Empire of Ashes: An Epic Space Opera Series (The Augmented Book 1)

by Ben Hale

  A blast came from below as Worg created a back door, setting the entire house trembling anew. Reklin leapt back to the corridor, intent on escaping, but the dakorian picked up the shaft and used it like a spear. It streaked down the hall, forcing Reklin to dive to the floor. He rolled back to his feet and twisted as he heard the dakorian’s approach. The dakorian was fast and closed the gap before Reklin could bring his blade to bear.

  “You’re just an old bone,” he snarled, striking Reklin in the jaw and knocking him backward. “Yet you come to my house and try to take what’s mine?” Another kick sent Reklin backward. “I’m going to impale your heart on your own horns.”

  “Boasting will get you killed.”

  Reklin twisted away from the latest blow and revealed what he held in his free hand: the head from the dakorian’s severed hammer. Still powered, it glowed with embedded energy. The dakorian’s eyes widened in surprise, and Reklin slammed the hammer head into his opponent’s face, knocking out several teeth. The dakorian stumbled, and Reklin swung his sunderblade, clipping his enemy’s head and dropping him to the dirt.

  Before the dakorian could recover, Reklin put a knee into the dakorian’s spine and shoved his face to the floor. The soldier struggled as Reklin placed the hammer head next to his face and touched the rune on the weapon.

  From just an inch away, the broken lance released its power, the ion blast engulfing the dakorian’s head and washing out his scream. The hammer head skidded backward and into the wall. The dakorian slumped, and Reklin stood.

  “Strength is wasted on youth.” He turned away and leapt to the riser, using it to reach the first level. “Report.”

  “We’re in trouble.” Worg’s voice was strained. “The neighboring house has a devastator.”

  “I’d take cover.”

  Teridon’s warning came too late. Ion bolts pierced the house in a cascade of energy, each beam exploding through the second-floor walls, destroying supports and furniture. Damaged and weakened, the entire second level began to collapse, with Reklin still inside.

  Chapter Two

  As the roof caved in, Reklin sank to one knee and punched the riser. The circle of glass shattered, dropping Reklin to the first floor. Amid a curtain of raining debris, he rolled to his feet and sprinted down the hallway toward the back wall, where a gaping hole opened into blinding sunlight.

  He raced the length of the hall, stones falling around him, walls caving in. He jumped a dead body and burst into the open, a cloud of dust billowing around his exit. Worg and Alina were huddled behind a nearby building, and he raced to them, squinting against the sunlight. To his right, the operator of the devastator spotted him and took aim, unleashing another volley.

  Streaks of light came toward him, each blasting small craters in the ground. Reklin raced across the street and dived behind the building, the last few bolts gouging holes in the walls of the structure.

  “I didn’t know the old bone could run so fast,” Worg said.

  “I can when a devastator is trained on me,” Reklin said.

  He stood and turned his back to the blazing sun. Already a hundred and twenty degrees, the heat washed across his skin, drawing instant sweat. His exoskeleton bones began to burn.

  “Twenty minutes before the temperature exceeds maximum survivability for a dakorian,” Worg said as he leaned out and fired, his ion bolts streaking across the street. “We can’t stay long.”

  “The neighboring houses are mobilizing.” Teridon’s voice came with the crackle of his lance. “I’m retreating to the secondary location.”

  “Can you eliminate the devastator?” Reklin peeked around the corner and caught a glimpse of the weapon. Housed within a bubblelike shield of seracrete, the war machine consisted of six rotating rods. It was a weapon built to level armies—or obliterate four dakorians.

  “Looks like a Mark 5,” Worg said. “The housing is thicker than the 4’s.” He took aim and fired again. “I can’t breach it.”

  “Other Heblon residents are mobilizing,” Teridon said while firing again. His bolt of light passed their position and struck a dakorian coming around the corner of the building behind them. “You’ve got three dakorians coming at your flank. You need to move.”

  “Call the ship to pick up Worg, Alina, and our target from”—Reklin pointed to the nearest pyramid—“that structure. Worg, you have the target. I’ll deal with the devastator. Teridon, give me some cover.”

  Worg picked up the krey they had come to collect and wrapped him in a heat resistant blanket. Unconscious and boasting a bruise on his forehead, the target flopped over Worg’s shoulder. Alina took position in front of Worg and then nodded to Reklin.

  “Now,” Reklin barked as he leapt into the street.

  Two blasts came from the devastator, both landing to Reklin’s left. Then Teridon fired his lance, its bolt colliding with one of the rods. The combined power from both weapons burned the machine’s ion rod, causing it to temporarily overheat.

  Reklin charged up the street and entered the alley between the house with the devastator and the neighboring structure. A dakorian appeared ahead and Reklin jumped. He caught a ridge on the wall and climbed. The two buildings were connected by several arcs of stone, and Reklin used them like a ladder as well as a shield. The dakorian fired, shattering the arch below Reklin.

  “They have my position,” Teridon said. “Retreating to extraction.”

  “Fourteen minutes until we begin to melt,” Alina said.

  “I’m already melting,” Worg growled.

  Reklin spotted the pair racing up the street. Alina and Worg reached the pyramid structure and charged up the sloped surface of the building as ion bolts came from other houses in the city, the beams of light burning dangerously close. The city’s residents rightfully assumed the attack came from the Empire. Although the moon’s occupants were quick to strike each other, they never attacked during the day, honoring an unspoken truce that was rarely broken. When word spread of an Empire assault, the entire city would come to arms.

  Reklin reached the top of the roof just as the dakorian in the alley arrived below him and fired upward. The bolt grazed Reklin’s leg and shattered the nearest supporting arch. Reklin growled and slipped, his body sliding over the edge. He grasped the edge of the roof and stopped his fall, his body bouncing off the hot stone. He levered himself up and rolled away from the drop.

  Reklin kept rolling as the devastator rotated to face him, avoiding the blistering assault that the weapon unleashed. Bolts of power blasted through the edge of the roof, sending large debris falling into the alley. The devastator kept turning, trying to catch Reklin. Instead, it ripped the edge of the roof to shreds. For all their power, devastators were notoriously difficult to protect at close range.

  Reklin regained his feet and darted to the devastator. He drew his blade and lunged, driving the blade through the housing. Shielded against ion bolts, it could not stop the sunderblade. The seracrete parted, and the blade drove deep into the body inside. A krey shouted in pain, and the weapon began firing anew. It spun on its axis, its owner obviously dying. The six rods turned from white to yellow, and then red, and still they fired, the thundering fire ripping chunks from neighboring buildings.

  “Three minutes to extraction,” came a female voice from their ship.

  “Four minutes until our blood boils.” Alina’s voice was strained.

  “Two minutes until detonation,” Reklin said.

  Reklin sprinted to the edge of the roof and jumped. He landed on the next roof and kept running. Behind him, the devastator continued to fire, locking into place as it unleashed lance after lance upon a nearby pyramid. The unrelenting barrage destroyed stones and leveled supports. Krey and human slaves fled into the street and attempted to reach the nearby buildings. Their unprotected skin turned red and blistered in seconds, and one human tripped. Reklin grimaced as the man died in the street, succumbing to the light of day. Slaves might have been regarded as animals by most of the
Empire, but he still regarded them as living beings.

  The blazing sunlight continued to mount, turning the air into a haze. Reklin wiped sweat from his eyes and dropped from the roof, unable to endure the sun any longer. The shaded alley was not much better, but it got him away from the devastator.

  Gasping for breath, he leaned against the wall, which was marginally cooler than the air. Sweat filled his eyes, blurring his vision as he forced himself to accelerate away from the doomed building.

  The hot air burned down his throat like liquid fire, heating his lungs and organs. He breathed through clenched teeth, but that only made his teeth hurt. Everything hurt. And still the heat mounted, rising by the second.

  With its operator dead, the devastator continued to fire until the rods melted, the seracrete fusing together. The next time it fired, the entire war machine detonated.

  Fire engulfed the upper level of the structure, shattering the stone walls and roof in a concussive blast that cracked neighboring buildings. Smoke billowed into the sky. Krey shouted in anger and fear, while dakorian footfalls thudded in the enraged city. Reklin was out of time.

  A sleek ship burst through the smoke. A Roque-class model, the ship was as fast as a Ro fighter, but its gravity drive was large enough to power a Gate. With smoke spinning off the stubby wings, the ship resembled the blade on Reklin’s back, except it was jet black. It spun in midair, turning its rear toward the pyramid and opening the lower airlock.

  “Worg,” Reklin barked. “Get them onboard before the target melts on your shoulder.”

  “You don’t have to tell me twice.” Worg’s voice was strained.

  Worg lunged for the opening and tossed the unconscious krey inside. Alina followed by darting past Teridon, who stood in the hatch firing his lance down the street. His ion bolt struck a dakorian aiming at Reklin, sending his long lance tumbling from his lifeless grip. His body fell four floors and landed just steps from Reklin.

  The air was like ash in Reklin’s throat, and he held his breath to prevent his lungs from burning. He sprinted into the open street as the ship dropped between the buildings. Reklin raised his arm to block out the sun, but the heat burned Reklin’s arm and side, scalding his cheek. The back airlock opened, and he clenched his eyes shut, sprinting the remaining distance blind. He jumped on memory and, for a single, terrifying second, feared he’d misjudged the distance. Then he struck the cold seracrete and rolled to a halt inside the ship.

  “Close the ramp,” he barked. “Activate the shields. Get us into orbit.”

  “As you order, Captain,” Rasina said.

  Their pilot, a class one officer named Rasina, rolled the controls and their ship’s gravity drive whined. The silver vessel leapt into the sky, smoke from the smoldering devastator swirling in its wake. The ramp airlock, unique to the Roque ship, shut at the stern of the ship, finally sealing the heat outside. Still on the floor, Reklin breathed in the cold air of the ship.

  “You’re alive.” Worg bent down and examined the burns on Reklin’s side. “But that doesn’t look pretty.”

  “He’s too old to be pretty,” Alina said.

  “The only thing that matters is the target.” Reklin gingerly stood and sucked in his breath as the action chafed his skin. The burns were already blistering, the heat sinking into his bones and tissue. “Is he alive?”

  “Want me to wake him?” Worg asked.

  “Do it.”

  Worg leaned down and slapped the target in the face. The krey recoiled, his bright-blue eyes wild and unfocused. Then he spotted the four dakorians and scooted back against the bulkhead.

  “Belgin Bright’Lor,” Reklin said. “You’re a hard krey to find.”

  “Not hard enough.” The krey eyed the foursome, his eyes settling on Reklin’s burns. “I hope that hurts.”

  Alina raised her hand to strike him, but Reklin shook his head. “Leave him alone. We don’t want the Empire to be left without answers.”

  “I can’t explain what happened on Kelindor.” The krey managed to stand. “I wasn’t even there.”

  “We’re almost to orbit,” their pilot called.

  “As soon as we’re out of the atmosphere, open a projection Gate and set a course for Mylttium,” Reklin called.

  Their ship, the Fell Shadow, rose above the moon and banked behind the curve of Urgin. The light through the forward window gradually darkened until they were clear. Then Rasina activated the projection Gate.

  At the front of the ship, beams of nearly indivisible light extended a short distance ahead of the nose. Where they converged, a circle of purple light began to appear. Another appeared beyond it, and a third even farther, the Gate rings filling to a complete circle.

  Gate technology hadn’t advanced much in the last several hundred thousand years, or so Reklin understood. The ability to teleport had been invented early in the Krey Empire, vastly opening up the galaxy for exploration. Normally Gates were stationary and, depending on the gravity drive powering it, could connect across a single world, or across thousands of light years.

  The Gates appeared in a shimmer of light inside the circles, and Rasina powered them forward. They entered the first Gate, which jumped to the second. The quick acceleration sent them hurtling toward the third, which multiplied their acceleration a thousand times. The stars blurred to the side, merging into barely discernible streaks as they sped to hyperlight.

  “Wormhole established,” Rasina called.

  “How long until we reach Mylttium?” he asked.

  “Six hours,” Rasina said.

  “Let me know when we’re ten minutes out.”

  Reklin returned his attention to Belgin. The krey was smaller than normal, and scrawny, probably from his self-imposed exile since he’d been cast out. It had been twenty years since House Bright’Lor had fallen, and the lower relatives had been dumped by Head Dragorn, who needed every shard of glint to cover the cost of his tribunal. As the ninth son, Belgin was the first to go, likely because he’d been an abject failure in numerous endeavors.

  “I don’t care why we were sent,” Reklin said. “I only care that you get delivered.”

  Worg flopped into a seracrete chair. “I’m guessing the Empire wants Bright’Lor to pay for what happened on Kelindor. Don’t worry, Belgin, I’m sure they just want to question you about your father. They won’t kill you. Probably.”

  Reklin opened a hatch and picked up an inflicting rod. Modified to remove pain, rather than inflict it, the tool served them well in combat situations. He placed the tip against his burn and activated the tool until his nerve endings stopped firing. Dakorians healed quickly, but he was getting old enough that his metabolism had begun to slow. Then he picked up a cell regenerator and used it to seal his wounds. The regenerator’s small crystal glowed pink as it cooled his flesh.

  The cell regenerator was of a far better quality than those used by the general populace. Shaped like a hook, the regenerator rebuilt cells and tissues. While Gate technology was well established, engineers were always inventing new mechs, and one of the perks of being an elite Shard team was the chance to use the latest creations. The healing mech opened tiny claws, and he dropped it onto his skin. The ten legs skittered across his burns, closing wounds like a healing spider, but full healing would take time, even for a dakorian. He sighed in relief as the blistered flesh gradually turned to regular brown.

  “Did you not hear me?” Belgin said. “I wasn’t even on Kelindor when the Dark was released. I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Voice Malikin is worried House Bright’Lor might slip out of punishment.” Reklin turned back to Belgin. “Your father is known for being crafty.”

  “I think you mean cruel.” Belgin’s features twisted in anger. “He cast the rest of the family aside like we were humans, keeping only Skorn and Ero. It’s them you should ask.”

  “They still belong to House Bright’Lor,” Worg said, putting his feet up on a crate and his hands behind his head. “We can’t touch them. Y
ou, on the other hand, are just a Houseless krey, a mercenary who earns glint while in the employ of others. But you don’t even have a talent, like engineering or piloting, so you are garbage waiting to be jettisoned. Or caught.”

  Teridon placed his long lance in a bracket next to the ramp airlock, where other hammers were ensconced. Alina and Worg did the same, but Reklin kept his blade.

  Teridon motioned to the inflicting rod. “Are we going to use that on him?”

  Reklin shook his head. “The Empire wants him unharmed.” When the krey relaxed, Reklin smiled. “Bind him to a bed and watch him.”

  Worg pulled the krey by his arm to one of the four dakorian-sized beds placed alongside the interior of the ship. Tossing him onto one, Worg bound him to the bulkhead using seracrete shackles.

  Reklin finished with the cell regenerator and gave it to Teridon, who had an ion burn across his shoulder. Then Reklin advanced through the beds and the drop pods, which were built to enter a planet’s atmosphere at maximum velocity before a gravity pulse reversed momentum and allowed them to land. Affectionately known as blackout boots, the pods allowed dakorians to make landfall quickly if no Gate was active, but the enhanced gravity was enough to knock a dakorian unconscious. Threading through the pods, Reklin reached the large bridge, where their pilot sat at the controls.

  “Any sign of pursuit?” Reklin asked.

  “From Urgin-4?” She scoffed. “They don’t have anything fast enough to catch us.”

  “I’d still like to get our friend delivered as soon as possible,” Reklin said. “Something feels off about this mission.”

  “You want me to push it faster?”

  “As fast as possible without burning up the drive.”

  The female krey reached for the symbols, and then the ship pushed even faster, the stars streaking to the side. Reklin claimed the second seat and winced as his burn came in contact with the chair. The healing mech crawled across his burned arm, featherlight.