The Messenger Box Set: Books 1-6

by J. N. Chaney

  He turned and looked at the modules they’d discarded, scattered a meter or more away from the drone.

  Every one of them was still active, powered up, sending and receiving data.

  What had his own thought been, when they’d been stuck outside the engine room, facing the sealed doors and an obstinate Custodian? 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.

  “Well then. I’m an idiot,” Conover said in disgust.

  “What?” Amy asked. “What are you talking about?”

  “These modules,” he said, gesturing at the discarded ones. “They’re all still working. The reason it seems like we’ve been wasting our time, is because we have. All of these modules are still connected to the drone.” He looked at the others. “As far as this drone’s concerned, we haven’t done anything to it at all.”

  “Oh,” Kai replied. “That’s unfortunate. So what do we do about that?”

  “All of these modules we’ve pulled out…we have to get rid of them! Get them as far away from here as we possibly can.”

  Amy met Conover’s eyes. “Are you sure? We really can’t afford to waste any more time, here.”

  “Yes. I’m sure.”

  “Good enough for me,” she said, nodding. “Let’s gather these things up. They’ve got a date with deep space. Or maybe a nuclear furnace.”

  “Same difference. They’ll find the star sooner or later,” Kai said with confidence.

  Conover stared at him. “Thought you didn’t know much about space?”

  Kai smiled. “I’m learning.”

  Dash really didn’t grasp why the Harbinger had come after him. It should have just pressed its attack home on the Forge, unless Custodian had the weapon systems online, in which case killing him was the only option the Harbinger had.

  That was all the thinking he had time for, before the Harbinger had closed on him in a metallic smear of light.

  It tried to capitalize on its speed, agility, and smaller size to get inside his blocks and blows, their limbs engaged in a furious dance of crushing impacts and spraying metal. Dash gasped as he used a blinding jab to stop the Harbinger’s forward motion, then he followed it up with a savage knee to the chest cannon, warping the vent like crinkled paper.

  The Harbinger struck back, but Dash was ready, seizing the arm and twisting while they tumbled through the black of space, hammering each other like the galaxy hung in the balance.

  After a brief pause, he sucked in air—and the idea bloomed in his mind, small, then full, and then a flash of brilliance that made everything clear.

  The Harbinger had figured out that he, Dash, was both the Archetype’s strength—and its weakness. He might bring impulse and instinct to the fight, but he also brought an all too frail human body. The Golden mech had assumed he’d left their battle and come back here, to the brown dwarf, for a breather. But it wasn’t going to let him have one. It could never fatigue, so it was going to press him relentlessly, until he was exhausted, and then finish him off.

  The Harbinger vanished.

  Dash turned, just as something slammed into his head, snapping it forward. The Harbinger had reappeared behind him, striking out even as it shifted fully back into real space, before he could make a move on it.

  Dash just went with instinct again, flinging himself back through the Dark Between, back toward the Forge.

  He had one, final hope—that Viktor and his friends had gotten the Forge working and could help him win this fight.

  Otherwise, the fight was over. He just hadn’t admitted it yet.

  Conover clambered out of the breach, back onto the surface of the Forge. As he did, his suit systems came back to life with a welcome hum. He hurried to the nearest remote, lugging the tool bags into which they’d stuffed the extracted modules. Conover had been grimly satisfied to see the drone itself and its remaining modules light up with a frenzy of activity as they had. It told him they were onto something here, and the drone didn’t like it.

  He hurried to the nearest maintenance remote, hung the tool bags from the various protuberances extending from it, then said, “Custodian. Send this remote away from the Forge, as far and as fast as you can.”

  “Understood.”

  From Conover’s perspective, the remote suddenly and smoothly accelerated straight up, taking the most direct path away from the drone.

  Amy and Kai joined him, the three of them standing and watching the remote recede into space. Now it was just a tiny dot, almost lost among the stars.

  “Come on,” Conover muttered.

  “This has to work,” Amy said.

  “Have faith in the Unseen,” Kai put in. “The Enemy cannot prevail against them.”

  Conover let out a slow breath. I wish I had that kind of faith.

  “I can now discern the Golden drone and have fully deactivated it,” Custodian said.

  Conover looked at the others, hope flaring—but he braced himself for something else to go wrong, simply because so much already had.

  “The power core,” Viktor suddenly said. “It’s activating.”

  “Viktor?” Amy replied, “Does that mean—?”

  “Just a second,” he replied. “The monks are trying to figure out what these displays are all saying now.”

  The seconds ticked by. Conover clenched his fists.

  “Okay,” Viktor said, then paused. “It seems the systems are rebooting, coming out of stand-by mode. Yes. We’re live.”

  As if to confirm it, Custodian said, “The cloaking system and selected weapons are now online.”

  “As soon you have a target, fire,” Conover said. “Unload on it, understood? Fire everything.”

  Kai said, “Praise the Unseen.”

  Conover nodded. Praise them, indeed.

  Dash fell back into real space. The Harbinger appeared just a few seconds later and raced to close with him, clearly determined to finish the fight. Spalled metal circled them like rings around a planet, evidence of their titanic struggle.

  He braced himself. This was going to hurt.

  “The Forge has locked weapons onto the Harbinger,” Sentinel said. “It is firing. We should maintain some distance to avoid fatal damage, Messenger.”

  “Don’t need to tell me twice!” Dash snapped, abruptly folding himself at the waist, then kicking out brutally with both feet. He connected with the Harbinger, hard, and drove it back. At the same time, he flung himself backward, opening a gap between them. For good measure, he fired the dark-lance, the range almost point-blank. The entire exchange happened too fast for the human eye, as their systems screamed in protest at the murderous pace.

  The Harbinger shuddered and reeled, but quickly righted itself and started to close again, arms lifting just a touch slower than before.

  Hope it hurts, you bastard, Dash thought. And—surprise.

  A barrage of missiles popped out of the Dark Between and slammed into the Harbinger, undetected and undefended. The blasts, which seemed to combine the effects of plasma explosions and dark-lance shots, shoved the Harbinger to one side, and spun it around as metal streamed away in a liquid tumble.

  As the blast dissipated, the Harbinger just hung there, slowly rotating, glowing chunks of its dark-metal armor drifting around it, a testament to the Archetype’s unyielding power.

  Dash didn’t hesitate. He drove himself toward it, reached it, grabbed it, made to punch it.

  No. Not yet.

  Instead, Dash extended the sword he’d considered such a stupid, wasteful thing from his hand. As the Harbinger finally started to come back to life, it turned, ready to resume the battle.

  Dash drove the sword into the Harbinger’s head, burying it to the hilt. “Naptime, bitch.”

  Sentinel had been right. Dark metal was almost impervious to energy weapons. The bludgeoning force of the Archetype’s fists and knees and feet had been a lot more effective. But even they paled in compari
son to the lethal effect of the sword.

  The dark metal of armor of the Harbinger’s head cracked as the massive blade pushed through it, striking sparks in a glorious shower of metallic debris. Dash wrenched it up to one side; after a moment of straining, the Golden mech’s head ripped free of its torso. Dash flicked the sword, flinging the head free. Despite the damage, the Harbinger still tried to turn, until Dash drove the sword into its torso.

  Then withdrew it.

  Drove it in again. Again.

  Each time, the Harbinger shuddered and convulsed. But he didn’t relent, slamming the sword hilt-deep, over and over.

  “Messenger, the Harbinger’s power levels have fallen to zero.”

  Dash paused. “You mean it’s dead?”

  “Effectively, yes.”

  Dash stared at the inert form of the Harbinger, limp, rotating slowly, just a few meters away.

  “Yeah, well, let’s just make good and sure, shall we?”

  He slammed the sword home one more time.

  “And that was for Leira, you son of a bitch,” he said,

  Kai had gasped, pointing as the salvo of missiles raced away from the Forge. A second or two of flight, then they abruptly vanished.

  “What happened to them?” the monk asked. “Did the Enemy somehow contrive to stop them?”

  “I don’t think so,” Conover said. Sure enough, a distant point in space flared with dazzling flashes of light.

  They waited.

  Silence.

  Then Dash said, “It’s dead. The Harbinger is dead.”

  Conover nodded at the fading glow, where the Forge’s missiles had detonated.

  That’s just how I feel, too, Dash thought, and even his mind’s voice was weary beyond belief.

  26

  Dash stared at the Harbinger, which was still hanging motionless, aside from the slow rotation induced by him stabbing it over and over again.

  “Sentinel—anything from it at all?”

  “No. All active emissions from it have ceased. It is still radiating a small amount of residual heat, but I can discern no emanations of power—nothing at all to indicate it remains active.”

  Dash glared at it. The damned thing had proven so implacably tough that he had trouble believing he’d actually killed it.

  “Could it just be playing dead?”

  “That is possible, but unlikely. The damage you inflicted on it is catastrophic.”

  He looked at the sword he’d dismissed as stupid and wasteful. “Good. I hope it felt every one of those catastrophic hits.”

  He dismissed the sword; it flowed back into the substance of the Archetype’s arm and vanished. Through the Meld, he knew the Archetype had taken damage that might not be catastrophic, but it still hurt. The mech could eventually self-repair all of it, but the Forge was right there, so there was no need to wait.

  Dash tried very hard to not think about Leira.

  But how could he not? He couldn’t, after all, let her spend the bit of time she had remaining all alone.

  “Leira?”

  “I’m here.”

  “The Harbinger is dead.”

  “I heard you tell Conover and the others.” After a pause, she said, “Good,” with a fierce intensity that almost made Dash smile. He could even picture the exact look on her face when she’d said it.

  “I’d ask how you’re doing, but…”

  “Oh, I’m fine. I’m sure I will be right up to the moment I turn to glowing vapor.”

  “Leira—”

  “Dash, don’t. I’m at peace with it. I’ve often thought about this. When I died, I decided I wanted it to be in space—and, ideally, doing something important. I always figured that would be fighting off pirates or raiders while…I don’t know, delivering medical supplies to orphans or something like that. But doing my little bit to help save the whole universe is a pretty good alternative.”

  “I—” He stopped. He had no idea what more to say. He didn’t have much experience sharing the last few minutes of someone’s life. All he could finally come up with was, “I’m so sorry it worked out this way.”

  “You should be.”

  That made Dash’s eyes widen a little, but Leira just laughed.

  “Kidding,” she said. “I was going to say, yeah, you should be, for not keeping your damned ship properly tuned up, or going with the cheapest fusion containment you could find, or something just as smart-assed. But I don’t really think the top of the line containment system would have done any better after being attacked by, you know, a super-advanced alien robot shooting weapons we don’t even have names for.”

  “Still, Leira, I’m so damn sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Don’t be sorry, not about any of it. Please. I don’t want my last thoughts to be that you’re going to beat yourself up about how this worked out for the rest of your life.”

  “I was going to say for next couple of weeks, but okay.”

  She laughed. “Thank you. Humor is way better than making my last moments here into some kind of a deathwatch. Seriously, though—I’ve made my own decisions, all the way along. I really am at peace with this. In fact, my only real regret is that I’m taking your poor, old Slipwing with me. Oh.” She paused. “Hey, you know what? You should take some of the Unseen tech we’ve found, cash it in, and buy yourself a new ship. Something big and shiny, and roomier. Even with just me aboard, she’s pretty cramped. I think I can still smell the monks and everyone else who was jammed into her after Shylock.” She paused again then went on. “I guess you won’t be able to sell off the Lens, though. I’ve still got that thing on me. Probably just as well. You really don’t want to sell just anyone the ability to blow up a star.”

  Dash stared at the heads-up.

  “I wonder if the Lens might actually make it through this?” Leira continued. “If everything else is going to go poof, but it just sails on.”

  “Leira, shut up.”

  “Huh? Did I say something?”

  “No. Just shut up. I need to talk to Conover.”

  Conover unlatched his helmet, yanked it off, and just dropped it. The dry, cool air of the docking bay wafted across his sweaty face; for a moment, he just stood and breathed it, filling his lungs, then doing it again. After the tight confines of the vacsuit, the docking bay felt like a nearly infinitely space, so vast it just seemed to go on and on, above and around him, forever.

  He couldn’t keep the heart-rending reality at bay for long, though—especially when Amy’s helmet came off and revealed her tear-streaked face.

  “Dash has told you about Leira, I guess?” Viktor asked. He’d met them in the docking bay as they clambered off the maintenance remotes. He seemed…smaller, somehow, Conover thought. Smaller, as though shrunken by the news about Leira’s impending death.

  He nodded. “Yes. Dash told us.”

  Amy said nothing. She just stripped off her gloves then started on the latches holding her suit closed.

  Viktor nodded. That was it.

  “I am so sorry about that,” Kai said, placing his own helmet carefully down near his feet. “I didn’t know Leira well, but—”

  “Don’t,” Amy snapped.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You don’t know her well. Not didn’t. She’s not gone. Not yet.” She stopped, shaking her head.

  “You’re right,” Kai said. “My apologies.” He seemed to cast about for something else to say, but seemingly decided the best words, right now, were no words at all. He just nodded to them, then withdrew, giving them space.

  “I need to talk to her,” Amy said.

  Viktor nodded. “I told her you would.”

  Amy stared at him for a moment, then at Conover—then her face crumpled, and she started sobbing. “But I don’t know what to say.”

  Conover stepped toward her, then stopped. He’d meant to hug her, but wasn’t sure if he should, or if she’d just push him away.

  But Viktor had no qualms. He simply gathered Amy in his arms and hugge
d her close. It left Conover standing an awkward couple of paces away. He felt like Kai must have. He’d certainly come to know Leira much better than the monk had, but nothing like Viktor, who’d been with her for…he wasn’t even sure, but he assumed it had to be at least several years now. And definitely nothing like Amy, who’d apparently done some of her growing up with Leira.

  So, Conover just stared for a moment, then started to back away, swimming in uncertainty while bracing for grief.

  “Conover!” It was Dash. “You there?”

  “I am, yes.”

  “How does the Lens work?”

  Conover blinked in confusion. The Lens? What?

  “I’m not sure what you mean, Dash.”

  “How does the Lens work? How does it make a star blow up?”

  Viktor pulled back from Amy and turned. Amy wiped her eyes and turned to him, too, but neither of them said anything.

  “I’m not really sure how it works, Dash. It’s Unseen tech, way too advanced for us to even begin to understand.”

  “No, I get that.” He could feel Dash’s frustration in his pause. He was trying to ask something, but Conover didn’t get what. “What I’m asking is, what does the Lens do to a star to make it explode? You studied the damned thing, even told me some of how it works. That’s how I was able to use the one Nathis had against Clan Shirna. But, when it comes to stars—well, they can only explode in certain ways, right?”

  Conover looked at Viktor and Amy. Both just stared back, their expressions caught between sorrow, confusion over Dash’s question that probably wasn’t too different from his own, and—maybe a flicker of hope?

  Conover hoped not. It seemed to him that Dash was just losing it.

  But Viktor nodded. “Answer him, Conover.”

  “Uh, well, as far as I can tell, the Lens basically forces a star to go through the same process that would make it explode naturally, at the end of its life,” Conover said. “The result, though, depends on the mass of the star.”