The Messenger Box Set: Books 1-6

by J. N. Chaney

  “Quantum-level communication is problematic,” Custodian agreed. “The states of quantum particles are subject to too much uncertainty to make for reliable transmission of data.”

  “Okay, how about their comms somehow being routed through unSpace,” Conover asked. “Or that border zone, the Dark Between.”

  “Unlikely,” Sentinel replied. “The area was still affected by the residual effects of the scrambler mines deployed by Dash and Leira.”

  “Yeah, we didn’t drop out of unSpace when we showed up to help, as much as we just kind of fell out of it,” Wei-Ping said.

  “I do not believe that the nature of the communications between these ships is the primary issue,” Custodian said. “Rather, I believe it is a by-product of what is.”

  “And what’s that?” Dash asked.

  “Messenger, I think the substance you recovered in cryogenic suspension in the escape pods that attempted to leave the missile platform may have something to do with the combat abilities of this new threat. The Verity are not entirely human, because they are not entirely organic,” Custodian said.

  “We already know that,” Dash replied. “So what was in those frozen canisters that accounts for the effectiveness of these new ships?”

  The room fell silent, waiting.

  “Analysis indicates it primarily contains two substances. The first is human nerve cells, held in a kind of suspended state,” said.

  Audible gasps and angry muttering buzzed through the room. Benzel half stood, his fists in balls. Dash patted the air for calm, sensing the worst was yet to come.

  “Brutal, even grotesque,” Dash replied. “But we already know that they’ve been harvesting human nerve tissue to replenish their own.”

  “I do not believe that this is the same thing,” Custodian said. “And that is indicated by the second substance in those canisters.”

  Dash braced himself. “And that is?”

  “At one point, it was human nerve cells as well. However, they have been altered at an intracellular level by the introduction of nano-scale technology. The changes are, therefore, mechanical in nature, and would lead to greater connectivity and communication capabilities for a neural network built from the material. In essence, these human cells have been reengineered into machines capable of complex networking.”

  This time, there was complete silence. Amy finally spoke, her voice hesitant. “Um, I have an engineering question?”

  “Go ahead and ask it, Amy,” Dash said.

  “Were these frozen, reengineered cells still alive?”

  “They were.”

  “Okay, but all of the stuff I work on is dead, right? I can make whatever changes to it I want, but I can’t kill it, because it’s not alive. But cells are alive. So, um, how did the Verity or whatever get the tech inside the cells without killing them?” she asked.

  “The modification presumably occurred while the cells were alive and likely still contained in the bodies from which they were extracted,” Custodian said.

  Anger boiled over in the room at that, with outraged exclamations and curses fuming the air. One person remained silent, though. Dash was quiet as stone, just staring at the holo-image until everyone else’s rage fell back to a simmer.

  His anger was different. It was an icy bubble, surrounding him. When he finally spoke, his voice came out flat, the words clipped and apparently without emotion. He noticed that it seemed to surprise even Leira, Viktor, and the others close to him, but he didn’t care. For the moment, every fiber of the person that was Newton “Dash” Sawyer was focused like a petawatt laser onto a single thought.

  “I’m the Messenger,” he said. “I make decisions as the Messenger. But I’m still as human as I was before I came into that title.” He looked down at his hands, his knuckles white. “So, as that still very-human Messenger, I’m pronouncing a death sentence on the Verity. Every single one of them. Every asset they have. Every ship. Every station. Every planet. Every communication. If they have art, it will all be destroyed. If they have culture, it will be wiped out. I want to eliminate their whole damned civilization, grind it into the dust, and whatever hopes and dreams they might have along with it. And I want them to know that we did it.”

  Kai gave a firm nod. “The Enemy of all Life must not be allowed to exist.”

  Even Viktor, normally stolid and calm, their moral compass, nodded. “Their allies, too. We can’t afford to let anything like this live in the galaxy.”

  “Especially their allies,” Wei-Ping said. She understood tribalism at the root.

  Dash nodded back. “Yes. A complete eradication of anyone who has ever used humans—living or dead—as fodder for their war machine. Anyone disagree? If you do, speak up. I won’t be a tyrant, but this is the way it’s going to be for anyone who chooses to stay involved. If you can’t abide by this, you should probably just leave and not look back. For anyone who stays, I will bring justice.”

  As though in response to some signal, everyone not already standing did so. A moment passed.

  Benzel looked around at the rest, then turned to Dash. “We’re all ready to do this, Dash.”

  “Good. Custodian, ready the smelters. We arm every ship to the teeth, and then we go hunting,” Dash said.

  “Consider it done,” Custodian said. Almost immediately, a distant thrum passed through the Forge as the massive machines of creation prepared to make even more destruction.

  This would not merely be another battle. This would be a new war, a campaign not just intended to preserve sentient life in the galactic arm, but one now much like that being waged by the Golden—a war of extermination.

  And it could only end one way.

  19

  But wars require weapons, and weapons require raw materials. Dark Metal was their most critical resource, and Dash and Leira would pursue that. Based on the deep scans from Conover’s interferometer setup, the available Dark Metal tended to be found in far-flung places that might be in imminent threat of contact with Golden or Verity incursions. That meant their two mechs were the most capable of chasing down those leads, while still being able to effectively defend themselves.

  Dark Metal wasn’t their only bottleneck. More mundane resources, such as various types of alloys, were also increasingly in short supply. Dash had given Benzel the job of chasing that down, and he’d mused over different approaches, until Wei-Ping approached him with an idea.

  She found him in the fabrication level, watching the machinery churn away and discussing possible options with Custodian. He turned when she tapped his shoulder.

  “You know, I think I have an idea for where to find most of the stuff we’re looking for, and it’s free for the taking.”

  Benzel cocked his head at her. “Oh? And that would be?”

  “Remember that big old carbon-processing ship we found that one time? The one called the—” She frowned.

  Benzel nodded. “The Ponderous. Yeah. I remember thinking what a stupid name that was for a ship.” He grinned. “We found it orbiting that moon in—oh crap, I don’t remember the name of the system. We thought it was active, lined up a whole snatch-and-grab operation, only to find the damned thing was derelict.”

  “And there was nothing on board worth claiming,” Wei-Ping said, nodding. “We wrote it off as a big pile of junk. But that big pile of junk?”

  “Is just what we need right now, yeah,” Benzel said, nodding vigorously. On impulse, he grabbed Wei-Ping and kissed her. “You’re brilliant, girl.”

  “I know. But do that again, and we’ll find out if it’s possible to break a man’s lips.”

  Benzel offered an elaborate, apologetic bow. “Message received.” Straightening, he added, “You should know by now that I sometimes let my enthusiasm get the better of me.”

  Wei-Ping made an equally elaborate show of wiping her mouth. “Especially after you’ve been drinking plumato wine.”

  Benzel bowed again, and they both laughed.

  “The Ponderous is a st
upid name,” Wei-Ping said. “But a fitting one, you’ve got to admit.”

  Benzel nodded. “Yeah. That is one hell of a big ship. Ponderous for sure.”

  He looked away from the nav display to the Snow Leopard’s view screen, which showed the looming bulk of the abandoned carbon processing ship—essentially a mobile factory, designed to strip carbon compounds out of asteroids and comets, as well as the atmosphere of gas giants. It could refine any carbon-bearing substance, like methane, graphite, or even diamond into elemental carbon for use in manufacturing composites like graphene or nano-tubes.

  Or it could refine virtually anything—when it wasn’t a derelict hulk orbiting a nameless, icy moon, itself orbiting a giant, rocky planet that the star chart claimed to be the core of a long-dead gas giant. The system wasn’t too far from the Forge, and it was close to well-traveled space. But the Ponderous was really just junk, at this point—too badly damaged by some catastrophic accident that had torn a six-hundred-meter rent in its almost kilometer-long hull. Too big to salvage for the value of materials and components, it had just been abandoned here.

  Benzel looked back at the nav display. The Snow Leopard led the Rockhound and two ships from the Silent Fleet, the Ardent and the Fearsome. The latter two ships were mainly meant for security against unexpected attacks by the Verity or the Golden, but Benzel already knew he was going to have to press them into service as salvage ships. It was either that or make repeated trips back and forth, between here and the Forge.

  He turned to the others standing nearby on the Snow Leopard’s bridge—Harolyn and Taggart, the engineer Ragsdale had brought from Port Hannah. Much to Harolyn’s amusement, Taggart’s discomfort at boarding a ship full of—not pirates, privateers, as Wei-Ping loved to say—had been obvious. It hadn’t helped that she’d just as obviously been priming him with lurid stories about the Gentle Friends, but he seemed to relax once he realized they weren’t going to toss him out an airlock or whatever. Now, the old engineer peered intently at the hulk on the viewscreen, nodding.

  “A Class IV-B carbon processor,” he said. “Haven’t seen one of those in a few years. The newer ones are a lot smaller, but even more efficient.”

  “I did a stint on one of those,” Harolyn said. “One of my first jobs out of school, sampling comets for their carbon content before putting the ship to work. I remember lots of empty space and a cramped crew hab that always seemed to smell of sweaty feet.”

  “Well, we’re not worried about how efficient this one is or isn’t, or how it smells,” Benzel said. “We just want to bring it back to the Forge—or as much of it as we can, anyway.” He gestured at a console built into his command chair. “But now that we’re here, and we’ve got some hard data to work with, we’ve run the numbers and done some simulations. There’s just no way we’re going to be able to tow something that big.”

  “Or ripped up,” Wei-Ping said. “That gash has to have broken every main cross member along its length. The whole thing’ll probably come apart the first time we apply any thrust.”

  “So don’t bring it back in one piece,” Taggart said, walking up to the view screen. “If you can cut it here”—he pulled his finger across the image near the hull damage—"and again here, you can take it back in three chunks—bow, amidships, and drives.”

  Benzel rubbed his chin. “Thing looks like it’s made of boring old alloys and composites.” He glanced at Wei-Ping. “These new pulse-cannons are way too powerful. They’ll just blast right through it. And the old particle-cannons will punch holes in it.” He turned to Harolyn. “I think we’re going to need your ship for this.”

  “Kind of why you brought me along, wasn’t it?” She crossed her arms. “Like I said back on the Forge, the Rockhound’s laser is meant to cut up rocks. It shouldn’t have any trouble slicing through that thing’s hull. We’ve just never fired it for more than a few minutes at a time.” She moved close to the viewscreen, beside Taggart. “And I’m willing to bet that it’ll take a bit longer than we’re used to.”

  “Hours, I’d say,” Taggart replied.

  Harolyn looked back at Benzel. “My people tell me that we shouldn’t run the laser for more than about ten minutes, and then give it at least ten additional minutes to cool down and regenerate. So we’re going to be here a while.”

  Benzel leaned back in his seat, swallowing his frustration. The whole creed of the Gentle Friends had been built on doing things fast—get in, do what you need to go, get out again. The idea of hanging around this system for at least a day, and likely longer, grated at him.

  Trouble was, there really was no other way they could get as many resources, and possibly usable components, as quickly and all in one go.

  “Okay, then,” he said. “Harolyn, you head back to your ship and set things up. Taggart’ll come with you as a tech specialist, helping you decide where and how to cut.”

  “How about us?” Wei-Ping asked. “We just going to sit around with our thumbs up our butts?”

  Benzel clasped his hands in his lap. “For now, pretty much, yeah. Maybe we can play some cards, give you a chance to win back what you owe me.”

  “Piss off, vagrant. I paid you back already.” Wei-Ping followed this by sticking out her tongue.

  “Ah, but my dear Wei-Ping, you’re forgetting about one thing.”

  “What?”

  Benzel grinned. “Interest.”

  Benzel glanced along the length of the severed forward section of the Ponderous. Just over three hundred meters, it still seemed like an awfully big chunk to be trying to tow through unSpace. He puffed a suit thruster once to start turning, again to stop. Worse, cut free from the rest of the hulk, he could see the interior compartments revealed as the Snow Leopard eased the bow away from the rest of the big ship, and it wasn’t pretty.

  The Rockhound’s laser had seared and melted through structural members, conduits, decks, and bulkheads, exposing just how spindly and fragile the whole thing seemed.

  But Taggart had checked it out and pronounced it safe to tow. Benzel had to just nod at the man’s confident assessment and accept it. At least Taggart seemed entirely at home weightless in vac suit, which boosted his cred among the Gentle Friends.

  “I’m a lot more used to building them than taking them apart,” the old engineer said. “Always found breaking up an old ship kind of sad. You’re losing something: her story, and the stories of all the crew that served aboard her, what happened to them while they were.” Benzel had seen movement behind the gleam off Taggart’s faceplate as the man turned to look at him. “Sorry if that sounds a little silly.”

  But Benzel shook his head. “Doesn’t sound silly at all. One spacer to another, I know what you mean. Ships are more than just machines.”

  “Well, at least this one’s going to a good cause,” Taggart replied, and Benzel had to nod at that, too.

  He rotated again to look back along the vast, sweeping expanse of the massive ships hull toward her stern. A fierce glare shone like a small star where the Rockhound’s laser, the beam itself invisible, ripped its way through her guts. This was going to take longer, because it turned out the Ponderous still held some anti-deuterium in her tanks. That had been a surprise; Benzel marveled that containment hadn’t failed long ago, with catastrophic results.

  But the Ponderous had been built with a safety feature only possible on something so big; she had powerful, permanent magnets as a back-up containment system for her antimatter. The magnets were each nearly five meters long and massed several tons each. That was a mere pittance for something this big, but for the Snow Leopard, that would have been an extravagant waste of bulk and mass.

  “Wei-Ping, we got a read on how much anti-deuterium is left in those tanks yet?” he asked.

  Wei-Ping, who was supervising operations a few hundred meters away, said, “Yeah, we think we do. There’s about a kilogram, give or take.”

  Benzel frowned. That was more than they’d hoped. It was difficult to predict how big an explosi
on that would be if it were released from containment, because there were so many variables—anything from just blowing apart the stern, to something much worse.

  “That’s a lot,” he said. “Can we extract it?”

  “If it could be extracted, I’m pretty sure someone would have done that long ago,” Wei-Ping replied.

  Benzel grunted his assent at that. True enough. A kilo of anti-deuterium would run the Snow Leopard’s translation drive for at least a couple days of flight time.

  “Okay,” he replied. He wanted to add, let’s be really careful, but he didn’t. His people didn’t need to be told something like that; it would be insulting, in fact.

  Benzel turned back to the Snow Leopard’s shuttle, which was hanging about a hundred meters away. He was about to thrust that way, climb inside, and take a break, but Harolyn’s voice hummed across the comm, preceded by a chime, which signaled it was a private channel.

  “Benzel, we’ve got a problem,” she said.

  “Only one?”

  “This one’s rather serious.”

  Benzel frowned at that. Harolyn seemed genuinely worried. He respected the woman. Anyone who could outplay him the way she had over their last contract was worthy of respect. So if she was worried, he was too.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “I’ve got Taggart on the line with us. He noticed there was some strange damage on this old hulk’s rear hull. It looks like impact marks, like someone’s being using her ass-end for target practice with a machine gun. He figured she must have passed through a meteor swarm at some point.”

  “Okay, and?”

  “And I was curious, so I took a closer look,” Taggart said. “These pockmarks back here seem to overlap an awful lot. And some show more micrometeorite abrasion than others.”

  “So some are older than the others,” Benzel said.