by Chris Fox
“Well, you were gone for over twenty minutes, sir. I wasn’t sure how long we should wait. I thought that—”
Another shape appeared in the darkness, and Nuchik popped into existence. A split second later Yulo materialized.
Nolan massaged his temples. “Are you even kidding me? All of you came?”
“Ah,” Nyar rumbled, “it has been countless millennia since we’ve had a full set of pilots. A Ganog Adept, and more of these humans, it seems. Most of you are not Ganog, but you will have to suffice.” He rose from the fire, propping his sword against a shoulder.
“You asked me if I was willing to be pilot. Before I decide, what can you tell me about the Nameless Ones?” Nolan asked, narrowing his eyes. It sounded like time passed more slowly in here, which meant they were falling behind the situation on Nyar. But he had to know.
“Much. I led the rebellion that freed the Ganog from the grip of the terrible Nameless Ones. Before that day, I spent a lifetime doing as I was bid, conquering worlds so that they might be devoured by the insatiable gods.” Nyar shuddered in distaste, then slammed his blade into the ground. The tip sank into the earth.
“You oppose the Nameless Ones,” Nolan said, “and you’ve killed one. So have I. I’m willing to bond.” There was no reservation, no hesitation. If he could fight the Nameless Ones, then he was damned sure going to do it.
“Very well,” Nyar said, and extended a hand toward Nolan.
Nothing visible happened, but a wave of energy enveloped him. Nolan dropped to his knees, staggering under the curtain of flame that seared his entire nervous system. It was like the million pinpricks of a limb waking up, except many times more painful and all over his body. Nolan was dimly aware of screaming himself hoarse, but he couldn’t focus on anything.
Finally, the fire faded.
His perceptions changed. Instead of the darkness, he now stood in the ruined Ganog city. Combat raged all around him; Ganog and mechs engaged swarms of bugs. In the distance, the Demetrius fled the bugs’ queen, a dreadnought-sized monstrosity.
She wasn’t anything like the Eye he’d killed, proving that there were different types of Gorthians. Her wings resembled a dragonfly, but her body was more like a wasp. She cast a shadow covering most of the city, and he guessed she was many times larger than an Omega or planetstrider.
Nolan realized that he was seeing through the Omega’s sensors, and that his ‘body’ was the Omega itself. He could feel the limbs, feel the areas that were still in need of repair. He could feel the Omega’s fusion core—and as he focused on it, that core roared to life.
Power surged through the Omega, gradually bringing systems back online.
Kokar’s disembodied voice sounded in his head, like a comm. “Nyar has accepted you. Well done, Captain. You have accomplished what I could not.”
“A pilot is weaker alone.” Nyar’s voice also sounded in Nolan’s head. “There is a reason the Omegas were designed as they are. Add your strength to our new pilot, Kokar, son of Grak.”
Sudden warmth spread along Nolan’s scalp, and he was dimly aware of another consciousness. He could feel Kokar’s mind, see his hazy surface thoughts. It was dizzying. There was Hannan, and Nuchik. Even Yulo was there, his mind the most difficult to pierce.
“Can you all feel the same thing I can?” Nolan asked in wonder.
“I can see into your mind,” Hannan said, giving a little laugh. “This is nuts.”
Nuchik spoke. “Uh, I’m not sure how I feel about you seeing into my head. Keep your eyes on your own thoughts, please.” She sounded immensely embarrassed, and Nolan did what he could not to look directly at her thoughts.
“Captain,” Yulo whispered, “I believe you have rediscovered the secret that allowed us to win against the Nameless Ones. I am…simply awestruck. Everything Adepts are taught prepares us to do exactly what we are doing. Suddenly, I understand the origins of my order.”
“You are correct,” Nyar rumbled. “Pilots were drawn from the Adepts, and only the best were selected. For millennia, our finest warriors rode these machines into battle.”
“Well it looks like everyone is online,” Nolan said, feeling a rush of elation. “Let’s find out what this thing can do.”
45
Upper Spire
The last two days had passed too quickly—a blissful interlude that seemed to be exactly what Zakanna needed. It had made her feelings for Khar clear, though of course she’d not articulated them. Neither could afford the luxury of romance. Distractions could be catastrophic.
And that was assuming Khar even felt the same way.
Zakanna flared her lower nostrils, effecting the image of a haughty noblewoman with a purpose. She clutched her cloak tightly about her, stepping aboard the transport disk. The mask was easy enough to wear, and she’d been surrounded by the best and worst noblewomen from every clan.
“Those guards are eyeing us,” Khar muttered, moving a little closer to her. He too clutched his cloak, his Tigris features obscured under his armor.
“They’re trying to decide if we’re a threat. If we pass on their watch, then cause trouble above, they’ll be blamed.” Zakanna glared down her nose at the guards, presenting an image they’d no doubt seen a dozen times in the past hour. “They’re unlikely to do anything, since we aren’t carrying obvious weapons.”
Khar pointed at the bracelet housing his plasma blade, and rested his paw on the sidearm belted at his side. “I beg to differ.”
“You’ve fought an elite in great form. Neither of those weapons is a real threat, and the guards know it. They don’t care about small, personal weapons.” She found it odd that the Coalition so tightly controlled who could have a weapon, and where.
The guards continued to eye them until they drifted out of sight. Only then did Zakanna close her lower nostrils, and begin to relax. The disk continued to the next level, the first part of the Royal Span. She hopped off, quickly scanning the crowd as Khar joined her.
“Even the Saurians have been replaced,” she whispered, drawing herself to her full height and once again becoming the imperial noblewoman. “All the guards are new, and they haven’t had time to learn names or faces.”
“That might make them stressed and distracted, but also more wary,” Khar cautioned. He shook his head. “That’s a bad combination. Perhaps it is time for us to use the belts.”
“Not yet. I want to make it as far as we can before we resort to them. As you said, the battery is limited. I have an idea—just play along.”
Willing her fur not to mirror the roiling in her stomachs, she strode boldly over to the guards, pausing before them with the kind of impatience that being a ruler had perfected in her. Eventually, the bored Kthul turned his face in her direction. Brief interest flickered in his eyes when he realized she was a female, but it dulled when he saw the sour expression on her face.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I need your assistance.”
“Yes?” the guard said, sighing heavily. His fur was a faint, bored brown.
“I need to reach the 33rd ring,” she snapped, then paused, forcing an obviously fake smile. “Apologies, I do not mean to take it out on you. Azatok took me as a consort, then I was mistakenly left behind. I’m trying to make my way back to him.”
Khar stiffened beside her, but at least had enough wisdom not to say anything.
“Uh,” the guard said, glancing briefly upward. His gaze came back to her, and she saw defeat enter his gaze. He knew she’d be persistent.
She tapped her foot impatiently.
That did it. “Of course. A common oversight. Please, take that disk over there.” He pointed at a row of rather official-looking white disks, which were under heavy guard.
“Thank you,” Zakanna said primly, and eyed Khar with mock distaste. “Come along, laborslave.”
She hurried toward the disks, and one of the guards moved to stop her. He paused, looking at the guard she’d just been speaking with. The first guard nodded his permissi
on, and the second guard stepped aside.
Zakanna and Khar stepped onto one of the disks and zoomed away from the ring. Zakanna tensed, waiting for the guards to realize they’d been duped; both went back to what they were doing, already having forgotten her.
“What just happened?” Khar asked, looking down at the guard she’d tricked.
“Champions of the arena frequent parties, and at these parties they bed noblewomen. When those noblewomen suddenly find themselves with child, they are sent to petition for marriage.” Zakanna grew more relieved as they ascended into the upper third of her spire. “He had no way of knowing what family I was from, or if offending me was dangerous. Far simpler to just let me go become someone else’s problem. I’m probably the third jilted noblewoman to approach this shift.”
“Clever.” Khar laughed. “Make him believe he knows exactly what he is dealing with, so he does not look deep enough to see the truth.”
“I wasn’t positive it would work, but this will shave almost a full day off our trip. We can reach the beacon in an hour, if we are careful. When we near the top we should activate our belts. The guards may think it odd that an empty disk arrived, but they are unlikely to report it. We should be able to sneak higher without being detected.” The disk continued to zoom upward, passing another cluster of islands. She could see the next ring above them. “Now.”
She thumbed the switch on her belt, shivering as the cool energy tingled over her fur. The technology was wondrous, as was the casual manner with which Khar talked about it. He took never-ending technical innovation as a matter of course, never understanding how alien it was to the Ganog.
The disk rose above the first royal ring, gliding to a stop next to the edge. She hopped quickly off, hearing Khar land next to her. She leaned closer, whispering. “We’ll wait for one of the larger disks to leave.”
“Genius,” Khar rumbled, more loudly than she’d have liked. Fortunately, it was covered by the hum of departing disks.
Zakanna hurried over to the part of the ring with the larger transport disks used by full parties. She had no idea how, but Khar never seemed to have any issue following her. That both impressed and exasperated her. No one could detect her when she didn’t wish to be detected—or so she’d always prided herself. The fact that he might be using some sort of technology reduced the sting.
She paused near a group of Kthul nobles boarding a disk, their Saurian attendants filling the space around them. Jumping off the side of the ring, she caught the transport disk with both hands and dangled beneath it, painfully aware of the endless drop below her.
A whoosh of air and a soft grunt told her Khar had landed as well, perhaps a meter away.
“Your plan begins to impress me,” Khar rumbled as the transport took off.
“If this works, we can repeat the process all the way to the highest levels. There is enough traffic this early in the day to get us all the way to my former quarters. From there we can easily make it to the beacon.”
She dared to hope they might actually succeed.
46
Assault the Beacon
Khar leapt from the island, catching another transport disk as it winged upward. Zakanna’s faint heat signature showed directly across from him, hanging from the other side of the disk. Above them stood a Ganog elite in brown armor, which Zakanna had told him identified the Azi clan.
He’d been shocked to hear that many members of the Azi, and even the Yog, had chosen to ally with the Kthul. The Tigris considered their pride a family, and did everything to protect it. Casting it aside was almost never done, for any reason.
The disk glided higher, passing another large island with what appeared to be an arena of some sort. The elite atop their disk roared out a jeer, adding to those being called by Ganog in the cluster of small islands orbiting the arena.
Khar magnified his vision, numbing when he realized he recognized the Tigris standing in that arena. It was Fizgig, her arms casually folded, her gaze filled with distaste and focused on a black-furred Ganog standing on a golden disk.
The disk carried them aloft, finally stopping perhaps seventy meters over the arena. To their right hovered a gigantic holoscreen. That screen showed the world of New Jaguara, one of the most heavily populated Tigris worlds, post-Eradication. A fleet of Ganog dreadnoughts hovered menacingly around that world.
A sharp click came from the area occupied by Zakanna, and Khar glanced up to see a monofilament rope streak up into the darkness. The line snapped taught, but the sound alerted the Ganog on the disk Khar dangled from. The warrior eyed the cable suspiciously, then reached for a plasma pistol.
Khar activated his nanochrons, flinging himself atop the disk. He seized the Ganog’s thick head with both hands, twisting violently. The Ganog’s neck snapped, and he went limp in Khar’s grasp. Khar struggled to keep his balance, carefully laying the body across the disk. If it fell, their presence would be revealed. He looked around at the other transport disks, but no one seemed to have noticed.
“The line is set,” Zakanna whispered. “I’m beginning my ascent.” A whirring sound began, and the line shook as Zakanna’s heat signature passed him.
Khar clipped himself to the line, activating his own climber. The wrist strap tightened and began carrying him upward. The arena—and Fizgig—quickly receded.
“Did you see who was in the arena?” Khar whispered to Zakanna.
“Yes. I don’t know how she’s still alive, but there’s nothing we can do to help her.” Zakanna’s tone held more regret than Khar would have expected.
“I know,” Khar said, forcing himself to look away from the arena. They needed to focus on the mission. If they somehow succeeded, perhaps they could help Fizgig. If not—if she died—that would be the course she herself would have chosen.
The mission above all. Pride above all.
Khar clenched his free fist. If she died, he would ensure that her valor was remembered.
A shadowy island grew above Khar. The bottom was painted black, cloaking it in shadow. It was simple, effective camouflage, and explained why most Ganog nobles had no idea this island existed, despite regularly attending games just a few hundred meters beneath it.
Zakanna’s shot had attached the cable at the very edge of the disk, setting it perfectly. Instead of having to crawl along the bottom of the island, they could crawl right over the side.
“How did you make that shot?” Khar asked as the island grew ever larger.
“I remembered where the island was. There’d be no reason to move it.” Zakanna shrugged.
“You made the shot from memory?” Khar asked, blinking.
“I’m an Adept. We strive for perfection, both in body and mind. It’s a simple enough thing to do.” Zakanna gave him a smile. “No less impressive than shots I’ve seen you make.”
Khar privately disagreed.
The line carried them to the lip of the island, and their climbers finally stopped whirring. They’d arrived. It was time to end this.
Khar leapt onto the island, rolling to his feet. His stealth belt still had twelve percent charge, and Zakanna’s should be identical. Plenty of time to do what they needed to do.
He studied the island, tensing as he scanned the enemy encampment. Tall tritanium barricades ringed the cube, largely obscuring it from sight. Khar could still see the glow, though, and occasionally the cube would bob over the barricade. Slits had been cut in the walls, allowing the defenders to peer out.
No one seemed to have detected their arrival, thankfully.
“You didn’t mention their fortifications,” Khar whispered, taking a step closer to Zakanna.
“They didn’t exist last time I was here,” she whispered back. “I’d guess that Utfa is expecting us. It’s no surprise really, not after he saw you in the arcanotome. He knows we have to take the beacon.”
“And we will,” Khar said. “They don’t appear to have detected us. Let’s see if we can sneak inside.” He let Zakanna take the lead,
since he could see her and she couldn’t see him.
She started forward, moving swiftly toward the barricade. It was constructed from bent pieces of tritainium, layered roughly on top of each other. Kits in first school could do a better job of it.
Zakanna leapt suddenly, landing on the edge of the wall above. Khar followed, landing next to her. Below stood a full compliment of Ganog elites, each already shifted into their greater forms. They stood with their backs to the cube, ready to defend it with their lives—at attention, full of relaxed alertness. Clustered around them were small knots of Adepts, many seated or kneeling.
Khar leaned closer to Zakanna. “Can we sneak close enough to plant the explosives?”
“No, they will smell us before we get there. We must fight.” Her voice was calm, but Khar could hear her thundering heart.
“Then let us fight,” he rumbled, leaping from the wall. Khar ignited his plasma blade, ramming it into an elite’s spine. He carved his way through bone and muscle, severing the spine entirely. The elite toppled, but Khar was already moving.
He kicked off the elite’s gigantic body, extinguishing his dagger. Other elites were turning in confusion, and Adepts were beginning to rise. Zakanna appeared for an instant, snapping an Adept’s neck, then breaking another’s leg with a sharp kick. Then she was gone.
Khar landed on the next elite’s shoulder, re-igniting his plasma blade and slamming it into the Ganog’s ear. The blade punched through the eardrum, continuing into the brain. The Ganog roared, slapping a massive hand over its ear.
Khar ducked the blow, rolling off the shoulder. He extinguished his blade, dodging the elite as its still-dying body toppled to the ground.
47
No, You Are Not
Fizgig eyed the transport disk, mildly surprised it had come so quickly. It had been less than a full day since the last time Azatok had summoned her. She rose slowly, arching her back as she yawned. What did he have in store for her this time? It would be her final chance to fight; of that she was certain.
