The Complete Void Wraith Saga

by Chris Fox

  The hologram resolved into an unfamiliar room, all blue metal and elaborately decorated walls. A cluster of Primo stood in the background, but it was the figure in the foreground that drew Nolan’s attention. He looked a little older, and more tired than Nolan had remembered, but he was alive.

  “Hello, Captain Dryker,” Nolan said, giving a warm smile. He wished the man were close enough to hug.

  “Hello, Captain Nolan,” Dryker replied, his leathery face splitting into a grin. “It’s damned good to see you alive. Is that Hannan in the background there?”

  “Hello, sir,” Hannan called, giving a lazy salute.

  “What say we meet face-to-face?” Dryker asked. “We have a lot to catch up on.”

  “Agreed,” Nolan said, nodding. “We’ll dock with you. Fizgig, Hannan, and I will be coming over.”

  “Great, see you shortly. Dryker out.”

  “Annie,” Nolan said, turning to smile at her. “How do you feel about shuttling us over to that carrier?”

  24

  Shuttle

  The ramp squealed loudly as it closed behind them. Nolan looked around the cargo hold of the Tibs, but there was no way he was going to be able to find a place to sit. Junk covered every surface, from half-repaired holorecorders to discarded food containers. It looked like Annie probably lived in her pilot’s chair, as Nolan didn’t see any place for her to bed down.

  He picked his way through the junk, hiding a smile as he passed Lena. She’d plastered herself against a corner, staring at the shuttle in horror. To someone of Lena’s upbringing, the lack of order here was probably physically painful. Neither Izzy nor Fizgig seemed perturbed by any of it. Fizgig stood stoically near the cockpit, and Izzy was a half-pace behind, trying to mimic Fizgig’s stance.

  “Best secure yourselves,” Annie called over her shoulder, flicking a couple switches then seizing the yoke. She guided the shuttle off the deck with a shudder, and it rose shakily toward the wide bay door.

  An electric tingle passed over Nolan’s skin as they passed through the harvester’s protective membrane, and into open space. Annie guided the shuttle down and away, circling wide as they approached the group of Primo carriers. It was the first time Nolan had been this close to their vessels, and he leaned forward, drinking in every detail.

  “Look at the size of those things,” Hannan breathed.

  “They’re works of art,” Fizgig said, giving an approving purr. “The Primo understand how to produce a truly formidable weapon of war.”

  “Not formidable enough to keep from getting their tails kicked, from the look of it,” Nolan said, pointing at the furthest carrier. “Look at the plasma leaking from that one. The rest of them have taken battle damage as well. They’ve been through combat, and whoever they fought gave them one hell of a run for their money.”

  “Sir?” Hannan asked, turning the co-pilot’s chair to face Nolan. “Did you happen to spot Mills with Captain Dryker? I didn’t hear anything about him in Ghantan. I just wanted to know he was all right.”

  “I didn’t,” Nolan said, a spike of guilt shooting through his gut. He hadn’t even thought about Mills, or about most of the Johnston’s crew. Granted, he’d only been assigned to her for a few weeks before she was destroyed, but he still should have shown a bit more compassion. He put a hand on Hannan’s shoulder. “I hope he’s all right. If anyone could have gotten him out, it’s Dryker.”

  “Holy crap on a stick,” Annie said, drawing Nolan’s attention back to the screen. They were close to the carrier where they’d been told to dock, and Annie had come around to one of the docking bays. Inside, they could see row after row of fighter drones. Each was larger than the Tibs, bristling with plasma cannons. “I really don’t want to see whatever tangled with these guys and won.”

  Annie guided the shuttle into the bay, and Nolan clutched at the wall as they lurched to a halt on the deck.

  25

  Comparing Notes

  Nolan was a bit surprised by the reception when he entered the Primo vessel. Twenty Primo stood at attention, each holding one of their ancestral war staffs. They offered a salute as he, Hannan, Lena, Izzy, and Fizgig filed past them.

  “I don’t know how the old man pulled it off, but he’s got the Primo bowing and scraping,” Hannan said, giving Nolan a sly grin. “You’re getting better at this command stuff, but the old man is still the master.”

  “That he is,” Nolan said, allowing another smile. The stresses of the past few days wore heavily on him, but he reminded himself there had been victories too. They’d stopped the Void Wraith in the Ghantan system, and they’d find a way to stop them again.

  Their delegation was led into the most massive chamber Nolan had ever seen aboard a starship. He wasn’t positive, but odds were good the Sparhawk could have fit into this chamber, with room to spare.

  “Welcome, Captain Nolan,” a clear voice rang out, echoing through the chamber. Nolan looked up to see a figure floating above, sitting atop a golden throne. She was a Primo, with light blue skin, dressed more elaborately than any of the others they’d seen so far. “I am Celendra, the Voice of the First Light. Welcome to my vessel.”

  “Thank you for allowing us to board,” Nolan said, giving a stiff salute. He wasn’t sure what the decorum was for boarding a Primo vessel, so he stuck to what he knew.

  The Primo in the crowd behind Celendra seemed to appreciate the gesture, and Celendra gave an approving smile. “Please, be seated.”

  She gestured at a set of thrones very much like the one she sat in. One of those thrones was already occupied, and as Nolan approached, Dryker rose to greet him. Nolan reached out for a handshake, but the old man swept him into a hug.

  “I’d feared the worst. It’s good to see you, Nolan,” Dryker said, giving him a tight squeeze, then releasing him. “Hello, Fizgig, I’m pleased to see you survived.”

  Fizgig and Izzy had moved to greet a male Tigris. It took Nolan a moment to recognize the Tigris as Khar. His face bore several new scars, but his fangs and claws were just as intimidating as ever. He wore a massive smile, his tail swishing back and forth behind him.

  “Dryker,” Fizgig said, turning from Khar and moving to stand next to Dryker and Nolan. “I am pleased to see you survived. Your new allies are…impressive.”

  “Yes, they are. Thanks to them, we were even able to save your ship,” Dryker said, offering his hand to Fizgig.

  “The Claw is my ship no longer,” Fizgig said, accepting the captain’s hand. “It rightfully belongs to Mighty Khar.”

  “For the moment. Challenge, and I will yield, Mighty Fizgig,” Khar rumbled, swaggering his way over to them. He clapped Nolan hard on the shoulder, giving him a rather intimidating smile. “It is good to see you, Nolan. You have accomplished much since we battled the Void Wraith on the bridge of the Johnston.”

  “Captain?” Hannan asked quietly, stepping up to Dryker. Her eyes shone, and Nolan could tell she was struggling to get the words out. “Sir, did any of the crew survive? I don’t see Mills.”

  Dryker’s shoulders slumped, and for a moment he seemed to age decades. Then he straightened, resolve reentering his gaze. “I’m sorry, Hannan. Mills died getting us off the Johnston. He died the same way he lived, a Marine doing his duty.”

  Dryker reached into his pocket, withdrawing a clump of dog tags. The sheer number made Nolan wince. Dryker fished out a specific one, then handed it to Hannan. She took it wordlessly, giving Dryker a nod that somehow conveyed the depth of emotion she labored under. Then she turned and headed off the dais to stand near Annie.

  “Apologies,” Celendra’s voice interrupted. All eyes rose to to the Primo. “My species prides itself on taking deliberate, slow action. Yet Dryker is teaching us the value of haste. Might we begin? There is much to discuss.”

  “Of course,” Nolan said, taking a seat on one of the thrones. The others did the same.

  Nolan inspected the device, noting a small array of buttons on the right arm of the throne.
He couldn’t read Primo sigils, but the icons seemed simple enough. He tapped the one on the top, and unsurprisingly the chair began to rise. Dryker’s rose next, then Fizgig’s. Within moments all of them hovered in the air near Celendra.

  Below them milled something close to a hundred Primo, more than Nolan had ever seen in one place. He glanced up at Celendra, waiting for her to begin.

  “We’ve gathered to discuss a course of action,” Celendra called, her gaze sweeping the assembled Primo. “The Void Wraith have infiltrated our ranks. Even now, there could be spies among us. No race is safe, and it seems clear that the Void Wraith seek to wipe us out. Their motives remain unclear.”

  “Pardon, Celendra,” Nolan interrupted. He waited for her to acknowledge him with a nod before speaking. “I can shed some light on their motives. The troops they use are created using our own kidnapped citizens. Judicators—their line troops—have the nervous system and brain of humans, Tigris, and Primo. They are, quite literally, turning our people against us. Their aim seems to be building a massive army, though the purpose of that army is unclear. We have evidence that this isn’t the first, or even the second time that they’ve invaded the Milky Way. They show up on some sort of timetable, harvest our galaxy, and then leave us to rebuild.”

  Whispers rippled through the room, and Celendra looked visibly distressed. “That is troubling news, though the fact that you’ve puzzled out some of their motives is encouraging, at least. What else can you tell us of these Void Wraith?”

  “We have detailed schematics of their weaponry, vessels, and line troops,” Nolan explained. “Their technology is too similar to your own for it to be coincidence. The Void Wraith use technology that Lena guesses was pioneered during the first of three Primo empires.”

  Outraged shouts came from the crowd, most coming from older Primo. Celendra raised a hand, and most fell silent. There were still grumbles. Nolan saw Fizgig shifting back and forth on her throne, mouth turned down into a feline scowl. He’d seen that before, and knew her patience was wearing thin. At least her outburst, if it came, wouldn’t be directed at him this time.

  “Three?” Celendra said, looking deeply troubled. “I do not wish to doubt you, Captain, but this flies in the face of tens of thousands of years of history. Do you have proof you can submit? My people will demand it.”

  “I’ll have that proof forwarded to you as soon as I return to my vessel,” Nolan said, nodding. “It isn’t conclusive, but there’s enough to show that earlier empires did exist.”

  Fizgig leaned forward in her chair, drawing Nolan’s attention. Here it comes.

  “The motives of the Void Wraith are irrelevant, as is the history of your race,” Fizgig boomed, drawing all eyes. She stared hard at Celendra. “A war rages between my people and the humans, a war based on a lie. Our priority is ending that war. We must convince both sides to lay down arms, and to unite against the Void Wraith. Every moment we spend debating minutiae, they draw the noose tighter around our necks.”

  26

  Decisions

  Fizgig was not pleased. It was all well and good that Dryker lived, and made allies of these Primo. Yet it changed nothing. Her people were hurling themselves into combat, dying while killing those who should be allies. It was maddening, especially because she was trapped here, unable to intervene.

  She glared at Celendra, daring the Primo to take issue with her words.

  Celendra blinked twice, then spoke. “I sometimes forget that Tigris are even more blunt than humans. You are not wrong; the issue of the war between your peoples must be addressed. Yet our own interest in this matter—”

  “Your own interest?” Fizgig interrupted, leaning forward on the throne. She stared hard at the alien, nose twitching at the woman’s odd scent. “It is exactly that kind of language that has made it so easy for the Void Wraith to infiltrate our ranks. If we are to survive, we must work for the benefit of everyone. We no longer have the luxury of our own self-interests.”

  “Fizgig is right,” Nolan called, his deeper voice echoing from the chamber’s high walls.

  Fizgig fell silent, watching the kit appraisingly. He’d learned much under her tutelage, yet he was only human.

  “Look around you,” he continued. “That debris field is all that’s left of a library that’s been in this system for twenty-five millennia. We’re losing this war so badly that we’re not even fighting the real enemy. If we want to have any prayer of survival, then we must examine the situation tactically—not as separate races, but as a united coalition. That makes the war between humanity and the Tigris the most pressing issue. However, that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t explore other matters. Learning about our enemy is nearly as critical as stopping the war.”

  The human relaxed on his throne, watching Celendra. Fizgig continued to study him, waiting to see how the Primo would react. She knew nothing about their species, and the best way to learn about a foe was to watch, quietly. They’d reveal a weakness, and then, if circumstances dictated that they be eliminated, it was a simple matter to do so.

  “If my people were to join a coalition, it would take months to set it up,” Celendra said, giving a regretful sigh. “That simply isn’t possible. I am the Voice and can speak for my vessel, at least. What would you have us do? I do not know the best way to proceed.”

  “First, you need a military leader,” Fizgig said, without hesitation. “Strength flows from leadership. Without a strong leader, we are doomed.”

  “And who would you nominate for this position?” Celendra asked, cautiously.

  “Mighty Fizgig!” Khar roared, raising his arms in an attempt to get others to take up the cry. Izzy did, but both fell quiet at a gesture from Fizgig.

  “You introduced Dryker as a captain, did you not?” Fizgig asked, staring unblinkingly at the Primo.

  “I did,” Celendra answered, cocking her head to the side. “I do not understand the significance of the question.”

  “What is Dryker the captain of? He has no ship, unless you’re telling me he’s the captain of this vessel,” Fizgig asked, her tail beginning to swish. She enjoyed baiting others, especially the Primo. They styled themselves superior, and it pleased her to educate this one.

  “He is not the captain of the First Light. We do not have…captains. A Voice is merely a conduit for the will of the people,” Celendra explained, clearly confused.

  “Yet you are following the commands of Dryker, are you not?” Fizgig asked, another leading question.

  “We are. Fizgig, I must admit that your questions are…irksome. What does any of this have to do with our current circumstances?” Celendra said. Fizgig wouldn’t have called her angry, exactly. But she was clearly getting there. Good. Let her feel a tenth of the rage boiling in Fizgig.

  “Among the humans, they have a rank that describes the position you’ve assigned Dryker,” Fizgig said, purring softly.

  “She wants to promote me to Admiral,” Dryker called, eyeing Fizgig reproachfully. “Stop toying with her, Fizgig. We need their cooperation, and antagonizing them only makes the situation worse.”

  “I…see,” Celendra said, regaining a measure of her composure. “Very well, we will promote Dryker to Admiral, if this title will help in some way.”

  “It isn’t the title,” Fizgig said, eyes narrowing to slits. “It is the authority that goes with it. Dryker must be freed to deal with the war as he sees fit.”

  “And what will you be doing during all this? You’re just as qualified to run the fleet. More so, I think,” Dryker said.

  Fizgig met his gaze. He was one of the few humans she considered a true equal. One of the few among any species, truth be told. “There is only one way the Tigris would have gone to war as we did,” she said, growling low in her throat. “Admiral Mow must have lied to them. If they believed that humans had wiped out our fleet, they’d have raced to war. That means that Admiral Mow has almost certainly been corrupted by these Void Wraith. I intend to challenge him for leadership.�
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  “You’ll need a vessel to do that, Mighty Fizgig,” Khar pointed out, nodding deferentially as he spoke. “The Claw of Tigrana still fights. We can get you to Mow.”

  “And what of us, Admiral Dryker? What would you have us do?” Celendra asked.

  Dryker was silent for a long time, gaining another pawful of respect. He took his time answering, even under the weight of the conclave’s attention. “Fizgig can deal with her people. I need to deal with mine. There’s every likelihood that the majority of the admiralty is now corrupt, but we can still gain support with the 14th fleet. We’ll start there.”

  “Before we make these decisions, there’s a lot we need to share about the Void Wraith origins,” Nolan said. He hesitated, but only for a moment. Fizgig watched as his mind worked, piecing together what she’d already realized. “You already considered that, didn’t you?”

  “I did,” Dryker said, nodding. “The sad fact is that we don’t know who we can trust. We will discuss your findings in private, and I’ll make a decision about how to proceed.”

  “Will my people be represented in this meeting?” Celendra asked, leaning forward to study Dryker intently. A sheen of milky sweat had broken out on her forehead, the first Fizgig had ever seen on a Primo.

  “If you’d like to be represented,” Dryker said, “we’ll hold the meeting on the Claw of Tigrana.”

  Fizgig was pleased. She’d maneuvered Dryker into a role she detested, freeing her to tear out Mow’s throat.

  27

  Feeding The Eye

  “You’re certain of these coordinates?” Delta asked, scanning the data pad. He looked up at Doctor Reid. The man’s pallid flesh was nearly see-through, like fine paper.

  “Of course I’m certain. Just fly the ship,” the doctor said, his entire body shaking as he took a threatening step toward Delta. He reminded Delta of a chihuahua. “I haven’t had to use your chip in some time. Do you need a reminder, is that it?”