The Complete Void Wraith Saga

by Chris Fox

  “I don’t really do bars,” she said, glaring at the men who’d stared at her. Both looked back at their drinks.

  “Here they come,” Dryker said, straightening, then giving a wave.

  Jamison returned the wave, then led a cluster of hard-faced men and women over to the booth. He slid in next to Dryker, and the rest of the captains all slid in after. The booth was elbow-to-elbow by the time everyone had sat down.

  “Sheng, Smith,” Dryker said, nodding to the two he recognized. The former was a Chinese woman in her late sixties, the latter a brick of a man in his early forties.

  “Dryker, meet Hawk, Brenner and Nagabushan.” Jamison gestured at each in turn. “The rest you’ve already met. I told the boys—”

  “There are three women here,” Sheng interjected.

  “I told the crew,” Jamison said, correcting himself, “that you’d be paying our bar tab, and that all they needed to do was listen.”

  “That’s the deal. Have a seat, and order whatever you want. It’s all on my tab. Drink liberally, because my plan is terrible and that will make it sound better,” Dryker said. He reached into his jacket, setting six cylinders on the table. “Each of you take one of these back to your ship. It contains footage showing the battle in the Ghantan system, plus the circumstances leading up to it.”

  “That’s the battle where the Johnston bought it, right?” Brenner, one of the few Aussies in the 14th, asked. “Brass said you bought it too, along with most of the 7th.”

  “That’s the battle,” Dryker said, a knife twisting in his chest at the mention of the Johnston. “The brass is full of shit though, even more so than usual. The whole thing is a cover-up. They lied about what happened, and you’re holding the proof.”

  If Dryker had said that to a table full of captains in any other fleet, odds were good he’d have been on the receiving end of the world’s most enthusiastic ass kicking. The 14th was different, though. They knew they were the red-headed stepchildren of Fleet, and that if the top brass were involved, then the 14th was getting screwed again.

  “This is the part that’s going to be hard to swallow, and before you react I want you to remember that there is evidence proving it on those data drives I passed out,” Dryker said. He took a deep breath, and said the thing that would make or break his case. “The whole conflict with the Tigris is a smokescreen. Higher-ups in both their fleet and ours have colluded to start a war.”

  Absolute silence at the table. Bad country music continued to play in the background. A woman laughed raucously as her date told a joke. Finally, Jamison licked his lips and spoke. “Why would they do that?”

  “This one goes deep,” Dryker said, leaning in close and lowering his voice. “They want to bleed both fleets, to keep us weak so we’re easy to conquer. The people doing this just wiped out most of the Primo fleet. The rest of it? That’s parked on the other side of this system, ready to help us take it to the real enemy in this war.”

  “Let’s say we’re willing to believe this—and I’m not saying we are.” Sheng eyed him dubiously. “Who is this enemy, and what do you expect the 14th to do about it? Throw rocks? We’re not equipped for a full war. We’re a bunch of ancient ships put out to pasture. We police pirates, and barely have the ordinance to do even that much.”

  “You already know the answer, or I doubt Jamison would have convinced you to come,” Dryker said. He pulled his plasma pistol from its holster and set the weapon on the table.

  Sheng grinned at him. That grin spread to every face at the table.

  “I’ve got twenty of these for every captain that signs. Your Marines will have the edge over everyone they fight,” Dryker said, leaning back in his seat. He savored another mouthful of beer while they passed the pistol around. “That’s not all I can offer, though. Hand-to-hand is one thing, but we’re going toe-to-toe with capital ships. Your vessels need some extra punch there, too. We have Primo assault cannons, and using their tech, we can bolt them to your hulls. It won’t be pretty, but you’ll have access to plasma weaponry.”

  “Come on guys,” Sheng said, elbowing Brenner, and waiting for everyone to look at her. “Yeah, I know the gun is shiny. I want them, too. Let’s be real for a moment first. If we sign on, what do you plan to do? Are you going to attack our own vessels?”

  “Just one of them,” Dryker said, leaning over the table to stare hard at Sheng. “The admiralty put us here. Mendez, Chu…probably all of them are working against us. Once the 14th is up to speed, we’re going to hunt them down.”

  38

  Pride Leonis

  “Open a channel to the fleet,” Fizgig ordered, composing herself on her chair. She’d piled the pillows artfully around her, demonstrating the kind of comfort every captain strove for.

  “We’re broadcasting, Mighty Fizgig,” Izzy said, giving her a deferential nod. Izzy’s snowy fur was pristine, though it hadn’t been, until Fizgig had chastised her about her grooming. Most prideless didn’t understand how important appearances were when determining pride standing.

  “Leonis Pride, hear me,” Fizgig said, making her words bold and powerful. She stared into the view screen, unblinking. “I am Mighty Fizgig of the Claw of Tigrana. I have come to challenge Mow for leadership of the pride. Under the auspices of Tigrana, I will prevail.”

  Fizgig made a gesture, and Izzy stabbed a button on her console. The view screen shifted back to a view of the Leonis fleet orbiting the Tok Shipyards.

  “Hah,” Khar said, giving a rumbling chuckle. Then he began to purr. “Let us see what they make of that.”

  Fizgig’s tail swished, her only reply. Tradition dictated how this would unfold. None of the other captains would speak to her until Mow had replied. If Mow didn’t reply, vessels would flock to her. She’d neatly pinned the old cat. Either Mow faced her, or he lost his fleet.

  “I am pleased to see you live,” Mow’s voice said. The view screen flared to life, showing the bridge of his vessel. “I am less pleased that you would choose the eve of battle to challenge me, especially after having been gone so long. Many questions remain, Fizgig. Where have you been? Why have you returned now? I will not allow you to sow discord among our ranks.”

  “You know where I’ve been, and why,” Fizgig said, rising gracefully from her pillows. She approached the screen, knowing that every captain in the system was watching their conversation. “You orchestrated this war based on a lie. The humans were not responsible for the destruction of our fleet in the Ghantan system. I was there, Mow. And I have proof.”

  Mow leaned back into his own pillows, his tail swishing lazily. “Really? Then how do you explain this?”

  Mow gestured, and a window opened up on the corner of the screen. It showed the battle in the Ghantan system—or a part of it anyway. It was from the perspective of the Tigris vessels, and it showed them being fired upon by a human fleet. The camera showed nothing of the Void Wraith—not their harvesters, their factory, nor their bomb.

  So far as this footage suggested, there’d been a battle between humans and Tigris, one the humans had clearly won. Fizgig’s tail sank a good two inches before she willed the descent to stop. She stiffened, meeting Mow’s gaze.

  “I possess similar footage, but mine shows the true battle. Khar, display our battle recording from Ghantan,” she ordered, waving a paw in Khar’s direction.

  “Yes, Mighty Fizgig,” Khar said, bending to the task. A moment later, the small window in the corner of the screen returned, this time with her version of the battle.

  “Notice the strange blue vessels. They are the Void Wraith,” Fizgig said, triumphantly. “As you can see, they are destroying the human vessel, the Johnston. You can also see their factory, and the bomb they intended for Theras Prime. The human fleet was controlled by agents of the Void Wraith.”

  “A pretty story,” Mow said, his tail still swishing haughtily.

  Fizgig recoiled as if struck.

  “How can we verify any of this from your footage?” Mow ask
ed. “Clearly there is some new race, but that new race is working with the humans. The Johnston was a rogue vessel. They were probably trying to alert us to the humans’ own treachery.”

  “I have all the evidence needed to prove my claims, and I am broadcasting it to the fleet as we speak,” Fizgig said, stalking toward the screen. She glared up at Mow. “You cannot run, Mow. I will hunt you down, and I will tear out your throat with my own fangs. I promise you that.”

  “Will you?” Mow said, rather smugly. Then his expression grew more solemn. “I will give you one chance to survive, Fizgig. One chance to prove that you value your people over the deceiving humans. I’ve just received word that your precious humans are assaulting Tigrana.”

  “Tigrana can hold off any human assault. Even a single orbital platform would devastate anything the humans possess,” Fizgig said, her eyes narrowing to slits. “What are you playing at, Mow?”

  “The prides convened, and we moved the defense platforms to front-line worlds,” Mow admitted, eyes glittering. He knew he had her, and that she knew it. “It was a general vote, and passed almost unanimously.”

  Fizgig froze. For the first time in two decades, she didn’t know what to do. Visions of her world burning filled her mind. The humans raining death on the unprotected Imperial Academy where her four grandkits went to school.

  “What about the fleets?” Fizgig asked, agonized. “At least two prides watch over our world; that is the covenant.” Her niece was about to graduate from the Royal Academy, the first scientist in three generations. Her sister wrote Fizgig about it daily, so often that Fizgig could scarcely keep up.

  “Stripped, to battle the humans,” Mow admitted, giving a heavy sigh. “Again, not my doing. It was voted on by the prides. So you see, Fizgig, we must set aside our squabble for the good of the Tigris. We must save our home world, which is even now under siege by humans.”

  Fizgig’s tail topped to the floor, and this time she didn’t stop it. There was nothing she could say or do to unseat Mow, not if the humans were really assaulting Tigrana.

  39

  Battle Lines

  Hannan instinctively checked her weapon’s action, realizing for the hundredth time that Void Wraith tech had no action. The plasma rifle was, for all intents and purposes, a single piece of metal. Its internals were completely covered in artfully crafted curves. The weapon was lightweight, didn’t ever seem to heat up, and took several hundred shots to drain.

  “Sarge, did you feel that?” Edwards rumbled, clomping his metallic frame to the head of the line of much shorter Judicators clustered around him.

  “’Course she felt it,” Annie said, spitting a gob of black over the railing and into the darkness below the walkway. “The dead felt that.”

  The ship shuddered again. Hannan straightened. “Those are impact tremors. Just like the ones we felt aboard the Johnston before we were boarded.”

  “What do you want to do, Sarge?” Edwards asked, shifting from foot to foot. The Judicators around him all took a step back.

  “Someone or something found their way past the Primo defenses. Looks like you’ll finally get a chance to show off, Edwards,” Hannan said, walking over and slapping Edwards’s leg. “We’re going to make for the center of the library. Our goal is to extract Nolan and hightail it back to the ship. Edwards, you’re going to hold the main library room with the smaller Judicators. Annie and I will get to Nolan, then we’ll fall back to you. Everyone know what to do?”

  Annie snapped a tight salute, as did Edwards. A moment later, the Judicators all did the same. Not in unison, but as if each were figuring out for themselves that it was the correct gesture. Jesus, these things learned quickly. Were they all like Edwards, but unable to speak?

  “Let’s move,” Hannan said, shoving down the extraneous thoughts. She didn’t have time for philosophy.

  They trotted up the corridor, a wide hallway that Edwards had no problem navigating. It went on for a good two hundred yards, then opened into a tactical nightmare. There were multiple levels filled with rows of densely-packed shelves. Those would make great cover, and give endless places for snipers to hide. The main room wasn’t any better. The tables could be used for hard cover against low targets, but anyone on the upper floors would just fire right over them.

  “Captain, this is Hannan,” she said into her comm.

  “Go ahead, Sergeant,” Nolan’s voice crackled back.

  “We’ve moved to the central room, and are about to secure it. Where are you in relation to us?” Hannan asked.

  “I’d rather not reveal that, even on an encrypted channel,” Nolan replied. “Secure the main room and we’ll find our way to you.”

  “Smart, sir,” Hannan said. “Hannan, out.”

  She turned to Edwards.

  “I want you to take up a position at the far side of the room, between those shelves. Get low if you can, and sit overwatch on the passages leading into this room. It looks like all entrances come to the first floor.” Hannan scanned the layout as she spoke. “Judicators, listen up. I need alpha squad up to the fourth level, beta on third, and kappa on second. Annie, you and I will provide ground-cover fire for Edwards.”

  “Yes, sir,” Annie said, trotting after Hannan into the corner of the library, between two shelves. They took up positions about fifteen feet from each other, their fields of fire overlapping to cover the midsection of the room.

  “Sir, should I engage cloak?” Edwards called, loudly.

  “Yes,” Hannan hissed back. “And keep your voice down.”

  Hannan wished Lena had had the time to tinker on the Judicator tech. She’d have given a lot for a portable cloaking device similar to what the Judicators wore. They provided one hell of a combat advantage, and were the primary reason she’d made sure all the snipers were Judicators. It was damned hard to deal with a bunch of invisible snipers.

  Something shimmered at the mouth of one of the tunnels. Hannan was still snapping her rifle to her shoulder when a flurry of shots streaked down from the upper levels. The first blast rippled across an invisible target. The second and third dissipated the shield, and the fourth and fifth reduced the Judicator to scrap and goo.

  “Edwards, wait to engage,” Hannan whispered, using the comm this time.

  She sank into a crouch, waiting for several tense breaths. Then shimmering forms started sprinting through the opening, into the main room. There were dozens of them, all nearly impossible to track. The only indication was the heat shimmer.

  The air filled with plasma blasts from both sides as the Judicators began firing at each other. She glanced at Annie, noting that the soldier was eyeing the combat, but hadn’t yet fired. Good. It was nice to know she had discipline and could follow orders.

  “Now,” Hannan whispered into the comm. She leaned forward, taking aim at one of the heat shimmers, and fired, bracing instinctively for the kick that never came. The lack of kick was the hardest adjustment she’d had to make in adapting to the alien weaponry.

  Her shot caught the Judicator in the leg, its form shimmering into view as it cartwheeled into the side of a table. Before it could rise, Edwards stepped from cover. He darted forward, crushing the Judicator’s head with the heel of his foot. Edwards pivoted, aiming one of the plasma cannons underslung along his arms. It fired a huge burst of blue fire, melting another Judicator into unrecognizable slag.

  “Woohoo,” Edwards yelled. “This thing is awesome!”

  Then the Judicator under Edwards’s foot detonated, launching Edwards into a shelf thirty feet behind him. His metal body crushed the shelf, shattering dozens of data cubes as it crashed to the floor. Hannan compartmentalized the combat, still firing at Judicators as she considered the implications.

  Some of the Judicators exploded, but only ones near strategic targets. It was as if there were someone watching the combat, and only blowing up the ones that helped their cause. That was new, and more than a little alarming.

  Hannan gunned down another Judicato
r, then another. It was a hell of a lot easier to do with a plasma rifle. Beside her, Annie was doing the same. They’d been ignored thus far, as the enemy Judicators struggled to deal with the snipers above.

  The shelf next to Hannan ceased to exist, its smoldering remnants raining down around her. She looked up, eyes widening. “Edwards, stop screwing around. Someone in your weight class just showed up. Enemy Alpha, eleven o’clock.”

  40

  Saving a Culture

  Nolan unholstered his plasma pistol, peering through the double doors. He could hear plasma fire in the distance—an uncomfortable reminder that, if the Judicators broke through, they’d be on the master core in moments.

  “Atrea, how’s it coming in there?” Nolan called over his shoulder. Atrea and Lena were clustered around the cube set into the table, bathed by the glow of the master cube above.

  “I am saving the vital essence of an entire culture,” Atrea snapped, her outstretched hands pressed against either side of the cube. “Do not rush me.”

  “We might have enough, if we need to leave,” Lena said, creeping to the doorway and crouching across from Nolan. She pulled out a plasma pistol of her own, though Nolan had never seen her fire it. “If we can wait another few minutes, we’ll be saving countless things that could help us. Since we don’t know precisely what we’re after, I’d recommend letting Atrea work as long as possible.”

  Nolan considered his answer. How long could they afford to stay? Sixty seconds? A hundred and twenty? How did he weigh the risk versus the potential reward?

  “She can have three minutes, then we’re pulling out,” Nolan said.

  “Okay,” Lena said, ears drooping. “I will let her know.”

  Nolan continued to scan the corridor leading back to the library’s main room. Seconds passed, then a full minute. He almost missed the slight shimmer, and it was only a few feet away by the time he reacted. He fell back a pace instinctively, and the motion saved his life.