The Complete Void Wraith Saga
Page 31
The Claw rumbled in pain, sparks flying from already-damaged systems as the first Void Wraith plasma cannon impacted against the starboard side of the ship. The second hit a moment later, and the lights flickered across the bridge.
“All power to engines,” Fizgig said, barely keeping her footing as the ship rocked again.
The Claw began pulling away from the harvesters, the gravity of the star whipping the Claw like a rock from a slingshot. Both Void Wraith vessels moved to pursue, but several of the Primo carriers had broken off to assist. If they could hold a little while, the Primo would deal with the Void Wraith.
“Mighty Fizgig, shall I deploy darts?” Khar asked, grabbing the railing next to the gunnery station as the Claw shuddered dangerously.
“Mighty Fizgig, damage reports coming in now,” Izzy said, her words on the heels of Khar’s.
Only three of them to man an entire bridge, and even fewer to crew the vessel itself. It seemed unfair, but wasn’t that always the way of it?
“How many darts remaining, Khar Prideless?” Fizgig said, rising calmly from the captain’s chair. Her tail longed to dash about, but she restrained it to a low, smooth swishing.
“Seven,” Khar answered, clearly frustrated by their lack of firepower.
“Do not deploy,” Fizgig commanded. She turned to Izzy. “Damage report. Worst areas only.”
“We’ve lost compression along the starboard side of the ship, but as the crew was largely in port, casualties were light. No fatalities,” Izzy said. She scanned her data screen for a moment, then looked up to meet Fizgig’s gaze. “Our inductive field emitter was damaged. It’s only capable of eighty percent strength.”
Fizgig allowed herself three deep breaths. She used them to consider the entirety of the situation. The most important factor was escaping the Void Wraith, which meant they had no choice but to dive into the sun. Doing so with hull damage was problematic, though. The weakened inductive field would allow intense radiation through. Unprotected areas of the ship would be melted to useless slag.
“Khar, get everyone to the port side of the core wall, then seal all bulkheads,” Fizgig ordered, knowing she’d be dooming at least a few of her remaining crew that would be unable to escape in time.
Khar began rumbling orders over the comm, face bent low over the communications station next to gunnery. Fizgig was pleased at how quickly he was able to shift from position to position. That kind of versatility was rare, particularly among males his age. He was less rash than most, perhaps as a result of Dryker’s tutelage.
“Izzy, how long until the Void Wraith intercept?” Fizgig asked, licking her paw and using it to smooth the fur along her neck. Retaining her composure was the difference between death and victory.
“Two minutes, Mighty Fizgig,” Izzy replied. She studied her screen, then spoke again. “Four Primo carriers will close eight seconds after the Void Wraith reach us.”
“Dive for the corona. Do it now!” Fizgig roared. She gave a pleased purr as the Claw broke for the star’s surface. There was no way to stop them from reaching it now. Their allies would have to fend for themselves, but she would reach Tigris space and put an end to Mow. “Tigrana’s blessing, Dryker. I’ve no doubt you’ll survive this as you have every other attempt to kill you.”
She stared at the view screen, watching the Primo fleet deploy as the Claw finally reached the safety of the sun.
31
Stand and Fight
“Celendra, keep us moving toward the rest of the carrier group,” Dryker ordered, knuckles going white as he gripped the arms of the throne. He watched the battle unfold, his heart thundering in his chest. Commanding an entire battle was not at all like being in charge of a single ship. His respect for Mendez increased. The old man had made this look easy, until he’d been co-opted by the enemy.
Three harvesters were moving toward the First Light. They hadn’t even begun cloaking, and instead were warming up their main weapons. Balls of plasma gathered between their wingtips, growing larger before finally discharging.
The first washed harmlessly off the First Light’s shield, causing nothing more than a rainbow-colored ripple. The second caused the ship to shudder, and the third tore into the hull in an explosion of blue and white plasma.
“We’ve lost one of the forward drone bays,” Celendra said, dispassionately. Now that the battle had begun, she seemed much calmer.
“Noted,” Dryker said, pointing at the closest harvester. “Focus all drones on the lead harvester. Slow it down while we accelerate away. The longer we can keep them chasing us, the more time we give our allies to come to our aid.”
Celendra nodded, and the swarm of drones moved to engage the closest harvester. They swarmed around it like bats, firing tiny green beams. The harvester’s shield seemed to be holding as it accelerated toward the First Light, its two companions not far behind. All three harvesters would be on them before long.
Dryker risked a glance at the far side of the dome. The Claw was about to reach the safety of the corona, and the two harvesters pursuing it had finally realized that. They broke off pursuit, pivoting to engage the four Primo carriers that had moved to intercept. Four, not five. Dryker couldn’t identify them, so there was no visual way to know which carrier was missing. But Dryker was fairly certain he knew whose it was.
“Celendra, where is Endari’s carrier?” he asked, watching as the three harvesters narrowed the gap between themselves and the First Light.
“He’s broken off from the pursuit of the Claw, and is moving in our direction,” Celendra said. “Over half our drones have been disabled or destroyed. Our shields are depleted. We are naked before their assault.”
Dryker was paralyzed for two agonizing seconds. He knew there were spies among the Primo, or how had the Void Wraith found them? The most likely spy was the one who’d obstinately fought all attempts to unify, the one who made it clear that Primo should never work with the lesser races. Endari. Had he led the Void Wraith to this system?
If Endari were about to betray them, then they were dead. If they changed course to avoid his vessel, then the Void Wraith would catch them. Hell, the Void Wraith would catch them anyway.
Dryker pressed the blue button, going fleetwide. “Endari, what are you doing?” he asked, trembling as the carrier grew larger in the dome. They’d be in weapons range in a few moments.
Endari’s raspy voice finally came over the comm. “The Claw is safely away. I thought it prudent to aid you, as these Void Wraith seem intent on your destruction. Accelerate to maximum velocity, and recall your drones. I will deal with these Void Wraith.”
“Negative; we’ll take them together,” Dryker said, a surge of elation running through him. Maybe he’d been wrong about the grey-skinned Primo. Endari’s carrier gave them a chance, if a slim one.
“Celendra, you know I am right,” Endari said. “We cannot risk losing the First Light. Dryker has proved his worth. I admit that I was wrong. For our people to live, Dryker must live. For that to happen, these Void Wraith must be delayed. They seek Dryker’s death, for they have realized his importance.”
Wave after wave of drones leapt from Endari’s carrier. They winged past the First Light, engaging the closest harvester. Then Endari’s carrier fired its main cannon, savaging the harvester’s right wing. The lead harvester withered under the furious assault, slowing to allow its companions to catch up.
“Celendra, bring us about,” Dryker ordered.
Celendra ignored him. The First Light pivoted, spinning until it dove toward the sun. The other four Primo carriers had broken off and were doing the same.
Dryker stared helplessly as Endari’s vessel engaged the three Void Wraith. The withering barrage of plasma fire finally took its toll, and the lead harvester came apart, just like the Johnston had only a few months ago. A tear slid down Dryker’s cheek as answering fire came from the remaining harvesters. They savaged Endari’s vessel, ignoring the drones as they closed for the kill.
Another costly battle.
32
Crossing the Line
Admiral Mendez smiled as he moved to take the captain’s chair. He’d taken command of the Norfolk, a cutting edge destroyer fresh from the Mars shipyards. There were only four other bridge officers, each connected to their console with a cable that plugged in at the temple. Mendez had greenlit the technology, which hadn’t been through standard testing. It linked the prefrontal cortex directly to the ship, making it far more responsive.
All four were chipped, of course. Everyone on the Norfolk was, even the Marines. That wasn’t true of other Fleet vessels, not yet anyway. Almost a third of the command officers had been chipped, but many of their support staff retained their will. That was being fixed, but it had to be handled delicately.
“Show me the disposition of the Tigris fleet,” Mendez demanded. One of the four noncoms shifted the wall-sized display to show a small, orange planet against a tapestry of stars. Little red tags began appearing in orbit around the planet, each denoting a vessel that was far too small to see.
Mendez studied the enemy fleet with mild disbelief. Mow had been true to his word. Tigrana should have had a hundred ships of the line, and there should have been six orbital defense platforms. Instead, there were a scant handful of vessels. Their home world was virtually defenseless.
“Fleetwide,” Mendez ordered, clasping his hands behind his back. He waited for the chime that indicated he was live. “Gentleman, today is the day. We are about to take vengeance for this unprovoked assault upon humanity. Show no mercy. Accept no surrender. Turn the cats defending this world into debris, and then prepare for orbital bombardment.”
Mendez watched as the 5th, 1st, and 11th tore into the Tigris. The 4th stood by, destroying the few stragglers that made a run for the Helios Gate. It was quick, bloody work. These weren’t warriors; they were scavengers. Mow had done his work well. Every fleet-worthy vessel had been removed from Tigrana, and those remaining lacked the leadership necessary to mount an effective defense.
Within minutes, his fleets had destroyed every defending vessel, but the Tigris had clearly spread word to the planet below. Dozens of ships—a collection of civilian transports, freighters, and science vessels—were rising, all fleeing for the imagined safety of the Helios Gate.
“Nothing escapes this system, gentlemen. I want every last ship shot down,” Mendez ordered.
He watched as the 4th fleet moved smoothly to intercept the ragtag Tigris ships. It spread over them like a blanket, fires blossoming over a wide swath of space. Not a single vessel made it past the 4th. Every last one was destroyed.
When the short battle was over, Mendez knew it was time to give the order to bombard the planet. But he didn’t, not immediately.
If he did this, he was damning himself. It would cross a line he hadn’t yet crossed. Every race had conventions about orbital bombardment. The rule was clear across known space: civilians were off limits.
Fire flooded his spine as he resisted. If he gave this order, it would change the nature of the war. The Tigris would never stop, not until humanity was wiped out. If he ordered the destruction of their home world, one of their races would extinguish the other.
The strategist in him knew which one would lose. The Tigris outnumbered humanity, and they outgunned them. This would whip them into a frenzy, indirectly causing the death of his entire species. Mendez simply couldn’t do it.
The fire in his back became acid as the larva made its displeasure known. Mendez bent forward, catching himself against the arm of the captain’s chair. The acid spread through his nervous system, overriding his feeble attempts at control. He felt like he was drowning, and when the feeling finally passed he’d lost control of his traitorous body.
“Fleetwide,” Mendez said, only a slight tremor in his voice. “Burn that planet, gentlemen. Nothing survives.”
33
Derinia
“Primo library, this is Captain Nolan of the UFC Johnston,” Nolan began, licking his lips before continuing. “We request permission to approach, and I have to stress that circumstances are urgent. I’m broadcasting footage of the debris field in the Enduria system, where your library used to be. Four other libraries have been confirmed destroyed, and an attack could begin here any minute.”
Nolan folded his arms, watching the holographic display that showed the library. It grew larger as they inched closer, waiting for an answer. The crew nervously avoided glancing at each other, as if that might jinx the response from the Primo.
This library was quiet, unlike the last one they’d seen. It bristled with plasma cannons, and a thick blue shield obscured the city-sized structure. Fluted towers rose around a central platform, topped with a dome of shimmering energy that could shelter several Primo carriers. It dwarfed a Tigris orbital defense platform, making this thing the toughest known battle station in existence.
“Such an assertion is ludicrous. Your entire race couldn’t damage this library,” a flat voice answered. “Yet the laws of hospitality say we must at least hear your baseless tales. Keep your weapons powered down or be destroyed. Make your way to the indicated docking clamp, or be destroyed. Do not deviate from your present course for any reason, or—”
“Be destroyed, yeah we got it,” Nolan interrupted. “Listen, I know you’re a patient people. I respect that. But you have to be aware of what happened at your conclave. You’ve probably heard about the other libraries.”
There was no answer. Seconds became minutes, but the silence didn’t lift. The library grew larger, until it dwarfed the vessel itself. They were getting close.
“Captain Nolan, I will meet you at the airlock door,” a second Primo voice said. This one had a different cadence. It was somehow both cultured and weary. “Under the circumstances, you are permitted to bring any armament you may possess.”
By the time Nolan’s vessel had docked with the station, everyone had gathered at the airlock door. Lena, Hannan, and Annie stood in a little trio surrounding Edwards, who leaned against the wall next to the airlock, trying to pretend he wasn’t a twelve-foot-tall robot of death. Seeing them made Nolan miss Izzy, and even Fizgig. Leaving them behind had been tougher than he’d expected. He’d really become fond of Izzy’s playfulness, and Fizgig’s stern tutelage.
A low hum washed over the ship, and a tingle passed through Nolan’s body. Lena giggled, a very odd sound from the Tigris. “We’ve just passed through the library’s protective field. This one was constructed many centuries after the first library we visited, the one the Void Wraith spies blew up. This one is much tougher, which is probably why the Void Wraith haven’t tried a direct assault yet.”
“Let’s hope it’s tough enough,” Nolan said, glancing at the airlock button as it turned green, indicating a seal had been established on the other side. He tapped it, and the door slid open.
The docking tube was far larger than the ones human vessels used, nearly fifteen feet tall. This was a good thing, as Edwards wouldn’t have been able to squeeze into much less.
Hannan took point without a word, gesturing for the others to follow after, defensively. She drew her sidearm as she advanced, but didn’t aim it at the figures on the other side of the docking tube.
There were three of them, two wearing the same ceremonial armor Nolan had seen in the previous library. They even used the same archaic war staves, totally impractical for real combat. The third figure wore a snowy white robe, and had deep pink skin. That skin was unlike the other Primo he’d seen, whose skin had been thick and leathery. The coloration ebbed and flowed in mottled patterns.
“She’s positively ancient,” Lena said, raising a paw to her mouth. “She must be millennia old.”
“I’m told it is unkind to speak about age around the elderly,”
the Primo said, her voice as fragile as she looked. It was the same weary tone Nolan recognized from the comm. “Come, enter Derinia, the largest of our libraries. You may well be our final patrons. We receive very few, these days. What is it you think we can do for you?”
“We’re here to—” Nolan began, but the Primo woman cut him off with a sharp gesture.
“I wasn’t speaking to you. I was speaking to the scholar,” the Primo said, bowing smoothly until her head touched the metal floor near Lena’s feet. She straightened, wobbling slightly as she did so. “Ah, the blood rushes to my head. Such an archaic greeting. But I’m rattling on. Welcome to Derinia, little sister. My name is Atrea.”
“Little sister?” Lena said, blinking. She gave the widest grin Nolan had ever seen. It was the stuff of a six-year-old’s nightmares made real. Damn, but the Tigris had a lot of teeth. “Thank you for receiving us. Time is short, and I’m not entirely certain what I’m seeking. I’ve prepared a data file with my notes thus far, about the earliest Primo empire.”
Lena and Atrea made their way into the library. Hannan eyed Nolan quizzically as he trailed after.
“Sir, what’s the objective here?” Hannan said, her voice low. It was largely drowned out by Edwards clomping along behind them. If that weren’t enough white noise, Annie rode on Edwards’s shoulder, telling him a loud story about ground pounders during the Eight-Year War.
“It’s a little muddy,” Nolan said, sighing. He met Hannan’s gaze, but didn’t find the reproach he’d been expecting there. All he saw was trust, with maybe a little respect. “We want a copy of the data core, and Lena knows which parts are important. We just have to hope there’s something here that will give us an edge over the Void Wraith. A clue to their identity, or motives. I don’t know exactly, but whatever it is…well, it seems like they’re going through an awful lot of effort to blow up a few libraries. They have to be afraid we’ll learn something they fear.”