by Chris Fox
“Nolan?” Zakanna called, waving the human forward.
He joined her in front of the hologram, nodding to Takkar. “Hello, Takkar. I’ve had my people contact Admiral Fizgig to request a cease fire. If you take no hostile action, she’ll honor that. For now.”
“Very well. Empress, are you certain this alliance is wise? We know little of these new aliens.” Takkar frowned at Nolan.
“Takkar, the Coalition has faced a Nameless One, and killed it. For now, that is all I need to know. We have a common foe, and I believe the Coalition will see reason. If they do not, then I will unleash you to destroy them.” Zakanna gave a simple shrug, as if the outcome didn’t matter.
Takkar cocked his head thoughtfully. “Perhaps you are right. I would have expected another strike by now, yet there is no sign of her fleet.”
As if in answer to his words, dozens of Coalition vessels decloaked. They were clustered in high orbit, far enough away that they could easily interpose the planet between them and the Ganog. They made no threatening move, merely hovering there in orbit.
“Empress, we are receiving a signal from the enemy fleet. They are requesting a cease fire. They would like to send a delegation aboard.” The techsmith gave a low bow, then backed away as she awaited a response.
Zakanna smiled. “Tell them we agree. Invite them to send a force of their warriors aboard. We have much to discuss.”
49
Pact
Nolan offered an arm to help Fizgig down off the platform, onto the ivory ring bordering the empress’s command island. She merely glared at him, hopping nimbly to the island. Fizgig turned to the center of the island, sizing up the empress and her delegation.
“It would seem she has kept her word,” Fizgig said. “I see only a few attendants.”
“She seems trustworthy—so far, anyway.” Nolan fell into step next to Fizgig as they slowly approached the empress.
She stood atop her dais, hands clasped behind her back. Her fur was a soft grey, almost white. Next to her stood Khar, his body covered by environmental armor. Only his head was exposed, his golden mane framing his leonine face.
On the empress’s other side stood an unfamiliar Ganog, one who was glaring hatefully at Fizgig. He was taller than the empress, taller even than T’kon. His scarlet armor gleamed, and an enormous axe with a wickedly curved blade was strapped to his back.
A single Saurian in grey robes stood a few feet from the dais, attentively waiting for orders from its mistress. That was it. The empress had no other guards, and if he or Fizgig decided to attack her there was little she’d be able to do to prevent it.
That showed trust, which gave Nolan hope.
He approached, then gave a short bow. “Empress Zakanna, allow me to introduce Admiral Fizgig of Pride Fizgig. She is our finest Fleet Commander, and has engaged your forces both at Ganog 7 and here in the Atreas system.”
Fizgig inclined her head at Zakanna, but didn’t bow. Her tail swished slowly behind her, and her feline eyes were narrowed to slits. There was more white in her fur than when Nolan had last met her, but he had no doubt that she was just as lethal as she’d been in her prime. Probably more so.
“I am pleased to meet you, Fizgig.” Zakanna returned the nod that Fizgig had given, mimicking it perfectly.
“I have only come because Nolan insisted. So far as I am concerned, you are an enemy—one who struck without warning, and has caused untold damage in both lives and material. Why have you called me here?” Fizgig spoke simply, as she would to an equal. It was a start.
“I have asked you here because I wish to end the bloodshed between our races,” the empress explained. She waved a furred hand in Khar’s direction. “Your companion has told me much of your species, and I believe attacking you was a mistake—one I’d like to rectify, before the war escalates.”
“Really?” Fizgig asked dryly. “Because I was under the impression that you’d been deposed, and that you now need the Coalition as allies to win back your throne.”
“I told you this was pointless,” the other Ganog growled.
“Be silent, Takkar.” The empress spoke quietly, and Takkar’s jaw snapped shut.
“Takkar?” Fizgig asked, her eyes widening slightly. She smiled grimly up at the black-furred Ganog. “So you are the enemy commander I’ve been battling. You’ve an interesting style. It relies too much on brute force, but I cannot deny that it is effective.”
Takkar opened his mouth to reply, but snapped it shut again at a look from the empress.
“Admiral—that is your title, yes?” the empress smoothly interjected. “You’ve suffered much at the hands of the Vkash clan, Takkar’s clan. I lead the Imperium—or led it, until, as you say, I was deposed. Yet I still lead the Yog clan. I still command our armies, and our fleets—”
“You seek to deflect blame for the attack on Takkar,” Fizgig interrupted. “And from the look of it, he’s willing to accept responsibility. Yet, I am no fool. I see three distinctly different forces out there.” Fizgig pointed up at the dreadnought’s transparent hull, at the cluster of Ganog ships. “Is one of those fleets from the Yog clan?”
“Yes,” Zakanna reluctantly admitted.
“Your species, your empire, has warred upon us. Now, you face a civil war. Why would we intervene? We can simply wait for you to wipe each other out, while we grow strong.” Fizgig folded her arms, her tail swishing a wide arc over her shoulders.
“I’ll tell you why,” Nolan said, surprising everyone. All eyes turned to him. “Admiral, we faced Void Wraith on their capital world. Not just any Void Wraith either. These ones had been kept in stasis for millennia. That army is the reason the empress was deposed in the first place. You and I both know what that means.”
“Nolan speaks the truth,” Khar roared, hopping from the dais to land near Fizgig. He stalked over, his posture more aggressive than Nolan had ever seen it with Fizgig. “The Void Wraith are puppets of the Gorthians, as are the seekers who now control them. These foul scum are tools of the Gorthians, and if we do nothing they will place the might of the Ganog at the command of our enemies. If we do nothing, we invite a war we may not be able to win.”
“I have overlooked your disloyalty, Khar, because I consider you one of my own kits. Yet, do not think I have forgotten it, or that it rests easy in my heart. I do not know what spell this…woman has cast over you, but it is clear to me that your judgement has been compromised.” Fizgig’s eyes narrowed to slits, and she took a threatening step toward Khar.
The larger Tigris retreated—not that Nolan could blame him.
“Believe as you will about my loyalty, but I speak facts, Mighty Fizgig,” Khar protested. He pointed at the Ganog fleet. “That fleet is the best hope we have of retaking Imperalis from the seekers.”
Fizgig appeared unmoved, and there was an awkward moment of silence, until the empress finally spoke. “Admiral, surely you can see the merits in an alliance. Both of us have been deeply wounded today.”
“Not so,” Fizgig countered, folding her arms. “There have been many Ganog bodies, but very few Coalition.”
“What are you prattling about?” Takkar roared, glaring down at Fizgig. “We’ve wiped out your factories, both on the ground and in orbit. We’ve taken away your ability to make war.”
“Have you?” Fizgig asked mildly. She gave a slight smile. “Or did you come to the system we chose, attacking factories that our people no longer use?”
Both Takkar and the empress were made mute by the revelation. Finally, the empress turned to Khar. “You knew about this, didn’t you?”
“No, but had I, I would have said nothing.” Khar said simply. He didn’t make excuses, calmly accepting the empress’s silent fury.
Takkar began a deep booming laugh. He leapt from the dais, landing near Fizgig. She slid into a combat stance, but Takkar dropped to one knee. He slowly withdrew his axe from his back and laid it at Fizgig’s feet. “You have bested me, completely. In all ways. My fleet is woun
ded, while yours is unharmed. All for a world that means nothing to you. I do not know how you have accomplished this, but I am Ganog enough to admit when I am in the presence of a superior warrior. I have no wish to follow Zakanna, but I will follow you.”
Fizgig’s tail stopped moving. She cocked her head, studying the kneeling Ganog. “You have impressed me, Takkar of the Vkash clan. Your style is bold, and you have potential. If you temper your boldness with caution and cunning, you will be unstoppable.”
“Does this mean you are willing to work with them?” Khar demanded.
“It doesn’t really matter what I think,” Fizgig said. She shrugged. “President Dryker and the sycophants known as Congress will have to make that decision. I can say this, though: I agree with the need for an alliance. I will urge Dryker to accept this alliance. Nolan is right about the Gorthians. They are playing a deeper game, and I fear that by the time we learn what it is, it will be too late.”
Epilogue
Utfa stared up the wide stone steps, which ascended to the mountain top above. He’d been climbing for hours; now he paused to rest, staring at the holiest of sites. He’d always wanted to make the pilgrimage to Azatok, as so many others had before him.
Azatok lay beyond the borders of the Ganog Imperium. The world was just outside Kthul controlled space, and—if the legends were to be believed—this was the place where the Nameless Ones had handed down their final commandments to the Ganog. Then they had departed into The Cold, never to be seen again.
Until now.
Utfa started up the steps again, taking deliberate steps as he neared the summit. The summons had come from another dream fragment. The Nameless One had reached out to him through the arcanotome, touching his sleeping mind. Implanting the suggestion that he travel here.
And Utfa had obeyed.
He mounted the final step, entering a wide temple courtyard atop a single slab of granite. The buildings had fallen to ruin, all save the altar at the far side of the courtyard. Utfa approached it, watching warily. No Nameless One leapt out of the shadows, yet when he glanced at the rock face to his left, a chill quite unrelated to the cold passed down his spine. The rock bore the carving from his dream—the carving that had spoken to him.
Utfa stopped before the altar, its stone stained scarlet by hundreds of generations of blood offerings. He reached to his belt, slowly withdrawing the dagger of ceremony. The blade glittered in the strange green light that filtered through the nebula dominating the night sky.
A quick stroke drew a line of pain across his palm, then droplets of blood began to fall. He clenched his fist, increasing the flow to trace the runes of Ptaff, slowly and precisely. When he’d completed the work, he flared his lower nostrils, sucking in a mighty breath.
“Terrible Nameless Ones, I tremble before your mighty gaze. This one stands ready for your judgement.”
The words echoed across the courtyard, the echo carried off by the wind. These words were ritual, spoken by millions of seekers over thousands of years. There had never been a single response—and even after his dream Utfa didn’t really expect one.
But something massive loomed into view over the mountain’s craggy peaks. Utfa’s mind struggled to give meaning to what he was seeing, but it failed utterly. He was left with the impression of tentacles, and too many eyes. Slimy, wet, skin. The scent of sweet, rotting meat, underscored with terrible corruption.
You seek judgement, and judged you shall be. The words oozed into his mind, insidious and terrible, with a million echoing whispers surrounding each word.
The thing approached, drifting slowly down the mountain. Still, Utfa struggled to make sense of it. Staring at it tore his mind in some inexplicable way. If he stared long enough, he knew he would lose himself to madness.
Utfa dropped to his knees, casting his gaze to the stones. He waited, panting, until he sensed the presence looming directly above. The odor was stronger, but still faint and insidious, just like the words.
More words oozed into his mind. You are an acceptable servant. You have accomplished the first task I have set you.
“I do not understand,” Utfa murmured, immediately regretting the words. One did not question a god, even a benevolent one. And this god was far from benevolent.
Did you think it was your idea to take Imperalis? Did you believe that it was your hand that guided the guardians? The voice was amused. My gaze fell on you long ago. I molded you. Shaped your thoughts, and dreams, and desires. Everything you are, you are because I wish it.
Utfa couldn’t answer of course. What did one say to that? He flung himself to the stones, prostrating himself before the Nameless One. He wanted to ask what it wished of him, but his terror at the prospect of speaking overwhelmed his curiosity.
You have accomplished much, yet more work remains. My brethren approach, and they will arrive with a terrible hunger. The traitors among your kind—the Yog, and the Vkash. The impudent Nyar. Their end has come.
Here is what you will do…
Press the Line
Book 6
Prologue
Utfa hated this remote world. Not because of the slightly increased gravity. Not because of the time it took to navigate through the asteroid field. And not even because it took him away from Imperalis.
He hated this world because of what it inspired in him: Absolute, unadulterated terror. The kind of fear children labored under when they crept to the bio unit in the darkest hours. Utfa had never been particularly brave, but he had been bold. Here, that boldness was stripped away.
He continued the last several paces, stopping before the altar. The stains were fresh, made by his own hand and those of his most trusted advisors. Many had been called here—hundreds over the last few weeks. Utfa might be first among the servants, but he was also one of many. Inconsequential, in all likelihood.
Utfa sliced his palm, allowing his blood to run into the ceremonial bowl. He wondered absently why blood was necessary.
A towering voice echoed in his mind. My physical body lies an incalculable distance away, so vast that your mind would crack to learn the number. Your blood allows me to connect to your location, to resonate with your genetic material.
Part of Utfa rejoiced at the voice, but the rest recoiled in teeth-chattering terror. The Nameless Ones could hear his thoughts—even this one.
He continued the ritual, smearing runes on the altar.
The voice boomed again. That is sufficient.
He didn’t look at the yawning mouth in the rock face to his right. Perhaps the Nameless One dwelled inside; he certainly detected a presence. Yet its words seemed to contradict that.
You question. That is good, so long as you obey, the voice said. I will offer no answers, as these seem to be idle thoughts. I have brought you here for a purpose, vassal. Today I entrust you with a vital task, the most vital that has been given to your kind since they first discovered the stars. My young brethren are coming, and they hunger.
“This day is spoken of in the whispers, Great One,” Utfa ventured. When nothing struck him down, he continued. “What will your brethren require?”
They require sustenance. You must find worlds teeming with life, to sate their hunger. The first of my brethren will arrive soon. When it does, you must prepare a world for it to feast upon. I do not care which world you choose, but that world must be utterly pacified and safe for them to devour.
Utfa wondered at that. Why must the world be pacified, unless Ganog weaponry were a threat to the Nameless Ones themselves? He chastised himself for the heretical thought.
No, the thought is valid. Important. You must understand, if you are to enact our will. We are not indestructible, though we are immortal as you measure such things. This cycle is already turbulent. The Great Eye of Spitha has been slain, a possibility so remote that we had not planned for that contingency.
My brethren are newly spawned. They are young and weak. Once they have feasted, they will grow strong enough that none can threaten th
em. Until then, they are vulnerable. You must ensure that they are not threatened during the feeding.
“Of course, Great One,” Utfa said, bowing to the altar. “I have just such a world in mind. The Nyar have always opposed your will. I will take the guardians you have given me, and I will scorch their world.”
NO. The voice thundered. Wipe out the defenders, but leave the biological entities. Keep them there, unharmed.
“Of course,” Utfa said, bowing again. “We will ensure that there is sufficient food. Using the guardians you have provided me, I believe I can secure this world well before the first of your brethren arrive.”
Be certain. If you fail me in this, the consequences will be…dire.
“Great One, what of the empress and her fleets?” Utfa asked, not wanting to contemplate what a Nameless One would consider dire. “What of Imperalis?”
Many now serve me, in every clan. The empress believes herself safe, but she is not. I will provide you the tools to defeat her. As for Imperalis, that world is of no consequence. Focus on securing food for my brethren. Leave one of your underlings in charge.
“Of course, Great One,” Utfa said, giving a final bow. He sensed that the presence was gone, but wondered if it could still hear his thoughts. It was best to assume that it could.
Utfa was left with many questions, more than he’d arrived with. Why didn’t the Nameless One care about Imperalis? And who should Utfa leave in charge? It would need to be someone both strong and decisive, someone that all clans feared.
Utfa smiled. “Azatok will do nicely.” The butcher was widely known—and feared—due to his multiple conquests in the Royal Arena. He was also a confident fleet leader, though his boldness often caused him to overlook traps. Still, as long as he wasn’t expected to lead any significant battles he should suffice. The terror he inspired would be worth as much as the man himself.
