The Complete Void Wraith Saga

by Chris Fox

  “Get into position,” Hannan ordered.

  52

  Last Stand

  Nolan glanced around at the remaining bridge crew. Emo, Ezana, and Juliard had taken cover. A few techs were still up. That was it. Khar was their last Tigris. They’d fought off three assaults, but Nolan knew a fourth would be the last. There was no way they could endure another assault.

  “Prepare yourself human; they come again,” Khar roared from his place next to the hatch.

  Nolan darted forward and scooped up one of the Tigris rifles. It was heavier than he’d expected, and he struggled to get the barrel aligned with the doorway. The foot-and-a-half blade at the end threw off the balance, but fortunately it would be hard to miss at this range.

  A Judicator entered the doorway, its shimmering form bending the light around it. Nolan squeezed the trigger, and the rifle bucked. The stock slammed back into his shoulder, and he grunted in pain. That was going to leave a bruise for days.

  The Judicator staggered backwards, the shot temporarily disrupting its cloaking field. It took a step back towards the room, but Khar stepped into the hatch and ended the Judicator with a head shot. Nolan clutched the rifle to his chest, and dove behind a console. Heat washed over the top as yet another explosion detonated in the hall.

  How much more punishment could that corridor take?

  “Two more,” Khar roared, though Nolan could barely hear him over the ringing in his ears.

  He struggled to his knees, raising a hand to touch his right ear. A thin stream of something sticky flowed down his neck. He touched it with two fingers, then held them up before his eyes. Red. Blood. Nolan knew he wasn’t thinking clearly, but everything felt so far away.

  “Commander, we need you,” Khar roared.

  Nolan blinked, then shook his head. That caused massive pain, but the pain brought him back around. Another assault was beginning.

  Two Judicators advanced on the doorway. The first was caught by small arms fire from the remaining bridge crew, each shot causing it to pause mid-step. The collective assault dropped the cloaking field, but the Judicator seemed otherwise unharmed. It raised its plasma rifle and fired off three quick shots. Two screams came from behind Nolan, but he didn’t have time to see who’d gone down.

  He raised the Tigris rifle, aligning the crosshairs with the now-visible Judicator’s face. The rifle kicked again and he felt more than heard the shot. The butt drove into his shoulder a second time, renewing the pain there. But the shot was accurate. It took the Judicator in the face, and it crashed to the ground. Unfortunately, it crashed to the ground inside the CIC.

  “Take cover,” Nolan roared. He dropped back into a crouch, and covered his head with both arms.

  Ezana leapt over Nolan, using his own body to cover the Judicator’s. Nolan started to rise, desperately wanting to tell Ezana to get out of the way, but it was too late.

  A wave of fire and shrapnel blossomed. Ezana’s body muted the force of the explosion, but even with his body shielding the blast, shrapnel destroyed a number of key systems—including the view screen.

  The stench of smoke, ozone, and gunpowder filled the area around Nolan, and he found himself coughing furiously. He tried to get to his feet, but it just wasn’t going to be possible. He couldn’t hear. Could barely see.

  He’d landed on the floor next to the terminal he’d used for cover, and that terminal now had a gaping hole in the middle where one of the Judicator’s limbs had punched through it. The hole showed four more Judicators advancing up the hall, their shimmering forms unmistakable amidst the smoke.

  Then the first one slumped to the ground, becoming visible as it toppled. Its head had simply ceased to exist. The second and third Judicators pivoted to face the way they’d come, but it didn’t save them. The first had both knees severed as the unmistakable roar of an M-601 pounded on Nolan’s remaining eardrum. The third Judicator was launched backwards from multiple attacks. The fourth managed to get off several shots at its attackers, but the answering volley cut it down.

  The resulting explosions, as all four Judicators went up at virtually in the same instant, shook the entire ship. When the shaking stopped, Nolan was unable to rise. Unable to think.

  So he passed out.

  53

  Desperate Plan

  “Your plan is terrible,” Fizgig said, looking down at the map Dryker had drawn. Dryker grimaced, but didn’t respond—not immediately, anyway.

  Finally, he sighed. “Do you have a better plan?” he asked. The sounds of gunfire were ever-present, even though they’d closed the hatch to the ready room.

  “No,” Fizgig said, sighing. “Which of us do you wish to have stay behind?”

  “I’ll do it,” Dryker said, glancing at Lena as she entered the ready room from the opposite hatch. “She has to get to the Void Wraith vessel. Make sure that she does.”

  “Captain?” Lena asked, closing the hatch behind her.

  “How many are there?” Dryker asked, withdrawing his sidearm and testing the action.

  “Six,” Lena said. “Each has a ninety-minute supply of oxygen.”

  “Perfect,” Dryker said, starting for the hatch that led back into the CIC. It was hot to the touch. Not a good sign.

  “Where are you going?” Fizgig asked, her tail thrashing in obvious annoyance.

  “Back to CIC. They’re losing out there; if they go down, the plan is for naught. We need to get the situation there under control, and get some armed personnel ready to escort Lena,” Dryker explained. He spun the wheel on the hatch, pushing the door open a few inches.

  The smoke was thick in the CIC, and the moans of the dying layered with the crackling of electrical fires. A quick glance around the room told the awful truth. There was no way the Johnston could fly. The nerve center that controlled her vital functions had been destroyed. That couldn’t be helped. What could was the desperate plan he’d concocted. To pull that off, he was going to need something resembling a cohesive fighting force.

  Dryker moved into the CIC, running in a low crouch until he found someone moving. He knelt next to a prone form. It was Nolan. “Commander, can you hear me?”

  “Ow,” Nolan said, his eyes fluttering open. They widened in alarm. “You have to get back into the ready room, sir. We’re about to lose the CIC.”

  “No, you’re not,” came a loud voice from the doorway.

  Dryker looked up to see several figures striding through the doorway. Hannan was in the lead, flanked by Edwards and a white-furred Tigris. Mills crept in after them, then attempted to close the hatch. It was so badly bent in its frame that the best he could do was close it about sixty percent of the way.

  “Hannan, sit rep,” Dryker said. He seized Nolan’s arm, and hauled him to his feet. Dryker didn’t know the extent of the commander’s injuries, but if the man could walk, Dryker needed him on his feet.

  “CIC is secure for now, sir,” Hannan said, glancing back through the hatch into the corridor. It was littered with bits of metal and circuitry, and the walls were caked with soot from repeated detonations. “I think we’ve stopped them for the time being, but there are still teams all over the ship. They’ll be on us again in a few minutes.”

  “Everyone able to stand, get into the ready room, now,” Dryker ordered.

  He tried to help Nolan in that direction, but Nolan shrugged off his hand. He picked up a Tigris rifle, then moved to a male Tigris—Khar, Dryker remembered—who lay crumpled at the base of a console. Nolan looked up at Hannan. “Get me a medical kit, Sergeant.”

  Hannan nodded wordlessly, pulling the red and white box from the wall. She tossed it to Nolan, who caught it by the handle. That was a good sign. Dryker had been worried that the commander was too injured to keep fighting, which would have made the next part of the plan tricky.

  Nolan withdrew a syringe from the med pack, and slammed it into the cat’s thigh. The Tigris yowled, his eyes shooting open. Nolan withdrew the syringe, and helped the cat to its feet. “
Come on, Khar. You’re not done protecting humans.”

  “The count is not done, Commander,” Khar said, nodding respectfully to Nolan. He picked up his rifle, and limped after Nolan into the ready room.

  Dryker made sure everyone else had cleared the bridge, then stepped into the ready room himself. He spun the wheel, and set the lock. The hatch wouldn’t slow down the Judicators for long, but it would be long enough if his plan held.

  “Eyes on me,” Dryker yelled. A room full of exhausted Tigris and humans stared at him. Most sat, and those who didn’t leaned against the wall. It was a pitiful crew, but it would have to do. “We’re about to attempt something Fizgig considers suicidal.”

  “And foolish,” Fizgig said, her tail swishing behind her.

  “What do you have in mind, Captain?” Nolan asked. He leaned against the wall, using the Tigris rifle like a cane to keep himself upright.

  “The Johnston is lost,” the captain began. “We can’t fight off the Void Wraith. So we’re going to take the fight to their ship.”

  “Come again?” Hannan said, looking up from the weapon she was servicing.

  “How will we even reach their ship?” Nolan asked. “The Judicators aren’t likely to let us by.”

  “You’re taking a space walk. We have six EVA suits,” Dryker replied. “Nolan, you’ll lead a strike team over to the Void Wraith vessel. While you were fighting, Lena identified what appears to be a docking port near the rear of the ship. Since we’re putting up heavy resistance, it’s a safe bet that most of the fighting forces have left their vessel to subdue ours.”

  “Now I see why Fizgig thinks this plan is suicidal,” Nolan said. He wiped soot from his cheek, but only succeeded in creating a larger smudge. “When do we leave?”

  “Now,” Dryker said.

  “Wait a second,” Mills said. The sniper pushed his bangs out of his face, meeting Dryker’s gaze. “There are only six suits. What are the rest of us supposed to do?”

  “Fight,” Hannan said, glaring at Mills. “It doesn’t matter if that means staying here or taking a space walk. We fight, regardless of where the captain assigns us.”

  “The following people will suit up,” the captain said. “Lena, Nolan, Fizgig, Hannan, Edwards. Fizgig, we’ll also send a second Tigris. You’ll have to pick which one goes.”

  Fizgig looked at the two remaining Tigris. The first was the big, golden-furred brute Nolan had helped to his feet. The second was a lean, white-furred female who was sticking close to Hannan.

  “Izzy, you will accompany us,” Fizgig finally said. She turned to the large yellow. “Khar, your strength is needed here. You must stall the Void Wraith as long as possible. The longer they are here fighting, the more time we have to reach the bridge of the Void Wraith vessel.

  “Captain, I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Juliard said. She was cradling a broken arm, and her eyes were alight with fury. “How could you give two of those suits to the cats? We wouldn’t be here if not for them. Those should go to loyal crew.”

  “None of us would be here without the Tigris,” Nolan shot back, glaring at Juliard. “They saved our asses repeatedly on that bridge. You’d be dead right now if they hadn’t helped us. Besides, this isn’t a lottery for escape pods. The people putting on those suits need to invade the enemy vessel, fight their way to the bridge, and try to seize control of it. Most likely, we’ll all die in the attempt. You’re wounded. Could you even make the EVA?”

  Juliard looked away from Nolan, slipping into sullen silence. A few of the other bridge crew looked just as angry, but none spoke.

  “I know this is a tough pill to swallow.” Dryker said. “No one wants to remain behind.” He squared his shoulders. “But we’re Fleet. We have a job to do. If that means we all die doing it, then so be it.”

  54

  Eva

  “Listen up, people,” Nolan said. Everyone swiveled to face him, including their new Tigris allies. They were in various stages of dress, each pulling on a suit of the bulky EVA armor from the Johnston’s armory. “Next to your suit, you will find a small grey pod, like the one Hannan has on her right wrist.”

  Hannan held up the pod, making sure they all saw it.

  “Fix the handle to your suit’s right glove before putting on your left,” Nolan explained, attaching the pod to his own suit. “You’ll notice two buttons, a red and a blue. The red button causes the pod to fire a thrust from the bottom, so make sure it’s angled away from you. The blue button will cause a smaller burst from the top, which will help slow your momentum if you are coming in too hot. We’ll be using these to make the EVA.”

  The Marines all nodded, but the Tigris were a different matter. Lena, Fizgig, and Izzy all looked ready to throw up. Nolan couldn’t blame them. The suits were human sized, and Tigris generally loathed tight, confined spaces.

  “Here, let me,” Hannan offered, stepping over to help Izzy fasten the pod to her suit.

  Fizgig watched, then did the same to her own suit. Lena turned to Nolan with a helpless look. He gave her a smile, and helped fasten the pod to her suit. She smiled, fangs flashing, then held up a small black satchel. He showed her how to attach it to a pair of small rings low on the front of the suit, where it wouldn’t get in her way. She nodded gratefully, then turned away to deal with her helmet and her other glove.

  “Once you finish fastening your suit, a green light will come on in the base of the face plate. If this light turns red, it means the suit has been breached, and that you are losing oxygen,” Nolan continued. He pulled on his own helmet, but kept the face plate open. “Each suit has a comm link, which you can access in the left glove with your pinky.”

  Then he closed the helmet and walked into the airlock. It was going to be crowded with six people, but they’d make it work. He stood by the control panel, waiting as each of the others finished donning their suits. About two minutes later, Fizgig stepped into the airlock. She was the last.

  Nolan turned back to the panel, and keyed the lock button. The door leading into the Johnston sealed, and the scrubbers began sucking the air from the room. All six faces peered nervously at each other, though Nolan was careful to keep his neutral. What they were about to attempt was suicidal. It made sense only because no better option existed. As his father would have said, they were throwing a Hail Mary.

  The light on the airlock panel shifted from red to yellow, indicating that the atmosphere had been completely drained. Nolan stabbed the Open button, and the outer doors rolled back. They were looking at empty space, and it was terrifying. Not because Nolan feared space; he’d done dozens of EVAs. No, it was terrifying because below them lay the crackling inferno of a star. He could feel it tugging at him, and knew that if he lost his pod he’d be pulled relentlessly closer until he left the Johnston’s inductive field.

  Nolan focused on his destination, the Void Wraith vessel. It was perched over the Johnston like a preying mantis, its long wings buried in the destroyer’s hull. That meant that they only needed to cross about a hundred and fifty feet of open space before they’d reach the rear portion of the Void Wraith ship. Once there, they could walk around to the airlock and force their way in.

  He turned back to the others and gave them a thumbs-up, then kicked off the deck and into space. The star’s gravity immediately began to tug him, so he angled his pod and fired it at full thrust. It righted his course, carrying him closer and closer to the giant blue ship. Just before he reached it, Nolan pressed the blue button three times, each two seconds apart. His velocity slowed, and he bent his knees. A small shock went through his legs as he hit the hull, then the magnetic clamps sealed and he was anchored.

  Nolan turned back to the others and gave another thumbs-up. Edwards was the next into the gap, shooting towards him with unerring precision. Fizgig went next, then Lena. By that time, Edwards was landing.

  “Edwards, you’re coming in too hot,” Nolan said over the comm. Edwards fired his pod, but it was too late.

  He
slammed into the hull, and began to bounce away. Nolan released his magnetic clamp and kicked off the deck. He grabbed Edwards’s outstretched hand, which caused them both to spin. Nolan waited until the spin had carried him to the right angle, then fired his pod. The thrust pulled them back to the hull, and he whipped his feet down in time to lock against the hull. This time Edwards fared better, snapping onto the deck next to him.

  “Thanks, Commander,” Edwards said, his voice wavering. Nolan gave him a thumbs-up.

  Fizgig landed gracefully a few feet away, the expression on her face full of pity when she looked at Edwards. She reached up as Lena approached, pulling the scientist down onto the deck next to her. Nolan was genuinely impressed, and gave her a respectful nod. After a moment she returned it.

  Nolan looked back at the Johnston. Izzy was coming over next, with Hannan not far behind her. Izzy’s thrusts were wild, and her quick shallow breaths grew more ragged over the comm.

  “Relax, Izzy,” Hannan’s voice crackled over the comm. “I’ve got you.”

  Hannan glided up to Izzy, seizing the back of her suit. She fired her pod in short, controlled bursts, and the pair drifted to the deck not far from the rest of the team. Izzy’s eyes were wild, but she seemed to be keeping it together.

  “Let’s move,” Nolan said. He began slow, magnetic steps toward the airlock. Release, step, lock. Release, step, lock. It took long minutes to get to the airlock, and he tried not to focus on the Johnston during that time. The crew he’d just gotten to know was likely being slaughtered right now, and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.

  55

  Gauss

  Captain Dryker picked up the TM-601 and checked the action. Edwards’s weapon was scratched and dinged, the black paint chipped in many locations. The internals, though, were extremely well cared for. The weapon reminded Dryker of his time in the infantry, a lifetime ago.