The Messenger Box Set: Books 1-6

by J. N. Chaney

  “Fourteen hundred! I said fourteen hundred!”

  “Yes, Amy, I know.” Dash gave the ship’s trajectory a nudge with a thruster. “Just a little levity to break the tension.”

  “It didn’t work,” Conover said, his voice tight, as a heavy shudder pummeled the ship.

  “Atmospheric density varies some,” Leira said. “In fact, there’s another thick patch coming.”

  The Slipwing rocked and trembled. “Sorry,” Leira said. “We’re still moving so fast we’re right on top of these things. Hang on!”

  Dash instinctively glanced up, even though the forward view showed nothing but a fierce, scintillating glow. The Slipwing lurched hard, her parts groaning under the stress.

  “Twelve hundred degrees, Dash,” Viktor called out. A continuous rush and rumble now vibrated the ship, the hypersonic roar of her searing passage through the atmosphere. Dash could only imagine what they looked like from the outside—a hot ball of flame trailing incandescent plasma and bright fragments of ablative armor. But he forced his concentration back on the helm. Even an instant of distraction now could be fatal.

  “Fourteen hundred, Dash!” Viktor shouted over the now thunderous roar. “If our speed doesn’t start coming down we’re going to have issues.”

  Dash nodded. “I know.”

  He felt Leira looking at him. She was about to say something, some warning or other. He glanced at her. “I said I know.”

  “Fifteen hundred, Dash!”

  Amy’s voice was almost lost in the shuddering racket. “Dash, we can’t do this much longer. You’re going to have to kick us back into space!”

  “Just a few seconds longer.”

  “Dash!”

  “Almost there.”

  There was a heavy bang, and the ship wrenched to the right. Dash countered, thrusting her back to the left.

  “Dash,” Viktor called. “Almost sixteen hundred!”

  Dash shouted, “Everyone hang on!”

  He slammed his fingers down onto the thrusters, flipping the Slipwing end over end. For an instant, the full breadth of her hull took the colossal blast of her own passage. The inertial dampers fought to counter the huge surge in deceleration, but they were still smashed down into their seats. Something else went bang. A smell of burning insulation filled the cockpit. There was a shout of agony, and one of primal fear, then a bellow of challenging anger.

  And then the Slipwing had reversed, speeding backward along her trajectory. Dash lit the fusion drive, adding its power to the atmospheric drag. He watched the instruments, gritted his teeth, and prayed—actually prayed—that his ship would hold together just a few seconds longer.

  Now.

  He flipped the ship over again. This time, the result was far less dramatic. The fusion drive lifted her out of the atmosphere. The fierce glow flickered—fading, dying, revealing stars.

  Dash killed the drive.

  Silence returned as the Slipwing glided back into vacuum. Just ahead, the Forge loomed, motionless against the stars.

  “Okay,” Viktor said, sounding as though he’d just done wind sprints. “The hull’s starting to cool down.”

  Leira looked at Dash. “We’ve almost exactly matched the orbital track and velocity of the Forge. We should be aboard in ten minutes or so.” She shook her head. “That was amazing, Dash. Ridiculous, insane, beyond stupid, even, but pretty amazing.”

  Amy nodded, her face split by the biggest grin yet. “Not just amazing, that was awesome!”

  Dash leaned back and let Leira take over. He felt like he’d just done wind sprints, too.

  “Do you want the damage and systems outages alphabetically, or going bow to stern?” Viktor asked. “It’s a long list, either way.”

  “At least ship-becomes-flaming-wreckage isn’t on it,” Leira said. “Though not for want of trying.”

  Dash levered himself out of the seat. “Yeah, well, compared to what’s coming, I can’t help thinking that was the easy part.” His voice trailed off as he looked at Conover. The kid sat rigid, his face utterly blank. Dash frowned, wondering if something had happened involving his eyes, that he’d seen something that blasted him into a near coma—the way the Lens had when he first tried to examine it.

  “Conover?” He grabbed the boy’s shoulder. “Conover! Can you hear me?”

  The kid slowly turned his head and blinked.

  “Sorry, I just need a minute,” he said. “My life hasn’t quite stopped passing before my eyes yet.”

  Dash winced as he raced down the Slipwing’s ramp. She still radiated a searing heat; a few spots on her scorched and pitted armor still glowed cherry red. There hadn’t been time to let her cool down fully, though. They literally only had minutes before the Harbinger might start shooting at them.

  “Okay, I’m going to install the level one core in the Archetype,” Dash called out. “He looked back at the rest of them hurrying down the ramp and into the Forge’s docking bay. “You guys get that level two installed here. See if Kai and the rest of the monks can help.”

  “Dash, why not install the level two in the Archetype instead?” Leira said. “Power it up enough that it can defend the station?”

  Dash slowed. That might not be a bad idea.

  “If you do that,” Sentinel said, “then the level two core will attune itself to the Archetype. It will no longer be possible to install it in the Forge.”

  Dash stopped. “Well, damn. Okay.” He looked back at Leira. “Good idea, but Sentinel says we shouldn’t do that. I’m going to trust her on this. You guys just get that level two installed as fast as you can.”

  He meant to say more but saw Kai and the monks standing, motionless, mouths agape. A few were taking in the Forge. Most, though, stared in awe at the looming bulk of the Archetype.

  Kai shook his head. “I have no words.”

  “Yeah, I know, all of this is blowing your minds. But we really need to stay focused, guys. Feel free to gape and wonder and all that when we’re all done not dying. Being alive adds to the enjoyment. Trust me.”

  Kai looked at Dash and nodded quickly. “Yes. Of course. We’ll help your friends here, any way we can.”

  As Viktor gathered the rest of them to get the level two core installed, Dash turned and hurried on to the Archetype. There was another empty power-core slot behind the cradle in its cockpit; he shoved the level one core into it, nodding with satisfaction as its energy surged through the mech. He turned, clambered into the cradle, and readied the Archetype to launch.

  “How long until that Harbinger is in range?”

  “Five minutes,” Sentinel replied. “With a margin of error.”

  “Of how much?”

  “Five minutes.”

  “Great.” He eased the Archetype forward, pushing it out through the docking bay’s force field and into open space. “Let me ask you this—and be honest now. Is the Archetype really up to this fight?”

  “Yes,” Sentinel said.

  “As in, we can win this?”

  “I estimate a fifty percent probability.”

  “Fifty—hang on, that’s not really being up to it, is it?”

  “It is better than less than fifty percent.”

  Dash tilted his head to one side, feeling the bones of his neck crack in a satisfying cascade. “You got me there.”

  “The new power core does improve the odds greatly. It has also activated a new weapon system.”

  “It has?” Dash eagerly turned his attention to it, hoping it was something truly powerful and deadly.

  It was a sword.

  “What the hell? A sword? A freakin’ sword?”

  “Yes. A sword,” Sentinel said.

  “Is that some sort of Unseen joke?”

  “Although I doubt that humor was the intent, I have no insight into the Creators’ motivations. I can only report that you now have access to a sword, and it is rather sharp, in the sense that it can cut everything except the fabric of space.”

  Dash whistled. “
Okay, that’s sharp. But all I know about swords is that they’re glorified knives, and—wait, this one has to be charged? It’s a powered sword?”

  “It is.”

  “So it’s pretty much useless without juice. I don’t like weapon limitations.”

  “That would depend on the circumstances. Admittedly, though, its use does seem situational,” Sentinel said.

  “No shit.”

  “Also, we are not alone.”

  Dash flicked his attention back to the Archetype’s heads-up display. He could see the rough fix of the still-hidden Harbinger and expected to see another threat—maybe more of those nasty little Golden drones. Instead, he saw the Slipwing racing up behind him.

  “Leira? Is that you?”

  “Yup.”

  “What the hell? I told you guys to get that core installed in the Forge!”

  “I think between Viktor, Amy, Conover, and our monk friends, they’ve got that covered. I figured I could be more useful out here.”

  “The Archetype’s barely up to this fight, Leira. The Slipwing isn’t at all.”

  “I can still be a distraction.”

  “There’s being a distraction, and then there’s what amounts to suicide. This is crazy."

  “Says the guy who just pulled some of the most insane maneuvers in the history of spaceflight.”

  He opened his mouth to keep protesting, to convince her to just return to the relative safety of the Forge—but didn’t. It would actually be nice to have some help. And if anyone could offer it, without becoming a burden instead, it was Leira.

  “Fine,” he said. “Just don’t break my ship, okay?”

  “I’ll do my best,” Leira replied, “but no promises.”

  “Guess that’ll have to do.”

  18

  Conover simply couldn’t get the memory of shooting the Clan Shirna agent—literally blowing his head off—out of his mind. It stuck there, like an image burned into an ancient cathode ray display, an outline of violence that simply wouldn’t fade. Even in the midst of the frantic urgency surrounding the Harbinger’s approach, Conover’s mind was overcome by the drumbeat of his own disgust. Murderer.

  How did they do it? People like Dash and Leira. Or did they? Did they have images like that permanently burned into their minds, too?

  “Conover, we have to get this core installed,” Amy said. “Let’s go!”

  He blinked and turned, momentarily confused. Oh—he’d been just standing there, staring at the exit to the docking bay, where first Dash and the Archetype, and then Leira and the Slipwing, had just raced off to do battle.

  He shook himself out the morose reverie, his vision clearing. “Yeah. Right. I’m coming.”

  Viktor and the monks were already halfway across the bay. Conover joined Amy, hurrying along after them in loping strides.

  “It sticks with you, doesn’t it?” Amy said, as they rushed out of the bay and into the warren of corridors leading deeper into the Forge.

  “What does?”

  “What happened back there, at Shylock. When you shot that Clan Shirna guy.”

  Conover looked at her. “How did you know?”

  “I recognize the look,” she said. “I saw it in the mirror for quite a while after the first time I killed someone.”

  “Oh.” After a few paces, Conover asked, “How many people have you, you know, killed?”

  “Just the one. That first was also my last.”

  “What happened?”

  “Long story. I’ll tell it another time. Let’s just say it was her or me, though.”

  “Oh.” After another few paces, he asked, “How did you get past it?”

  “What makes you think I did?”

  “You always seem so happy.”

  “I am happy. Now, don’t get me wrong. I didn’t enjoy doing what I had to do. But that’s the thing, it had to be done.” She shrugged as they hurried along. “I just made it part of who I am, I guess. I just have to hope that the rest of me makes up for it.”

  “Well, I think it does,” Conover said, then stopped himself from wincing. He had a knack for saying clunky things around her. It was like a second gift.

  But she just gave him a warm smile. “Thanks. I think the same about you.”

  “Oh. Really?”

  “Sure,” she said, her smile becoming a grin. “I like Dash—I mean, who couldn’t like Dash, right? But I prefer the quieter, more cerebral types.”

  “Is that what I am?”

  “You sure as hell ain’t Dash.”

  They hurried on, almost jogging now. Conover’s breath started to labor—he really was in bad shape, something he was going to have change—but Amy’s words kept him moving forward. Interest in a woman could have that effect on nearly anyone, even a young engineer.

  His mood flagged when they got to the engine room and found themselves confronting a set of sealed doors and Custodian.

  “What do you mean we can’t have access?” Viktor asked.

  “Only the Messenger is allowed access to the engine room,” Custodian replied.

  “The Messenger,” Conover said, still catching his breath, “is off fighting…the Golden.”

  “Yeah, he’s kind of busy, in case you hadn’t noticed,” Amy said.

  “I am aware of the Messenger’s disposition.”

  The monks stood nearby, watching them argue with a disembodied voice in bemused wonder. “Who is that?” Kai asked.

  “It’s Custodian,” Conover replied. “It’s kind of like you, actually. Just like you and your Order watched over the core—the Orb—and the rest of the Unseen complex on Shylock, it has overseen this place.”

  “And right now, it’s being a pain in the ass,” Amy said.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Viktor snapped, hefting the level two core and brandishing it toward the sealed doors to the engine room. “We need to install this so you can protect this place—and, I might add, yourself as well.”

  “The Creators only allowed for entry by the Messenger.”

  “You keep calling this Custodian it,” Kai said. “I gather that means it’s a machine?”

  “It is,” Conover said. “And a very stubborn one.”

  “A very stubborn one that makes no damned sense,” Viktor said. “Obviously, if Dash—the Messenger—is off fighting the Golden, he can’t also be here to install this core.”

  “I agree,” Kai said. “However, if it really is a machine, then it was presumably programmed to conform to certain behaviors. I doubt that arguing with it is going to be very fruitful.”

  “You would think that an artificial intelligence developed by Unseen would have the emphasis on the intelligence part.” Amy balled her fists. “This one sure doesn’t seem to. It’s ridiculous.”

  “Maybe that’s the key,” Conover said. “Maybe we can figure out some logical argument it can’t refute.”

  “Or, you could just try contacting the Messenger and getting him to give his permission,” Kai said. “Just a thought, anyway.”

  Conover looked at the monk. What he said was true. And much simpler.

  It was the downside of his eye implants, he thought, and not for the first time. Being able to see so much complexity, especially when it came to tech, sometimes made it hard to see the simple answers, even when they were right there.

  Conover touched his comm. “Dash? Are you there?”

  Nothing. Amy shook her head. “Your personal comm won’t have the power to reach him. You have to relay through something, and the Slipwing is gone.”

  “I know. I just assumed Custodian would do it.”

  “Relaying messages to the Messenger is not within my scope.” Custodian replied.

  “No!” Conover snapped before exhaling with an effort. “I mean, you can’t have it both ways. You say you won’t give us access to anything without the Messenger. But when we try to contact him, you won’t do that, either.” Conover glared at the doors—since there was nowhere else to glare. “But that mak
es no sense. The Forge was intended to fight the Golden. You’ve said so yourself. The Messenger is now off fighting the Golden. Logically, the Forge should support him as he does. But it can’t, at least not without this level two core installed. So installing this level two core conforms to the basic purpose of the Forge. That means the Messenger would want it done. So, you either let us get in there and install this stupid core, or you let us talk to the Messenger so he can tell you to do that. Any other course of action is illogical nonsense. And do you believe your Creators were illogical and nonsensical? Because if they were, remember, they made you.”

  Viktor, Kai, and the monks all nodded and looked impressed. Amy gave Conover a broad grin and clapped him on the shoulder. “Speaking of logical arguments that can’t be refuted. Well done, son.”

  Conover smiled—but the doors weren’t open yet.

  Custodian finally spoke. “Your argument is compelling. Perhaps strict adherence to protocols is potentially counterproductive.”

  Amy put her hands on her hips and scowled. “No shit!”

  A new voice sounded. It was Dash.

  “What’s up, guys? Custodian says you want to talk to me. You have that core installed yet?”

  “No,” Viktor said. “Custodian is being difficult.”

  “What? How?”

  “It says only the Messenger has access to the engine room,” Conover said. “Or, for that matter, pretty much the rest of the Forge—”

  Dash interrupted with a voice that was eerily calm. “Give them access,” Dash said. “Give it to all of them—access to everything. That includes the whole damned Forge. I’m only going to issue this order once. Is that clear?”

  “Understood,” Custodian said. “Full access is now available.”

  The doors to the engine room slid silently open.

  As they hurried in, Amy said, “That was way harder than it needed to be.”

  “Okay, guys,” Dash said, “get that core installed, like half an hour ago. We’re almost—”

  Silence.

  Conover stopped. “Dash?”

  “Can’t talk,” he snapped back.

  There was silence again.

  Conover tried again, but this time there was no answer.