by Chris Fox
47
A Cure
Nolan was waiting in the hangar when Annie guided the Tibs to an ungainly landing. The rusted vessel landed hard, one of the struts giving a few inches so that the vessel canted at an angle. Nolan winced, mentally willing the shuttle to hold together. He had no idea how it had for this long.
Manda floated a few feet away, lounging on her chair as she stared at the shuttle. “That vessel is not spaceworthy.”
The side hatch popped open, and Annie jumped the three feet down to the deck. “Hey there, Captain, you didn’t have to come meet me personally. Who’s your, uh, friend?”
“She’s the commander of this vessel; her name is Manda,” Nolan explained, already hoping Annie’s rough-edged nature wouldn’t offend the Primo.
“The implanted woman is inside?” Manda asked, ignoring Annie’s question. She zoomed her hoverchair near Annie.
“Kathryn? Yep, safe and sound,” Annie said. “We weren’t bothered much, just took a couple days R&R. Kathryn with the resting, and me with the relaxing.”
“Get her,” Manda said, gesturing to the cluster of Primo nearby lurking back by the door. They headed into the shuttle, followed by a floating metal platform that bobbed up and down slightly. It looked designed for cargo.
“Where’s she going, Captain?” Annie asked, a little protectively.
“They’ve got a cure, Private. The Primo can get that thing out of her.” Nolan gave a grin, and Annie returned it. They both had reason to want Kathryn back on her feet, and it felt good to be able to share that.
“That’s great news,” Annie said, shouldering a battered pack and moving to join Nolan. “Have at it, then, and don’t worry about leaving a mess behind ya. It can’t be any worse than it already was.”
The Primo were incredibly efficient, emerging from the Tibs less than twenty seconds later. Kathryn’s stasis chamber floated on the platform, and the moment Manda saw it emerge she guided her people out of the hangar.
Since the Primo hadn’t forbidden it, Nolan followed. After a moment, Annie did as well. They flanked the stasis chamber, and Nolan stole a glance at the woman inside. Kathryn looked peaceful, as if merely asleep. Her dark hair framed a face he’d thought about a lot over the last few months.
“How are you going to kill the larva?” Nolan asked, directing the question at Thetah. The hologram floated in Manda’s wake, and turned to face him when addressed.
“We will use concentrated temporal energy,” she said, giving a mischievous smile. “The Gorthians are incredibly resilient. No radiation, no chemical or toxin, not even the stresses of a star can destroy an adult. Even the larva are resilient. The method you’re about to see is, so far as we know, the only way to kill a larva without killing the host.”
They stopped inside a large room occupied by several white-robed Primo. The tiny scientists stopped their various experiments, hurrying over to to the stasis tube as it settled atop one of their counters. They moved with the same frenzied determination the Primo soldiers had, and with just as much discipline.
“Link up the scanner,” a tall—well, relatively tall—green-skinned Primo ordered. The others scurried to obey, using an array of tools Nolan couldn’t even understand. Little plasma displays floated next to them in the air.
“Interesting,” said another, scrolling through data on a holoscreen. “She is in the earliest stage of implantation. Removal without damage to the host is possible. Her species is new, but appears resilient enough to survive.”
A larger hologram sprang up above the stasis tube. It showed a cutaway of a human body, the skeleton covered in a sea of tiny root like tendrils.
“Begin the isolation procedure,” the lead Primo said. The stasis tube began to hum, and the hologram showed a red energy field around every last tendril.
“Isolation procedure complete,” one of the Primo said, tapping away at a data pad.
“They’ve used a containment field around the larva,” Thetah whispered to Nolan. “It will prevent the larva from lashing out during the rest of the procedure.”
“Begin the temporal warping,” the leader said. “Start with factor 9, and raise it steadily to fifteen.”
A high-pitched whine came from the device, and the hologram showed a rain of purple particles over the entire body. Nolan tensed when Kathryn’s back arched within the chamber. She gave a pained cry, muffled by the stasis chamber. Nolan reached out, resting a hand on the warm metal.
“Is she all right?” he demanded, looking to Thetah.
“You must try to be patient,” Thetah said, giving him a sympathetic look. “The larva is designed to be nearly immortal. We’re changing the flow of time in the containment field so that, for it, thousands of years are passing.”
“You’re aging it to death?” Nolan asked.
“That’s impossible, unfortunately,” Thetah said. “So far as we know the Gorthians are the first truly immortal race. They do not age in the conventional sense. What we’re doing is denying the larva food. Eventually, after enough millennia, it will begin feeding on itself. Watch.”
Thetah gestured, and a counter appeared in the air. It showed years blurring by. The counter had already hit five thousand, and within seconds had advanced to ten. Then twenty. Then fifty. It continued to hum along, finally stopping at eighty-three thousand years.
“There, see?” Thetah asked.
The tendrils wrapping the skeleton began to shrivel, pulling into themselves. They withered, growing thinner and thinner until they were hairy wisps. Then they began to disappear.
“Removal successful,” the lead scientist said, clapping a companion on the back. “Well done, team. Subject will make a full recovery.”
“Will she be okay mentally?” Nolan asked, turning to Thetah.
“She may have some difficulty accepting what’s happened to her. I know I would,” Thetah replied, giving Kathryn a sympathetic look. “Most subjects develop a passionate hatred for all things Gorthian, and devote their lives to hunting them and their Void Wraith minions down.”
“If she is strong-willed, this Kathryn will be invaluable,” Manda said, zooming down to the window showing Kathryn’s face. “Those cured are often a wealth of information, because many remember bits from their larva. They know what it was thinking, and their insight helped us win many battles.”
“Arbiter?” the lead scientist asked Manda.
“Yes?” Manda shifted her attention to the scientist, chair descending to his level.
“The sample we obtained? It is workable. I believe we can locate the resonance you’re seeking, but because of the genetic drift the precision is…lacking. You will need to get close, at least in the same system. The closer you get, the more accurately you’ll be able to track.”
“Excellent, well done.” Manda congratulated the scientist. She turned to Nolan. “We’ll have her moved to our hospice for care, and will notify you when she wakes. In the meantime, I’d suggest we gather whatever allies we can. The time for war is upon us.”
48
Cotton Mouth
Kathryn swallowed painfully, struggling to sit up. She brushed away fragments of nightmares, and had the feeling she’d been under a long time. She blinked herself awake, immediately cataloguing details. Her OFI training took over, assessing the room.
She was in a strange, floating bed, probably of Primo make. The nightstand, with its curved edges and gleaming metal, confirmed that assessment. There were seven other beds, two sets of four. None were occupied. This appeared to be a hospital.
Something moved in the corner of her vision, and she reached instinctively for a weapon that wasn’t there. Kathryn relaxed when she recognized Nolan entering the room. A tiny Primo floated on a little chair next to him. How odd. Apparently she’d missed quite a bit while she was out.
Suddenly, she realized what was missing, and reached inward, listening for the larva. For the first time in months it was quiet in her own skull. Kathryn tensed, stifling the candle
flame of hope. Maybe it was gone, but until she heard it from Nolan she wouldn’t even entertain the possibility. It would be too painful to think she were free, then find out otherwise.
“Welcome back, Commander Mendez,” Nolan said, approaching. She could hear the warmth in his voice, but noted the steady, dignified walk—an officer’s walk. He sat in the chair next to the bed, his smile the best thing she’d seen in weeks. “How are you feeling?”
“Thirsty,” she said, swallowing again. She met his gaze, summoning the courage to ask the question. “Nolan, is it gone?”
“It’s dead,” Nolan said, taking her hand. “You’re free. Welcome back, Kathryn.”
Tears lurked at the corner of her vision, and she squeezed Nolan’s hand. “Thank you. I don’t know how you did this, but thank you.”
“Something good may have even come out of all this,” Nolan said, returning the squeeze. “The larva gave us the means to track down your father.”
“Give me a ship, and I’ll lead that mission,” Kathryn said, sitting up. She was wearing a simple black jumpsuit. “If he can be saved, I’ll save him. If not, we need to eliminate him.”
“I figured you’d want to be there,” Nolan said, releasing her hand and leaning back in his chair. He eyed her appraisingly—not as a man, but rather as a captain assessing a resource. It underscored how much he’d changed since she’d last seen him. His intensity reminded her of her father. “The Primo doctors are amazing. You’ll have made a full recovery tomorrow, and I’m going to need your help tracking down the admiral.”
“Taking him down would cripple the Eye’s operations,” Kathryn said, nodding. “I can still remember some of the larva’s thoughts. Before that, I participated in a number of meetings. I even saw the Eye itself. My father’s tactics have been responsible for nearly every Void Wraith victory in this war. We have got to stop him.”
“We’ve provided Nolan with the means of doing exactly that,” the little Primo on the floating chair said, rather imperiously. Self-important little thing, apparently.
“Kathryn, this is Manda. She’s the supreme commander of the original Primo, and right now we’re aboard her vessel…the Forge.”
“You found it,” Kathryn said, flinging her arms around Nolan. She pulled him close, squeezing fiercely. “If it were anyone else I’d say I couldn’t believe it. Does that mean we have a chance?”
“A slim one,” Nolan admitted, returning her hug. She couldn’t believe he was real. “You and I need to stop your father. Manda and the bulk of our forces will battle the Eye itself.”
“All right,” Kathryn said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She felt stronger than she’d expected, and rose easily to her feet. “Show me where the shower is, and get me a uniform. I’m ready to fight on the right side of this war.”
49
Jaguara Rally
“Mighty Fizgig,” her second growled, the urgency in his voice drawing her attention. Fizgig rose from her pillowed chair, moving to his console. It displayed the space station they were approaching, one of the fabled Tigris defense platforms. “There appears to be significant battle damage.”
“Void Wraith,” Fizgig said immediately, familiar with the effects of their plasma on Tigris technology. The Claw had changed hands to a displaced captain, but Fizgig remembered every groan of her hull. “It looks like the station gave as good as she got. She’s standing, which means the Void Wraith aren’t.”
“Debris consistent with harvesters can be found below the station. The planet is pulling it in,” her second added, confirming her assessment.
A short warning klaxon played across the bridge, and Fizgig turned her attention to the main view screen. More Void Wraith? They couldn’t handle another prolonged battle, not without time to refit.
“Mighty Fizgig, we’re picking up Void Wraith drive signatures,” her comm tech called. “Seventeen in all.”
Fizgig walked calmly back to her chair, and sat. She made a show of fluffing the pillows. Her own fleet had over thirty vessels, nearly half Void Wraith. The fight would be costly, but they could win against those numbers.
“We’re being hailed,” the comm tech said, a note of confusion in her voice. “Mighty Fizgig, their leader wishes to speak to you.”
“On screen,” Fizgig ordered, waving at the main view screen.
“Ahh, at last we’ve found the mongrel,” a voice boomed. The screen fuzzed into view, showing the very last thing Fizgig would have expected: an Alpha Judicator, standing on the bridge of a harvester. Behind it clustered a dozen or more smaller Judicators, but they looked much different than others she’d seen. These had been painted, some with spots and others a rich black. They looked like Jaguara.
“Hello, Carnifex,” Fizgig said, rising from her chair and stalking to the holodisplay. “Mighty Khar, are you monitoring?”
“Yes, Mighty Fizgig,” Khar rumbled, his image sliding onto the right half of the holo. Fizgig detected a slight note of jealousy in his tone, probably because Carnifex had thought to decorate his armor. “It would seem Carnifex and the Jaguara have reconsidered their position on Void Wraith technology. Abomination, that was the word you used, was it not?”
“I have not come to bicker,” Carnifex roared, smashing one of the smaller Judicators to the deck. It scrambled away, damaged but unharmed. “Your warning was timely, Fizgig. When the Void Wraith came we fell back into the system, lurking. We waited for an opportunity, when most of their ships were grounded. Then we struck, boarding these harvesters. After we took them, they rose from our world like a cloud of beeza. We fled for the Helios Gate, in search of allies.”
Fizgig knew it had cost Carnifex to admit both that he’d fled and that he needed allies. She was careful not to press his pride. “How many of you have become Judicators?”
“All of us,” Carnifex snarled, daring her to protest. “Every last warrior made the sacrifice, for we know that we are stronger. We will use that strength to exact revenge, for all Jaguara.”
“For all Tigris, not just your pride,” Khar snapped. He leaned menacingly closer. “Tell me, Carnifex. Are you willing to follow Mighty Fizgig? She is our war chief, and her will is supreme.”
Carnifex was silent. His balled fists relaxed, and the Judicators around him somehow looked noticeably relieved, despite emotionless faces. “I will follow Mighty Fizgig, if she will deliver the vengeance my people seek.”
“Welcome to the alliance of prides, Mighty Carnifex,” Fizgig said. She purred, but low enough that the microphones wouldn’t pick it up. “We will need every vessel and every warrior for what is to come.”
50
Never Let Down Your Guard
Fizgig stared impassively at the view screen, schooling her features to conceal the awe. Showing that you cared about something was considered undignified among the Tigris, so she leaned over and licked an errant patch of fur on her shoulder, pretending not to notice the Forge.
The vessel orbiting the planet was the largest she’d ever seen, probably the largest anyone had ever seen. Its basic form was triangular, with wide swooping wings at the rear of the vessel. Its surface was broken by tiny lights and little dark spots.
As they flew closer, those resolved into hangar bays, some shielded and others dark. Countless cannons dotted the surface, a thousand or more. The triangle had a bite taken from the end, a curved depression. It was difficult to be sure from this angle, but Fizgig was positive that was a cannon of some kind. She already pitied whatever was on the receiving end of that weapon.
“Mighty Fizgig, they’ve given us the coordinates to a docking bay,” Calix rumbled. The male was shorter than most, and conscious of that fact. It made him bristle a little too often, but despite the outbursts he’d proven adept at his duties. He leaned over the console, one of the few pieces of Tigris tech on an otherwise Void Wraith bridge. “Shall I order our vessel to land?”
“Do it,” Fizgig commanded.
Their course changed, and they swung low
to the far corner of one of the wing tips. Their harvester glided smoothly inside a docking bay, then settled onto the deck with a thump. Fizgig rose from her chair, smiling in spite of herself. The holodisplay had shifted to show the inside of the hangar, where Nolan and his crew were already waiting.
He’d come to greet her. Standing next to him was Izzy, the pair conversing intently about something. Izzy gave a laugh, and Nolan shared it. That pleased her. Of all the warriors she’d trained, those two had the potential to have the biggest impact. Neither was the fastest with a blade—though both could hold their own—but what made them far more valuable was their understanding of tactical situations. Either would make a fine leader, and when she was gone such leaders would be needed.
She’d originally included Khar in her list of proteges, but his transformation had badly shaken her faith in him. It had been a rash decision, and they couldn’t afford mistakes. In time, she hoped he’d regain her trust.
Fizgig walked from the bridge, heading to the closest airlock. She touched the blue gem set into the wall, waiting patiently as the door slid into the ship. A ramp extended to the deck below, and Fizgig hurried down it. Nolan had already spotted her, and moved to the base of the ramp. He was flanked by Izzy and Lena, both beaming with properly predatory smiles.
Behind them lurked Nolan’s Marines, Hannan at their head. The shorter woman had impressed Fizgig on a number of occasions. She was one of the few who took hand to hand fighting seriously. The other human was showing the first signs of age, but still a decade or more younger than Fizgig. Annie, her name was. She seemed bored, more interested in polishing the barrel of her rifle than in the proceedings. Fizgig could hardly blame her for that.
