by Chris Fox
“That—I am surprised, husband,” Jehanna admitted. She eyed him curiously, but there was pride in her eyes as well. “You endured much. To shrug it off as building character is something I’d never have expected from you. I love you dearly, but you’ve always carried grudges further than any warrior I’ve ever met.”
“That was the old me,” T’kon said. “The prideful, surly leader, longing for past glories. Then I lost everything.” He holstered his slug thrower. “I had no choice but to see reality as it is, rather than as I believe it to be. I had no allies to coddle me, no wealth to shelter me. I lived off my wits, and often went to bed with stomachs rumbling. Everything I took for granted was stripped away, scoured to the foundation. From there, I rebuilt, and I’d like to think I am better for it.”
“If we die today, husband, know that I am proud of you,” Jehanna said, eyes shining. She caressed his cheek.
T’kon’s fur went purple-pink, and he didn’t care who saw. “That feeling is mutual, wife. You’ve achieved much, both as an Adept and as a voice for our people. You are the truest Azi I have ever known.”
The disk finally zoomed to a halt at the command island. T’kon tensed. A group of Kthul warriors was leading the attack, and they’d already shifted to great form. Some of the defenders had joined the enemy, though thankfully only a few. The Azi defenders were clustered behind pillars, struggling desperately to prevent their enemies from encircling them.
Their position wasn’t tenable, not in the long term. Not unless he did something.
He met Jehanna’s gaze, and she nodded fiercely.
“Rally to me,” T’kon boomed, flaring his lower nostrils. He sucked in deep breaths, growing a meter with every step. By the time he joined the defenders, he’d reached his full height.
He lobbed handfuls of flash grenades into the air over the enemy, then closed his eyes tightly.
Sharp flashes detonated in rapid succession. The instant they were over, T’kon opened his eyes and sprinted forward, running a Kthul through the back with his sword. He left the blade buried in the Kthul, and picked up the dead warrior’s particle rifle instead.
He turned that weapon on the enemy, catching the Kthul’s right flank in a crossfire with the defenders. They dropped quickly, and the enemy fell back. T’kon sprinted to the center of the pillars, hiding behind one near the center.
Several warriors fell in around him.
“We must cut a path through the traitors before they recover.” T’kon passed out more flash grenades. The warriors looked dubiously at them, but no one turned them away. “Use these.”
T’kon tossed a grenade into the air, ducking back behind the pillar. As soon as it detonated he charged the closest enemy, a Kthul in sickly green armor. The Kthul brought up his sword to block, but T’kon tossed a light grenade in his face, closing his eyes. A brief flash warmed his eyelids, and he opened them to find his opponent groping blindly. T’kon smashed the Kthul’s face with the butt of his particle rifle, dropping him.
“How many of those do you have, husband?” Jehanna called from a neighboring pillar.
“I have about two dozen more,” T’kon called, tossing another handful at a cluster of Kthul warriors. “That was something else I learned as a clanless hunter. Use any tool to win, and honor be damned. Ruthless warriors survive to the next battle.”
“Pragmatic,” Jehanna called, laughing, “and clearly effective.”
T’kon spun around the next combatant, ripping his slug thrower from its holster and shooting him in the back. The elite stumbled off, clutching at his terrible wound, only to have Jehanna land on his shoulder and slash his throat with a tiny dagger. He still clutched at his throat when the explosive round detonated inside his torso.
All around them the Azi rallied, pushing back the attackers. T’kon sucked in a deep breath. “They are on the defensive. Cut them down. No mercy!”
His elites roared, surging forward in a wave. T’kon joined them, weaving between opponents with little conscious thought. The battle lasted mere moments—and an eternity—the lust carrying him through his enemy with intense fervor.
Finally, the last Kthul fell with a cry, and there was blessed silence.
T’kon tossed the Kthul particle rifle to the ground, panting. “We’ve won. Techsmith, to me.”
A robed Saurian trotted over, arcanotome clutched in a death grip. “Yes, Clan Leader?”
“Send a message to all vessels to warp away. Head for site Theta.” T’kon relaxed, gradually shrinking in size.
“At once, Clan Leader.” The techsmith bowed, and backed away.
“We did it,” Jehanna said, striding up as he returned to his lesser form. She smiled, laughing. But the smile faded, and her fur darkened to an uncertain red. “So what now? Where do we go?”
“That question weighs heavily,” T’kon said, some of the joy leaving him. He looked out of the observation dome above them. “My heart says we should assault Imperalis with what we have. My head tells me that would end in disaster. Another course is warranted, but before I implement it we must purge our ranks of those sympathetic to the seekers. Then we will prepare to strike where they do not expect us.”
14
Clanless
Kokar joined the warriors in the lowest tier, with Hruk trailing in his wake. He shifted uncomfortably. All around him, the best of the Nyar warrior caste stared, and he felt naked, despite wearing his best armor. Their contempt was an open challenge, but Kokar had no choice but to ignore it.
Instead, he focused on the hologram that had appeared on the royal dais before his father.
“Calm yourself, Kokar,” Hruk whispered. “Do not let them see you fidget.” He stared at the holoscreen as well, ignoring the others.
Kokar stilled himself, watching the hologram expectantly. A sea of multicolored particles resolved into a face he knew well: the scarred, furless face he’d last seen on Imperalis. Utfa’s milky eyes stared smugly out at them.
“I have come to issue challenge,” Utfa said, the words dripping scorn. “Tell me, Grak, will the legendary Nyar hide inside that little ball of rocks, or will you test your might against my clan? The Kthul have come at last, to scour you away at the will of our masters. If you refuse to fight, we will destroy your other worlds, one by one, until only this hiding place remains.”
Grak ignored Utfa’s taunt, but bright scarlet leapt into his fur. Utfa smiled.
Grak cocked his head, as if trying to understand his opponent. “You must know that only death awaits you here. Your fleet will be torn apart if you approach. We possess every advantage.”
“In the skies, perhaps, but on the surface of that little world?” Utfa taunted. “If you meet me in the field, I will slaughter your people. My planetstriders will lay waste to your cities.”
Kokar knew the seeker had struck another blow.
His father clenched his fists. His fur blackened. “Prepare your armies, seeker. We will meet you on the south slope, just outside the city.”
“Perhaps you are not the coward I’ve heard you are. I have your word, then? You will allow my ground forces to safely warp in?” Utfa fixed his milky eyes on Grak. “I know that your Nyar honor won’t allow you to break that word, but I have yet to hear you swear it.”
“Very well. I swear it. Your planetstriders, and any vessel that is cruiser size or smaller, will be allowed to warp safely into our system. My dreadnoughts will not engage your vessels—but make no mistake, if you attempt any tricks they will blast your ships from the sky.” Grak gave a low growl. “Now, prepare yourself, Kthul scum. Come find your death on the south slope.”
Kokar’s fur went ashen. He slumped into his seat, only dimly aware of Hruk’s arm around him.
“Are you all right, lad?” Hruk asked.
“Father,” Kokar roared, shooting to his feet.
His voice cut through the cacophony, and one by one, the other Ganog fell silent as they realized that Grak was staring at his son.
Kokar
waited for total silence before speaking again. “I urge you to reconsider. Shunt their fleet into the debris field, and let us end the Kthul once and for all.”
“You would have me break my word?” Grak asked, his fur plunging into deep scarlet. “How have I raised such a coward? I know it cannot be your mother’s doing. If she lived, she would be deeply ashamed—as I am shamed. We are on the eve of battle with our hated foes. We have every advantage. Yet you council us to fight like they do, to think as wretched Kthul. Have you not a shred of pride remaining?”
“Father, we must be greater than our pride. They will betray us. You know that. You gave your word, and Utfa will use those words to hang you with. He is vile and treacherous, but most of all he is devious. He wrested Imperalis from the Yog, and has poisoned all clans, even our own.” Kokar knew that last accusation would draw his father’s ire, so he plunged ahead. “Unless you wish to name your own son a liar, in front of all. You know what I saw, Father. One of our clan went over to the seekers, and were so far gone they attempted to assassinate the empress. If it’s possible for one, then it could certainly happen again.”
Grak unlimbered his chopping sword, his gaze murderous. “No, no more of your cowardly prattling. I name you clanless, Kokar. You are cast from our ranks. You may stay upon our world until the end of this battle, and then you will depart forever. If you are still here when I return from battle, I will deal your deathblow myself. I have no son.”
Grak turned away and stalked from the chamber. Sharp whispers flowed through the Ganog ranks, as they too began to disperse.
Kokar ignored them. His fur shifted to a determined brown. So be it.
He turned from his father’s retreating form, walking proudly from the hall. He saw the pain and indecision in Hruk’s eyes, and it meant more than he could ever express when his mentor followed him from the chamber.
15
Nyar Will Fall
Utfa took a deep breath, flaring his lower nostrils. He stared up at the floating ball of asteroids protecting his clan’s oldest enemies. Three times in the course of Ganog history the Kthul had attempted to take this world. Each time they’d failed, either because they could not breach the warp anchor or because their ground forces were simply not strong enough.
This time, Nyar would fall. Utfa closed his eyes, savoring the pulses of data from his arcanotome. Coming into contact with a Nameless One carried a heavy price, but the rewards were great. He could feel his fleet readying.
The entire Void Wraith fleet—all eight hundred of them—had mobilized, ready to warp at his command. A niggling whisper in the back of his mind insisted that he shouldn’t commit them all, that the Nyar could prove to be more canny than they appeared.
He was entrusting a great deal to their honor, and if they reneged on their agreement it would place him in a very difficult position. Of course, if he was honest with himself…he’d almost rather be rid of the Void Wraith altogether. They were potent, but he had no illusions about who they truly served.
The day would come when they were used against him, if he weren’t careful.
A robed techsmith bowed low before Utfa. “Your command, emissary?”
“Initiate.” He raised his hand to punctuate the command. Green-blue rippled briefly through his fur, and his stomachs gurgled. The fear would not be banished, even though he knew this day would deliver his greatest wish.
The world lurched and folded in on itself, and then Utfa was elsewhere. His dreadnought materialized at the rear of the fleet, and several dozen Ganog cruisers moved into a protective cloud around him. They looked so small and weak; no wonder the Nyar assumed themselves superior.
Utfa smiled as his little convoy made for the surface where, at this moment, his planetstriders were warping in. Only two—just enough to show that he was committed. The real threat would materialize only once he’d arrived, and by then it would be far too late for Grak and his pitiful defenders.
The holographic display shifted, populating with all the vessels in the system. His tome fed him additional data, giving context to what he was seeing. All eight hundred Void Wraith harvesters had cloaked, and were now swarming toward the warp anchor.
The rest of his forces were inbound to the planet, and the unsuspecting Nyar fleet had moved away from the anchor to hover over the ground battle. It was unlikely they’d intervene, but only a fool would leave such a potent weapon out of the battle.
That was exactly what Utfa had been expecting, and what Oako had predicted—and Utfa was ready for this eventuality. He was unsurprised when the techsmith stepped forward, bowing.
“Emissary, the Ganog fleet leader is hailing us.”
“Open a channel,” Utfa said, smiling.
A holodrone walked over, and a lifelike version of an unfamiliar Ganog appeared, snarling. “You were warned not to bring any dreadnoughts. You have broken our agreement.”
“I thought you’d allow my flagship,” Utfa protested with mock innocence, “since I am not participating in the battle.”
“Prepare yourself for battle, Kthul scum.” The hologram vanished.
Utfa roared his laughter and, still chuckling, turned to the techsmith. “Unleash the Omegas. Once they’ve finished the ground forces, have them focus on the Nyar fleet.”
16
A Fool I've Been
“Cut them down,” Grak bellowed, pointing at the enemy with his sword. “None survive!”
Hundreds of enlarged warriors surged forward, rushing down the gentle slope toward the waiting mass of enemies. Below them stood dozens of grounded enemy vessels—sleek, blue ships with predatory wings jutting out past the body. Ramps had lowered from every harvester, and rank upon rank of spindly blue robots advanced.
Most stood no taller than a Saurian, but one in twenty stood half as tall as a Ganog great form. Those larger ones could be a threat, judging by the particle cannons they carried. The weapons were unfamiliar, but Kokar had described them.
Grak leaned toward the battle, wishing he was joining the charge. He longed for the thrill of the bloodlust, the feel of an enemy breaking under his blade. But he had a greater responsibility. He must safeguard his people, leading them to victory with as few casualties as possible. Every Nyar was needed against the Nameless Ones. That meant a leader could not fill the role of warrior, however much he wished to.
The ground rumbled, then shook violently, in the way only a planetstrider could cause—but it wasn’t the enemy planetstriders. Both of those still stood in place, well outside the combat.
Three shapes appeared in the morning mist, the thick clouds obscuring them from the waist up. The legs weren’t right for planetstriders. They were blue, just like the robots his clan now battled.
“These must be the Omegas that made Kokar piss himself,” Grak snarled. He stalked forward, watching as his men engaged the Void Wraith. They rushed the first wave, crushing them.
Then the fallen began to explode. The explosions damaged Void Wraith and Ganog alike, flinging them about like refuse. Yet the Void Wraith numbers seemed infinite. They still marched from the vessels, rank upon rank wading into the combat.
The next rank of Nyar warriors took greater care, kicking or hurling fallen Judicators away from themselves before they could detonate. His people learned quickly, as their training demanded. They’d been bred and steeped in war, more so than any other clan. It was all they knew, the very reason for their existence: Stop the Nameless Ones, at any cost.
The Void Wraith lines began to crumble, and the enemy survivors were forced back toward the ships. Grak found himself more suspicious than pleased. This was too easy a victory. He turned his attention to the three figures in the mist. Their upper bodies were still obscured by the clouds, but they’d turned to face the Nyar ranks.
The ground rumbled in earnest now as the Nyar planetstriders advanced toward the Omegas. He’d ordered all seven into the fray, determined to force his opponent’s retreat as soon as possible. The fact that Utfa had brought
only two of the Kthul planetstriders was troubling.
A Saurian techsmith, cowering in her robes, appeared at his side. “Clan Leader, apologies. I have news.”
“Deliver it,” Grak ordered, still staring suspiciously at the Omegas. The planetstriders were slowly encircling them, both sides at extreme range. No one had fired yet.
“The warp anchor is under attack. Hundreds of Void Wraith vessels decloaked all around it. The station…is lost.” The Saurian fell to her knees, warding herself with her arms.
Grak raised his head and roared, his fur surging into red-black. His vision clouded, and his more primal nature asserted itself. He slammed his foot down on the techsmith’s back, crushing her spine.
His rage sated, he turned back to the Omegas. “So that is your game, Utfa. You draw my attention here, and then assault the warp anchor. As clever as it is dishonorable. But let us see how you fare on the ground.”
Grak smiled grimly as his planetstriders surged forward and rushed the Omegas. The ground quaked violently under their lumbering charge. The first Omega turned toward them, sliding an enormous foot backward to brace itself. The motion peeled away the clouds, and a furious wind knocked Grak back a step.
For the first time, he saw the Omega fully. He blinked, and his jaw went slack. “It cannot be,” he whispered.
He recognized the Omega, knew it as he knew the skin of his own face. What could it possibly mean? The cannon in the chest. The sleek, deadly arms. Every detail was the same, bringing him back to the pilgrimage he’d taken as a youth, to the tomb of Nyar.
Both planetstriders unleashed a hail of missiles, the flaming projectiles swarming the Omega. They detonated in a spectacular staccato, smoke and flame ballooning outward around the humanoid figure. The smoke obscured it, briefly, then cleared to show a shimmering veil of energy around the Omega.
