The Complete Void Wraith Saga

by Chris Fox

  “I can’t argue with you there.” The old man gave a mischievous grin. “Good luck out there. Part of me wishes I could go with you, but I’m too old for that shit anymore. I’m too old for this political shit, too, but I know I’ll never be able to escape that.”

  “We’ll do you proud, sir.” Nolan promised.

  “Nolan,” Fizgig said, dropping her voice and moving a step closer, “if you are going on this fool’s errand, I have a request. Discover Khar’s fate, and if he lives…find a way to bring him home. You know what he means to me, and to my people.”

  “If he’s alive, I’ll get him out. I promise.”

  3

  Locals

  Khar stepped warily into the bunker, if that was what the low black structure was. It had no windows, though many of the other ramshackle buildings lacked them as well. That was probably a wise security feature, as these appeared to be lawless slums.

  His eyes adjusted quickly, points of interest popping up in his HUD as he scanned the room. A small pyramid on a workbench appeared to be a power source. The flickering lamp hanging from the central ceiling was harnessing some sort of chemical reaction, and the analysis suggested it burned some sort of guano.

  A narrow bed rested against one wall, and a small, metal dresser had been lovingly crafted next to it. Whoever had built this place had time and skill, though clearly they lacked the proper materials.

  Shouts came from outside, in an unfamiliar language. Khar’s language processors started to work on the syntax, but he’d need a lot more to work with before he could understand what they were saying. He still had the Fox P2 gene enhancement, even in his current form. But they didn’t, so he was forced to rely on technology.

  Khar risked a glance through the doorway, then ducked back inside before he was spotted. Three sky cycles were hovering over the area, moving slowly over the buildings. Their riders were clearly scanning for someone, and it wasn’t much of a stretch to guess they were after him. Given the explosion of his mech, and the confusion around the crash, it was unlikely they knew for certain he was alive. Hopefully, they were just being thorough.

  He willed his body to shut down all unnecessary functions, reducing his heat signature. His reactor was well-shielded enough that he doubted their scans could pick it up, so hopefully if they could scan for thermal they’d assume he was just the ambient heat of the lamp.

  The low whirring of the bikes came closer, pausing directly over the bunker. Khar remained motionless, waiting. Part of him longed to charge out and attack. His particle pistol would be devastatingly effective at close range, and with the element of surprise he might be able to overcome all three.

  But Fizgig’s low voice echoed through his mind, reminding him that the best predators all possessed the same advantage: patience. She could sit for hours, perfectly motionless, while waiting for prey to make a mistake. He must be the same if he wished to survive this.

  The cycles whirred more loudly, then the sound faded as they zoomed away. Voices returned outside, the local denizens probably emerging from their hovels now that they felt it was safe. Khar didn’t dare risk doing the same—not yet, anyway. He needed time to plan and think, but doing that in someone’s home wasn’t feasible. He needed a hiding place.

  A burst of unintelligible gibberish came from a voice behind him. Khar whirled to face the doorway, his pistol all but leaping into his hand.

  The alien’s already large eyes, magnified by a pair of thick lenses, widened in alarm. It raised short, stubby arms in a placating gesture, then let loose another torrent of squeaks and whistles.

  The creature only came to Khar’s waist, and had a thick, squat body. It wore a full environmental suit which appeared to be filled with some sort of bluish fluid.

  Khar twitched the barrel of his pistol, gesturing toward the bed. The alien seemed to understand, waddling over to sit heavily on the bed. Khar examined the doorway, then realized that the door was simply a large piece of sludge-covered metal. He holstered his pistol, then heaved the door into place, sealing them in the room.

  The alien was still sitting placidly on the bed, blinking curiously at him. Khar checked the chronometer in the corner of his HUD. It had been two minutes since the creature had entered. Depending on its biology, that might be enough time.

  “Can you understand me?” Khar finally asked. He tried to make the words non-threatening, as he needed this creature coherent.

  “Yes,” the creature hooted. The sounds weren’t coming from the mouth. They originated from a set of speakers somewhere in the suit. “You are in my home. I have nothing, yet you stay. I do not recognize your species, but if you are a predator there are better sources of food. So I have to wonder—why have you come here?”

  Khar leaned against the door, considering. How much to reveal? “You say this is your home. What is it you do on this ship? And what is your name?”

  “Mmm, I am a labor-slave for our glorious clan leader, Takkar,” the alien said. The word “glorious” bled contempt. “My name is Halut. I can see from the way you are appraising my suit that you are unfamiliar with my species. We are the Whalorian. Mmm, how are you called, stranger?”

  “My name is Khar,” he rumbled. His battery ticked down to 45 percent, entering the yellow zone. “My race is called the Tigris.”

  “You are one of the aliens that the clan leader engaged on Ganog 7.” The Whalorian leaned closer, peering at Khar through those thick lenses. “Mmm, I see, I see. You are not a flesh-and-blood creature, are you? You are synthetic.”

  “Yes,” Khar said, though he didn’t say to which question. It was true for both. “I need to return to my people. You have no love for this ‘clan leader’. Will you help me?”

  The Whalorian leaned back against the bed, hooting to itself as it pondered the question. “Mmm, that is a very interesting question. You asked what I did on this ship. Only the techsmiths are allowed to repair the great engines, but the labor-slaves have been given charge of the conduits that bring energy to all parts of the ship. Mmm, I repair these conduits.”

  “Okay.” Khar wasn’t sure he was tracking all the words that weren’t fully translated, but he thought he was piecing together their social structure. “You must know the ship pretty well. I need to get back to Ganog 7. Is there somewhere on the ship I can do that? A warp room or something?”

  “Mmm, not that we can reach. Labor-slaves are not allowed on the upper islands, and even if we could get there, we’d need to convince a techsmith to activate the warp portal.” The Whalorian hopped from the bed. Khar tensed instinctively, but the Whalorian waved him off. “No need to inflict pain. I am merely pacing. It helps me to think. Mmm, I wish my wife were here. She has a much better mind, you see. She would be able to construct a device to do what you ask. I cannot, however.”

  “Then what do you suggest I do?” Khar asked. He tried to harness the patience Fizgig prattled about, but it was difficult not to take his ire out on this alien.

  “I have a solution.” Halut raised his little arms triumphantly. “Mmm, we can take you to the shuttle bay in the base of the ship. We have just arrived at Imperalis and many ships will come and go. They will offload tribute, and take on supplies. If we can get you onto one of those shuttles, you can make your way down to the planet.”

  “And I can find a way to warp home from there?” Khar asked.

  “Yes, yes!” Halut said, hopping back and forth. “The spire has many warp facilities. All you’d need to do is find one. They will transport you to any destination, if you simply supply the coordinates.”

  “Is there a cost for this service?” Khar suspected there must be, because this all sounded a little too easy.

  “Mmm, I’m afraid so. Labor-slaves are not given money, so I cannot help you. You will have to find a way to pay for the warp.” Halut waddled slowly toward Khar, patting his arm in what Khar assumed was supposed to be a comforting gesture. “There are many ways to earn credits in the capital. I can get you as far as th
e transports, but from there you must make your own way.”

  “Thank you, Halut.” Khar patted him back, trying to mirror the gesture.

  It was a tenuous plan, but at least he was doing something instead of waiting to be caught. If he could reach this Imperalis, he might be able to gain valuable intelligence.

  Assuming he survived, that intel might change the course of the war.

  4

  On the Run

  Khar hefted an armful of black metal crates, carrying them from the pile at the end of the dock to the waiting transport. Both the transport and the dock were rusty and ill-repaired, an utter lack of maintenance that would have sent Fizgig into one of her legendary rages.

  Even Khar found it abhorrent. Their technology was impressive, but their lack of discipline was appalling. There was no way a stranger could have entered a Coalition space dock and approached a ship. All Khar had done was walk up like the other labor-slaves, and the hard-eyed elites on the island above ignored him completely.

  He hadn’t even done much to disguise himself, beyond coating his armor in the grimy soil that covered the deck around Halut’s home. If wearing his helmet was unusual, no one seemed to mind. Only a few other labor-slaves covered their heads, but thus far no one had given him a second glance.

  Khar carried the crates up the ramp into the transport. This would be the tricky part. He carried the crates to the back of the ship, looking for a place to hide. Smuggling to the surface on a Coalition ship would be extremely difficult, if not impossible. Doing it here might be easier, especially if the guards didn’t do an inspection before take off.

  He walked to the rear of the ship, depositing his crates next to several other piles. Low voices came from behind the crates, and Khar leaned up on his toes to glance over the stack. Three aliens were playing some sort of game involving dice. One of them glanced up at Khar.

  “You want in?” the creature growled. It looked like the other lizard-aliens Khar had seen, save that its scales were blue.

  “Nah,” Khar replied in what Halut called Ganog Common. He’d been around the Whalorian long enough for his translation unit to map the language. “I’d love to watch, though, if that’s okay.”

  “Just don’t crowd me,” the Saurian growled, turning back to his dice. He gave a low hiss when they stopped rolling. One of the other aliens scooped up a small pile of golden chits.

  Khar stepped around the pile of crates, dropping to a squat. He wasn’t all that interested in the game, but the fact that it was taking place at all was important. These people had battered and grimy armor, just like him. They seemed unconcerned about discovery, and he had the sense that this was routine. They’d taken many such shuttle rides.

  More labor-slaves carried boxes into the room, creating a wall of crates that gradually obscured them. That suggested that what they were doing was probably illegal, or that they didn’t want to be discovered at least. Yet they didn’t take any special precautions.

  The final row of crates was loaded, and the ramp retracted up into the ship. The Saurians continued to gamble, more of the little golden chits changing hands. Khar eyed the currency carefully, scanning it into his data archives. He’d need to understand how it worked, and how to acquire enough to pay for a warp back to Ganog 7.

  A deep thrum rolled through the ship, stuttering for a moment, then returning at full strength. The gamblers didn’t seem concerned, so Khar tried to relax. The ship lifted off, but he could see nothing of their surroundings. That set his fur on end, an impressive replication of the emotion he’d have experienced before gaining a synthetic body.

  He wished he could somehow watch the approach to the planet below, but there was simply no option to do so. Khar had no choice but to wait, so he focused on the gambling. It used four dice, each with ten sides. The sigils didn’t correspond to numbers, and it took a few moments for his processor to translate. They were constellations. Star charts.

  “Imperalis!” the Saurian roared. He bent forward, scooping up a large pile of chits.

  Halut had explained that Imperalis was the capital, the world he was about to arrive on. He rose from a crouch, leaning against the wall. The transport descended sharply, and the wall began to shake. He recognized the vibration, and had experienced far worse when stationed on his first Tigris corvette. This was merely planetary re-entry. They’d be arriving very soon.

  The shuddering stopped, and the motion became smooth again. Khar’s stomach lurched when they descended suddenly, then all motion ceased. They’d stopped.

  The blue-scaled Saurian scooped up his dice, dropping them into a worn pouch attached to his belt. All four gamblers rose as one, their nervousness evident. They peered between the crates, ready to run.

  Khar eyed his reactor, still at 45 percent. Hopefully he didn’t need to use much power to escape this vessel. He could trickle charge it with sunlight, but that would require him to be stationary for a prolonged period of time.

  The ramp began to descend, letting in harsh purple sunlight. Khar’s eyes adjusted instantly, focusing on the two aliens advancing up the ramp. Both snapped rifles to their shoulders.

  “Scamps,” one of them growled. He turned to his companion. “What do you want to do?”

  “Give thanks, ka’tok,” the second one boomed. “Today, you have avoided the gaze of the Nameless Ones. Instead of tossing you from the spire to pay for this transgression, I’m going to pretend I didn’t see you. In exchange, these crates are going to unload themselves.”

  The gamblers relaxed. They threaded through the crates, moving with purpose to begin the unloading. Khar fell into line, working diligently to unload the ship. The guards moved off by themselves, ignoring the work. That afforded Khar the opportunity to study his surroundings.

  The world around him was majestic, immense. He was at the heart of a massive city. It stretched down the slopes of a giant mountain, the sprawl covering the land all the way to the horizon. The buildings were nearly all comprised of fluted white spires, and Khar imagined that the one he stood upon must be the largest.

  The sky was a deep purple, streaked through with two bands. The first was a narrow ring of purple, bleeding into the sky around it. The second was blue-white, cutting through the sky at a much different angle. Ships of all shapes and sizes rose from the city around him, joining their brethren in high orbit.

  The size and scope of this place was…humbling. Before the Void Wraith had come, the Tigris had been the most numerous race, eclipsing the upstart humans. The Primo were a faded race, inhabiting only a few dozen worlds. But the Tigris? They’d created true wonders, especially on Tigrana.

  Yet all of it paled to the splendor of this world. It filled him with dread. If these Ganog controlled such a place, how would the Coalition stop them?

  5

  Scouting

  Nolan ducked into the cruiser’s cockpit, giving a friendly nod to the Saurian copilot. The Saurian didn’t respond. It stared at Nolan with those flat, reptilian eyes, until it turned back to the console. He still had no idea what the Saurian’s name was. In fact, Sissus was the only Saurian he could recognize on sight.

  “What is it, human?” Sissus growled, without turning to face him. He was in the pilot’s seat, staring at the approaching planet filling the view screen. His azure scales glittered under the dim lights above, made iridescent by the light.

  “Have we been hailed yet?” Nolan asked. He stepped into the cabin, leaving the door open.

  “No, but that is hardly surprising. The Azi are a dying clan. They lack the strength to regulate off-world traffic. They can barely even collect tribute.” Sissus’s voice was thick with scorn, even more than usual.

  “Careful with your tone, Saurian.” T’kon muscled his way onto the bridge, looming behind Sissus. “My clan yet lives, and we have come to restore them to greatness. If you enjoy the rise and fall of your chest, and would like to see it continue, I’d suggest you become invested in our successful return to power.”


  “I do not follow you, Ganog. I am a slave no longer.” Sissus turned his chair to face T’kon. “This vessel is mine, not yours. The Coalition gave it to me.”

  “I’m not threatening the vessel. I’m threatening you.” T’kon’s fur darkened to a deep red.

  Sissus shrank back in his chair, then turned to Nolan. “Captain, reason with this brute. I must tend to our survival. Even the atmosphere of the Azi home world is treacherous.”

  Nolan saw immediately what the Saurian meant. Flashes rippled through the planet’s atmosphere, like lightning but on a more massive scale. Each bolt left a pink explosion in its wake.

  “Fly the ship, Saurian,” T’kon growled. He turned to Nolan, his fur softening to a lighter red. “Sissus speaks the truth. Entering this world’s atmosphere is not without dangers. The explosions you’re seeing are caused by pherozene gas. It’s highly volatile, and interacts…violently with electricity.”

  “So our stealth tech will set it off.” Nolan heaved a sigh. “So will our particle cannon, in all likelihood.”

  “True enough,” T’kon allowed. “That is why I recommend circumnavigating the storm.”

  “Which I am doing,” Sissus snapped.

  The shuttle zoomed lower, circling a storm that covered the better part of the western continent. The cruiser began to shake violently as they descended. Nolan braced himself against the wall, “I already miss the Peregrine. Let’s hope this rust bucket holds together.”

  “This rust bucket,” Sissus growled, “is both my home and the home of my clutch.”

  “Sorry, Sissus. I meant no disrespect. Why don’t T’kon and I give your people some space?” Nolan backed out of the cockpit.

  Sissus gave a mollified hiss, so Nolan turned and moved up the corridor toward the cargo bay.