by Chris Fox
In the meantime, Utfa had the privilege of ending his most hated enemies. If he could secure Nyar, over forty percent of their clan would be devoured in a single day. That act would seal the fate of the octant, ensuring that the Kthul and their masters triumphed. No one would dare fight back after he made an example of the Nyar.
1
Nyar Prime
Nolan took a deep breath, then strode into the cargo bay of the battleship Demetrius. Soft light filtered down from the ceiling, illuminating fifteen mech stalls. Techs swarmed around the ten-meter death machines, manually checking hydraulics and coolant levels.
The pilots stood in a loose cluster around a tall man with a shock of red hair. He sported a manicured beard now, and there was a weight to his gaze that hadn’t been there the last time Nolan had spoken with him. He wore it well.
“Nolan, over here,” Burke called, his clear voice echoing through the hangar. The soldiers of Alpha Company turned hostile gazes in Nolan’s direction.
Nolan started over, reconsidering his decision not to bring the rest of his squad. He squared his shoulders, walking proudly.
“Get a haircut,” someone catcalled from the back ranks.
“Stow that shit,” Burke snapped. He glared hard, his eyes spearing pilot after pilot. Then he hopped up on an ammo crate, staring down at his men. “Listen up! I know what you’ve heard. It’s true that Captain Nolan is from the 14th. It is also true that he’s been placed in charge of this operation, despite me outranking him.”
There were dark grumbles at that, and the hostile gazes became murderous.
“Be that as it may,” Burke continued. “We’re going to extend him every courtesy. You are going to treat him like a goddamned admiral. The reason you’re standing here, the reason we even fought at Atreas, is this man. He won us Ganog 7. So whatever your personal feelings, you toe the goddamned line. Am I making myself clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Alpha Company chorused.
“Now get your asses back to work,” Burke ordered. “I want these mechs parade-ready for our arrival.”
The pilots moved back to their respective stalls for final rechecks.
Nolan blinked up at Burke as the major hopped down from the crate. “That was impressive. Looks like you’ve really settled into the rank, sir.”
“I learned from the best. Reval taught me a lot,” Burke said, in a low tone. “Listen, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to be honest. This mission is bullshit, and the men know it. We deserve our own command—and besides, this ship should be protecting our border, not helping the Ganog get their house in order. These people attacked us, Nolan. Repeatedly. A lot of good men died.”
“I know, trust me. I don’t like it any more than you do, but I promise you it’s necessary. The Ganog aren’t the real threat, and you know it. The Void Wraith being present on Imperalis changes everything. We both know who they work for, and we’re going to need the Ganog if we want to survive the war that’s coming. Permission to address the men, sir?” Nolan glanced at Alpha Company, unsurprised by the disdain and anger. A few men were apathetic. None seemed sympathetic.
“Granted.” Burke waved at the crate. “The floor is yours.”
Nolan hopped nimbly onto the crate, turning to face them. Every eye was on him, every look darker than the next. Yeah, this was going swimmingly. “Listen up, Alpha. I know your reputation. You fought on the line at Atreas, and took down three planetstriders. Your casualties were lower than any other unit. You’re the best of the best. And you’re wondering why the brass on Earth felt the need to put some captain from the gutter fleet in command over a decorated major.”
He paused, watching as curiosity crept into a few faces. “Earth needs to bring the Nyar Clan into the war on our side. The Nyar are prickly, and they don’t like other races. They’re also even more obsessed with honor than the Tigris. Earth put me in charge because the Nyar know who I am, and will see me being there as a mark of respect. That’s why I’m ‘in charge.’” He curled his fingers to provide the air quotes.
“We all know I’m not in charge. Major Burke is in charge. You’re here to babysit me while I liaison with the Nyar leadership. We shake some hands, I convince them to join the war, and then we get you back into action guarding the Coalition border.” Nolan paused again. Most of their faces had softened, though anger still slumbered in a few. “If I need something done, I’ll go to Burke. Take your orders from him. Dismissed.”
Nolan hopped down, turning to face Burke. That put his back to the men, which let them react however they chose with no fear of reprisal. He knew he was still fighting an uphill battle, but maybe he’d won a small victory.
“You shouldn’t have done that.” Burke shook his head. “I really like you, Nolan—much to my surprise—but you just don’t get command structure. You are in charge. The president was very clear on that point.”
“It’s not that I don’t understand command structure,” Nolan countered, keeping his voice low so the men wouldn’t hear. “It’s that I understand morale. It sucks having some asshole put in charge, and now they feel a little better about it. Rigid do as you’re told thinking is what put us in such a bad position during the war with the Void Wraith. Give these men some agency. Let them invest in the unit, and in their commander. Salvaging their pride at the cost of mine is a small price.”
Burke pursed his lips, eyeing Nolan with a great deal of consideration. “I doubt we’ll ever agree on most things, especially how I choose to run my unit. What we do agree on is the need to get the job done, no matter what it costs. I’ll overlook your…unorthodox methods, if you keep me in the loop. Give it to me straight. What are we walking into on Nyar Prime?”
“It’s ugly. We don’t know how they’re going to react to our presence, or if they’ll even let us dock,” Nolan admitted. He finally turned back to Alpha Company, which had fully dispersed across the cargo bay. No one seemed interested in him anymore, thankfully.
“Why didn’t we bring T’kon?” Burke asked, wearing his skepticism openly. “Or the empress? Seems like the Nyar would have reacted better to one of their own.”
“They consider T’kon an enemy, and the Nyar have very little respect for the empress.” Nolan shook his head. “Ganog politics are even worse than ours. I did bring an ally though, one the Nyar respect—Master Yulo, the empress’s tutor. I’m hoping he can arrange a meeting with their leadership. If not, we’re in serious trouble. The Kthul have the Void Wraith backing them now, and I’m positive their next offensive will come soon.”
“Well, let’s hope these guys play nice,” Burke replied, shaking his head. “I just want to get this mission over with, and get back on the line where we can make a real difference.”
“You and me both,” Nolan said, though only part of him meant it. The Nameless Ones were out there, getting closer. They might already be here. And someone needed to stop them.
2
Warp Anchor
“Will you look at that?” Annie drawled, gaping up at the view screen. Nolan set down his spanner, wiping sweat from his forehead as he rose from the exposed panel on his mech’s leg.
Hannan lounged against the wall of the cargo bay. “These Nyar don’t mess around, do they? I don’t think there’s any way to safely reach that world.”
The view screen showed a mass of floating rocks of all different sizes. The largest rivaled a small moon, tapering down to rocks no larger than his fist. They moved and rotated around the world in an endless dance.
“That field is denser than I’ve ever seen,” Nolan mused, “and the asteroids are clustered too close together—at least compared to a standard asteroid field. That shouldn’t be possible, not unless they’re generating some sort of gravity field.” He wiped his wrist across his cheek to remove a trickle of sweat, then stretched. “I’d love to know how they do it.”
“It is called a warp anchor,” Yulo explained, rising from a resting position against the bulkhead. His fur was a pristine, snowy white. He strod
e gracefully toward Nolan, walking with the same deadly grace Nolan was used to seeing from Fizgig. “It generates a gravitational field that draws in surrounding asteroids. It also intercepts warp fields, allowing it to sync with any ship attempting to warp inside the field. If an unauthorized vessel attempts to do so, the field shunts them into the asteroids. Even dreadnoughts do not survive.”
“Sounds nasty,” Nolan said, already considering how he might penetrate such a defense. There was always a way. “So how do we get inside? I don’t really see a door to knock on.”
“We will need to broadcast a challenge.” Yulo clasped his hands behind his back, moving to stand next to Nolan. “That challenge should rightfully be issued by you—”
“A challenge? We need to fight to get in-system?” Nolan rubbed his temples. “It’s too early for this crap.”
“I said it should rightfully be you, but you didn’t let me finish. I will stand in your stead. Lieutenant Hannan, open a communication channel with the warp anchor.”
Nolan raised an eyebrow, bracing himself for Hannan’s response.
“Yeah, so not your bitch,” Hannan said, glaring at Yulo. “You want to open a communication, how about you use the comm unit attached to your wrist?”
Yulo’s fur remained snowy, but he was silent for a long time before answering. “I apologize if I have offended you. Our ways are…different. I meant no disrespect. I do not understand how to use the comm unit.” Yulo’s shoulder’s slumped.
“It’s all right,” Annie said. “I know plenty of grunts who aren’t good with tech.” She sidled over with her comm unit, and aimed the camera at Yulo. “There. I’ve requested a channel.”
Yulo moved to stand near the center of the room, hands still clasped loosely behind him. He waited patiently, staring at Annie’s comm.
A moment later, a hologram flared to life above it, showing a Ganog command disk. A single Ganog stood on the disk, scowling at the screen. His fur was a suspicious green-brown, and he wore his confusion openly. “Master Yulo, I did not expect to see you aboard an alien vessel. Apologies.” He gave a perfunctory bow.
“Accepted, warrior. I issue challenge. I seek business with your leaders.” Yulo shifted his stance with casual grace, but the threat was clear.
“Challenge met and lost.” The Ganog gave a respectful bow. “I’d not test your skill, Master. You may warp inside the field. Proceed to the third docking ring, and do not attempt to exit the craft.”
Yulo gave a perfunctory nod. “Done.”
The screen went dark.
Nolan spoke into his comm. “Major Burke, this is Nolan.”
“This is Burke. Go ahead.”
“We’ve just gotten the green light from Nyar command to warp to these coordinates,” Nolan explained, transmitting the nadir coordinates to Burke.
“All personnel, secure yourselves,” Burke said, his voice echoing from the speakers in the cargo hold’s wall. “Initiating warp.”
Nolan secured himself against his mech’s leg, eyes fixed on the view screen. That was an awful lot of rocks, but glittering between them he could see a rich green-and-white world. It looked like Earth from orbit, save that the waters were a deep emerald instead of blue.
The world tilted, and Nolan’s body twisted and folded in on itself. The warp completed with a pop, and the perspective shifted. The view screen now showed an unblocked view of the world—very much like Earth, but with more cloud cover.
An enormous multi-limbed station floated nearby, every bit as large as a Ganog dreadnought. Its spindly arms were pointed in their direction, and the purple reactor flares at the station’s center painted it into a vengeful spider.
“We may proceed to the planet, Captain,” Yulo said, walking back to his corner. He settled into a lotus position against the wall. “My part in this is done. I will not be able to use further influence to get you an audience with the Nyar clan leader. That, you will have to accomplish on your own.”
“One thing at a time,” Nolan said, giving a half-smile. This wasn’t a big victory, but he’d learned to savor even the little ones. “We’re over the first hurdle. We’ll get past the others. Nothing is going to stop us from getting this done.”
The battleship descended toward the world below, quickly approaching the upper atmosphere. There was a faint shudder from the friction, but nothing compared to what Nolan was used to in Aluki’s Ganog cruiser, or even the Peregrine. This ship was a titan, a warship of a whole other caliber than anything Nolan had ever served aboard.
There was one more small lurch, then they dropped smoothly through the atmosphere. Below them stretched a seemingly endless blue-and-green forest, the trees butting up against a dark ocean. Here and there, mountains poked from the trees, but most hills were swallowed by a mass of arboreal growth.
A single city was visible, a perfect circle cut into the forest a few kilometers from the ocean. Dozens of black spires stabbed into the sky, the tallest reaching far higher than the towering trees. They were different than the spires on Imperalis—more austere, and forbidding.
The clusters of ships around them were painted in dark tones, more somber than the jeweled cluster of ships around the empress’s spire.
These Ganog were warriors, first and foremost. Dealing with them wouldn’t be like dealing with the Yog or the Vkash.
3
Explain
Fizgig paced back and forth before the portable holo, waiting for the call to connect. A two-meter-tall hologram of Dryker finally appeared, its resolution showing every wrinkle in his rumpled uniform. His hair had been combed, but his shaggy face-mane was badly in need of grooming.
“Explain,” Fizgig snapped. “I want to hear it from you.”
“Hello, Fizgig.” Dryker gave a slow smile. The wretched human was immune to her anger. “It’s good to see you. You want to hear it from me? Okay, that’s fair. You’re not getting anything. The Demetrius is it. No further vessels will be allocated to any action in Ganog space. Period.”
“Dryker, you are no fool. You are a warrior. You know—”
“No,” Dryker snapped. For the first time in years, she saw in his eyes the fire that had made her fear this man during the Eight-Year War. “I’m a politician, Fizgig. Not a soldier. I can’t just issue orders and expect them to be followed. I have to answer to the goddamned media, and the congressional oversight committee.”
Fizgig blinked slowly. “Are you telling me that…politics prevents you from doing what is necessary to win the war for our species’ survival?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. You have no idea how much political capital I burned getting Nolan and the Demetrius for you.” Dryker’s hologram walked to a mahogany desk. He poured himself a drink and turned back to the screen. “Consider it from their perspective. The Ganog invaded our space, forcing us to evacuate worlds. They destroyed multiple fleets. They crippled us. And now you want me to try to sell an alliance? It’s everything I can do to keep Congress from declaring war on the entire Imperium. The only thing that let me do that was explaining that while the Ganog tear themselves apart, we could use the time to rearm.”
“Dryker, the Gorthians are here. I feel it in my bones,” Fizgig reasoned, as calmly as she was able. She sat slowly, settling into the cushions she’d had brought when she arrived on Takkar’s dreadnought. “Nolan was right about these Nameless Ones. If we do not stop them, they will devour the Ganog, and then they will devour us.”
Dryker gave a bitter laugh. “You think I don’t realize that? Where’s the proof, Fizgig? Where’s the footage I can show on Quantum? I can’t make unilateral decisions based on your gut, even if I agree with them. I was infected, remember? I have a bigger stake in this than anyone, because I know exactly what the Gorthians can do. I’m telling you the political reality. I can’t get you even one more vessel.” Dryker paused, leaning against his desk. “I’m staking my career on having you there as an advisor. I’ve told Congress that’s how to ensure that the war is as
costly as possible, so the Ganog are too weak to resist us when it’s over. Make no mistake, Fizgig, the Coalition will come for the Imperium—probably sooner than either of us is ready for.”
“Who’s leading this foolish call for war?” Fizgig snapped, digging her claws into the cushion.
“Carnifex.” Dryker sighed. “I actually like Carnifex, and you know what? I get where he’s coming from. We’ve been invaded, and we have every right to fight back. Carnifex doesn’t care about an unprovable threat we may have to face in the future. He cares about victory over an immediate threat, and a guarantee he won’t ever have to flee his world again. What the hell am I supposed to say to that?”
Fizgig’s tail lashed. “I see your dilemma. There is no answer his Pride will find acceptable. There is no way to show them the danger, not until we have concrete proof—and the damnable Gorthians make that proof nearly impossible to find.”
“Proof Nolan had better get,” Dryker snapped. He swirled the liquid in his glass, closing his eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry, Fizgig. It’s just this job. It’s so much worse than being a captain. It saps the life from you.”
“And yet you persevere. Why, Dryker?” Fizgig asked, in a rare moment of introspection. “You and I can speak frankly, warrior to warrior. Why do you still struggle? Why not set the burden down? No one would fault you for it.” She had shared so much with this man, both as an enemy and as a friend. No one else understood the burdens of command as well as he did, and the toll they took as the decades passed.
“You know why.” Dryker sipped his drink. “We do it because no one else can. I will say this, though, old friend. No matter what happens, this is my last war. I won’t be running for re-election.” He set the drink down.
