by Scott Moon
“You are the first of your family line to fail me. The first to insult me. The first to provoke a young and dangerous race. But I am generous and will not terminate your children.”
“You are generous, Lord Hanax!” Guidis shouted.
“When you fail me again, I will give them to the fires of the core. Now stand and give me the truth.”
Guidis climbed to his feet before looking around the room. Neither of them could see into the surrounding gloom. It was part of the Darkness that neither dared violate with technological enhancements. “I have told you everything.”
“No, Guidis, you have concealed many things. Worse than lying, I think.”
Body quivering, Guidis shifted and looked at his feet.
“The human Black Fleet hunts your minions. Your attempt to corner them and the rest of the humans in the Siris system failed. I may not have cause to eject your children into the core of this galaxy, but you may sleep beside them soon,” Hanax said.
“The human Black Fleet is broken and useless. They called many times for help and were ignored. Like others of their kind, they do not believe they can navigate the void without assistance,” Guidis said.
“Are you certain?”
“I am,” Guidis said, fists clenched at his side. “They have given up. They believe they are lost.”
“Did you contact Dremur and bring her home?”
“She is recovering from her weakness,” Guidis said.
Hanax studied streams of data flowing from the Darkness into his command chair and drifting up to his eyes like dust floating on black light.
Guidis unclenched his fists and looked around, still blinded by the heavy shadows.
Hanax looked up from his work, considered Guidis for a long time, and stood to his full height. “I must punish you.”
Guidis backed away, which disappointed Hanax.
“Where do you think you might go? Have you reached a level of ascendancy that allows you access to places unknown?” Hanax asked. He stood and strode forward. Each step sounded louder than the one preceding it.
Guidis retreated until his back impacted the wall behind him where there had been a door. He looked around like a foolish child, surprised despite knowing where he was and how impossible it was to leave without the permission of his host.
Hanax thundered forward, his feet impacting the alloy floor with intentional force. Reverberation spread throughout the darkness and might continue for years. He raised his left arm and thrust his fingers into the chest of his disobedient vassal. “I must punish you.”
“Spare me! Spare my strength! I cannot serve you if you break me,” Guidis shouted.
Hanax twisted his hand deeper, leaning his weight into the attack. Flesh tore with a sickening sound and bones popped. He wasn’t a fan of the organic part of this exchange of power. The need was primitive and made him feel like an animal. Emotions of dominance raged through him. “You will never fail me again.”
Ripping through the flesh of his rival to steal his life power excited him, forcing him to greater and greater violence. The sensation was exquisite and delicious, irresistible as the void of space or the gravity of a black hole. It was wrong for him to lose control. The taste of his ancient rival’s pain was too sweet. “I don’t enjoy this. I mustn’t enjoy this. Why are you causing me to be this way?” His voice rose and bent into words he could barely understand or hear. Blood rushed through his ears and sounded like the oceans of their long-forgotten homeworlds.
Stars and galaxies swirled through his mind and he remembered things better forgotten. Primitive times, violent events, base betrayals that resembled cannibalism when thought about for too long. This was the danger of stealing power from another of his kind. Memories were not always pleasant.
For a time, he lived in battles much like the humans waged even now. There were machines and explosions and nations to be won and lost. Then there were worlds to be destroyed. Galaxies to be explored in the universe with a gaping wound cut through it. His people were not conquerors but an infection, a rotten tumor they all pretended was a thing of beauty and power.
He yanked his hand free of Guidis and watched his rival tumble sideways and tremble on the ground, face down and curled into a ball that leaked fluids across the black alloy floor.
Hanax trembled and turned away from what he had done. “Rise if you can. Serve me and I will allow you to regain your strength. We will set a trap and you will be the bait.”
3
Go For Help
Danzig reviewed the number of Marines he could afford to use for security—two per ship. The makeshift airfield on the surface of Siris was surreal. Fires burned in the distance, casting everything in shadows. “I think this is the lowest point on the planet that is still above water.”
“The surrounding hills are gentle but transform into mountains less than a hundred meters from our location. The canyons to the west grow deeper and more tangled. Captain Kingstar is afraid of an attack from that quarter,” his executive officer, Commander Melanie Ford, said.
She seemed shorter than normal.
And angrier.
“What did you tell him?” Danzig asked.
“The canyons are too narrow and complicated to mass a large force. He should know that. Spies and saboteurs might come that way. I might’ve mentioned he was the ground-pounder and should have a better handle on these types of tactical decisions.”
Danzig studied the parked ships and the dangerous world around them as he waited for his XO to finish.
“Then I suggested he achieved his rank on his looks,” Ford said.
“How’d he take it?”
“He was pissed. Made a big show for his grunts. Then asked me on a date the moment he got me alone,” she said.
“What about Moreau? He’ll be heartbroken,” Danzig said.
“He better not find out.”
Danzig looked at her, surprised.
“I’m not going on a date with that prima donna. If Moreau hears Kingstar asked, he’ll wind up in the brig with half Kingstar’s face on his knuckles,” she said. “Stop changing the subject and admit I’m right.”
“I have to meet this woman,” Danzig said.
Ford snorted.
“She’d be worse than useless in a battle, but if anyone can run the Burner blockade and go for help, she’s the one.”
“I agree on the useless part,” Ford said. “Moreau’s team is going with you.”
“I will take Moreau. The others are needed to guard my ships. If anything happens to me, you’re in charge. Make Captain Roberts a puppet leader if you have to. I don’t trust anyone else with command of my fleet.”
Ford nodded then shrugged toward the haphazard collection of shuttles and small craft that had made it to the surface. Less than half were warships and those had the least chance of making it back into space due to their size and fuel limitations. “It’s not the greatest fleet I’ve seen.”
Danzig laughed. “Break the news to Moreau. No armor. We need to blend.”
Ford laughed bitterly. “You’re the boss.”
“Are there standard operating procedures for setting up a camp?” Danzig asked. “I am not feeling the organization.”
Men and women sat beside their armor and weapons, often staring at the ground or sleeping in an upright position. Medics and their security teams canvassed the makeshift streets checking the worst of the walking wounded and ordering them to the medical tent.
Moving through this recurring scene were relatively uninjured personnel on official or private business. There were a lot of chiefs in this camp.
Moreau glared at a passing group of soldiers who harassed one another in a thick Australian accent. Once he was satisfied the Aussies weren’t a security threat, he answered the question. “Yes, but this isn’t the Navy.” He scanned the terrain beyond the camp perimeter and scowled. “I wish I was in my armor.”
“Are you afraid these ground-pounders hate me that much?”
“No one hates you, Admiral. Unless they’re stupid,” Moreau said.
“Watch where you’re going, space squid,” a soldier said.
“Fuck off. I’m a Marine,” Moreau said.
“I’m the squid,” Danzig said.
The collection of tired and disgruntled soldiers edged onto another path and disappeared behind rows of heavy equipment.
“That’s the admiral, dumbass,” one of them muttered.
Danzig allowed the Special Warrant Officer in charge of the Admiral’s Guards to do his job. The man was intimidating with or without armor.
“Melanie was right on this one, Admiral. You shouldn’t be meeting this woman, and if you did, she should be coming to you,” Moreau said.
Danzig nodded, watching his step on the uneven ground. “Commander Ford is often right.” He followed the instructions the Dissident Union commando had provided, passing the medical tent and the surprisingly active mess hall before looking for the two men she had described.
“What’s going on in there?” Danzig asked of the mess hall.
“There’s no alcohol—or very little—down here. That doesn’t keep ground-pounders from getting rowdy and blowing off steam with whatever they can manufacture. If I wasn’t guarding you, I’d probably be in there getting in fights,” Moreau said.
“We’ll have enough fighting soon.”
“Recreational violence relaxes me after a long day of fighting for my life against godlike aliens.”
Danzig realized there were fewer and fewer UNA and CWF personnel in the area beyond the mess hall. After a few hundred meters, he saw the reason.
A pair of DU commandos stood guarding a large tent.
“Are you Danzig Robedeaux?” one of them asked.
“I am,” Danzig said.
“Your bodyguard can wait with Felton,” he said.
“Not a chance,” Moreau said.
Danzig signaled him to hold back a step. He moved closer. “What’s your name, soldier?”
“Felix Dbonden. My friend is Slade Felton. You can call him Slade, but he’ll likely slit your throat if you do,” the lean, underfed commando said. “My recommendation is to keep it formal with him.”
Danzig looked at Moreau, who was grinding his teeth, brow furrowed like he wanted nothing more than to thrash the DU commandos.
“I’ll go inside. You can both wait with my bodyguard. If something goes wrong, one of you might survive so long as you both run in opposite directions,” Danzig said.
“Suit yourself,” Dbonden said.
Danzig ducked into the tent, surprised the man had acquiesced so easily.
“Step forward and I’ll turn on the lights,” a woman said. Her young voice was strong and sensual.
Danzig felt old. Who was he to think such things? He took a cautious step. None of the planet’s ambient light reached inside. He suspected it was a blackout tent, capable of keeping light in as well as out, useful when a goal was to avoid getting shelled by heavy guns.
Light from every LED in the tent blasted him in the face. He threw up his hand. “Isn’t it against regulations to tamper with interior lighting in a field-deployable structure?”
The woman stepped to one side of the modified light cluster. “You know a lot about tents for a ship driver.”
“He’s a manual-reading geek with no imagination,” Dr. Marc Danzig said from behind the wall of painful illumination.
“Marc!” Danzig rushed forward.
Kimberly aimed a spinning back kick and struck him an inch below his belly button. She was tall but thin, probably weighing seventy or eighty pounds less than Danzig despite matching his height. A hundred and thirty pounds was still a hundred and thirty pounds. It drove into him, bending him in half and tossing him back two feet.
Landing on his heels, he fell gracelessly.
“Get up, brother!” Marc said. “She’s crazy!” Then he laughed back and forth across the line of sanity. “I’m tied up, brother. Help me! I’ve been kidnapped by a supermodel!”
Danzig climbed to his feet, careful to watch the tall blonde standing in a kickboxing stance.
“If I were twenty years younger…”
“You’d what? Kick my ass? Screw my brains out? Show me what kind of man you are?”
Danzig blushed from embarrassment and frustration. Or maybe it was from the back-kick. “I was going to say offer you a job.”
“Liar.”
He shrugged. Standing tall—and at a safe distance—he took several seconds to get his breathing right and think. “Please tell me you did that to my brother at least once.”
“He never came at me,” she said.
“I wasn’t going after you. I was going to my brother. He’s been missing for years.”
Dr. Robedeaux, still invisible behind the lights, laughed.
Danzig didn’t like the sound. “Are you okay, brother?”
“I escaped the SMC Marauders three times and this bitch has me tied up like a Christmas goose. How did this happen?”
The woman smiled then winked at Danzig.
He felt twenty years younger. There had been women in his life. Now he was confused. Why had it been so long? Who was this woman and where had she been until now?
He pressed his lips together and maintained his asshole-boss face. “You’re Kimberly DeVries, daughter of Raf DeVries?”
She nodded.
“You’ll be glad to know your brother is alive and well. He’ll have some scars.”
Her manner changed. She seemed vulnerable for a second, then twice as hard. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know his exact location. I can find out, but he is doing his job. We need him.”
Kimberly stared him in the eyes as she considered his answer. Several moments passed. “I came here to find him.”
Danzig waited.
“Stupid asshole.”
“Me or your brother?”
“My brother. And you. And basically everyone.” She turned abruptly and walked back to the makeshift lighting control panel, only she didn’t walk. Danzig suspected she never just walked.
She lowered the lights.
Danzig blinked and struggled to see in the relative darkness.
She faced him, crossing her arms as she assumed a rich girl stance.
“You didn’t say in the message you had my brother. That would have required a different response from me.”
“I didn’t want a bunch of swinging-dick Marines storming in here with less-lethal shotguns. You have what I want and I have what you want. Let’s make a deal.”
Danzig could see where his brother was sitting. “Your hair is getting long, brother.”
“Don’t be jealous.”
Kimberly moved between them. “That’s enough talking. I know all about sibling codes and all that bullshit. If you think the back-kick hurt, wait until I call Dbonden and Slade. They’re better at handling prisoners than you Marines ever will be.”
“I have the best fighter in the fleet out there to stop them.”
She stared, unimpressed.
“Do you play poker?” he asked.
“Here’s the thing, Admiral. Your brother is afraid to leave, and not just because Dbonden has already run him down twice.” She brushed a strand of hair back from her face and gave him an innocent look. She looked at his brother, then back to him. “Don’t fight over me, boys.”
“You’re either an angel or a devil,” Danzig said.
“Yes.”
“Can you control him?”
“Control is a harsh word.”
Danzig’s brother yelled, “You have me tied up!”
“You like it,” Kimberly said.
Danzig wanted to talk to his brother under better circumstances than this. He focused on Kimberly DeVries and reminded himself who she was. “What do you want and why should I give it to you?”
“I need a ship and you need me to go for help.”
4
Cracked
Arthur Conne
lly cursed under his breath. “What I’m saying, Captain, is they sleep. Really sleep. None of this standing like fire sentries. We found a squad of them we thought were dead—completely without power. We approached and they powered up and fought like banshees.”
Captain Kingstar’s voice sounded tired. “For what it’s worth, I appreciate the information. I’ll get my analysts working on the best way to utilize it.”
“Cyclops 1st Squadron, out,” Arthur said.
Three other units moved with him, two on his right and one on his left. He was in democratic command because there hadn’t been proper orders for nearly a week. Rank meant little within the Cyclops regiment and less and less as the Siris War continued.
“Pepper, report,” Arthur said.
Pepper and Whalebait made up the right half of the squadron. They maintained a two-hundred-meter space between them when regulations called for three hundred in rolling hills. “Nothing seen. I expect that will change. We’re out pretty far this time.”
“Check your spacing,” Arthur said.
“Three hundred meters was too much last time. The Burners tried to drive a wedge through our formation,” Pepper said.
“How’d that work for them?”
“We won but lost a Cyclops.”
Whalebait cleared his throat over the radio. He didn’t need to key up his microphone to share the sound but always did. “I say we head back. I never was clear why we are following these Nix losers.”
“They’re the bravest losers on the field. Came back to fight for their home despite the consequences for being rebels,” Arthur said. “Got to give ‘em credit.”
Another voice cut into the conversation. Nathan Fartravel, unlike Whalebait, barely spoke loud enough to be heard, as though his microphone was too far from his mouth. Which it wasn’t because it’d been surgically implanted in the bone of his jaw like every other Cyclops’ microphone. He was just difficult that way—never setting up his volume outputs correctly.
“I like the Nix, but you know they’re all going to die. Now or when the Burners are defeated,” he said.
