the Seventh Fleet into a trap. I can pave the way… if only you had the resources. Which you no longer have hope of, given the shipyard’s destruction. But… there is still yet a way to have at our disposal a fleet capable of battering down what remains of the Republic force.”