Renegades (The Progenitor Trilogy, Book Two)

by Dan Worth

  Renegades

  by Dan Worth

  Chapter 1

  The gas giant hung heavy in the sky, bands of blue and purple cloud shifting imperceptibly, its pregnant orb bisected by the insubstantial arc of its rings as they caught the light from the white and red binary. Against this sedate background the small freighter corkscrewed violently, the manoeuvring thrusters around its waist firing urgently, main Newtonian drive straining as it attempted to flee from its pursuer. It was a minnow hunted by a leviathan. Inhibitor fields stretched out from the massive ship that pursued it - five kilometres astern and closing - disrupting the smaller craft’s drive envelope and preventing it from jumping to safety and out of reach of the ranks of anti-fighter batteries that probed outwards, striking sparks from the aft shields of the wildly manoeuvring ship.

  A cloud of smaller points of light wove and danced about the fleeing craft. Squadrons of fighters launched from the belly of the great vessel harassed the freighter with laser and mass-driver fire that withered its shields still further and kept the fugitive vessel from fleeing from the arc of the warship’s guns, frustrating the freighter’s progress long enough with almost suicidal blocking manoeuvres for the ponderous warship to come about and re-acquire it.

  Tractor beam generators powered up within the warship, eager to snatch the smaller ship and drag it into its waiting maw. It was close now, a mere four kilometres out of range. Soon the shields of the fleeing craft would collapse under the onslaught and its engines could be disabled. A renewed barrage of fire tracked inward toward the jinking shape.

  Captain Caleb Isaacs swore prolifically as his ship, the Profit Margin, shook violently from the fresh onslaught. The War Temple was gaining on him. He cursed his rash decision to spend his last few thousand credits on a new paint job for his craft instead of getting the power-plant upgraded. Hurriedly, he re-routed more power from the front shield quarter to the aft as another series of blows hammered his ship and the display from his HUD monocle devolved into a series of tangled virtual contrails from the swarm of craft that buzzed about him as it attempted to display their intersecting trajectories.

  He reversed the tight banking turn he had thrown the craft into, spinning it clockwise along its ventral axis. A loud clang from the cargo hold signalled that something down there had broken free of its restraints. It was accompanied by a series of squeals and terrified cries from the passenger quarters. But he had to keep moving. If he began to fly in any sort of predictable path the K’Soth capital ship would be able to lock all of its guns onto him with ease, not just the anti-fighter defences but the massive anti-ship turrets that studded the forward gun decks and then, one way or another, it would all be over.

  Isaacs had few illusions about what the K’Soth aboard the War Temple Decimator would do to him even if he was merely captured, rather than having his ship blown from under him. The ship, resplendent in blood red livery, flew the war banners of clan Bloodtongue from the minarets along its superstructure. The squeals of fear from the Profit Margin’s passenger cabins were from the handful of desperate fugitives who were all that was left of clan Steelscale. They had sided against the murdered Emperor’s dynasty in the civil war, and they had paid the price for their treachery.

  One of the smaller clans, Steelscale had been unable to defend themselves against the bellicose fury of the ruling clan Bloodtongue who had struck out at all enemies within reach following the assassination of the Emperor and the unsuccessful coup attempt resulting from the Empire’s failures in the war against the Commonwealth. The more powerful clans were still reeling from their failed attempt to seize power and were incapable of acting quickly enough to protect their more vulnerable allies, since they were pre-occupied with their own protection.

  The Steelscale clan had perished in orbital bombardments, Inquisition-led purges and deep within the labyrinthine torture chambers beneath the Imperial Palace. Their estates - whole systems - had burned, their fleets were smashed, their females gang raped by the Praetorian Guard and their children torn apart by voracious wild animals from a dozen systems for the entertainment of the masses. If captured whilst in the process of aiding them and as a human enemy of the Empire, Isaacs could expect a death far worse than any rational person was capable of imagining. That thought preyed heavily on his mind as a fresh fusillade of shots found their mark against the faltering shields of his ship.

  They were trying to communicate. Isaacs had blocked all transmissions from the War Temple, but somehow someone aboard had managed to override him. If that were the case, then who knew what else the crew of the Decimator were capable of doing to his ship? He began frantically trying to shut down the comm. altogether, or at least isolate it from the rest of the Profit Margin’s systems. With one hand on the stick, it was not easy.

  ‘Unidentified human ship,’ said the flat emotionless tones of the cheap translator program. ‘You are ordered to power down your vessel and surrender.’

  ‘Fuck you!’ screamed Isaac in the vague direction of the comm. system as he hauled the ship’s nose upwards and around into a complex barrel-roll manoeuvre at a tangent to the K’Soth warship’s heading. He flinched as a wing of interceptors swooped in to block his path then flipped the ship over and down away from the apparently suicidal fighters.

  ‘You are guilty of trespassing in Imperial space, of aiding and abetting known enemies of the Empire and of consorting with heretics, traitors and atheists. Surrender or be destroyed.’

  No amount of money was worth this, though Isaacs. Blockade running fugitives out of the K’Soth Empire was lucrative - hell, every hotshot freelancer claimed to be at it these days – but the profit was in the danger money. More than a few other captains he knew had come here seeking their fortune and had not returned, but he’d been desperate, he thought he could handle it and the money for this run had been very good indeed. It was just a pity that it wouldn’t be of much use to him whilst a ship full of angry, reptilian, three-metre-tall religious fanatics were ripping out his innards, or whilst he was choking on vacuum amidst the expanding wreckage of his ship.

  It been going so well too. He’d bought a black market stealth program for his ship’s computer that minimised its drive signature and he had managed to slip across the border unchallenged by either Commonwealth or Empire forces. He’d met his contact at an abandoned station orbiting the bruise coloured gas giant fifty light years inside hostile territory and had been preparing to leave with his passengers when the two kilometre long War Temple had jumped in almost right on top of him, having masked its approach behind the sensor interference caused by the flux tube between the gas giant and its largest moon.

  He felt foolish. He should have done a passive sensor sweep through the gas giant’s system of moonlets before approaching the station. Then he’d have spotted the lurking behemoth before it was too late. Instead, his greed and anxiousness had got the better of him and he was reaping the rewards of his carelessness.

  He felt the ship judder. Something squealed metallically down in the drive bay. Another barrage of shots and the aft shield collapsed. Warning klaxons rang in the cockpit. The ship shuddered again. They almost had him in their tractor beam. Again, the monotone voice:

  ‘Human terrorist. Your shields have failed you. Surrender or die. Now.’

  He wasn’t done just yet. There were still reserves of power in the ship’s batteries and he could re-route more still from life support and the weapon systems…

  Something grabbed the ship and held it. Isaacs felt his bowels loosen as the ship bucked and fought like an animal caught by its tail. A cacophony of wailing sounded from the passenger cabins, whose occupants knew full
well the doom that awaited them. The Decimator was dragging the Profit Margin towards it now. Even with the main engines at full burn it was no use. He was only delaying the inevitable.

  Well fuck that, he thought, he wasn’t going to be tortured to death. If he had to die now he might as well take a few of the bastards with him. He could rig the ship’s power-plant to blow just as they dragged it inside their docking bay. Isaacs looked at the aft view-screen, and saw the cavernous bay in the underside of the warship’s superstructure opening to swallow his ship. He could just about see the serried ranks of fighters and assault craft inside. Yes, that would do nicely. Sweat trickling down his neck and forehead, he starting programming his own explosive demise into the ship’s systems, over-riding repeated fail-safes and bypassing numerous warnings. Now with a press of a single icon on the touch-holo of the control console he could release the containment fields around the power core and create a miniature nova inside the maw of that monstrous vessel.

  He felt a sense of grim satisfaction. He might have fucked up as a trader, the only thing he had ever excelled at aside from flying, but this… this was a real achievement. He was going to single-handedly take down a fucking K’Soth War Temple! It was just a pity that no-one else was around to witness it.

  His hand hovered over the control console as the ship drew the Profit Margin towards itself. A little further… they were below the great gun decks now, a cloven delta-shaped plain of metal that thrust forward from the main superstructure, studded with heavy beam turrets and laser batteries that even now tracked his progress. Between them, the muzzle of the vessel’s main armament - a vast plasma cannon - jutted from the prow of the ship’s superstructure, a weapon capable of spitting a beam of star-hot death that could eviscerate even the sturdiest of opponents.

  Another warning signal started to chime in the cockpit. Isaacs looked to his tactical display and saw a second K’Soth jump engine signature on an approach vector. It was coming in from above the Decimator at great speed. He peered upwards through the cockpit’s upper viewports, through the gap between the port and starboard gun decks of the warship. He saw space ripple and twist as a ship vaster still than the one that held him fast swam into view from hyperspace. Awestruck, he gawped at the four kilometre long monster as it charged head on, its braking engines firing spears of plasma. In their wan light he saw for a second the blue livery of clan Talon, the greatest of the houses leading the rebellion against the Emperor. The Super War Temple was theirs. Had they had come to aid their allies in this late hour?

  His HUD lit up with icons around the gargantuan craft as power spiked within its weapon systems. A blinding spear of light and energy leapt from its hull, briefly joining the two K’Soth vessels as the shields of the Decimator collapsed spectacularly in a blaze of pyrotechnics. The Profit Margin’s systems tried to shield Isaac’s eyes from the glare with photo-chromic defences, but still the after-image seared his retinas as the plasma bolt emerged from the skewered belly of the Decimator, a hundred metres aft of his position, in a shower of vaporised hull material, dragging with it a cloud of rapidly freezing atmosphere and the tiny tumbling bodies of the crew.

  Isaacs suddenly came to his senses and realised that the tractor beam was no longer restraining his ship. Above him, the Decimator was starting to drift and come apart. A series of silent explosions shook the dying vessel, buffeting the Profit Margin with expanding shells of energy. Hurriedly, he cancelled the self destruct sequence he had programmed and gunned the engines, diving down and away from the stricken warship.

  He couldn’t believe his luck. His heart pounding with fear and elation he engaged the Profit Margin’s jump drive for the long haul back to Commonwealth space. As the small sleek freighter vanished within a concentric series of hyper-dimensional ripples the containment fields around the Decimator’s power plant finally failed, immolating the great ship in a blaze of plasma.

  With the ship now safely within hyperspace, Isaacs gave up control to the ship’s guidance systems for the long haul home. With a heartfelt sigh of relief he removed the HUD monocle, now slick with sweat where it had touched his skin, stowed it beneath the control console and got up from his command couch. He realised then that his legs were shaking, and that his clothes clung to him with sweat.

  Steadying himself against a bulkhead he paused for a moment, his eyes coming to rest on a diagnostics screen. It seemed that he had been extremely lucky. No major systems were damaged. The Profit Margin would hold together until they got back home, though Isaacs groaned inwardly at the probable repair bill for the hull damage to its aft quarter. However, all things considered he had gotten off lightly.

  It would be several days before the Profit Margin completed her jump and given the unlikely event of them being intercepted en route Isaacs had little to do until they reached their destination at Beta Hydri. He needed a shower and a stiff drink, more than one stiff drink in fact, though first he’d check on his cargo of fugitives. The ride had been rough and he couldn’t discount the possibility of injury among his passengers. As he made his way aft he grabbed a medikit from one of the gangway storage lockers and, clutching it, made his way to the passenger cabins.

  The cabins were small, forming part of the aft upper deck and had been an option when Isaacs had bought the ship, the alternative being extra cargo space. They were not uncomfortably furnished by human standards, though Isaacs imagined that the small spaces and furniture designed for his own species would be rather an inconvenience to the much larger K’Soth who now occupied them. He knocked on the nearest door and entered, and found the leader of the group of fugitives curled, cat-like, on the small corner mounted cot that sagged under his large, scaly bulk. Glassy yellow eyes regarded Isaacs as he entered. In return he studied the reptilian centauroid creature and noted that his scales displayed the fading colours of fear as the creature nursed a battered forearm that leaked thick, ichorous blood onto the crumpled sheets.

  ‘I thought I’d come and tell you that we’re now on our way out of the system. You and your family are safe Lord Steelscale.’

  Steelscale reached for the translator pendant Isaacs had loaned him and activated it. The device seemed tiny in his heavy, clawed hand.

  ‘Thank you.’ The tinny voice of the pendant contrasted sharply with Steelscale’s bass growl. ‘It seems you are quite the pilot Captain Isaacs, we are indebted to your skill.’

  ‘Well, actually it seems that some of your own people came to our aid. To be honest, we only escaped because the War Temple that pursued us was destroyed by another K’Soth vessel. Looked like one of clan Talon’s judging by the livery.’ Isaacs heard his own words translated back to Steelscale in a series of tinny animalistic noises.

  ‘Destroyed?’

  ‘Yeah, plasma bolt straight through the power core. We were lucky to get enough distance between them and us before the containment fields blew.’

  ‘I see. You know I knew the Captain of the Decimator, before all this began. He and I used to hunt together on occasion, before our families became enemies.’ Steelscale appeared forlorn and distant. He continued. ‘Civil war is the worst form of conflict Captain, the hardest to bear. Killing an enemy you have never known is one thing, but killing your friends, people you have known all your life and even fought alongside in the past is quite another. I have only been Lord Steelscale for a few days, after my predecessor, my father, was murdered by a former friend.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Perhaps you can console yourself that you’re free of that now. You can claim asylum in the Commonwealth and then…’

  ‘You think we flee because we are afraid?’ Isaacs noted the change in posture and body language. He remembered the K’Soth obsession with martial honour that ran to such lengths as to seem perverted by Human standards.

  ‘Look, I never suggested that…’

  ‘Hmm.’ The K’Soth seemed to regard him with some amusement. ‘Captain, understand that we flee to the Commonwealth with a purpose. We decided to flee, rather
than fight because of what we knew.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Believe me, it is better that you do not know. But your government must be warned, or else your people will suffer also.’

  There had been some cargo too. The fugitives had brought with them a large sealed metal container which now lay secure in the Profit Margin’s hold. During loading they had seemed far more anxious than he would normally expect if the container merely contained their belongings. Steelscale and the three females that accompanied him had insisted on loading the container themselves with the aid of AG lifters, rather than leave it to the ship’s automatic cargo loader.

  Whatever was inside the container or inside Steelscale’s head? A K’Soth willingly volunteering information to the Commonwealth was unprecedented, as far as Isaacs knew. The two civilisations had been mortal enemies for over five decades, and even though it was rumoured that the Commonwealth was backing the more moderate reformist rebels against the fundamentalist monarchy, old habits died hard. Even the refugees he had seen on the news broadcasts were apparently reluctant to talk about matters within the Empire with humans.

  ‘Alright. Well look, do you need any medical attention? That arm looks a bit banged up.’

  ‘I assure you, I am fine. Our pain tolerances are rather higher than that of your own species.’ Isaacs detected a note of condescension in Steelstale’s answer, despite the limits of the translator.

  ‘And your concubines?’

  ‘They are unhurt. Go and attend to your own needs Captain. I assume from your appearance that you may want to wash yourself and relax with food and alcohol.’

  ‘Yeah, I certainly intend to.’

  ‘I also. You see? Perhaps we are not so unlike one another, your people and my own. Appearances can be deceptive, wouldn’t you agree?’

  Isaacs nodded wearily in agreement and retired to his own quarters.