by Chris Fox
“You may not know any Nyar, but I can think of one who knows you. Or of you, at the very least.” Yulo ambled toward the battleship, and Nolan matched his pace. “Kokar is the son of the clan leader. He was on Imperalis the day Utfa attacked us. That battle cost his family greatly, and the blame will be placed on Kokar.”
“So you’re suggesting we get the help of a disgraced noble?” Nolan asked, more than a little skeptical. “Will his father even listen to him?”
“It doesn’t matter if the father will listen,” Yulo pointed out, “so long as the son can secure us an audience.”
“That shouldn’t be too hard,” Nolan mused. “I saw how desperate Takkar was after losing face, and we might be able to offer Kokar a way back into his father’s good graces.”
“Yes, I’d considered the same ploy. I believe we can attract Kokar’s notice.”
“How do you suggest we do that?” Nolan asked, ducking through the outer hatch of the Demetrius.
“If I am correct, we already have. Word will spread quickly that an emissary from a foreign battleship was turned away. I recommend patience. Wait, and Kokar will come to us.”
7
Kokar
Kokar squeezed his bulk up the corridor of the strange ship. The ceiling was a bit too low, the corridor a bit too narrow. It was confining, completely unlike the interior of a Ganog vessel. Even the Saurians allowed enough room to move.
He ducked under another narrow bulkhead and passed into a sizable cargo bay. It gleamed under the bright lights above—no sign of dirt, debris, or even rust. This place was immaculately kept, as were the mighty war machines in each of the stalls.
“Their ka’tok do an impressive job,” Hruk muttered, walking the customary three steps behind Kokar. The old man’s hand never left the hilt of his chopping sword. “Their machines are in excellent repair.”
“It is impressive, and I’m sure it was no accident that our hosts chose this place to welcome us,” Kokar countered. He already disliked these aliens, and likely always would. He raised two fingers to touch the scar on his right cheek. At least the Tigris known as Khar was not among them.
“Kokar,” a clear voice rang out, from the far side of the hangar. It came from a human wearing a standard set of their environmental armor. That armor didn’t gleam. It bore scratches and dents. It was the first proof that any of these people had seen battle. “My name is Captain Nolan. Welcome to the Demetrius. What can I do for you?”
Kokar narrowed his eyes, and made no move to keep the red from his fur. “I do not play games, Captain. Nor should you. You know why I am here.”
“Fair enough.” The human shrugged. He seemed unconcerned by Kokar, confident he could deal with the threat. Kokar found that curious. Very few aliens dismissed a Ganog elite. “I’m never really sure. T’kon did tell me you’d be blunt.”
“You’re an ally of T’kon? You keep strange company, Captain.” Kokar spat on the deck. “You sought entry to the royal island. Why?”
“I wanted to speak to your father about the possibility of an alliance. You know why.” The human took a step closer, staring defiantly up at Kokar. “You saw what happened on Imperalis. You know what’s coming.”
“I do, but my voice is drowned out by the wind of war.” Kokar shook his head, his fur darkening. “They will not listen. You must understand—to my father, this is the final war. The Nameless Ones are returning, and he stands ready to meet them in glorious battle. It’s what we were bred for, what the Nyar have always stood for. We oppose the Nameless Ones, shouting defiantly with our final breath.”
“And making an alliance with the Coalition threatens that somehow? We’re not trying to take away your war. We’re trying to make sure a few of us survive it.” He leaned against the wall, relaxing slightly. “You need to make them see that, before they wipe this world off the map. I’ve dealt with the Gorthians. Right now the Nyar are the biggest threat to their plans, and they react very predictably to threats. They’re going to come at this world fast and hard. If we don’t stand together, everyone is going to die.”
“Human, I do not appreciate your tone, though I admire your fire,” Kokar murmured. He raised a hand to stay Hruk’s advance, aware of the old man sliding his blade from its scabbard. “It is not me that you need to convince. I understand the threat we face. I saw the Void Wraith, saw their strange, blue planetstriders. I have heard rumors that your people have encountered these Void Wraith. Is there any truth to this?”
“We’ve not only encountered them—we’ve beaten them. Those victories were costly until we learned their weaknesses. I’m happy to share those weaknesses with you. We can have full schematics for all known Void Wraith units transmitted before you leave the Demetrius.” The human appeared relaxed, but mention of the war brought the fire back to his eyes. His war had become personal, Kokar was sure of it. “All I’m asking in return is an audience with your father.”
“I will arrange that audience, human,” Kokar said. “I will even lend my weight to your arguments. Yet I must be clear—that weight is not great. I am blamed for the death of my people on Imperalis, for the loss of two full dreadnoughts. My father will not listen. The best you can hope for is that he will review the data you’ve brought. He will never ally with this Coalition. He wouldn’t even ally with the other Ganog clans, and only pays lip service to the Yog. My father is a proud man, and quick to anger.”
“Yet he is also honorable,” Yulo called, rising to his feet and moving to join them. His fur was snowy white, the hallmark of a Master Adept. Kokar eyed him suspiciously. Yog couldn’t be trusted—especially their Adepts. “Your father may listen, though he will not much like what we have to say. Let us allow him to judge the worth of our words.”
“Very well. Prepare yourselves. I will arrange an audience after dinner, when my father is at his ease. Be warned, human. Do not bristle at my father as you did at me, or he will tear your spine from your back and keep your skull as a warning to others.”
Kokar hoped he wasn’t understating the matter, and that the human didn’t assume he was speaking in hyperbole. He strongly desired the same things this Coalition did. If his people were to survive, they’d need the help—though he strongly doubted his father would see it that way.
8
Grak
The stealth belt gave a satisfying clunk as it magnetically sealed to Nolan’s armor. The sound was duplicated all around him as the rest of the squad secured their own belts. Nolan picked up his rifle from its perch against the bulkhead.
“All right, people, here’s the deal. We’re walking into what could be an enemy stronghold. Our mission is to befriend them, but if they get hostile, we bug out. Be ready for anything.” Nolan keyed the exit sequence on the airlock, and waited as the mechanism whirred. The door slid away, revealing the spire’s outer ring.
Nolan walked boldly toward the arched doorway with the sigils, and the rest of the squad fanned out behind him. Burke had offered to accompany him, too, but Nolan thought bringing that much firepower might be taken as a threat.
Besides, he wanted Burke to be able to bail them out with mechs, if it came to that.
“So we’re here as scarecrows, basically?” Annie drawled. She drew herself up to her full height, then snapped her helmet into place, obscuring her face.
“That’s the plan,” Hannan said, and caught Nolan’s eye. “We’re an honor guard for Yulo and the captain. We don’t say or do a damned thing, unless they get hostile. Then it’s stealth and bug out while we wait for the cavalry.”
“Can you tell me anything else about how to approach this?” Nolan asked, stepping through the archway into the inner spire. Annie and Hannan trailed behind him and Yulo, cradling their particle rifles.
“I’m afraid not,” Yulo admitted, walking gracefully next to Nolan. “I have no idea what the Nyar are expecting of us. They were rarely at court, and keep largely to themselves. Frankly, they look down on not only my clan but all other clans.”
<
br /> “Lovely,” Nolan muttered. He made immediately for one of the transport disks. Flying through the air with no handrails was still a little terrifying, and he wondered idly how many people tumbled to their deaths each year.
The rest of the squad stepped atop the same disk, which left only a foot between him and the edge. He bent his knees as the disk zoomed into the air, making its way up into the blackness. This place was much less well lit than the Imperial spire had been.
His stomach lurched as the disk accelerated, the ring on which they’d entered receding below them. The disk carried them high into the spire, finally slowing as it neared a wide, foreboding island. Most of the island was covered by a squat, ugly, stone building.
Nolan spotted guards at most of the narrow windows, each wielding a Ganog pulse rifle. These people were ready for war as a matter of daily course.
The disk stopped at the island’s edge, and Nolan hopped off. Yulo landed nimbly beside him, while Hannan and Annie stood a few meters away.
“I guess we just go inside.” Nolan started toward the building, walking through a wide doorway.
Inside, a pair of guards eyed him balefully. They wore midnight-black armor, broken only by painted sigils on their right shoulders. Each held a long spear with a wicked barb at the end that gleamed with something wet. Poison, maybe.
Neither guard said anything, nor did they move to bar Nolan’s way. He shrugged and proceeded up the short hallway. It emptied into a large auditorium with ringed seats like the classrooms back at the academy.
Inside, dozens of Ganog sat in small groups. Most cradled horns of a sweet-smelling drink, but all were alert enough to turn in his direction as he entered.
“Man,” he said. “I thought Alpha Company was hostile. These guys look like they want to tear me apart on the spot.”
“Stand proud, Captain,” Yulo said, straightening next to him. “Lead us down to the dais, where Grak awaits us.”
Nolan started down a set of wide stairs, threading past rows of Ganog as he approached the central dais. Standing atop it was a weathered Ganog in scored armor. The hilt of a massive axe jutted over one shoulder, and a scar ran from his forehead to his chin. His fur was soft brown with whorls of black.
Nolan spotted Kokar in the last row, closest to the dais. Kokar nodded his encouragement at Nolan, and Nolan nodded back. Then he turned his attention to the Nyar clan leader.
Grak stared impassively at Nolan, watching with disinterest as Nolan stopped next to the edge of the dais. Yulo stood a meter or two back, leaving Nolan to weather the full storm of Grak’s displeasure.
“My son claims that you hold the key to our salvation,” Grak began. “My son is a fool, who preens too much and listens too little.” His fur darkened to a thick, ruddy brown. “I am not a fool, nor do I suffer them. I have no idea what you said or did to turn my son’s ear, but it doesn’t take much. So tell me why you’ve come—and know that if your words or your demeanor displease me, I will crack your bones and eat the marrow.”
Nolan considered his answer carefully. He could be diplomatic, but that wouldn’t work. Brutal honesty was what Grak would respect most.
“You’re no fool?” Nolan asked, folding his arms. He stared hard at the clan leader. “Have you ever fought the Void Wraith, Clan Leader?”
Grak’s lip curled upward. “I warned you to mind your tone, little human.”
“No. The answer is no, you haven’t fought the Void Wraith. You have no idea what they’re capable of, who made them, or how to stop them. The Kthul—your sworn enemies, as I understand it—now control Imperalis and an armada of Void Wraith.” Nolan kept his tone respectful, but didn’t mince words. “When those forces come for you, they will crack this world like a nut. They’ll tear through your defenses, and they’ll ravage this place.”
Grak threw his head back and laughed. It went on for long moments, echoing through the room, and when it finally faded Grak speared Nolan with his gaze.
“You have fought these Void Wraith,” Grak said, “and bested them. If your pitiful race can do it, then I’m not overly concerned. As for the Kthul, we await them eagerly. Let them come, and let them bring their dark masters with them. We are the shield, and we will not break. They will hurl their forces against us like waves crashing on rock. When that wave recedes, we will stand as we always have.”
Nolan changed tactics. “At the very least, let us offer you the technical schematics for the Void Wraith. We can give you their vulnerabilities and their tactics. Everything from battle footage to detailed tactical reports. We don’t ask anything in return.”
Grak waved dismissively at Nolan. “Cease your prattle, human. The Nyar need not resort to dishonorable tactics to find victory. We are not the Vkash, or the pitiful Yog.” He shifted his gaze to Yulo.
If the insult stung, Yulo didn’t show it. He remained impassive, arms clasped behind him and fur still snowy white.
Nolan looked to Kokar, but the youth avoided his gaze. Nolan was on his own, and he already knew that no amount of arguing was going to sway Grak. “All right, have it your way. But remember this day when the Void Wraith darken your skies. Remember that there could have been help, if you’d been wise enough to accept it.”
“I could kill you, and your companions. I could destroy that little battleship you arrived in,” Grak mused, walking to stand at the edge of the dais, towering over Nolan. “I will not. Instead, I invite you to stay on our world. In fact, I insist. I will have your warp engines disabled, to ensure that you remain. When the Kthul arrive, you will be here to witness the battle. You will see for yourself the might of the Nyar. Now get out of my sight, before I overcome the revulsion of your smell and devour your weak, little body.”
Nolan turned sharply on his heel, walking slowly from the chamber. He kept his head high, and his pace measured. T’kon hadn’t understated the arrogance of the Nyar, and Nolan had no idea how he was going to fulfill his mission.
9
Workable
Nolan’s shoulders didn’t unclench until he was safely back aboard the Demetrius. He made for the command deck, where he knew Burke would be. The rank of major didn’t exactly correspond to its use in the old UFC. Burke was part major, part ship’s captain. It was a change Nolan himself had lobbied for, made possible through core technology. Since a core handled almost all basic ship functions, a bridge crew wasn’t really necessary.
The lift slowed to a stop, and the doors slid open to show the command deck. It was tiny, even when compared to the Johnston or the Peregrine. A holosphere dominated the center of the room, currently displaying the Nyar system.
Burke’s serious face was illuminated by the glow of the hologram, his eyes locked on the warp anchor. He looked up as Nolan entered, giving a neutral nod. “It didn’t go well, I take it?”
“About as expected.” Nolan shook his head, moving to join Burke at the hologram. “Not only did the Nyar not listen, but they’ve insisted we remain here to watch the battle.”
“Wait, how is that even going to be possible?” Burke asked skeptically. “I’ve been wracking my brain about the warp anchor, and I can’t think of any way past it.”
“I can,” Nolan countered. “I wrestled with it too, for a long time. After meeting Grak, I have a pretty good idea of how the Kthul are going to get inside.”
“Are you going to share, or are you enjoying that smug ten-steps-ahead thing you do?”
“I’m going to enjoy it for a bit, I think.” Nolan smiled at the hologram. “If I’m right, the Kthul should appear any time, in exactly the same spot we did.”
Burke stroked his beard with two fingers, then stopped. His eyes widened. “Wait, are you saying what I think you’re saying? Those arrogant shit-talkers are going to let them in, aren’t they?”
“That’s my guess.” Nolan wasn’t surprised Burke had figured it out so quickly. “If you’re the Kthul, you show up and taunt Grak. Grak gets mad and lowers the gate so you can come in and fight. Grak is c
onvinced he’ll win this fight.”
As if on queue, the holosphere flickered. New vessels began appearing, one after another. The dreadnoughts appeared first, their spidery limbs extending toward the world below. Nolan counted seven. A flurry of cruisers and destroyers appeared next, baby spiders next to their dark mothers.
“How many ships do the Nyar have?” Burke asked, moving to peer at the newly arrived enemy fleet.
“Not enough. I counted five dreadnoughts, but two of them looked like they’d been through a meat grinder. I suspect those were the survivors of the attack on Imperalis.” He sized up the enemy ships. “I don’t see any Void Wraith with them, but that doesn’t mean much. They could be cloaked.”
“Did the Nyar accept the intel you offered?” Burke asked. “They’ll be able to detect any cloaked Void Wraith.”
“Of course not. That would have made way too much sense. No, Grak and his people are all about the heroic last stand. I don’t think he even cares if they all die, as long as they do it spitting in the face of the Nameless Ones.” Part of Nolan couldn’t blame them for the obsessive hatred. It was a hatred he shared. He would do anything to find and destroy every surviving Gorthian, and if that meant dying…well, he was comfortable with the cost.
“So they refused the intel that would let them fight a brand new enemy they’ve never encountered,” Burke said, clearly dumbfounded, “and they’re going to open the door and just let that enemy walk in? How do we think this is going to turn out?”
“Badly,” Nolan said. “And I know where you’re going with this. Even if I thought we should flee—and I don’t—we can’t. They’ve locked us down with the warp anchor. We’re stuck on this world.”
“So you want to stay here and get slaughtered?” Burke snapped, glaring at Nolan. “Come on, we need a real plan.”
