by Chris Fox
“Return to the fleet, immediately,” Khar ordered. He fired his thrusters, angling the mech back toward the breach. He poured on the thrust, accelerating rapidly as he grew closer.
“Mighty Khar, a power surge is coming from the reactor of this ship,” Bessel said.
“That must be what Fizgig is concerned with. Get out, Bessel. Now,” Khar ordered. He was getting closer to the breach, and a few of his faster brethren had already gone through.
A strange vertigo washed over Khar. The space around him began to fold and churn, and time seemed to elongate. The breach was growing farther away, not closer. Had he still possessed a stomach, he’d likely have emptied the contents.
The feeling finally ended. Khar stared up at the observatory in growing horror. The red-brown planet was gone, replaced by a blue-green world surrounded by two rings of rock and dust. The rings came from a shattered moon, half of which still orbited the planet.
A blue sun dominated the system, painting everything with a muted brush. One by one, enemy vessels appeared around them, but there was no sign of the Coalition forces.
“Khar to all surviving mechs. We are cut off. Scatter, and get as low as you can, as quickly as you can. Hide within the bowels of the ship. Avoid detection as long as you can, and abandon your mechs if necessary.” Khar gave the orders with as much authority and confidence as he could muster, but privately he was terrified. Who knew how many light years from home they were?
They were trapped in the stronghold of their enemy, with no obvious way home. He dipped the nose of his fighter, zipping toward the dreadnought’s shadowy lower levels.
64
Endings
Nolan ducked past a damaged ceiling panel with exposed wiring still hanging out of it. Fizgig’s entire command ship was like that, bursting at the seams throughout. He had no idea how she’d survived, and suspected she’d kept the Mendez intact through will alone.
Ahead, half a dozen people were clustered just outside the bridge. Nolan grinned. “Annie, you made it.”
He rushed forward, seizing her in a fierce hug. She returned it just as fiercely. “’Course I made it. I had the easy part, remember? Your ending was kinda flashy, but I can’t say I disapprove. Love that whole space-dino bit. That was clever.”
“It was mostly Lena’s idea,” Nolan said, nodding in the direction he’d come.
Hannan and Lena helped T’kon toward the bridge, slow going for the Ganog since he had a broken ankle.
“Come on, the admiral’s been waiting for you to board,” Annie said. She led Nolan up the short stairwell to the platform housing the bridge. Fizgig sat in the captain’s chair, her cushions shredded all around her. Her eyes were slitted, almost closed. She looked even more exhausted than he felt.
Burke and Nuchik lounged against the wall behind the captain’s chair, but both snapped to attention as he approached. Burke cleared his throat. “Welcome back, Captain.”
“At ease, Lieutenant. Good work on getting the refugees out.” Nolan offered Burke a hand, and Burke shook it.
Nuchik gave him a respectful nod, but moved past him to speak to Hannan. He didn’t hear what she said, but he did catch the surprised look on Hannan’s face. It melted into a smile, and the pair shared a laugh.
“Hello, Nolan,” Fizgig rasped. “It has been a very challenging day.” She sat up straighter as he approached, her eyes widening to wakefulness. “I knew this had your paw prints all over it.” She paused, rising respectfully as Lena approached. Fizgig gave a low, graceful bow that belied her advanced years. “Welcome to my vessel, Holy One.”
“Hello, Fizgig. I am pleased to see you, sister.” Lena approached the admiral, and the two rubbed cheeks. “I am only sorry we couldn’t come sooner.”
“You’ve done well. The enemy was forced to retreat, a possibility I doubt they considered.” Fizgig gave a deep purring, something Nolan had never heard her do publicly. The purring abruptly ceased. “The cost was high. Khar’s squadron was on board that dreadnought when it warped away.”
“Pardon, but I fear you will not see those troops again, then,” T’kon said. He hobbled forward, resting his weight on his uninjured leg. T’kon raised shaking hands to remove his suit’s helmet, showing Fizgig his face. “Takkar will hunt them mercilessly, and his flagship contains more than enough elites to run them to ground. If they are able to escape through the breach they created, they might make it to the cold depths of space. However, unless they can get access to a warp generator, they’ll never be able to return home.”
Fizgig’s tail began to lash back and forth. “You must be the source of Nolan’s intel, one of these Ganog. Tell me, can you predict how your clan leader Takkar will react to his defeat here?”
“I can make guesses, but nothing like this has happened in my lifetime. The Imperium has not lost a battle of this size to an outside force in living memory,” T’kon explained. His fur lightened to a soft blue. “At the very least, he will have no choice but to report to the Empress. Losing a dreadnought might be enough to end his career. Losing a planetstrider may cost his life, or even his family’s life. He will probably go to Imperalis, and beg an audience.”
“Will your people continue this war against us?” Fizgig asked.
“Without a doubt,” T’kon gave back. “Both the Yog—the rulers of our people—and the Vkash clans will come for you. Every clan will want their place at the war table, as soon as they realize you possess core technology. Takkar will likely attempt to hide this technology, though the Empress will ferret it out. The ability to steal a planetstrider will terrify them, and each clan leader will want access to that technology. They will invade your space, kill your warriors, and enslave your techsmiths. One by one, they will conquer your worlds, until this Coalition is no more.”
“How long before that invasion begins?” Nolan asked.
“Perhaps sixty solar days, less if one or more clans seek to begin before their companions can enter the war. Takkar’s fleet will need repairs, and that can only be performed at Imperalis. Even if the Empress allows it, it will take time.” T’kon’s fur darkened. “My own clan—the Azi—they are likely to join the war effort if given the chance. That might be something I can prevent, if I go to them.”
Outside the window, there was a flash of scarlet. Nolan glanced up to see Edwards finishing off another enemy cruiser. Every ship capable of fleeing had already done so, along with the warp station itself. All that was left was target practice.
“That option will be discussed, T’kon. We will call a summit to discuss our strategy.” Fizgig heaved a heavy sigh. “Two months, at best. We’ll just have to spend that time as wisely as possible. She stared at the view screen, and Nolan followed her gaze. It wasn’t hard to guess what was going through her mind.
The 1st had been effectively wiped out, and the 2nd had been savaged. Only four ships could move under their own power. If this had been a victory, it had been a Pyrrhic one. The cost had been devastatingly high.
Nolan couldn’t help but wonder if, somewhere, the Gorthians were laughing.
Hold the Line
Book 5
Prologue
Takkar’s pride mirrored the savaged hull of the Vkash’s Fist, his flagship. It was scarred and pocked, with most of the cannons now nothing more than melted lumps. The main cannon was but a memory, and a cruiser-sized hole rent the hull. A thin, crackling membrane of blue energy was all that kept the ship’s interior from being sucked through that hole.
The sting of seeing his mighty flagship humbled receded, as the ship itself receded. The shuttle carried him toward the Ganog capital world of Imperalis, the Jewel of the Ganog Imperium. He chose to focus on that, rather than his wounded warship.
His transport wound around the first ring, a sapphire band of ice and rock that orbited the violet world. That ring was fed by the shattered moon, an azure half-sphere. The moon was all that remained of the mythological battle that had birthed the Imperium. The War Before Time, they cal
led it.
The shuttle zoomed closer to the world, dipping below the second ring. This one was smaller, and orbited a different axis. It had a more purplish hue—refracted light from the atmosphere below.
Below them lay the planet’s southern continent, a volcanically active region dotted with great cities. The outer cities had been given to the lava, but those closer to the center of the continent were vibrant and alive. Billions of Ganog souls dwelled there, supported by an equal number of labor-slaves.
The ship descended toward the centermost city, a glittering mass of spires lining the slopes of Mount Kethar. The largest spire sat atop the summit, taller than Takkar’s dreadnought was long. Thousands of glittering islands floated around the spire in rings, each ring a little smaller than the last. They slowly orbited their respective levels, much as the ice and rock above orbited this world.
Only clan or fleet leaders were allowed to dock at the top ring, the ring the shuttle was making for. Takkar still remembered the first time he’d been allowed to dock here, just after his elevation to fleet leader nearly two decades before. Each time he’d come, it had been to accept another award or promotion—always in praise of his abilities as a leader.
Today was far different. Today, the bonfire of his joy was gone, smothered by the ashes of dread. How would the empress react to his failure?
There was a very real possibility that she’d execute him and his family. Were he advising her, that would be the course he’d recommend. It would send a necessary message about the price of failure.
Yet the empress suffered from the special brand of pride enjoyed by the truly righteous. She considered herself both enlightened and egalitarian, and it was these qualities that Takkar hoped to appeal to.
A slender hope, but all he had.
He inhaled from his lower nostrils, his fur fading to soft grey as the ship floated toward the ivory platform. Only imperial guests were allowed to dock on the spire itself, but when one carried the kind of dire news Takkar had, one ignored such niceties.
“We have arrived, Clan Leader,” the techsmith behind him hissed.
He’d forgotten the Saurian. Her red scales were shrouded in the grey robes of her order. She clutched her arcanotome to her chest, the glowing circuitry mostly swallowed by her voluminous sleeves. A black cable snaked from the tome to her temple, feeding pulses of light back and forth. The sight sickened him.
“Shall I send word to the empress?”
“Do it.” Takkar leapt from his platform, landing on the ivory-colored metal with a muffled clank. He did not bring his elites, for none stood high enough to be allowed here.
Krekon would have, had he not been slain. Takkar had been forced to flee Ganog 7 before he could verify Krekon’s fate, but his death was the only real possibility.
Takkar walked up the gently sloping ramp, toward the arched hallway leading into the spire. The doorway was smothered in gold, with glowing sigils bathing the metal in rich purple. He couldn’t read those sigils, but his fur tingled as he passed beneath them—a testament to their power. Had the empress wished, he would have been incinerated upon stepping through.
He took his survival as permission to proceed, and continued up a short corridor that emptied into the spire’s interior. The hollow depths disappeared into the distance both above and below; thousands of islands of all sizes slowly orbited the center of the spire, where a single cluster of islands stood above all others.
“I’ve summoned a platform, Clan Leader,” his techsmith murmured. She gave a low bow, careful to keep her eyes downcast.
An unadorned ivory disk floated over, the sloped metal just large enough for a single occupant. Takkar’s fur went pale, nearly translucent. He stepped onto the disk, which zoomed slowly toward the royal island.
He passed many curious onlookers, but he kept his gaze focused on the empress’s island. He couldn’t face their curiosity or their derision. The idea that a clan leader would be accorded an unadorned disk was…unthinkable.
The disk finally rose to the level of the island, providing the first clue to his fate. The empress stood on the central dais, surrounded by a cloud of attendants. Today her fur was purple, an aesthetic choice no doubt intended to irritate him. As a simple elite, Takkar couldn’t control his body the same way she could. His fur revealed his emotions; her metabiology made her fur a canvas to paint as she wished.
“Ahh, Takkar. Join us, please.” The empress’s melodious voice cut through the low conversations of her attendants, a knife through silk. They fell silent, turning as one to watch his approach. Every last Ganog around the empress was an adept, just as she was. They wore the short white robes of their order, the garments worthless compared to his own armor.
Takkar gave a start when he noted the crowd of black-robed figures along the rim of the dais, behind the empress. Their voluminous robes mirrored those of the techsmiths—but where the techsmiths’ were unadorned, these were stitched with eldritch runes like those adorning the spire.
Takkar counted the robed figures, noting six in total. The empress had a total of fourteen attendants. Having nearly half of them come from the seeker caste was unprecedented. During previous visits, he’d never seen more than one.
The seekers were gaining in strength. Alarming, but a matter to contemplate only if he survived the next few minutes.
“You’ve left your axe back on your ship,” the empress mused. She puckered full lips, staring down at him regally. “Are you certain you don’t wish to fetch it before your audience?”
“If I have need of my axe, then my life is over.” Takkar kept his words simple. The empress was not merely an adept; she had the benefits of a full oral education, teaching her everything from mathematics to history. Many in the leadership caste disdained such frivolous pursuits, but Takkar suspected they undervalued knowledge.
“True enough. Then let us determine your fate. Tell me, Takkar. Why do I see only five dreadnoughts? Many of your cruisers are missing. The vessels I do see have all suffered immense damage. What’s worse, I have a report that only two of your planetstriders are erecting mounds on the south slope.” The empress glided across the floor toward him, halting mere inches away. She was beautiful, her delicate fur covering equally delicate features. “It would appear you’ve suffered the single greatest military defeat in living memory.” She cocked her head, calling to one of the robed figures. “Utfa, attend me.”
One of the black-robed figures left the others, taking slow deliberate steps in their direction. He reached up with both hands, exposing milky eyes and a leathered, hairless face. His swift, sure stride belied his apparent age. Like the techsmiths, he carried an arcanotome, wired to his wizened temple—yet his frame was heavily muscled, and he walked with a warrior’s grace.
He stopped next to them. “What is your will, Empress?”
“You are the keeper of our chronicles, and your arcanotome possesses the sum of our knowledge. Tell me, when was the last time the Imperium suffered a defeat of the magnitude Takkar has shown us?”
Pulses flowed to Utfa’s temple from the tome. “It has been four centuries, your grace.” He gave a shallow bow. “The Azi clan warred upon the Vkash clan. The Vkash followed Dokkar, a charismatic, but unwise fleet leader. He led their forces into battle at Ganog 4. The Azi destroyed two dreadnoughts, and captured nearly all of Dokkar’s labor-slaves and techsmiths.”
“There—you see, Takkar? You’ve accomplished something not duplicated in four centuries. Have you anything to say that might convince me to stay your execution, and that of your family?”
“I have, Empress.” Takkar reached slowly into his satchel. The empress’s adepts shifted to combat stances, but subsided when he revealed the glowing cube from his satchel. “I hold a core, majesty—the holy heart of a planetstrider.”
“Blasphemy,” Utfa roared. He growled at the empress, using the kind of tone that normally ended in swift execution. “Highness, we must remove this relic from the view of the court. Havin
g it out in full view risks attracting the gaze of the Nameless Ones. While my brothers and I would relish their attention, I do not believe you share that sentiment.”
Takkar expected the empress to chastise the seeker, yet she did not. Instead, she placed a hand on the cube, inspecting it carefully.
“Tell me where you acquired it,” she said. “Make the tale interesting, and you might even survive the day.”
1
Go to Ground
Khar leaned into the turn, feathering the mech’s booster. He whipped past one of the floating islands, using the wide ivory disk to break line of sight with his pursuers: three Ganog elites, all riding some sort of sky cycle.
High above, he eyed the hole in the dreadnought’s hull, but it was already covered with a thick blue membrane; he had no idea if his mech could make it through. Even if it could, he highly doubted these elites were going to give him time to try.
Khar’s mech zoomed around another island, buying him a few moments to think. He analyzed the situation, struggling for a solution. He was trapped inside a Ganog dreadnought, and that dreadnought had completed a warp to another system an unknown number of light years away. There were no Helios Gates this far out, and even if there were, he had no Helios-capable vessel.
Another burst of plasma shot past him, and Khar guided the mech into a steep dive. He curved past several more islands, but he was quickly running out of room. The bottom deck of the vessel lay several hundred meters below. Above it was a final layer of islands. He might be able to lose them down there, under the last of the islands. It was dark, and a warren of tiny buildings dotted the hull’s dark surface. There were an awful lot of them, enough to form the slums for a whole city.
His mech shuddered when something slammed into his main booster. Warning lights flared on the arm and shoulder, and the booster’s reactor was flashing critical.
