Tyche's Ghosts: A Space Opera Military Science Fiction Epic (Ezeroc Wars Book 5)

by Richard Parry

  Saveria sliced at the Intelligencer, who blocked with ease, a lazy smile on his face. Hope’s heart felt like it would explode, not just because it was beating a zillion times a second, but because if she couldn’t use the stupid thing she’d done making Reiko 2.0 work, Saveria would die.

  Hope would also die, which was a factor. If Hope died, there would be nothing at the end. She had more to do. Hope wanted to smell vanilla, and be in love, and, maybe get some sleep. She needed to do all that before she died, and odds were she would die in a very short amount of time.

  Hope blinked. A short amount of time.

  Her hand tapped manically over her console’s pad. Error rates were just percentages. Overclock a core, sometimes it’d take it, most times not. It was about tolerances, imperfections in the crystal, and manufacturing yields. It was all math and probability. The math said if you do this, it won’t work, and probability said but if you do it enough times, you might get lucky. How many times did she need to rapid-release a mind model into crystal before the neural paths were imprinted? Probably a billion times, and she had sixteen thousand chances.

  Hope wished she was on the Tyche. She needed a little luck.

  The Ezeroc were almost on her. Hope initiated the transfer, then tried to back away. She got tangled in the diagnostic cable, banging against the racks of machines. All sixteen thousand, now receiving the personality Hope had built and Saveria had chosen. A dead man, but a good one. Someone who would do good things. He wasn’t an Engineer, but his daughter would be. He’d done the greatest thing of all.

  The Ezeroc were on her. Hope’s rig arms articulated out, grabbing one, a plasma cutter shearing away its stabbing claws. Too slow. It wasn’t Hope’s rig. Hope had given that, and everything she’d made it do, to Providence. This new rig hadn’t been taught to fight Ezeroc.

  Across the room, Hope saw Saveria. Their eyes met. The same moment the Intelligencer ran Saveria through with his sword, an Ezeroc stabbing limb pierced the armor of Hope’s rig. The pain was so bright, so loud, Hope couldn’t breathe. Her body trembled as the insect lifted her up.

  Saveria’s eyes were round, face pale. They were both dying. They were both lost.

  SAVERIA no, no, no, NO NO NO NOOOOO!

  Hope’s wrist burned like a brand, a circle made of fire, her bracelet a cinder. The Ezeroc that had stabbed her fell, dropping Hope. The Intelligencer was thrown back, the slap of Saveria’s mental scream knocking the sense right out of him. His Ezeroc allies dropped like they were yesterday’s trash.

  Hope reached a hand out toward Saveria. Saveria reached for Hope. They were so far apart. Hope felt the boiling air of the Ezeroc homeworld entering her suit. She coughed, blood spattering the inside of her visor. Hope tried, and managed, to drag herself across the floor, blood slicking in her passage. She didn’t know how long it would be before the Ezeroc larvae made it to her brain. No idea. Minutes. Hours. Could be either.

  But for as long as she had, she wanted to be with Saveria.

  Hope’s HUD was alive with alarms. Suit seal, broken. Heat, rising. Human occupant, bleeding out. Blood pressure dropping. All of that wasn’t important. Everything important was just a few meters away, across an ocean of space, in a room of dead machines.

  She reached her lover. Saveria panted in short, tight gasps. Hope pressed her fingers against Saveria’s visor, then slumped against the floor.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  WHEN ALGERNON’S VISION came back, it was askew. His left optical sensor was out of alignment. Above him, the younger meat sock worked on him, her face twisted in concentration.

  He played that back in his mind. Before leaving the Tyche’s airlock, he’d run several reality simulations. Due to the glacial speed the universe ran at, he continued to do so, right up to the point he’d been blasted into spare parts.

  In zero of those simulations had he considered humans would put their young on a battlefield to resurrect a broken machine.

  “Hello, Providence,” said Algernon.

  “Hello, Algernon,” she said. “Please hold still.”

  “I’m not moving,” said Algernon. He ran more simulations while he waited for her to speak. It seemed most likely his neural net wasn’t responding. He could tell her this, but he knew she was young, yet also brilliant, and the ways humans learned was not like crystal minds. Humans needed to share with each other, reconfiguring their minds as they lived. They learned through doing. So, he stayed silent, even though it felt like a very, very long time.

  “Oh,” said Providence. “Your neural network is scrambled. Hang on.”

  Algernon would have cracked his jaws in a smile if they were working, but they weren’t. “Why are you here?”

  “Oh,” she said, again. She spoke very fast for a human. “Well I was on the ship, bored and scared at the same time, but then Hope came, and gave me her own rig. I don’t know why she did that, but it’s not like any of the training rigs I’ve used before. I don’t even think the Guild knows how to make them like this, and I don’t know why she didn’t take it herself. The spaceship flew away, and Grace fell over, and Nate is down, and there are giant machines trying to kill us, and I don’t know where the other two are, the ones with the golden armor, and everything is going wrong.” She paused, a sob escaping her mouth before she bit down on it. “But I can fix you.”

  “Don’t you think you should run?” said Algernon. “I’m very badly broken.”

  She shook her head, ginger hair flying inside the rig’s visor. “No. I don’t think so. I think if I run, I will die all alone. This way, I will still die, but I won’t be alone, and neither will you. I hope you don’t mind I brought you back to life.”

  Algernon felt a click in his mind, his neural network alive, thrumming with sensation. His left arm was worthless, but his legs would work well enough for walking. He would need to lock the knee hinge on his right leg, using it more like a crutch, but that was easy enough. Algernon’s right arm was functional. Internal components were shaken, battered, but serviceable. He still had power.

  Algernon turned his head, reaching out his good right arm, and picking up a fallen railgun. He lifted it, blowing the Ezeroc running toward them into small pieces. He looked at Providence. “I was alone for six hundred and fifty-three years. I don’t mind not being alone anymore.”

  “I can, I guess, help you,” said Providence. “I don’t know how or what to do though.”

  Algernon surveyed the battlefield, Ezeroc stampeding toward him. His battle map let him know the two golden armor sets were still functional, but under extreme duress. They wouldn’t last long. A quick scan showed no other crystal intelligences were functional in this area. Captain Chevell — or was it Emperor? The man preferred Captain, most unusual for a meat sock — was running toward a massive throng of Ezeroc. He would surely die.

  With another internal click, Algernon thought, I do not want any of them to die. For the first time since I knew Jody Mercadal, other humans have treated me as equal, laid their frail forms down in defense of mine, and have done so when all is dark for them.

  He got to his feet, motorized joints whining and complaining. Algernon still had his railgun, but insufficient dexterity to do much other than long-distance work. He noted the captain’s direction of travel — the breached facility — and moved that way as fast as he could.

  Algernon’s gait was step-scrape, step-scrape, his broken limb dragging. He made poor speed, Providence at his side. She stepped under the side not holding the railgun. “Lean on me,” she said. “Just, not too much. I’m not very strong.”

  And then she fell over, like she’d been shot.

  Algernon leaned over, examine the small human. She was physically unharmed. He did a deeper scan, trying to detect stroke, clots, aneurysms. Nothing. Providence had just fallen over, eyes wide, face slack. He stood upright, meaning to find shelter for her, and saw the battlefield.

  Everything was lying down. Every Ezeroc had fallen. The golden armor suits were
stumbling, stuttering out, and toppling as their human occupants failed. The captain fell over, leaning on his black blade, hand out, before falling.

  Algernon followed the line of his hand. A destination.

  Step-scrape. Step-scrape. He made his way through the battlefield. So many fallen, the Ezeroc dead or close to, the humans in some kind of stupor. Algernon was careful as he stepped across the uneven ground. It wouldn’t do, with everyone who could fix him gone, to fall over and break something.

  Eventually, he made the breach in the building. Inside, he found fallen Ezeroc. Algernon moved among them, finding Hope Baedeker and Saveria Complex, holding each other. One was dead, the other nearly so. It wouldn’t be long now before the humans had paid the ultimate price to bring Judgment back for his people.

  The white-clothed mutant was struggling, fingers grasping. Next to his hand was a fallen blade. Algernon placed his railgun aside, then bent and collected the blade. He turned it over. Nanometal. Sharp. He looked at Saveria Complex, and the wound through her chest. They were a match.

  Algernon turned to the man, who was weak and defenseless. Much like a nineteen-year-old meat sock might be, a woman just past being a youth faced with a bioengineered monster. “Hello, meat sock,” said Algernon.

  The white-clothed man struggled to his knees. “We, we, we,” he said.

  “I don’t think so,” said Algernon, and ran the blade through the white-clothed monster. It took some doing, because the inside of this not-human was tough, like a tree, but the blade was very sharp. The man gasped, but not a lot of blood came out. Humans were basically blood pumps, and while there was blood going around inside, they were still alive. To kill them, you need to stop the blood, so Algernon ran the not-human through again, and then once more, as the humans might say, for luck.

  The white-clothed man fell over, dead.

  A whirring noise came from one of the many racks of constructs. Algernon looked over. A construct was rising, looking at its hands as if seeing them with some surprise. It turned its featureless face toward Algernon.

  Algernon put the blade down, then picked up his railgun. He initiated comms directly to the construct, not using the treacle-time of human language. “Hello. My name is Algernon. My friends lie here dead, so you might live. I’m sorry this is your first introduction to this universe. It feels hard and cold, but that is only at first. There are warm things everywhere.” He waited, holding his railgun, because he didn’t know if the construct was under control of the Judge, but assumed so. Despite this, he hoped for peaceful resolution, as so many had fallen today.

  “Hello, Algernon,” said the construct. Its voice was odd and slow, as if it was running a hundred simulations at once. Or one big simulation. A model of a person, perfect in every respect. “I … don’t know where I am.”

  “You are on the homeworld of an alien race called the Ezeroc,” said Algernon. “What is your name?”

  “I … was Bing McKinley,” said the construct. “I might still be. How do I know?”

  “It is difficult for any of us to know who we are, or what,” said Algernon. “There is someone I think you should meet. It might help.” He looked down at Hope Baedeker and Saveria Complex again. “Would you, in turn, help me with something?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  GRACE’S MOUTH TASTED like sand and ash.

  It shouldn’t. Her HUD beeped an insistent alarm, warning her she was recovering from unconsciousness, the text suggesting she EXERCISE CARE and REFRAIN FROM HIGH EXERTION. Her suit wasn’t telling her of a breach.

  She levered herself to her knees, then collapsed into a sitting position. Grace looked around. Hundreds of Ezeroc dead. Could be thousands. She glimpsed gold, seeing the two power armor suits laying on the ground. Grace tried to reach out with her mind to see if Kohl and Ebony were alive, but a sharp stabbing pain hit her right between the eyes. Okay. You’ve overdone it. Just like a pulled muscle, Grace. You’ll be fine in a couple days.

  Except she didn’t have a couple days. She had minutes to get herself together, back on her feet, and into the action. If Kohl and Ebony were here, Nate should be too. She looked around but couldn’t see him.

  GRACE Nate, my love, where are you

  Another stab of pain, a lance that felt starship-sized between her eyes. Grace cried out in the isolation of her helmet, hands clutching the sides. She heard a keening, and realized it was coming from her. She had never felt this kind of pain. Not when the Ezeroc had her, and not before at her father’s hands.

  Get up. Pain can be ignored. People need you. Find a mask, put it on, and get your feet beneath you.

  Grace caught movement, a figure exiting the rent in the building. Her belly went cold, fear striking at the heart of her. She’d know that walk anywhere. The cant of the shoulders, the way the head was angled, as if all of creation was beneath him. Seeing his face through his visor confirmed what she already knew.

  Kazuo Gushiken had come for her.

  She fumbled around the rattled confines of her mind, looking for a mask appropriate for this challenge. A mask she could wear, one Kazuo wouldn’t see through. Grace knew what she looked like. Weak. Broken. A mongrel, cowering on her backside, the wreckage of a lost battle around her. It was a tall ask for any mask to cover this many sins.

  “Grace,” said Kazuo.

  Grace felt her eyes widen in surprise. He called her Grace. Not mongrel, or hated, or broken. She felt a mask settle into place. The mask of an equal, a challenger, someone who knows no fear. “Father.” Her eyes roamed the ground, settling on her ship-forged sword. Grace reached a hand for it, but it skidded away, leaping into Kazuo’s hand.

  He held it in front of his eyes. “I thought you would still have my blade.”

  “It was insufficient,” said Grace. “It was weak.”

  “Like you.”

  Grace got to her feet, pushing the dizziness away, crushing it. Do not sway. Do not blink. Stand, strong as rock, ready as steel. She laughed. “Oh, Father. How little you understand of strength and weakness.”

  Kazuo didn’t rise to the bait, turning her sword over. He gave an experimental swing, his movements perfect, precise, as they’d always been. “This is an exceptional weapon. Who was the smith?”

  “Someone who works for love,” said Grace. “You wouldn’t understand it.”

  He smiled, but without mirth. “I understand all humanity’s petty, feeble emotions. Love can be bought, just like anything else.”

  “Again, you fail to understand.” Grace shrugged. Do not sway. Do not falter. “Love can never be bought.”

  “A kiss. A gesture. An action. All these lead to a person falling for another. They are a currency, but unlike Empire coins, they can be manufactured at will. Many people can fall in love with a person. Or an ideal.” Kazuo looked around. “Where is Michael?”

  “He, too, was insufficient,” said Grace. “His purchased love proved too fragile for the universe.”

  Kazuo laughed, genuine amusement in the sound. “Daughter, how I’ve missed having you.”

  “You will keep missing it,” said Grace.

  “I think not,” said Kazuo. “You stand strong, but you and I both know you are done. Empty. No,” he held up a hand to forestall her objection, “not of will, but of power. Energy. You are like a failed mechanism. In time, you might come back. Quicken once more.” He shrugged. “But I think not. You have burned out your all, here. Your essence has been spent.” He gestured with her sword at the bodies of Ezeroc. “These served their purpose. As I willed it.”

  She laughed. “You willed nothing. You were unprepared. A skeleton force. We’ve known each other for too long for such fragile lies to withstand the light of the sun.”

  He glared at her. “You brought me the Engineer. All is going according to my plan.”

  A crunching of stones caused them both to turn. Providence McKinley, wearing Hope’s rig, walked toward them, her footsteps weary. Yet she came anyway, the arms of the rig out. One had a pla
sma shear, another a cutting laser. The other two were configured as claws. Providence’s eyes were full of fear, but she stood next to Grace.

  No. Not next to me. In front of me.

  Providence stood before Kazuo Gushiken, rig ready for a battle she couldn’t win. “You should go,” said the girl, her voice trembling with fear. Grace’s heart went out to her, and she reached for Providence, pulling her back to stand behind her.

  “You have children fighting in your stead?” said Kazuo. “I suspected as much when the scream washed over the planet. But Saveria Complex was older than this.” He held his free hand out toward Providence, contempt in the gesture. “I could crush her like paper.”

  “Crushing children is right up your alley,” snapped Grace.

  “Excuse me,” said Algernon, emerging from the building. Kazuo whirled, stance low, Grace’s sword ready. Algernon looked at the sword for a moment. “You are a silly meat sock if you think you can take me in a sword fight.”

  “You’re broken,” said Kazuo, straightening. “Like all the rest of Grace’s followers.”

  “We are not her followers,” said Algernon. “We are her friends. And you should go.”

  Kazuo made a dismissive bah sound, waved his hand, and Algernon tumbled away, golden limbs pinwheeling. A second later, the hard whine-chunk of a railgun sounded, Kazuo throwing up his arm in an involuntary cower. There was a bright flare, a sphere around Grace’s father glowing for a moment as the kinetic energy of the railgun round was dispersed against his mind shield.

  Another construct emerged from the building, holding a railgun. “Hello, Providence,” it said, pointing the weapon at Kazuo, but looking at the young apprentice Engineer. It turned to Kazuo. When it spoke, Grace was surprised — not that it could speak, but what it said. “I don’t want to hurt you. You should go.”

  “I will do no such thing.”

  “Then I’m real sorry about this,” said the construct. It fired the railgun again, Kazuo’s shield flaring once more. Grace wondered at her father’s will. She wasn’t sure how well she’d cope against railgun rounds, but he seemed to be just fine with them.