The Complete Void Wraith Saga

by Chris Fox

  “The best I’ve got is cloaking and hiding. Our improved drive will keep us undetectable to all parties. We watch events play out, and hope like hell we find the right opportunity to help. I have a feeling that the Nyar are going to need us.”

  “It’s workable,” Burke allowed. “Let’s get the ship battened down and ready to fly. We’re going to need to find a safe place in that forest—someplace deep enough to avoid scans.”

  “I imagine Kokar probably has some ideas about where that might be,” Nolan said. “I’ll see if I can get hold of him before we leave.”

  He turned back to the spire with a sigh. The Nyar were about to get the same treatment humanity and the Tigris had gotten when they’d first encountered the Void Wraith.

  10

  Nowhere Is Safe

  Zakanna listened quietly as the others debated possible courses of action. It was a tactic her mother had taught her, and one she’d grown up perfecting: Listen to everyone give their counsel, and only when you understood all possible options did you lend your voice to the discussion.

  “The only way to win this battle is to secure the beacon—we agree on that,” Khar said, resting both hands on the edge of the dais. He stared a challenge at the others, as fierce as ever—perhaps more so.

  Zakanna had seen the way Khar looked to Fizgig. It was the same way she looked to Yulo, and part of why she now felt lost without his presence.

  “But we do not agree on how,” Takkar countered, shaking his head. “Sending in a small strike team is foolish. It would mean entrusting the fate of the fleet to the work of a single squad. If the squad fails, the fleet is wiped out. It’s madness.”

  “It is not madness,” Fizgig said, her calm enviable. “Send in a small strike team comprised of our most able warriors. Seize the beacon, and turn the Void Wraith on their masters. Only then do we warp in the fleet.”

  “If the team fails, you leave them to die,” T’kon said, nodding in understanding. “I agree; this is the best plan. Ultimately, we risk nothing but the strike team. We need to move the fleet anyway, so why not jump it closer to Imperalis? We can take up a hidden position within a single jump, then warp in if the team succeeds. If not, we either try another team or warp away and devise a new plan.”

  Fizgig cocked her head, eyes distant. She licked her chops, then spoke to the group. “I’ve just received word from Nolan. The Kthul fleet arrived at Nyar. This fool, Grak, has lowered their defenses and allowed the Kthul inside.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Zakanna said, sourly. She kept the emotion from her fur, but only just. “Grak is as hidebound as they come and will not accept change. He honors the old ways, and that means battling your enemy on an open plain. It is the worst kind of pride.”

  “Clan Leader,” came a timid voice from behind Takkar. A Saurian strode forward, bobbing a curtsy next to Takkar. “A thousand apologies, but an enemy fleet has just warped in-system. We are under attack.”

  Zakanna looked up through the observatory dome. A sizable enemy fleet had arrived—half a dozen dreadnoughts supported by three times their number in heavy cruisers. They were already launching fighters, their main cannons charging.

  Six fully functional dreadnoughts unleashed a volley, all aimed unerringly at the Vkash’s Fist. The vessel shuddered under each impact, the shield rippling to blue, then red. By the third shot, it had faded entirely, leaving the ship naked to the other three shots.

  The first punched through the dome almost directly above them, and air rushed out into space. A second hole appeared a few hundred meters away. Debris exploding outward even as the islands under the hole followed. The third hit made something grind deep in the ship, from the engines.

  Long moments later, membranes appeared over the holes, stopping the loss of atmosphere.

  “I don’t understand,” Zakanna said, staring up in horror. “What are they hoping to accomplish? We can merely warp away.”

  “Do it!” Takkar roared at the techsmith. “Order all vessels to warp to point alpha.”

  “Of course, Clan Leader.” The Saurian bobbed another curtsy, frantic pulses of data flowing from her arcanotome. After several moments her face fell, and she shrank into her robes. “Clan Leader, we are unable to warp away. Our drive has been sabotaged. Reports are coming in from the rest of the fleet. Other warp drives have been disabled.”

  “Clever,” Fizgig said. “They knew we’d attempt to scatter, so they’ve ensured we cannot leave. We fight, or die.”

  “Those treacherous bastards,” Takkar roared. “They must have spies on my ship. Seeker sympathizers.” He glanced up, his fur going ashen. “We cannot fight a battle within and a battle without at the same time.”

  “Which they no doubt know.” Zakanna sighed wearily. “We have no choice but to retake the ship, and before that can happen, Kthul cruisers will have already boarded. That’s assuming they don’t just end us. Their cannons are nearly recharged.”

  “We have been badly outmaneuvered,” Fizgig said, shaking her head. Her tail slashed behind her, lazily. “Look at those ships. They are untouched by war, every turret operational. Our own fleet is heavily damaged. Even if we retook the ship immediately, the Kthul would crush us. More, I think you will find that the warp drive is not the only thing they sabotaged.”

  Takkar rounded on the techsmith. “Fire the main cannon. Now! Deploy all fighters.”

  “Clan Leader, the main cannon is nonfunctional,” the Saurian said. A series of pulses flowed to and from the arcanotome. “We are deploying fighters, but there are reports of fighting on the lower islands.”

  The dreadnought shuddered under another volley, this one targeting their engines exclusively. Takkar looked up at them, defeated. “I’ve no doubt they’ll dock soon, bringing over enough troops to pacify this vessel. Our alliance is doomed, before it even really began.”

  Zakanna’s fur shifted to a whirling pink-white as she struggled for control. They’d endured so much, yet every challenge they overcame was followed by a worse one.

  11

  The Mission Is Yours

  Khar clenched and unclenched his hands, preparing himself for combat. There was no immediate threat, but that would come soon enough. He took a protective step toward Zakanna, and she did the same toward him.

  “Zakanna.” Fizgig walked slowly toward the empress, removing a silvery belt from her waist. “This is a stealth belt. It will cloak you from almost all known sensors, including anything the Void Wraith have. It will be useful both here and on the strike team you will lead to Imperalis.” She handed the belt to Zakanna.

  “I don’t understand,” Zakanna said, her eyebrows knitting together in consternation. “Won’t you need it?”

  “I will not be leaving.” Fizgig sat on the edge of the dais and began massaging her thigh. Khar had seen her perform the motion often since her final battle with Admiral Mow during the war with the Void Wraith.

  “Why?” Khar demanded. “There is absolutely no reason to stay. If we flee, we flee together. Those who remain behind will die.”

  “Ah, I see her plan now,” Takkar said. “One step ahead of me, again.” He walked around the dais, kneeling respectfully before Fizgig. “I have misjudged you—assumed that you were a treacherous opponent, honorless and callow. You know honor as truly as any Ganog, and you are the worthiest foe I have ever faced.”

  Fizgig blinked at him, but said nothing.

  “Ahh,” T’kon said. “I believe I understand as well. The seekers are coming for Takkar, so he cannot leave. If he flees, they will chase him. If he stays, he occupies them long enough for the rest of us to flee.”

  “Indeed,” Takkar said, “but what I do not understand is why Fizgig must also stay. There’s no reason for anyone else to remain.” He rose to his feet. “Fizgig, you are the finest commander among us. This admission pains me, but it is the truth. If we are to win this war, we will need you to lead it.”

  “No, you won’t,” Fizgig said. She nodded at Khar. “The re
al battle will take place on Imperalis. The real battle is taking the beacon. We have an opportunity here—a way to turn their victory into the secret dagger aimed at their heart. Let them take us both. They will believe they’ve decapitated the serpent, and it will make them careless.” She turned to T’kon. “You should battle your way back to your vessel as quickly as possible. You will very likely be caught in the attempt, but I do not believe they will kill you.”

  “Why not?” T’kon asked, clearly puzzled.

  His wife, Jehanna, spoke. “Because they have plans for the Azi,” she said, eyes widening. Her fur brightened. “They seek to turn us back to the Nameless Ones, and T’kon’s name would lend great strength to their cause. If they capture us, they will use you to get more of our people to capitulate. They will likely use a threat to me to secure your cooperation.”

  “You married well, T’kon.” Fizgig nodded respectfully at Jehanna. “This one sees clearly. Keep her close.”

  “Let us depart, then. If Jehanna and I gain our freedom, we will take the fleet to a safe place to gather survivors.” T’kon hurried toward a transport disk. Jehanna moved with him, and their guards followed behind.

  “Khar,” Fizgig said. “The mission is yours. Get to Aluki’s cruiser. Go to Imperalis, and find a way to seize control of the beacon. With or without the fleet, turn the Void Wraith back on their masters.”

  “Mighty Fizgig,” Khar lowered his cheek, brushing it against hers.

  She stepped back with a look of distaste, then began cleaning the fur where he’d left his scent. Yet she didn’t chastise him.

  “I will lead this mission, and I will succeed. Come, Zakanna. We have a planet to win back.”

  They hurried to a transport disk on the opposite side from T’kon and climbed aboard. It zoomed over the edge, carrying them toward the lower section of the ship. Below, Ganog elites fought on many islands. The chaos was total, and there was no way to distinguish friend from foe. They all wore the same armor and fought with similar weapons.

  “How does this stealth belt work?” Zakanna asked, buckling it around her waist. It fit her, just barely. She was larger than Fizgig.

  “It generates a field that will bend light,” Khar explained, “cloaking you on that spectrum. It will also dampen your thermal signature, but cannot erase it entirely.” The disk zoomed a wide path around another island, no more than forty meters from the fighting. “The belts consume enormous energy, and the internal battery will only last for about two hours. We must move swiftly, and conserve power when possible.”

  “Reaching the cruiser will be impossible. That’s where the Kthul reinforcements will be docking,” Zakanna’s fur had settled to an eggshell white, not as pristine as Yulo’s but impressive nonetheless.

  “I have an idea about that.” Khar gave a toothy grin. “I know someone—you’d call them a ka’tok—that can get us to the docking bay without being seen. He dwells in the underbelly of the ship, along the hull. If we can reach him, we have a chance.”

  12

  Azatok

  Takkar unlimbered his axe and took an experimental swing. It hummed through the air, drawing a grim smile from him. The techsmith had already fled, leaving him alone with Fizgig. He glanced at the Tigris and was appalled to find her licking her own fur. It was disgusting.

  Was she…bathing? With saliva?

  “Are you not going to ready yourself for battle?” Takkar demanded, looming over her. Despite recognizing her skill, he’d never trust or like her.

  “I am ready for battle,” Fizgig said, not looking at him. She began chewing on her shoulder, then licked the fur around it several times and looked up at him with those odd, slitted eyes. “What is it you feel I should be doing, exactly? You can hear the sounds of battle as well as I. They’re growing closer, and your forces are losing. We will be overwhelmed, and in all likelihood killed.”

  “You face your death calmly enough,” Takkar allowed, but grudgingly. “I do not know who leads them, but there is a chance that leader will accept my challenge. If I defeat them, they may cede me the ship, or at the very least grant our freedom.”

  Fizgig eyed Takkar critically, and he was very conscious of the fat that had accumulated around his midsection, bulging his armor outward. But he stood proudly, still a warrior. His edge had dulled, but he would turn his appearance to his advantage. Whoever he faced would underestimate him, assuming they faced a weak, aging warrior. Takkar could still fight, though—could still kill. He would teach the enemy the price of dismissing him.

  “Goddess watch over you, Takkar. If you can free us, perhaps we can salvage something. If not, we will sell our lives as dearly as we are able.” She returned to grooming, and Takkar fiercely envied her calm. She’d fully embraced death, the purest expression of haak he’d ever seen. She was more Ganog than anyone he’d ever met. More Ganog than Takkar.

  Even if she did bathe with saliva.

  A heavy transport disk approached, packed with Kthul elites in their sickly, green armor. A second and third disk followed, the figures aboard all wearing the scarlet armor of the Vkash. Traitors, every one. All three disks disgorged their charges, and dozens of elites fanned out around Takkar and the tiny Tigris.

  Rifles were raised, covering them from every direction. Fizgig didn’t react, and Takkar drew on her calm. He planted the head of his axe against the ground, waiting patiently for a commander to reveal himself.

  “Hello, Takkar,” rumbled a heavy voice. The elites parted, allowing a short, stocky warrior to approach. His fur was shorter than most, and partially shaved as only Kthul fanatics did. He wore a pair of long daggers at his side, and had a rifle strapped to his back.

  Takkar’s eyes widened when he recognized his opponent. The Kthul champion’s size was deceptive, but Takkar knew he was capable of blinding speed. Some believed he was really an Adept.

  “Hello, Azatok,” Takkar spat back. He took a step closer, holding his axe at the ready. “I see you’ve come to wrest Vkash’s Fist from me. Do you have the stomachs to fight for it yourself?”

  Azatok gestured expansively. “Look around, old man. Your ship is already mine, your people already pledged to my cause. They have embraced the Nameless Ones, as I have. We serve our rightful masters once more.”

  “Then you will not fight?” Takkar gave a derisive laugh. “Do you really fear me that much?”

  “You hope to provoke me into killing you, to spare you the shame of your latest defeat. I’m unsurprised. This is three terrible losses in a row, is it not?” Looking smug, Azatok approached Takkar but made no threatening moves. “Make no mistake, Takkar. I will kill you, and I will do it in the arena. Your days of winning the Imperial Games are long behind you. You’ve let yourself go. You are fat and weak. Yet I will still grant you a warrior’s death.”

  “Why not here and now?” Takkar asked, still hoping. He raised the axe, resting the blade casually on his shoulder.

  “Because,” Azatok turned to face him, smiling wickedly, “I want to broadcast your death to the whole of the Imperium. Let the Vkash see their leader fall, know that their fate is now tied to the Nameless Ones.” His fur shifted to a malicious red.

  Takkar’s shoulders slumped. His public execution would be humiliating—not just for him, but for his clan. In his prime he might have stood a chance against Azatok, but now? He was too slow, too old. He would die fighting, but he was under no illusions that he could kill Azatok.

  “Who is your companion?” Azatok asked, crouching before Fizgig. “No, no, don’t tell me. I recognize her species from the visions with which the Nameless Ones have blessed me. This must be the enemy fleet leader, the Mighty Fizgig. She is not nearly so fierce as I was led to believe. Can you talk, little creature?”

  Fizgig didn’t respond. She continued to lick her fur, seemingly unaware of Azatok’s presence.

  “I could have you put to death right now,” Azatok said, leaning closer to Fizgig. “Or I could kill you myself. A wise captive gives respect,
if she wishes to live.”

  “You will kill me sooner or later,” Fizgig said, continuing to groom, “so there seems little point in cooperation.” She didn’t look up at Azatok, or make any move to defend herself.

  “I think I will enjoy breaking you, little Tigris,” Azatok snapped. He gestured to his elites. “Have them taken to holding cells.”

  Takkar let himself be taken, and noticed that Fizgig didn’t resist either. The chance to fight and die passed, leaving them to the mercy of a merciless foe.

  He hoped they’d made the right decision, and that the others had managed to escape.

  13

  To Me

  T’kon aimed his slug thrower at the back of the elite’s head, then whistled. The shrill sound caused the warrior to turn, and T’kon shot him in the eye. A heartbeat later, the explosive round detonated, and the elite crashed to the ground. Smoke rose from his eye socket.

  “You do not have to woo me, husband,” Jehanna said, laughing like the girl she’d been when they’d first met. It was a welcome change, stripping away all the somberness that had settled over them recently.

  “A wise husband, particularly one who has just won his wife back, never stops trying to woo her,” T’kon countered, laughing as well. For the first time in as long as he could remember, there was joy in his heart.

  He sprinted to the transport disk, offering Jehanna a hand. She took it, though both knew she needed no assistance. She moved in close, pressed against his chest.

  “You’ve become wiser in your time away.” She smiled affectionately. “It did you good.”

  “It did,” T’kon said, nodding. He rested his sword against his shoulder. “Honestly? I would not change the events that led us here. The universe made me into what I need to be to oppose the Nameless Ones, and to safeguard our people.”