The Destroyer of Worlds: War of the Ancients Trilogy Book 2

by Alex Kings

  By itself, the Dauntless could never just waltz up to the Varanid homeworld. But with Vyren, they had a chance.

  “This vessel, the Dauntless, has been given the remit by Tethya to act on behalf of every species,” said Vyren. “Humans, Tethyans – and Varanids.”

  Russot grunted. “Yes. I heard about that. That attack on Tethya was led by humans, wasn't it?”

  “By a rogue faction,” said Hanson.

  “IL. The biggest human corporation. That is a rogue faction?” Russot glared at him. “I am not stupid, Captain. I know what goes on in the rest of the galaxy. The Republic may not get involved in politics, but we pay attention.” He sighed. “What is your business?”

  “We seek a Varanid who may be linked to the attack on Tethya,” said Vyren. “His name is Arka. We believe he is headed to Ghroga. Here are the details of his ship.”

  Lanik transmitted the data to the Varanid ship.

  Russot glanced down at an offscreen display. “We will investigate it for you.”

  “It is our investigation,” said Vyren.

  “It was, until it became a matter among Varanids on Varanid territory.”

  Hanson's jaw tensed. He couldn't lose his lead, not now. The Varanids didn't know how urgent it was – they could spend weeks or months, and by that time it would be too late.

  Vyren's armoured tentacles flared slightly. A subtle sign of aggression? If Hanson remembered his training on alien body language correctly, it was.

  “I repeat,” said Vyren. “This Varanid is linked to the attack on Tethya. I hope you understand that we have a very strong interest on finding him. I come on this ship as a matter of courtesy. Would you rather I come with a fully armed Tethyan battleship?”

  Russot was silent for a few seconds, during which he reached out and flicked off the heat lamp. “Very well,” he grunted. “SAV Dauntless, of the Solar Alliance … and the Tethyans … I hereby give you permission to enter the Varanid Republic. You will travel straight to your destination, Ghroga, without visiting any other colony or planet in Varanid Territory. You may stay there as long as your deem fit.”

  “Thank you,” said Vyren, letting his tentacles relax.

  “Russot out.” The reptilian face vanished.

  “You heard the man,” Hanson said to Fermi. “Straight to Ghroga. Jump when ready.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  *

  It took four hours to get to Ghroga. At last, the Dauntless jumped into the system. The bulky Varanid ships had already been informed of their presence, and left them alone. At Hanson's behest, Srak had joined them on the bridge, even though that meant there was almost no room at all left.

  “Slow burn towards the planet,” Hanson ordered. “Let's not do anything to alarm them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “ETA?”

  “Six minutes.”

  That was good enough for Hanson.

  Ghroga was a chalky yellow planet, spotted with browns and blacks. Giant lakes instead of real seas – only 22% of the surface was water. On the nightside, Hanson could see the red glow of a chain of volcanoes. In the northern hemisphere, there was a swirl of clouds. It was a permanent storm as big as Europe.

  “The homeworld,” Srak said in a low voice. “Never thought I'd see it again.” He growled faintly, then shrugged.

  “Any advice?” Hanson asked.

  “Aliens think Varanids are violent,” said Srak. “A warrior race, or something like that. It's not true.” He paused, looked at Hanson, and put a hand to his chest. “There are some exceptions, of course.” He laughed. Then he continued, “But our history isn't warlike. We're not as violent or aggressive as the Glaber, Humanity, or the Petaurs. Aliens think that because we're big, and we're tough. Why are we tough?”

  Srak smiled, and pointed at the image of Ghroga on the screen. “Because of that planet. It's not as cosy as Earth, captain. We have continual volcanoes that spit up obsidian. Lighting storms that shatter the obsidian into deserts of razor-sharp rocks and sand. And regular 300kph winds that hurl those razor-sharp rocks across the landscape. Everything that lives on Ghroga is tough, because it has to be.”

  Having shared this fact, Srak sat back, apparently satisfied.

  “If the Varanids aren't violent,” said Hanson, “what are they?”

  “Pompous,” said Srak.

  “We're entering orbit now,” Dunn said.

  “And we're getting a hail from the capital,” added Miller.

  “Put it through,” said Hanson.

  A reptilian face appeared on one of the overhead displays against a background of some vividly painted walls. The scales – or denticles – had the stronger colours of a female.

  “Varanid parliament, this is Dauntless Actual,” said Hanson.

  The Varanid's voice was slightly softer, but there were still undertones there too deep for any human to produce.

  “Captain Hanson,” she said, “hero of Tethya. And Representative Vyren. I am Councillor Kuta of the Varanid Parliament. Greetings and salutations. I welcome you to Ghroga.” She caught sight of Srak as he moved into view of the camera. Her friendly tone vanished immediately. “And … Srak. Yes, I heard you were on that ship.”

  Srak grunted.

  Nodding politely, Hanson said, “Thank you, Councillor.”

  Kuta's friendly manner returned immediately. “Come down to the capital. I'm to help you with your investigation, and make sure you don't overstep any bounds.”

  “Of course.” Hanson glanced at Srak. “I assume all my team are welcome on the surface”

  “Whoever you wish to bring,” said Kuta. “But no weapons, please. Anyone found carrying weapons will be ejected and forbidden from returning.”

  “Understood,” said Hanson. “Dauntless out.”

  Chapter 13: A Dignified Entrance

  A soft roar began as they hit atmo, and the air around them started to glow cherry red. At the controls, Hanson checked their trajectory. A short transmission from the capital's meteorological institute came in saying that there were no razorstorms nearby and air traffic was safe.

  Behind him, Agatha sighed. “No weapons,” she said. “How bloody boring.”

  “Boring,” said Srak. “That sums up Ghroga.”

  “You feel no nostalgia for the place?” said Vyren.

  Srak laughed. It sounded a little forced. “No.”

  “It puts us at a disadvantage too,” said Agatha. “You aside, Srak. If we do get into any trouble, it's hand-to-hand with a Varanid.”

  “My effector fields have some limited defence capability,” said Vyren.

  “And,” said Srak, “if you manage to get into a fistfight with a Varanid, I'm sure you'd find some way of beating him up.”

  There was a soft thump, a sound with which Hanson was now quite familiar – the affectionate gesture of Agatha punching Srak as hard as she could in the arm. “Aw, thanks!” she said.

  After a moment, Srak said, “You're not hiding any weapons are you? Not in your boot, or down your top, or – ”

  “No!” Agatha said firmly. Relaxing, she added,“So, what's the deal with Kuta? Do you know her?”

  “I did,” said Srak. “But that was a long time ago.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Just leave it. It'll be easier that way.”

  The capital was now in view. It was sprawling, flat city, but startlingly, vividly colourful against the yellow-brown desert outside. The buildings were rarely more than two storeys in height. Some were shallow domes, but most were built with acute corners, to separate winds. The paint jobs – sharp reds, electric blues, deep oranges, were scoured by the wind, but still looked strong. The streets themselves were immensely wide. A network of tubes rans through the city – presumably some sort of transport system. It, too, was painted colourfully.

  Hanson flew over the city towards the parliament building. It was higher than anything else in the city, but still sprawling. A dome sat where the two wings of the building met. It looked
skeletal, a little like a cathedral, covered in flying buttresses and hundreds of spires.

  In front of it was a spaceport. Hanson lowered the shuttle into the assigned berth, and opened the doors.

  A team of four Varanids stood outside, waiting. One of them was Kuta – she wore an elegant, smart jacket with extra holes for her middle arms. The other Varanids wore a slightly more colourful uniform.

  “Welcome to Ghroga,” said Kuta. “We just need to do a quick inspection.”

  One of the other Varanids stepped forward, holding some sort of scanner. He waved it over Hanson and the others. “All clean,” he said.

  Kuta nodded. “Good,” she said. “This way, Captain.” They moved off towards the parliament building.

  On the way, Hanson began to appreciate how large everything was. It hadn't been clear from the air, but every shuttle docked here was at least twice the size of his own.

  “You know,” said Kuta. “I think the last human to set foot on Ghroga came over five years ago.”

  “It's a great honour,” said Hanson.

  Kuta laughed. “Or a sign of how inward-looking we have become. It's a shame. We have almost six thousand years of art, literature, and architecture here. But almost no aliens know what the Republic is like, because they never come here. The only experience they have of Varanids are our malcontents and mercenaries.” She paused and gave Srak a dark look.

  They reached a set of steps at the entrance to the building, each nearly a metre high. Kuta started to ascend. Hanson climbed up the first step with some difficulty. He glanced back at Agatha in case she needed help, but she wasn't looking at him, and instead held on to Srak and let him drag her up.

  Kuta offered a hand to help Hanson as he made it up the next steps, but he shook his head. “It's fine,” he said, reaching the top. “Though not quite the dignified entrance I was hoping for.”

  They passed through a gigantic arch into a ten-metre wide corridor. Hanson's boots clacked against the flagstones. Varanids in various official costumes walked along following various tasks. A few doors, as wide as they were tall, were open. Their occupants lazed or slept under heat lamps. Hanson saw a few of them, smiled, and decided against making a quip about the similarity to government offices on Earth. The shot was too easy.

  Instead, he said to Kuta, “It doesn't sound like you agree with official policy.”

  Kuta grunted. “Perhaps not. But …” She shrugged. “Never mind that. You seek an offworld trader named Arka, is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think I may be able to help you. But first, there's some official business we need to attend to.”

  Hanson frowned. “Will it take long? We're on the clock here.”

  “Tiresome business, I know,” said Kuta. She smiled. “But Chancellor Rok wants to see you.”

  The Chancellor – the leader of the Varanid Republic. That was a bigger welcome than Hanson had been expecting. “Do you know why?” he asked.

  Kuta shrugged.

  At the end of the corridor, they reached a great arch with an inset door. “Just through here,” said Kuta. “Good luck.” She opened the door.

  Hanson glanced at Vyren and raised his eyebrows. Then he led his team inside.

  Chapter 14: Throne Room

  The room was big, even by Varanid standards. It was longer than it was wide. Coloured flagstones on the floor showed a giant mosaic pattern, almost like an ornate red carpet. Stained glass windows on the ceiling let in orange light. Statues lined the walls.

  The Varanids had a democracy, but this was more like a throne room, thought Hanson.

  And at the end of the room, the throne itself. Really, it was just a long, cushioned platform with a set of six heat-lamps hanging above it. The Varanid lying there, dressed in a smarter version of Kuta's jacket, lifted his head and regarded them quietly as they entered.

  Hanson and his team stepped up closer. The Varanid – Chancellor Rok – slid off his platform, stretched, and said in a booming voice, “Captain Hanson, the hero of the Tethyans! Welcome.” He grinned, baring lines of razor sharp teeth, and looked them over.

  He was immense. At a guess, Hanson would sat Rok had at least two feet, maybe three, on Srak.

  “And what a motley crew of beings you have with you,” said Rok. “A Tethyan, on a human ship! Another small human. She doesn't look military. And an exile who became a mercenary. Srak! How has the outside galaxy been treating you?”

  Srak growled.

  “And is it true you have a Petaur on board?” said Rok.

  “Yes,” Hanson said softly, holding his gaze. “And that they're the most effective team in the galaxy.”

  “Yes, I'm sure they are,” said Rok. Whatever mock friendliness he had put on for his welcome vanished. “Let's be clear on this matter, Captain-hero-of-Tethya. I don't want you here. But the Tethyans have taken a liking to you, and since they rarely ask for things, I'm willing to indulge them.”

  “I'm glad we're clear on that,” Hanson said. “If we can get what we're looking for, we'll be away from here as soon as we can be.”

  Rok laughed. Then he leant his head in close to Hanson. “Listen, Captain. You may be feeling big because you saved Tethya from other humans, because you have the Tethyans sitting behind you. I've allowed you to come here. I've even allowed you to bring an exile home for a bit. But that is the limit of my generosity. You will see to your business and leave. You will not interfere in any of Ghroga's affairs, and you will not let your pet Varanid off his lead to do so. Otherwise, it won't matter how best-in-the-galaxy your crew is. They won't be going home in one piece. Is that clear?”

  Hanson regarded Rok silently for a few moments, without losing eye contact. “Crystal,” he said. “Now, can we get on with our investigation, or do you have any more complaints you want to get off your chest?”

  Rok snorted and smiled faintly. He turned to his platform-throne, waving a hand dismissively. “Go. Carry out your little mission.”

  Hanson looked at his team and nodded towards the door.

  “Well, the Chancellor seems to have a bee in his bonnet,” Hanson said once they were in the corridor. “What's that about?”

  “Two reasons,” said Kuta. “First is that he's a natural isolationist. Doesn't think the galaxy has anything to offer us – and worries that it might harm us. The second is that he's a bastard.”

  “Srak,” said Agatha. “You know what you said about me trying to beat up a Varanid. I think I know who I want to try it on.”

  Srak laughed.

  They turned off down another, narrower corridor. Kuta fell back a little to walk abreast with Hanson.

  “The Varanid you're looking for,” she said. “Arka, is it?”

  “That's right,” said Hanson.

  Kuta muttered the ship details – time of entry, known registration – under her breath. “Yes, that should be enough,” she said. “There'll be a record of him in the border archives, then we can cross reference that with tracking on Ghroga itself.”

  In the corridor they passed another couple of Varanids going the other way. One of them caught sight of Hanson and the others and glared at them.

  Once they'd passed the two Varanids, Hanson heard one say to the other, “Humans.”

  The other grunted.

  “First they steal an Ancient ship and attack Tethya. And now they're using that as an excuse to come to Ghroga to 'investigate,'” said the first.

  “Let them be. They'll leave eventually,” said the other.

  The two Varanids turned a corner, and their conversation became inaudible.

  “Perhaps it's just me,” Hanson said to Kuta. “But I'm starting to feel a little unwelcome.”

  “Don't mind those two,” Kuta said. “They have very little power, and nobody here really likes them.”

  She reached a broad door, hauled it open, and showed Hanson and the others inside.

  Shelves of granite, filled with official-looking books, stretched ahead. The covers
– a uniform dark red – were covered in jagged Varanid writing. It was all very traditional, Hanson thought, using physical documents for official business even when they took up so much space and time. Still, for the sake of practicality, there were better means: A row of computer terminals stood by the door in front of the shelves. Everything – the shelves, the books, the terminals – seemed oversized.

  Kuta activated one of the terminals, gestured at the screen a few times while Varanid letters and symbols danced past, then muttered something in a Varanid language while more letters appeared on screen. She was entering search terms, Hanson realised.

  “Yes,” she said. “There's a record of a trader ship entering our space at the time you mentioned. It went straight for Ghroga.” She minimised that search, called up something else, worked a little, then said. “And yes, here he is on Ghroga. Name of Arka, yes … where is he now … ?” The screen displayed something that looked very much like a refusal. “No, don't say that, you little bastard. I'm a councillor. Hold on … ”

  After a few moments, Kuta turned to them and said, “I've had to send a request to another department. It'll be a few minutes before they get the information back.”

  Hanson nodded. He glanced over the shelves, then turned to Kuta again. “How isolationist is the Varanid government, exactly?”

  “Very,” muttered Kuta.

  “But you're not. Why is that?”

  Kuta lifted her great reptilian head and looked at him steadily a few moments, as if collecting her thoughts. “I'm a patriot as much as anyone else here,” she said. There was a tiny edge of defensiveness in her tone. “That's why we need to engage. Our own house is in order. We're a powerful people with a rich history. The Varanids have a lot to offer the galaxy.”

  Hanson nodded. “Are you a lone voice on this?”

  “There are others,” Kuta said. “But Rok and his allies are in charge at the moment. 'The affairs of others are not our concern,' they say.” She chewed at her lip. “But some things are changing. Partly thanks to you, Captain.”

  Hanson raised his eyebrows.