The Complete Void Wraith Saga

by Chris Fox

  “I’ll take all the help I can get, sir,” she drawled. “Might even be worth getting Hannan up here, and whoever else you can scrounge up. I’ll find a use for ‘em.”

  34

  Repairs

  Nolan ducked past an exposed conduit, wincing as sparks shot up from the weld Annie was making. He continued into the Omega’s nerve center—what he assumed must be the brain. Repairs were going well thus far, at least from what he could see.

  Per his directions, Alpha Company’s techs were working only on internal systems. From the outside, there was no sign that any change had been made. He’d even made sure the techs entered with stealth belts and under cloud cover to prevent orbital satellites from picking up heat signatures.

  He scanned the room, trying to find the person in charge. Once, that would have been Lena, but after Imperalis she’d been transferred to intelligence. She was helping the Coalition to understand who the Nameless Ones were, something Nolan desperately wanted more data on. Unfortunately, without her, all Nolan had access to was Annie. No one in Burke’s outfit was qualified either as a scientist or full engineer.

  “Get that conduit down to the knee,” Annie barked, with the kind of authority a drill sergeant would envy. The sharp tone was new for her. She ambled up to Nolan, giving a wide, deceptively innocent smile. “Welcome, Captain. Repairs are going smoother than a Primo’s bald head.”

  “What are you working on there?” Nolan asked, nodding toward the conduit a tech was ripping out of the wall.

  “We’re cannibalizing conduits to repair damaged areas. We can’t manufacture the fiber used in the Omega, so we have no other choice.” Annie half-turned to face Kokar as the Ganog approached.

  “Captain.” Kokar said, stopping next to Nolan. “A word, please?”

  “Sure, what’s up?” Nolan asked, distracted by the slowly bobbing cube in the center of the room. It reminded him so much of the master core in Primo libraries. The connection was troubling.

  “I begin to believe that your people may be able to repair this titanic weapon,” Kokar rumbled, his fur rippling between tan and chocolate. “I still do not understand what you intend to do then. How will we pilot this?”

  “Well, we didn’t find any consoles,” Annie interjected apologetically, “or any other obvious means for a person to interface with the Omega.”

  “What do you mean?” Nolan asked, pointing at the ring of chairs around the cube. “Those are how you interface with the machine. It plugs into your spine, and presumably you link up with the Omega. We’re not going to find a yoke or foot pedals.”

  Kokar’s fur drifted toward yellow. “I suppose that is the heart of the matter. Hruk warns that if I forge a connection to this machine, I will never be the same. He further warned that I could die in the attempt, though he won’t say how he knows these things.”

  Nolan rubbed his jaw, considering his answer carefully. “If you’re saying that you’re unwilling to use the chair, I completely understand. I’m not in a hurry to either. We can find another volunteer.”

  “Not if we wish to see me become Clan Leader.” Kokar shook his head, then sighed. “It is really very simple, Captain. If I am to lead, I must do it in battle. I must control this machine, and my people must know that it is I that do so. There is no other way.”

  “So, what is the problem, exactly?” Nolan demanded. He’d long since lost patience with the Nyar clan, and while he liked Kokar more than any of the rest, the youth’s constant angst was getting really old.

  “I merely seek to understand my fate.” Kokar’s tone was both defensive and hurt. “Why are there five chairs? Why not one?”

  “I’d guess different functions are controlled by different pilots.” Nolan shrugged. “The only way for us to know is to try one of the chairs. I know you have to pilot this thing in order for your people follow you, but if you’d like, we can have a volunteer test it before we plug you in.”

  “No,” Kokar snapped, his fur dipping to a deep, envious green. “I will be the one to test it. This is my heritage, no other’s.”

  “All right,” Nolan said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “But if you’re going to be the one to do this, now might be a good time. If it doesn’t work, or if there’s a problem, the sooner we know about it, the more likely we’ll be able to fix it.”

  Kokar gave a tight nod, and his fur slowly faded back to its more normal tan. “If I am to do this, I suppose there is no point in avoiding it any longer.”

  Kokar moved to the closest chair, running his furry hand along the metal. He looked at another chair, finally stopping next to the third. There was no difference between them that Nolan could discern, but Kokar laid down in the third chair. He pushed his back up against the prongs, and there was a sudden snap.

  All four prongs shot out, silvery tendrils shooting into Kokar’s neck on either side of the spine. He gave an agonized roar, thrashing violently in the chair. His arms slapped down onto the chair, pinned as if held by magnets. He gave one more spasm, then lay still.

  Nolan shot to his side, feeling for a pulse. There was one, just as strong as he’d ever felt.

  “He’s still breathing.” Nolan sighed. “I wish we had a doctor on hand. We really need to add support staff to these missions.”

  “You know what the admiral would say about that,” Annie said, ambling over from the conduit she’d been welding. “Manpower, blah, blah. ‘Sides, there ain’t many doctors left after the last war. Maybe the Ganog have one.”

  “They’d probably use leeches,” Nolan said.

  Kokar was on his own, like it or not.

  35

  Nyar

  Kokar whirled, his lower nostrils flaring as his body instinctively readied for combat. He was smothered in darkness, soundless and impenetrable. He had the sense that he was in some great cavern, though he could see no rock in the inky blackness.

  “Show yourself,” he boomed, thumping his chest with a fist. “I am Kokar, son of Grak. I will not be ignored.” His voice echoed through the darkness for long moments, fading to silence.

  A deep voice rumbled from the blackness. “Is this what my descendants have come to?”

  Light sprang up near Kokar’s feet, a roaring campfire of the sort he might strike while hunting. It appeared, already crackling, as if it had been there all along.

  A Ganog warrior stepped from the shadows, his flat-black armor absorbing the firelight. He had intense eyes and long, tangled fur. The hilt of a two-handed sword jutted over his broad shoulders, and a heavy plasma pistol was belted to his side.

  “Who are you?” Kokar demanded, wrapping his hand around the haft of his axe.

  “I am called Nyar, son of Nuun.” Nyar dropped into a crosslegged position on the other side of the fire. “Sit. Join me, Kokar, son of Grak.”

  Kokar sat, releasing his axe. He folded his hands in his lap, staring at the Ganog in wonder. “Are you really Nyar himself?”

  “I am unsure how to answer that question. My name is Nyar, and I am aware of no other Ganog with the same name.” Nyar shrugged, unbuckling his sword and setting it next to him.

  “Did you found our clan?” Kokar asked.

  “I founded a clan, and that clan chose to adopt my name as theirs,” Nyar conceded. He leaned forward, his features illuminated by the firelight. “You are a member of this clan?”

  “I am. We trace our lineage all the way back to you, across a thousand generations,” Kokar said proudly. He sat up straighter, a million questions tumbling through his mind.

  “And why have you come to me after so long, Kokar? Have the Nameless Ones returned?” Nyar’s fur darkened, and he adopted a dangerous look. An urgent look.

  “They have, though I have yet to see one myself. Our new allies, a race called humans, slew a giant eye. They’ve warned that more might be coming, and I believe them. Recently, the Kthul invaded Imperalis—”

  “Kthul lives? You have seen him?” Nyar demanded, his fur shifting to match the
fury of the campfire.

  “I…do not believe so. I meant the Kthul clan, led by one of the treacherous seekers,” Kokar struggled to hold the ancient hero’s gaze. Finally he looked away.

  Nyar spat into the fire, the saliva burning away with a sizzle. “And this clan serves the Nameless Ones?”

  “They do. The fact that he has openly seized power suggests that the Nameless Ones have finally returned. I’ve come to you to win your aid. This mighty war machine might be able to help free my people from the Kthul boot.” Kokar rose to his knees, picking up his axe and holding it before him. “I will do anything you ask, great Nyar. Show me how to pilot this beast, and I will use it to slay those who serve the Nameless Ones.”

  “It is not so simple, son of Grak.” Nyar shook his head sadly. “Controlling this war machine is no easy feat. Most who attempt to do so fail. Many die in the attempt. Even if you succeed, the price is high. You will be bonded, and when your physical body dies you will merge with me, as I merged with my predecessor. You will become this machine, a part of us.”

  Kokar licked his lips. Nyar’s words suggested there was still time to change his mind, to go back to being a simple Ganog elite. To serve, instead of lead. To die, next to Bruth.

  “I am ready.” And he was. “Make me a part of you, Nyar. Give me control of this mighty beast.”

  “Very well. Prepare yourself,” Nyar said, intoning the words with reverence that his previous words had lacked.

  Fire flooded Kokar’s body, his every nerve becoming a bonfire. The universe flickered around him, alternating between the strange fire and an entirely new perspective.

  He was a giant machine, staring out at the forest.

  Then he was Kokar again. He struggled to maintain the new perspective, briefly flexing the fingers on one hand, but the giant slipped away, and he was once again seated at the fire.

  He hung his head. “I have failed.”

  “Indeed.” Nyar rose to his feet, eyeing Kokar sadly. “You lack the will, Kokar, son of Grak. If you try again, you will not survive.”

  36

  Catch Our Breath

  Khar completed his circuit of the crust surrounding the ancient spire, then returned to the cable he’d set earlier. He rappelled down into the darkness, dropping silently to the island they were using as a staging camp.

  Zakanna sat by herself, crosslegged in what humans called a lotus position. Khar didn’t know what a lotus was, but suspected the beast was fearsome.

  He landed not far from Zakanna, but she didn’t react to his presence. Her eyes were closed, her breathing slow and rhythmic. Khar sat down next to his pack, leaning his back against a shelf. He didn’t need sleep, and had grown used to long stretches when everyone else slumbered. He often used the time to recharge, but that merely meant he needed to be immobile. Sleep itself was denied him.

  “You are a conundrum, Khar of Pride Leonis,” Zakanna said, eyes still closed. Her pristine fur shone in the afternoon light filtering down from the holes in the crust above. “You are a warrior, yet embrace science. You have fierce pride, but willingly set it aside to work with former enemies. I have never met anyone like you.”

  “I am merely a product of my training,” Khar explained, resting his paws in his lap. “Mighty Fizgig showed me how to be more than a warrior. More than a savage brute. There is more to honor than feats of valor, something I didn’t understand at a younger age.”

  “You speak very highly of her,” Zakanna said, finally opening her eyes. She turned them on Khar, and he was once again struck by their intensity. “Is she really as good as you say? The way you and Nolan speak of her, it’s as if she’s a deity, a goddess of combat.”

  “She is, and more. Fizgig terrorized the humans for many years. Only one of their commanders ever faced her and lived, and he narrowly escaped with his life,” Khar explained. He smiled warmly at the memory. “The humans are allies now, but there was a not-so-distant time when we were foes. Fizgig was the first to realize the need for an alliance. She battled Admiral Mow, or rather the creature Mow had become. He’d been infected by the Gorthians, and that infection gave him great physical strength. It did not matter. Fizgig tore out his throat, freeing my people and turning the war back on the Gorthians.”

  “Why does Nolan speak of her with affection if she is such a bane to his people?” Zakanna asked. She rose gracefully, and moved to sit next to Khar. Her intense gaze was fixed on him.

  “During the first battle for the Void Wraith, compromises were made. Nolan was placed in charge of a mission, and Fizgig agreed to serve under his command. He earned her respect, and she began to teach him to fight. Humans do not teach their officers hand-to-hand combat, believing it a waste of time.”

  Zakanna goggled at him.

  “Lunacy, I know. Fizgig rectified that. She taught Nolan to fight, and he’s become quite deadly. She mentored him, even as she mentored me. That is why Nolan honors her, and he is right to do so. She is old but far from weak. She wears her age as a mask, and woe to anyone who underestimates her.”

  Shuffling footsteps echoed from the bridge, and Aluki waddled into view, panting from the exertion. The bridges were tough on the Whalorians, but neither her nor her husband had complained. They’d both been thrilled at the prospect of so much new knowledge, and were already carting piles of scrolls back to the ship.

  “Mmm, a moment, please,” Aluki said, resting against a shelf as her piping breaths returned to normal. “I have news. Halut has discovered a data repository. It appears much like the arcanotome, but with a more conventional interface. I believe we can use it to explore a digital repository, without fear that they will be able to see us.”

  37

  The Void Wraith

  Zakanna knelt next to the terminal, sitting gently upon the chair, something she’d previously only seen aboard Saurian or Whalorian ships. She found the concept of sitting…odd.

  The terminal’s screen filled with purple text on a black background, the sigils maddeningly familiar. She turned to Aluki, more than a little agitated that she couldn’t read the words herself. “What does it say?”

  “This part talks about the war before war. The Ganog were a slave species to the Nameless Ones,” Aluki explained. She tapped the screen, and the sigils changed. “It goes on to talk about the overthrow and the end of the war. Nyar killed a Nameless One, and after that the rest left. The Ganog were unsure what to do.”

  Aluki was silent for a while as her eyes scanned the sigils, and Zakanna tried not to fidget. She waited patiently—well, as patiently as she could.

  “Mmm, it seems that in overthrowing the Nameless Ones, the Ganog cleared the path to taking this world. They seized Imperalis, and the beacon. Once they’d done so, there was a great schism among the clans.” Aluki tapped the screen again. “Some wanted to destroy something they call ‘the guardians’.”

  “The Void Wraith,” Khar supplied. He was crouched against the far wall, polishing his pistol with a rag.

  “Yes, the Void Wraith. Mmm, some wanted to free them, which could apparently be accomplished by the destruction of the beacon. A third faction won out over the others.” Aluki pointed at the screen. “That faction had the Void Wraith locked away, to aid the Ganog if the Nameless Ones ever returned. Yog, Vkash, and Azi were stationed here. Nyar was entombed at the site where he’d slain a Nameless One. Kthul was never found, hidden by his clan.”

  “What does that mean exactly?” Zakanna asked, pursing her lips. “The way they speak of the clans, it’s as if they were individuals. Great warriors.”

  “A great warrior would not be enough to kill a Gorthian,” Khar said, shaking his furry head. He licked his chops, exposing impressive fangs.

  The illusion was perfect, and Zakanna once again marveled that he was synthetic.

  “Gorthians—adult ones, anyway—are strong enough to survive entry into a star. A single warrior, even a Ganog elite, would be nothing more than a minor irritation.”

  “Then wh
at do you think they’re talking about?” Zakanna asked. “A metaphor, perhaps?”

  “Mmm, possibly. But I do not think so. The context for this sigil—it suggests that they are weapons of some kind.” Aluki tapped the screen again, peering at the symbols.

  “There were three of these weapons left behind?” Khar asked.

  “Yes,” Aluki confirmed, nodding.

  “The Void Wraith are still alive, in a way. Their nervous systems are taken from living beings. What if Yog, Azi, and Vkash are Void Wraith? They could be the Omegas we saw when we last fled this world.”

  “Mmm, I believe you are onto something,” Aluki said, still reading. “This says that the only Nameless One killed was by Nyar, and that it happened in defense of the people of all worlds. The Nameless Ones had come to devour them all.”

  “That matches what we know of them. They harvest all genetic material from entire planets.” Khar shuddered. “Their appetite is endless, but they are often vulnerable at the moment of feeding.”

  “There is more,” Aluki said. “The officers among the Void Wraith, and the Omegas—they all came from high-ranking leadership caste. They were Ganog. In enslaving them to the beacon, your people were forcing their own heroes into something worse than slavery.”

  “It seems barbaric,” Zakanna said, “particularly since the tactic has ended up delivering an army to our enemies.” She shook her head regretfully. “My heart goes out to those warriors. Perhaps we can finally free them.”

  “Doing so will be very dangerous,” Khar pointed out, folding his arms. The muscles bunched, just as they would have in a Ganog male. “The Void Wraith have been in stasis for many millennia. Odds are good they remember nothing, so as far as they are concerned, they were just betrayed by the Ganog yesterday. If we free them, they may see all Ganog as enemies. Your people could be in danger.”