The Complete Void Wraith Saga

by Chris Fox

  58

  Appeal to Reason

  Dryker’s heart broke as he watched the Tigris devastate the 11th fleet. Dozens of ships were burning, on both sides. The 11th was fighting back now, but they didn’t have a prayer, not without assistance. Part of Dryker wanted to go to their aid, but attacking the Tigris would be playing right into the Void Wraith’s hands. He needed to stop the combat, not escalate it.

  “I have some idea of what you must have felt when the Void Wraith attacked Theras,” Dryker said, taking a step closer to Celendra. The two might as well have been alone, as the dozens of interested Primo lined the back of the room. Not a single one spoke, each watching the battle with their expressions blank. Dryker knew there was some sort of tradition there, as this had the feeling of ritual. Damned if he knew what it meant, though.

  “I believe you do,” Celendra said, eyeing him sadly. A bead of milky sweat trickled down her forehead. “Would that there was an easy way to stop the fighting. Do you have another tactic?”

  “I’m going to try one more time,” Dryker said, nodding. “Go ahead and broadcast.”

  Celendra tapped her bracelet, then nodded to Dryker.

  What the hell was he going to say that he hadn’t already? What would convince the humans to break away?

  The truth, that was what. Maybe that was the smartest way to flush him out, though. It might also convince some of the captains.

  “Captains of the UFC, I’m going to try this one more time,” Dryker said. “You can see the 11th being wiped out. Admiral Chu is standing by, keeping you out of the battle. You’re watching your brothers be slaughtered, and doing nothing to help them. What do you think will happen to you when the Tigris are done with the 11th? Do you think they’ll let you leave? Of course not. You’ll be wiped out, and that’s exactly what Chu wants. If you want to live, join me. You don’t have to die here.

  “I know that many of you are reluctant to do that, because you’ve been implanted with a chip. That chip is embedded in your nervous system, and causes blinding pain if you don’t do what they tell you,” Dryker said, then paused. “We have the means of disabling that chip. Every man that retreats will have that chip removed, and together we’ll take down the bastards that did this to you.”

  Dryker motioned to Celendra, and she tapped her bracelet again. Dryker clasped his hands behind his back, watching the combat. A single orange square broke off from the 11th, then another. A moment later, three squares broke away from the main battlegroup.

  Then another handful. Then another. All were headed toward Dryker’s fleet.

  59

  Pounce

  Fizgig smiled grimly as the Claw led their fleet into battle. They’d used Tigrana itself to shield their approach, and so far as they knew Mow was oblivious to their presence.

  “Izzy, use the planet’s gravitational well to accelerate,” Fizgig ordered. She dug her claws into one of the cushions, slicing the fabric and exposing the feathers within. The loss of control bothered her, but she wasn’t the only one feeling the strain. Khar paced back and forth in front of the weapons station.

  Their new crew shifted, all struggling to sit still. This was the pivotal moment, the moment they either stopped Mow, or died in the attempt. Everything hung in the balance, and they all knew it. They’d known it for the past three hours, the length of time it had taken their fleet to circle Tigrana.

  They’d prowled the stars the same way their ancestors had prowled the jungles—swift, silent, and deadly. Now they skipped along Tigrana’s dense atmosphere, the hull flaring red as they accelerated.

  “Mighty Fizgig,” Izzy growled over her shoulder. “Our enemy is unaware. Mow’s vessel is in the rear, as you predicted. It has a cluster of seven Peregrine-class vessels around it. What are your orders?”

  “Fleetwide,” Fizgig said, leaping to her feet. She prowled to the screen, her tail lashing back and forth behind her. “Hear me, Pride Fizgig. Pride Leonis has its belly exposed. Bring death to the vessels surrounding the traitor Mow, but leave his death to me. If our enemies surrender, you may accept them as prideless, or slay them if you choose. Teach them to fear our name.”

  “Mighty Fizgig!” roared Khar, and the cry was taken up by the rest of the bridge crew. Fizgig made no move to silence them, and she shook her head when Izzy looked at her questionably. Let the fleet hear them roar their defiance before battle.

  Then they were within visual range. Eight specks gleamed ahead of them, each resolving into a Tigris vessel as they approached. The specks moved slowly, and Fizgig narrowed her eyes when she realized why. They were prowling behind the bulk of the Leonis Pride, watching while their brethren fought and died against the humans killing their home world. She’d known Mow would do it, but seeing it made it more real. And it infuriated her.

  Fizgig considered giving Izzy the order to ram, but snapped her mouth shut. That was micromanaging. Izzy was the most skilled pilot she’d ever worked with, and the simplest way to get the result she was after was to let her people do what they were best at.

  The Claw shuddered as Izzy increased their speed. She tapped a button on her console, and her voice echoed through the corridors of the ship. “Brace for impact. Boarding teams, stand by.”

  The Claw rose, drifting away from Tigrana’s atmosphere. They came up low under Mow’s ship, at a much greater speed than most would attempt. Fizgig had complete confidence, but most of the rest of the crew had never flown with the snowy-furred prideless. Well, formerly prideless.

  Crew muttered, and a mangy male who’d lost an ear prayed to Tigrana under his breath. Fizgig smiled, seizing the arms of her chair. She tensed her muscles, watching Mow’s vessel grow larger and larger. Its surface gleamed, and Fizgig could already tell what point Izzy had marked. She was aiming for the spot between the two dart ports. It would stab Mow’s vessel in the throat. Fitting. If she pulled it off, they would enter the ship near the bridge.

  The screen went dark briefly as the entire ship lurched, their momentum suddenly dropping to nothing. The internal dampeners did what they could, but were simply not designed to handle the reduction in velocity.

  “To me!” Fizgig roared, her voice thundering across the bridge. She sprinted from the room, up the corridor toward the aft side of the ship.

  By the time she reached the boarding tube, two teams had already moved inside. They were a ragtag mix, their armor just as mismatched. The only similarity was the weapon each carried. Each bore one the of the plasma rifles Nolan had given to Fizgig upon her departure.

  “Khar?” she asked, purring loudly.

  “Yes, Mighty Fizgig,” Khar said, stepping forward. “I took the liberty of selecting the best fighters, and outfitting them with Void Wraith technology.”

  “Well done, Khar,” Fizgig said, dropping from the boarding tube to the deck of Mow’s ship.

  The waiting Tigris scanned the corridor, but there was no obvious threat. Fizgig narrowed her eyes, considering. Why hadn’t Mow opposed them? It made no sense to give up such a potent tactical advantage.

  “Mighty Fizgig,” Izzy called, her voice coming from above. She dropped soundlessly to the deck next to Fizgig. “The oxygen is lower than it should be. Take a deep breath.

  Fizgig did so, and realized immediately what Izzy meant. Her breathing began to quicken. “This isn’t impact depressurization. They’re pumping the air out of this part of the ship. Move. Move now.”

  She harvested a fresh crop of rage from deep within her belly. Mow was trying to murder them, rather than fight. There could be no more shameless act for a Tigris. This was cowardice, pure and simple.

  So Fizgig ran. She knew the layout of Peregrine-class vessels better than any officer living, because she’d served on them for four decades. She pounded across the deck, skidding around a corner and up the next corridor. There was still no opposition, and the longer she ran the more light-headed she became.

  Her crew followed, a dozen warriors panting after her. Khar was in the lead
, then Izzy. A ten-foot gap opened after them, with her new crew struggling to close it. Fizgig finally slid to a halt when she reached a closed bulkhead. This was where Mow had drawn the line.

  “Oxygen,” Fizgig gasped, “is on the other side of that door. Get the right side, Khar.”

  She rested her free paw against the wall next to the door, then flicked her wrist. A crackling blue plasma blade appeared, and Fizgig drove it into the door where it met the deck. Khar realized instantly what she wanted, and started doing the same.

  Spots danced across her vision as Fizgig slowly dragged the blade upward. It cut a glowing red arc up the metal, moving inexorably toward the similar arc Khar was carving. Behind her, Fizgig could hear her troops gasping. Most had sagged against the walls, struggling to stay on their feet.

  She pulled harder, driving the plasma blade the last six inches. Khar’s blade joined their work into an arch, and Fizgig planted her shoulder against the door. She lacked the breath to explain her plan, but fortunately Khar knew what to do. He planted his shoulder next to hers, and they began to push. Nothing. Fizgig tried again, straining against the metal. It was too heavy, and she couldn’t think clearly.

  Then Izzy was next to her. Then a Tigris she didn’t recognize. Then another. Together, they heaved as one. The door slid an inch, two inches. They strained harder, pushing the door into the corridor beyond. There was a sharp pop that made her ears ache, but the pain was welcome. Fizgig drank deep lungfuls as the pressure equalized. They’d done it. Now all they had to do was find Mow.

  60

  Abject Lesson

  Chu watched helplessly as another vessel departed, joining the small fleet heading toward Dryker. Less than a third were going, but how long would it be before more decided to join them? No, he needed to stop this. Now.

  “Fleetwide,” Chu ordered. The new lieutenant, he’d already forgotten her name, nodded when the connection was ready. “All captains, this is Admiral Chu. You are to treat departing vessels as hostile. They are now traitors to the UFC. Eliminate any ship that departs our battlegroup.”

  Chu settled back into his chair, clutching at his tailbone with both hands. He gritted his teeth against the pain, but it didn’t subside. It hadn’t. Not for the last several minutes. If anything, it was getting worse.

  “Sir, several more vessels have broken off,” the tech said.

  “On screen,” Chu ordered through gritted teeth.

  The screen showed four more vessels departing the main battlegroup to join Dryker. The rest of the vessels just let them go, without firing a shot. They were disobeying a direct order. Many of those captains bore a chip, and should have known better.

  “I’ll just have to remind them of their duty,” Chu said, smiling cruelly as he fished the black box from his pocket. It was a master transmitter, linked to hundreds of chips throughout the fleet. Chu considered singling out the captains who were defying him, but decided a more universal lesson was necessary.

  He’d remind them all. Chu selected the maximum pain setting, then pressed the tiny red button. He held it in place for a full ten seconds, knowing that every affected soldier was now writhing in agony.

  Or they should have been. Chu’s officers were chipped, yet beyond a brief flinch not a single one reacted. They stood there, continuing their work as if nothing were happening. Chu stared uncomprehendingly down at the transmitter. Why wasn’t it working?

  It was impossible for those with implants to suppress the pain. The only reason they’d be on their feet was if the chips weren’t getting the signal. For that to happen…

  “Someone is jamming the signal,” Chu breathed, the realization drowning out the growing pain. He straightened painfully, darting the lieutenant a panicked look. “Withdraw from the fleet. Immediately. Get us to the Helios Gate!”

  61

  Gotcha

  Nolan watched the battle unfold, aching to intervene. Keeping the harvester cloaked was the single most difficult combat decision he’d ever made. Yet it was the right decision. He needed to be free to act when Chu slipped up, because if they could stop Chu, they freed dozens of captains.

  “Captain,” Ship said. The sudden voice caused Nolan to jump. He was wound tightly. They all were. “I’ve just intercepted a signal to the chip. That signal has been neutralized. I’ve marked the vessel where the signal originated with a white diamond.”

  Nolan scanned the holomap until he spotted the new icon.

  “That’s it,” Nolan said. “Ship, move to engage. Hannan, as soon as we grapple, this is your show.”

  Hannan nodded, rising from where she’d been resting against the wall. “We’re ready to go whenever. Edwards will guard the boarding tube while the rest of us make the push for the bridge. All three Judicators are standing by.”

  “Still feels a bit like suicide,” Annie said, giving her plasma blade an experimental wave, then flicking it off. She reached into the pocket of her overalls, shoving a small handful of chew into the corner of her mouth. “At least we’ve got some damned cool toys.”

  Nolan ignored them, focusing on the tactical holomap. The ship with the white diamond was breaking away from the mass of orange squares, moving steadily toward the sun. It was at full burn, pushing hard to get away from the battle. Nolan considered that. Why would Chu suddenly break and run? He’d already been in a tactically unwinnable scenario. What had spooked him?

  “He knows the chips are disabled,” Nolan finally said aloud. “Hannan, I realize this won’t change much, but they know we’re coming. I’d expect heavy resistance.”

  “Noted, sir,” Hannan said. She withdrew an energy bar and tore the wrapper, then started chewing. “I’m very concerned. This is my concerned face.” Her expression was deadpan.

  Nolan laughed. Annie joined in. Even Delta smiled. It felt good, though it was short-lived. It trailed off into smiles, and Nolan focused on the holomap once more.

  “Ship, how long until intercept?” Nolan asked.

  “While under cloak, our maximum speed is reduced. We won’t reach the target for three minutes and seventeen seconds,” Ship explained. “If we remove our cloak, that will shorten to one minute and forty-two seconds.”

  “Keep the cloak up,” Nolan said, hefting his plasma rifle. “Inform us when we’re about to grapple Chu’s vessel.”

  Nolan nodded at Hannan, who turned and walked briskly down the gleaming corridor. They threaded through the ship, working their way down the wing until they were near the tip. Their last three Judicators were already there, each standing at perfect attention. They’d formed a line near the thick blue door leading to the boarding tube.

  “I know we all know what to do, but I’m going to run through it one more time, as a sanity check,” Nolan said. “Hannan will take point. We’ll make our way to the bridge, trying to avoid any resistance while we do. No shots fired, unless we have no other choice. Once we reach the bridge, we’ll locate Chu and neutralize him. Ideally we take him alive, but if we can’t that’s fine.”

  “You left out the part about escaping,” Annie said, spitting a gob of black into the corner. “How are we getting out, with or without Chu?”

  “That part you aren’t going to much like,” Nolan said, glancing at Delta. The big black man lurked near the Judicators, watching. “When we take Chu, we need to take his transmitter. Chu is a paranoid bastard, and I’m betting most or even all of his crew are chipped.”

  “So you’re going to do the same thing Chu did to break them?” Delta asked. His tone was neutral, but Nolan didn’t think it was accidental that Delta’s hand dropped to his plasma pistol.

  “Only if we have to. There’s every chance his crew will defect once they see Chu go down, but if they don’t I’ll use the chips, yes,” Nolan said. His mouth firmed to a tight line. “I need to know you can handle that, Delta. If it’s our lives, I’ll do what I have to do. There’s more than just us riding on the line here. Either we win, or they do. If they win, a whole lot more people are going to
be chipped. Or worse. If I need to get my hands a little dirty to stop that, I’m doing it.”

  “Fine,” Delta snarled, turning to face the blue metal door. Nolan felt Hannan relax behind him. She’d coiled like a spring, no doubt ready to take Delta down if he’d proven to be a threat. Nolan was glad it hadn’t come to that.

  “Captain, impact in seven seconds,” Ship said, cheerfully.

  Nolan braced himself against the wall, and the others did the same. There was a shudder as they impacted, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d been expecting. The Judicators didn’t brace themselves at all, rolling with the vibration like sailors at sea.

  The door slid up, revealing the inside of Chu’s flagship. The clean corridors reminded Nolan of a higher-tech version of the UFC Johnston, which stoked his anger. Her death could be laid at Chu’s feet.

  “All right, Hannan,” Nolan said, turning to face the shorter Marine. “This is your show.”

  62

  Wrath of the Prideless

  Fizgig panted as she faced the war horde behind her. A dozen Tigris warriors in mismatched armor, each holding one of the most devastating weapons in the galaxy. Mow had the advantage of training, but she had firepower.

  “Ready yourselves for battle,” Fizgig growled, loudly enough to be heard by those close to her, but not a full shout. No need to advertise themselves to Mow’s warriors. Not just yet, anyway. “Beyond this point, we will be assaulted by the best Leonis has to offer. These Tigris are battle-hardened, and they will die before surrendering. Cut them down. Show no mercy.”

  Then Fizgig gave the door one final heave. It toppled inward, clattering to the deck with a boom that echoed through the ship. Beyond it, as expected, crouched several Tigris warriors. They wore black armor, and each carried a polished black shotgun.