The Complete Void Wraith Saga

by Chris Fox

  “Maybe. T’kon, if we pulled this off, wouldn’t they mobilize an aerial response? We need to reach high orbit for the cruiser to warp, and there are a dozen dreadnoughts up there.”

  “You are correct.” T’kon nodded. “If we were to attempt an extraction right now, we’d be unlikely to escape. However, if we wait a few days, it’s very likely the fleet will be departing to make war on your people. When that happens, that would be the time to strike.”

  31

  The Time is Now

  Utfa’s footsteps echoed through the cavernous spire, up into the darkness near the tip. At first glance, the place appeared deserted, piles of rubble and refuse dotting a room that had not seen light in years. Empty spires had become increasingly common in the last few decades, making this place unremarkable, save for its proximity to the Royal Spire.

  “They are waiting, Emissary,” hissed a quiet voice from the shadows.

  Utfa couldn’t see the speaker, but he knew the Ganog’s voice. They’d served as warriors in the Kthul clan, an eternity ago. Before either one of them had sought the gaze of the Nameless Ones.

  “You have done well, brother,” Utfa murmured, following the robed figure through a gap between two piles of rubble. They led to a hastily erected mound, a miniature version of the ones that sheltered planetstriders. Stone, metal, and garbage had been drawn together to create a simple refuge.

  Utfa ducked inside, removing his hood as he stepped into the smoky dimness. A fire flickered in the center of the little room, a thin streamer of smoke disappearing through the gaps in the rough ceiling.

  Six warriors knelt in a half-circle—three female and three male. They were the best of the latest crop, the strongest warriors who had yet to throw off the shackles of their caste. Any one of them would have been a formidable opponent, but together they were a force of nature. And they’d yet to take the arcanotome. There was no way to identify them as seekers.

  “Welcome, brothers and sisters,” Utfa began, moving to stand before the assembled warriors. Not a one looked up, a product of the earliest phase of their training. “You have been called here today to fulfill a mighty purpose. You will usher in the next world, the world of our masters, those whose names must not be spoken.”

  “In their gaze shall we be reborn,” the six chanted as one.

  Utfa gave a long, slow smile. They were prepared.

  “Here is what you will do. You will approach the Royal Spire as supplicants. You will await the call to attend the empress. When you are summoned into her presence, you will slay her.”

  “Elder,” one of the women protested, raising her head. Not high enough to look him in the eye, of course. “Will she not recognize us?”

  “You will remove the robes you have been granted, and you will don the armor you wore when you were members of the warrior caste,” Utfa instructed. He had, after all, considered this very problem. “When you have finished in this task you will be formally inducted into the seekers, and you will receive your tattoos. If you die in the attempt, you will be elevated by the Nameless Ones.”

  “Thank you master,” the woman murmured, bowing her head.

  “Go now. Remember that this death is necessary to the plans of our unknowable masters. If the empress draws breath when the sun sets, their terrible gaze will fall upon you, wherever you seek to hide.” Utfa growled, making the words the direst of threats. Several of the warriors had their fur pale to ashen grey.

  Utfa raised his arms, and the warriors stood as one. They filed from the room, drawing a second smile from Utfa. The volley had been loosed. It was the first herald of the great change that would soon overtake Imperalis and the whole of the Ganog Imperium.

  Now, he needed to learn about these guardians.

  32

  Decision

  Khar stood rigidly behind the empress, every inch a Tigris honor guard. He was out of place among the rest of her attendants, who stood in relaxed clusters, chatting amiably as they waited for the next audience.

  This had been going on for several hours, as group after group of supplicants met with Zakanna. She’d been true to her word, allowing Khar to observe as she met with fleet leaders, clan leaders, and clusters of black-robed Ganog. Khar understood that they were part of a religious caste, though he had no idea where they fit in the hierarchy. Given the mixed reactions from the other attendants, it seemed they didn’t either.

  Almost, Khar believed that she’d keep her word and let him go at the end of the nine days. Almost. He knew it was unlikely, and was still resolved to escape before then. He knew where the warp portal was now, and knew how to get enough credits to use it, in theory at least. All that remained was finding the time and place to best slip away.

  “Approach,” Zakanna called in a high, clear voice. A cluster of six warriors had just arrived on the edge of the island, their fur a uniform brown-grey. Their armor was a variety of colors, and while Khar couldn’t yet place the individual colors, he knew enough to guess that they each belonged to a different clan.

  That caught his attention. It was rare for the clans to work together, from the little he’d seen. They were in an endless game of one-upmanship, trying to outdo each other in their endless quest for glory and tribute. It wasn’t unlike the Tigris, if he was being honest. If anything, the Ganog more closely resembled his race than humanity, or the Primo.

  Khar watched as the warriors approached, the leader a female with a wicked scar across one cheek. She rested her hand on the hilt of a long knife, and the other warriors did the same. Khar tensed, studying their body language closely. They were guarded, ready for a fight.

  He looked to Zakanna, and to her closest attendants. None seemed overly concerned, and the empress delivered a warm smile as the warriors approached. “Welcome. This is an unexpected gathering of clans. The Nyar and Kthul do not normally cooperate, and I am pleased to see you standing together. What request have you brought before us today?”

  “Death,” the woman said, simply. All six warriors moved as one, fanning out around the empress. Two of the attendants, both robed adepts, were in the way. The first was stabbed in the back repeatedly by a warrior, her body toppling to the warm grass. Blood already covered her back, and a thin stream ran into the grass.

  The other attendant was quick, dropping into a defensive stance. He batted away the dagger that came for his throat, delivering a vicious counterattack with a punch to the gut. The warrior’s armor absorbed the blow, and he responded with a head-butt. The adept’s nose shattered, and before he could dance away another warrior rammed a long knife into his side. The adept dropped, but the warrior continued to stab until the adept stopped moving.

  Most of the rest of the attendants fled. Not a single one moved to support the empress, leaving her alone in the midst of half a dozen assassins. She stood there, regal, beautiful, and deadly. The first warrior glided forward, staggering back as a kick flashed into his face.

  Khar hesitated. Many of the attendants were still boarding disks, and now would be the perfect opportunity for him to do the same. He could likely escape the palace, while the guards swarmed this island trying to find the Zakanna’s killers. He was certain there would never be a better opportunity.

  Yet Khar struggled. The empress had shown him nothing but kindness, had demanded nothing of him. Her death would throw the Imperium into chaos, but Khar already thought he knew who’d most profit from that chaos. Utfa would seize control, and Khar had the strong feeling that Utfa would be far worse for the future of the Coalition than the empress.

  Khar made his decision. He glided forward, igniting his plasma dagger. One of the warriors broke off to face him, and Khar triggered his evaluation subroutine. He’d been studying the way each warrior moved, and knew their precise speed. The warrior lashed out with his long knife, and Khar allowed it to pass within millimeters of his throat.

  He lunged, ramming his crackling plasma blade through the warrior’s eye. The scent of burnt flesh and hair filled the islan
d as the warrior collapsed, giving Khar a moment to assess. Four warriors had surrounded the empress, while the fifth hovered in the background clutching a broken arm.

  Khar charged the pair of warriors behind the empress, forcing them to turn to deal with him. Both moved with skill and grace earned through years of combat, and even with his enhanced body Khar knew that beating them would not be easy.

  He lunged at the first, his plasma blade finding nothing but empty air as the warrior leapt backwards. Khar shifted his attack to the other Ganog, reversing his momentum and launching a roundhouse kick. The kick caught the Ganog’s hand, knocking the long knife spinning away. It landed in the grass half a dozen steps away, and the Ganog made the mistake of looking at the weapon.

  Khar pounced, ramming his plasma blade into the Ganog’s chest. Such a blow would have killed a human, but the Ganog merely stumbled back clutching its chest. Khar followed up, ramming the blade into the throat. This time the Ganog collapsed.

  The move was costly, and allowed the other warrior to get behind Khar. Red warning lights bloomed through his lower back as a long knife punched through and emerged from the chest, coated with the sticky red fluid that lubricated Khar’s artificial body.

  Khar brought his elbow back, crushing the Ganog’s cheek with a sickening crunch. The warrior stumbled back, and Khar brought his plasma blade around in a wicked slash. It caught the Ganog’s arm just below the elbow, severing the arm and sending both weapon and arm tumbling to the grass.

  “Khar!” Zakanna yelled. He spun to find her beset by the three remaining opponents. Two had a grip on her arms, pinning her in place while the last readied a strike with his long knife. If the blow connected, she’d be decapitated.

  “No!” Khar roared, sprinting forward. His power reserves were down to 24 percent, but it would have to do. He leapt into the air, tackling the Ganog around the waist. They tumbled through the grass, wrestling for control. The Ganog was strong, far stronger than a human or Tigris of comparable size.

  Khar was flung onto his back, and the Ganog straddled him. It pinned both his arms, then bit down into Khar’s throat. It tore out synthetic flesh, leaving Khar’s throat a ruined mess.

  Then the Ganog made a mistake. It assumed Khar was dying, and rose from his chest, releasing him.

  Khar rammed his plasma blade into the creature’s crotch, then leapt to his feet. He seized the Ganog by the throat, pitching him off the side of the island. Khar spun to face the empress, who’d gotten free from the last two opponents. She was fighting defensively, one hand covering a red stain over her right side.

  “I. Am. Tigris!” Khar roared, sprinting at the next opponent. His reserves dropped sharply as his body effected repairs, sending the gauge down to 9 percent. He didn’t care. Khar rammed his blade into the warrior’s spine, dropping him to the grass. He pivoted to face the last warrior, who shifted to match him.

  The Ganog charged, but Khar was already moving. He leapt into the air over the Ganog. As the Ganog sprinted underneath, Khar’s plasma blade darted out, sinking though the Ganog’s skull. The warrior ran several more feet, then fell dead to the grass.

  Khar landed heavily, his HUD a mass of conflicting warnings. He was low on power, heavily damaged, and unable to recharge without assistance.

  “Are you all right?” the empress murmured, helping him back to his feet.

  “I will live. Are assassination attempts a common part of your day?” Khar asked, sinking to one knee. Down to 7 percent. He shut down everything but critical repairs.

  “No. Assassination is rarely used among the Ganog. This reeks of the seekers, of Utfa and his dark masters. If he’s making his move, especially just after Takkar left with the bulk of my fleet, it can only mean one thing.” The empress released Khar, groaning as more red welled across her robes. “I can use my metabiology to deal with this wound, but it will take time—time we may not have. I’m going to warn my people, then we will flee to my dreadnought.”

  The words were far away. Khar was briefly conscious of falling toward the grass, and then descended into darkness as he dropped into power conservation mode.

  33

  Rumors

  T’kon was thankful for his environmental armor. His face was known on Imperalis, especially near the Royal Spire. All it would take was one warrior to recognize him, and he’d have far more attention than he’d enjoy.

  He ducked into the arena, a small, ramshackle affair. It had a simple cage in the center, and seating for about fifty drunken patrons. The arena was utterly unremarkable, save for one thing. T’kon had been told that he could locate Bik here.

  He’d never met Bik, but T’kon knew the type, and knew it well. After his fall from grace, he’d needed to fight in arenas to survive, and every arena attracted scavengers like Bik. They sought warriors to prey on, earning their bread from the sweat and blood of their charges.

  A drunken warrior from the Vkash clan bumped into T’kon, his fur darkening as he rounded. Another day T’kon would have bowed and apologized, despite the warrior being at fault. Today, time did not allow for such niceties. T’kon’s hand balled into a fist, and he rocketed three rapid punches into the warrior’s ample gut. The warrior staggered back, fighting for breath with all four nostrils. T’kon smashed his nose, and the warrior fell unconscious to the floor.

  “I can see you’re a true warrior,” came an oily voice from behind. T’kon turned slowly to size up the speaker, a Ganog with ragged fur and no clan markings. Just the sort of masterless warrior T’kon had become, except one that appeared to have given up fighting. His body had become flabby, his muscles flaccid. “The way you dealt with that fool? Your talents could earn you a lot of credits in the arena.”

  “What’s your name?” T’kon asked, already suspecting the answer.

  “I am called Bik,” the Ganog said, giving a quick nod. “I can get you a spot in the arena if you—”

  T’kon’s hand shot out, wrapping around Bik’s throat. T’kon squeezed, not hard enough to kill, but enough to stem the flow of words. “Hello, Bik. I’ve been looking for you all day.”

  “Why?” Bik choked out. His eyes had gone large, and his fur was a watery, cowardly yellow.

  “I’m looking for a friend, and I heard that you may have encountered him. An alien came through here, an alien with a tail, fangs, and short, tan fur. His name is Khar, and I’ve been told that you sold him to the Royal Spire,” T’kon explained, his grip tightening slowly. He pulled Bik closer to his face. “I’m going to set you down, and you’re going to tell me about it. If you try to run, not only will I kill you, but I will eat your heart, worm. I will leave your body in the street as carrion.” T’kon reluctantly set Bik down, waiting for a response.

  “You don’t need to choke me, and you certainly don’t need the threats,” Bik protested, rubbing at his throat. “I did work with Khar, first in the arena here, and then with the games. I didn’t know him before, and we haven’t been in contact since. I don’t know how I can help you.”

  T’kon fumed, considering. He wasn’t sure how Bik would be able to help, beyond confirming that he’d sold Khar to the spire. But T’kon was out of leads, and had no idea what to do next.

  “Umm,” Bik muttered, pointing at one of the banks of holoscreens along the walls. “Is he the one you’re looking for?”

  T’kon turned to the screen, and the instant his back was turned he heard Bik break into a run. T’kon considered pursuing, but there wasn’t anything else he could learn in the short term. Besides, the screen Bik had pointed to was of great interest.

  The empress stood regally in the center of the frame, a delicate hand wrapped around her side. The white cloth was stained a deep purplish-red, but she stood proudly. Behind her stood a single figure. A familiar figure. T’kon hadn’t met Khar, but he’d seen enough holos to recognize the Tigris. Somehow, Khar had been taken into the service of the empress, and now stood protectively behind her.

  T’kon watched numbly, wondering. H
ad the Tigris defected? Or was something larger at play here? He stilled his thoughts, listening to the empress’s words.

  “Earlier today, I was assaulted by a group of six assassins. These assassins were warrior caste, from four different clans. I do not hold the clans responsible for their actions, yet such a thing has not happened in decades. This attack is troubling, and I will not stand idly by while waiting for another.” The empress’s clear voice competed with the noise of the arena, but T’kon tuned out the rest of it, focused on the beautiful monarch. “Thanks to Khar, the warrior behind me, I still draw breath. Had he not defended me, I would be dead—and even with his help it was a near thing. I strongly suspect who is behind this attack, but will not speak without proof. To that individual, I will say this: I am coming for you. Ready yourself.”

  The feed went dead, then shifted to a replay of an arena fight. T’kon cocked his head, considering. There was only one reason to make such a public pronouncement. She hoped to spur her enemies into another rash action, to force them to react, rather than proceed with whatever their plan was. The question, though, was who had the power to launch such an attempt on the empress’s life? And why?

  T’kon turned on his heel, heading for the door. He needed to get this news back to Nolan. They were swimming in deep currents, and he suspected they were about to find out just how deep those currents ran.

  34

  Ready for War

  Takkar’s organs ached, twisted apart and put back together by the energies of the warp. He knew from experience that the discomfort would soon fade, and he ignored it as he sized up the system they’d arrived in.