The Complete Void Wraith Saga

by Chris Fox

  Thankfully, entity Dryker seemed unaware that vessel Celendra had been infected. The Eye had ordered her larva to take no action that might call attention to itself, as the intelligence she passed was far more valuable than the short term havoc she could wreak. That might change, in time, but until it did he would continue to monitor entity Dryker’s progress.

  An unquiet voice reminded the Eye of the only harvest that might rival this one, the harvest in which it had first encountered the Primo. Those Primo had possessed technology most races never amassed, and had used that technology to devastating effect. The speed with which they’d created and modified new weapons was unparalleled, and the Eye was painfully aware that their greatest achievement was still out there somewhere, in some forgotten corner of space. Waiting for discovery.

  That was what had brought it to this system, after all. Somewhere near the supermassive black hole lay the Birthplace, the research station where the Primo had created the Forge, the only vessel that had defeated every Void Wraith fleet sent to destroy it.

  Still, that was a minor variable. Nearly fifty millennia had passed, and no one had discovered the ship. Even if they did, the Eye had countless contingency plans. It focused its attention on the vessels commanding its fleets. It saw them all simultaneously, over four thousand Void Wraith harvesters. Those fleets were superior to both humanity and the Tigris. They were the equal of the Primo, and they outnumbered them nearly a hundred to one.

  Victory was all but assured. The chance of any other outcome was a statistical impossibility. The masters would be pleased.

  72

  Meetings

  Dryker was more than a little nervous, walking the corridors of the Void Wraith vessel. It had belonged to the enemy, and the fact that Nolan was in charge now didn’t banish the sense of unease at being here. Yet it made sense. If they used the First Light, or even the Claw of Tigrana, then there would be warriors, technicians, and other crew there. Those people, any of whom could be a spy, would witness the outcome of this historic meeting, and right now secrecy was paramount.

  Dryker was the last to enter. Celendra was seated at the far end of the room, awkwardly straddling a chair designed for humans. Fizgig sat two chairs down, her ears flicking as she groomed the fur around the cast on her arm. She wore a similar cast on her leg, both made from quick-sealing foam. It was very similar to what humans used to set bones.

  Nolan was there, too, of course. He sat at the head of the table, giving Dryker a respectful nod. It was a gesture one gave an equal, not a superior. Dryker smiled, returning the nod, then walked to the other end of the table to take a seat.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” he said, undoing the top button on his uniform. “There are more Fleet logistics than I’d have expected. If not for Lieutenant Juliard, I’d still be there.”

  “We are beyond pleasantries,” Fizgig said, flexing her claws and digging them into the metal table. “Let us discuss what has brought us here. We three represent the significant factions: Dryker the humans, Celendra the Primo, and myself the Tigris.”

  “You’re the leader of Leonis Pride?” Nolan asked. He didn’t seem surprised, more like he was correlating a bit of data he’d already known.

  To Dryker’s immense surprise, Fizgig shook her head and looked down at the table. “No,” she said a moment later, and looked up. “I turned down that honor. In order to stop Mow, I was forced to do something that has not been done in nearly two centuries: I’ve founded my own pride. Every prideless was invited, and now that we are pride I cannot abandon them.”

  “But you still speak for the Tigris?” Dryker asked.

  “For two prides, at least,” Fizgig said, her tail rising. “Leonis has not chosen a leader, but I speak for them until they do.”

  “What of the rest of the prides?” Celendra asked, blinking. “Are there not close to a dozen more?”

  “Most of those are small, and those that are not are unlikely to seek alliance,” Fizgig said, her irises narrowing to slits. “I will do what I can to bring them into the fold, but I make no promises.”

  “Some Tigris are better than none. Well done, Fizgig,” Dryker said, resting his elbows on the table. “Now that we’ve dealt with pleasantries, let’s get to business, as Fizgig suggests. We’re not here to discuss troop dispositions, or combat strength. We’re screwed, and we know it. Our combined fleets aren’t strong enough to police known space, meaning the Void Wraith get to pick the playing field. We can only react, and we all know how that will end. They’ll pick off our colonies one by one, until we have only the core worlds. Then they’ll take those, too.”

  Dryker stopped there, though he could have added quite a bit more about current circumstances. He was especially interested in Nolan’s report, and in his opinion on stopping the Void Wraith. Dryker had no idea how they were going to do that, but the kid was a tactical genius.

  “If we are not here to discuss military deployment, then why are we here, Admiral Dryker?” Celendra asked. She wiped milky sweat from her forehead, blinking in what Dryker took for exhaustion.

  “To stop the Void Wraith,” Nolan supplied, drawing her attention. “As you saw from my report, I’ve learned quite a bit about them, and about their physiology. More importantly, we’ve learned about their history. The ancient Primo resisted them, and they did so using a vessel they called the Forge. It’s the source of their technical miracles, a repository of everything the Primo had ever researched. Lena believes that vessel is still out there, and I trust her. If anyone can track down the Forge, it’s her. That vessel may give us the edge we need.”

  “We’d better hope it does,” Dryker said, grimly. “We don’t know how many Void Wraith vessels are out there, but does it matter? They can keep building, harvesting our colonies to make more troops. We need a real solution, and if we approach this like a conventional war we’re going to lose.”

  “Both Nolan and Dryker speak with wisdom, but whether this war is futile or not, it must be fought,” Fizgig said. “The Void Wraith will come, and we will drive them back. We need to protect our people, even if we lose our worlds. We must fall back, and give Nolan the time to discover this Forge. Evaluate our respective citizens to humanity’s core worlds, then hold there. That defense will take all of us to plan. Humans, Tigris, and Primo.”

  “Are you willing to appoint Dryker as the supreme commander of the Tigris fleets?” Celendra asked, fixing Fizgig with her unblinking stare.

  “I will follow Dryker,” Fizgig said, scratching the fur around her arm cast. “I’ve no doubt he will lead us to victory.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Dryker said, looking from person to person. “We’ll go over the reports everyone has supplied, and come up with a defensive plan of action. Nolan will hunt down this Forge, and find out how they used it to stop the Void Wraith. It isn’t much, but it’s what we have.”

  Eradication

  Book 3

  Prologue

  Dryker had never seen a worse situation, not even the battle of Tigrana. Thousands of ships dotted the Ceras system, clouds of them rising from each of the three habitable worlds. The largest cloud came from the furthest planet, Vega, an island resort world which was a getaway for anyone with the means, both from the periphery and the core worlds.

  The ships rising from Vega were mostly transports and luxury yachts. There wasn’t a military vessel among them, other than a few dozen police cruisers. That left them naked before the Void Wraith. Harvesters darted in, tearing into the ships like piranha into a school of fish. It pained Dryker to see it, especially knowing he was almost half an hour out. He couldn’t help them, at least not yet.

  The second world had a much smaller cloud of escaping vessels, mostly mining ships. New Mars was a mineral-rich rock, and had built the infrastructure for both the Ceras system and most of the surrounding periphery worlds. The Void Wraith seemed to realize this, and had correspondingly few attacking ships. Dryker’s fleet could reach New Mars in seventeen minutes, and m
ight be in time to save some of them.

  The third world was also surrounded by a large cloud of ships, maybe half the size of those around Vega. Some were transports, but the bulk were cargo ships stuffed full of grains, corn, and other foodstuffs; it was enough to feed millions for months, making those ships the most important objective in system in that moment. Supplies were already running short.

  Coming from the 14th, Dryker knew how quickly shortages could escalate.

  “Admiral,” Juliard called from the comm station. “The First Light is hailing us.”

  “On screen,” Dryker said, moving to sit in his new captain’s chair. Maintenance had done a hell of a job retrofitting the harvester they’d salvaged from the Battle of Tigrana—the ship he’d christened the Steadfast—and he finally had something resembling a real bridge. He still found it a little troubling that maintenance, and the rest of his crew, were made up entirely of Judicators. But manpower was in too short a supply to afford him even a single Marine squad.

  The screen filled with the First Light’s spacious viewing deck, where Celendra stood surrounded by a knot of colorfully dressed advisors. Hers was the only Primo vessel in system, the rest having been dispatched to see to their own people’s evacuation. Dryker had been surprised she’d asked to remain with the human fleet, and it had only fueled his growing distrust. More and more he suspected that Celendra had been infected, though he had no proof as of yet.

  What would he do if she was? The Primo followed her, and were unlikely to listen to any accusations he made. Even if they did, Celendra was his only real ally among the Primo. Without her the Primo would go their own way, denying humanity the Primo’s superior firepower. Should he risk that? Or was he being overly paranoid, and jeopardizing the survival of the human race over Celendra having had the human version of a cold?

  “Hello, Celendra. You have a question?” He kept his tone neutral. “I have a battle to attend to, so I need to keep this brief.”

  “What will you do?” Celendra asked, her words clipped. She was obviously angry, a perpetual state these days.

  “Whatever I must to win the war. We don’t have time for a tactical debate. You agreed to follow my orders, and we’re in combat. Take the First Light to the star’s nadir. Intercept any Void Wraith who try to attack our convoys.” He nodded to Juliard. She pressed a button, terminating the feed.

  “Miss Prim and Proper isn’t much going to like that,” Juliard said, rolling her eyes. “Orders, sir?”

  “Have the 14th spread out around Ceras, use their scans to isolate Void Wraith and pick them off,” Dryker said, hating himself for it. “Protect the cargo ships first, civilians second.”

  “Sir,” Juliard asked, hesitatingly. “What about Vega, and New Mars? They have millions of people trying to reach the Gate. None of them will make it without our help.”

  “I have to think about billions, Lieutenant,” Dryker said, surprised she’d spoken her mind. That was rare, but welcome. “This food will keep people alive, and allow them to hide anywhere. Without it we’re tied to agricultural worlds, and if I were the Void Wraith that would be my first target. If they control our food, they guarantee we have to come with them.”

  “Relaying your orders now, sir,” Juliard said, avoiding his gaze.

  Dryker couldn’t blame her. Thinking about the bigger picture required a callousness he wouldn’t wish on anyone. Decisions on this scale changed a man.

  He watched as the 14th deployed. They moved with a skill and precision they’d been unable to muster even a few months ago. The war with the Void Wraith was hardening them, and everyone knew the stakes. No longer a group of malcontents and slackers, they took their work seriously now.

  A mixture of frigates and cruisers moved in first, fanning out around the edges of the fleet. The capital ships moved up the middle, the Steadfast in the vanguard. The strategy was simple: Their smaller ships would protect the flanks, moving to deal with any incursions, while the larger, more capable ships would guard the main body. Then they’d escort the civilians back to the Gate.

  “Sir,” Juliard said, “enemy harvesters are appearing off starboard. I’m counting four.”

  “Move to engage. Have the Judicators on standby,” Dryker ordered. “Ship, can you hear me?”

  “Yes, Admiral Dryker,” the ship’s VI answered in a pleasant male voice. “Do you have orders?”

  “Engage the lead harvester,” Dryker ordered. “Target their engines.”

  They accelerated, drawing a bead on the lead harvester. The Steadfast rumbled from deep within as the main weapon powered up. Dryker had been on the receiving end when the Johnston bought it, but this was the first time he’d seen the awesome power from the other side of combat. A tremendous ball of blue-white energy gathered between the Steadfast’s wingtips, built for several seconds, then launched toward the Void Wraith.

  The shot slammed into the enemy ship’s engines, rippling along the shield as it impacted. The right engine sputtered, then died. The harvester broke off from its own target, a light cruiser. It turned toward the Steadfast, aware that it was the greater threat.

  “Shift target to the next harvester,” Dryker ordered.

  The Steadfast smoothly targeted the next vessel, launching a shot at their engine. This one caused no real damage, but that vessel also broke off from the civilians to deal with them. Both enemy ships powered up their weapons and fired identical balls of blue plasma. Dryker braced himself against his chair, knowing that this was likely to be bad.

  The first shot caused the ship to shudder slightly, but did no real damage. Their shield bled off nearly a hundred percent of the shot, but doing so depleted their defenses. They were naked against the second shot. It blew through the harvester’s left wing, leaving a trail of plasma and debris floating out into space. Thankfully, the area was unoccupied, since Dryker had little more than a skeleton crew.

  “Fall back to our ranks,” Dryker ordered.

  “Yes, sir,” the VI answered, pivoting smoothly to veer back to the 14th. They accelerated away, streamers of plasma fire leaking from the shattered stub of their left wing.

  The pair of Void Wraith vessels gave chase, and ran right into the vanguard. Capital ships began launching a mixture of conventional railgun fire and newly installed plasma weapons. The two harvesters withered under the fire. The first exploded before it could even return fire; the second launched another shot aimed squarely at Dryker’s vessel.

  The shot slammed into the engines, and something big detonated deep within the Steadfast. Dryker tumbled to the deck, missing his chair as he fell. He rolled back to his feet. “Ship, damage report.”

  “The aft engine is now offline,” the VI said. “Stern engine damaged. We can still maneuver, though our speed is significantly reduced.”

  “Move to the rear of the fleet,” Dryker ordered, breathing a sigh of relief when the ranks of the 14th closed protectively around them. The second pursuing harvester had been dealt with, exploding spectacularly as the 14th moved to engage its companions.

  Dryker’s little stunt had severely damaged his ship, but it had kept the Void Wraith from their targets. Ships could be repaired. Food was more precious than gold right now. “Ship, punch up a feed of the battle.”

  The Steadfast complied, using composite data from every fleet vessel. The holoscreen shifted to an accurate 3D representation of the battle, UFC ships surrounding and destroying Void Wraith. There were casualties, but in every case the 14th was overwhelming their opponents. Removing the stealth advantage meant that the Void Wraith were merely a slightly more advanced foe, rather than the bogeyman Dryker couldn’t see or predict. The addition of Primo weaponry evened the odds still further.

  “Pass the word, Juliard,” Dryker said. “Once we’re done mopping up you’ll be dividing the civilian vessels into convoys. Each convoy will be guarded by a capital ship, and either a cruiser or two frigates. I’ll let you make the assignments.” Dryker sat again. He was far more tired than
he probably should have been despite how short the battle had been.

  Yeah, he was getting too old for this.

  “Sir, destination for the convoys?” Juliard asked.

  “Let the captains of the capital ships choose,” Dryker instructed. “They are not to share those coordinates with anyone else, including command. We can’t predict who’s been infected, but spies can’t reveal what they don’t know. Tell them to check in every twenty-four hours. We’ll pass orders as we have them, but in the meantime…keep safe.”

  1

  A Thousand Degrees

  Nolan strode onto the bridge of the harvester they’d nicknamed Ship. He set his coffee down on the stand next to to the captain’s chair, then moved over to the active holo showing the system they’d arrived in.

  “What am I looking at?” Nolan asked, circling the holographic display. A large planet floated near a red sun. Nolan was no astronomer, but what he knew of gravity suggested that planet should have long since been pulled into the star. The fact that it hadn’t was interesting.

  “This is Novena Primus, the largest manufacturing world in the Primo empire from my time,” Ship said, its pride evident. “Many wonders were born here, almost every breakthrough that the Primo of my day produced.”

  “How?” Nolan asked. “The surface has got to be a thousand degrees. It’s way too close to the sun.”

  “I have a theory,” Atrea said. The elderly Primo roused herself from a chair against the far wall of the bridge and hobbled toward the hologram, gesturing at the world. “You’re using a gravithermal generator, tied to the planet’s core. That would stabilize the planet’s orbit, and leave enough power to shield the world from the radiation.”