Juggernaut: The Ixan Prophecies Trilogy Book 2

by Scott Bartlett

  At last, she arrived at her destination—the prison where the Wingers were keeping Warren Husher. The guards stopped her at the gate.

  “What business do you have here, Honored One?”

  “I must speak with Warren Husher.”

  The guard bowed low. “By all means. Please carry on through. The human is being kept in row omicron, cell five. Another guard will meet you—”

  Ek accelerated through the gate before he could finish, braking and turning so that the speeder ended up perpendicular to the rows of cells. The first half of the alphabet flashed past, and she turned hard into the row the guard had named, preserving most of her speed with the maneuver.

  When she reached cell five, the guard meant to meet her had not arrived yet. Good. She drove straight onto the grassy expanse.

  Warren Husher was sitting outside the small structure that provided him shelter, his legs spread on the ground before him. “Get in,” she shouted.

  He stood. “A Fin outside the ocean. Now I guess I have seen it all.”

  “The planet is about to be attacked by the Gok. If you would like to survive, I suggest you heed what I say.”

  Warren raised his foot, drawing his pants up to reveal a gray ankle bracelet. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Ek turned off the speeder, popped the hood, and leapt out to walk around to the front, metal legs whining softly. In the center of the motor, a large magnet was slowing to a stop. She pointed at it with a black-clad hand. “Place your foot next to that.”

  “What? Why?”

  “It will wipe the data on the bracelet’s memory, so that it forgets when it is supposed to shock you. Hurry.”

  “All right.” Warren heaved his right leg onto the engine and nestled his foot next to the magnet. “Will that do it?”

  “It should.”

  “I hope you’re right. If you’re not, this thing won’t stop shocking me until I go back in my cage.”

  “Let us try.” Ek closed the hood and got in the driver’s seat once more. The human climbed in beside her.

  Without hesitating, Ek accelerated across the cell, passing between the towers that formed the box that had been her passenger’s prison. In her haste, she almost hit a Winger guard, who had finally arrived to make sure she could communicate with the prisoner safely. Warren waved to the Winger as they zoomed past.

  “I take it you were not shocked,” she said.

  “By getting sprung from jail by a Fin with metal legs? Shocked doesn’t begin to cover it, actually.”

  “I meant by your ankle bracelet.”

  “I know what you meant, sweetheart. What’s your name, by the way?”

  “It is not sweetheart. And you will find calling me that will not prove viable for you, long-term.”

  As they sped past cell after cell, Winger prisoners emerged from their shelters, or settled to the ground from flight to watch them pass.

  I hope they are not doomed.

  Chapter 16

  A Little Experiment

  Private Simmons scouted ahead, and Husher’s heads-up display gave him access to what the scout was seeing in real-time. We’re so close. They’d come within two blocks of the coordinates Tort had given them, but they’d reached an impasse. Radicals milled about in the street in front of the building Husher needed to access. Are they defending it? Is Thresh helping develop the virophage?

  An idea struck him. “Wahlburg, check the next street over, to the west. Tell me what’s adjacent to the building we need to access.”

  The air strike had cleared their way into the inner city, but it had also stirred it up worse than a kicked hornet’s nest. Ever since, they’d been inching their way through Larissa. If only there were tunnels we could access, this would have been so much easier.

  Remembering his last time fighting in an urban environment, Husher regularly reminded his marines to think in three dimensions. The difference was that last time, they’d been able to take advantage of that third dimension themselves. Now, Larissa held far too many radicals, making it a bad idea to dig in and fight. Meaning the vertical offered them nothing but stress.

  “It’s a business,” Wahlburg said, patching his feed through to Husher’s helmet. “Looks abandoned. Broken glass. Probably looted when the radicals took over the city.”

  There’d been a time when Wahlburg’s report would have come with a sarcastic quip. Husher would have never guessed that he’d miss that. “Thanks, Wahlburg.” Then he switched over to a wide channel. “All right everyone, Wahlburg found us a more viable avenue of ingress. An abandoned business butts up against the back of the building we need to get to, so we’re going to mouse-hole through. Let’s go.”

  The marines pushed forward as quickly as possible while creeping from shadow to doorway to alleyway. Husher encouraged them to split up whenever necessary. One-by-one, they arrived at the store, slipping inside and gathering in the front room.

  “Both buildings’ rear walls are flush with each other,” Wahlburg said. “One blast should do it.”

  Husher nodded. “Good work. Markov, go set the satchel charge. My squad, be ready to rush through to locate and defend the next building’s entrance—the explosion is going to draw radicals. Sergeant Caine’s squad will defend this store. We should be able to dig in and defend our choke points for a while, but that’s no reason to screw around.”

  Within minutes, the charge was set. “Blow it,” Husher said.

  Markov started the timer and ran out to join them in the store’s front room. Seconds later, a blast rumbled through the floor and walls.

  “Move! Sergeant Caine, you’re with me. Everyone else, set up the best defense you can, as quickly as possible.”

  They followed Husher’s squad into the next building, where shouting could already be heard from the street out front. Husher expected the biochemical work to be happening underground, and it didn’t take long to confirm his suspicions. They found a large trapdoor in one of the back rooms.

  Caine looked at him. “What if there are more radicals down there?”

  “We neutralize them,” Husher said, grabbing the latch and flipping the trapdoor open so that it leaned against the wall.

  But they didn’t find any radicals downstairs. They didn’t find anything, except a light switch that made the ceiling fixtures flicker and come on with an unsteady glow.

  The staccato of gunfire began upstairs, dulled by the basement’s ceiling. Husher and Caine dashed through, searching room after bare room. Nothing.

  “Have they cleared out?” Caine said. “Maybe they got word we were coming and relocated somewhere else in Larissa.”

  “If that’s the case, we have to keep searching the city.”

  “Easier said than done, considering all the radicals we just called down on top of our heads. After this, our only option is a swift evac.”

  Husher was about to agree with her when his com pinged. He took it out and saw that he he’d received a video message. When he played it, an Ixan face came on the screen—the captain they’d fought just before retrieving Ochrim from a Darkstream research facility hidden beneath a remote moon’s surface.

  Teth. The Ixan didn’t speak. He only smiled the creepy smile Ixa always seemed to wear. Husher showed the com’s screen to Caine.

  “Is that Ochrim?” she said.

  “No, it’s Teth. The one who fired on the Providence.”

  “Well, is he going to say anything?”

  “Why yes, Sergeant Caine, I do intend to speak. I was waiting for Lieutenant Husher to show you my face, so that I would have your undivided attention.”

  “Wait,” Caine said, her eyes locked on Husher’s. “That can’t be real-time…is it?”

  Slowly, he shook his head. “It’s a video message. A recording.”

  “Correct,” Teth said. “But let’s conduct a little experiment, shall we? I know you humans are still at least somewhat skeptical that the Prophecies are real, that the Ixa can truly predict the future. So please trea
t this like a real-time conversation. Answer me as though I were standing right next to you.”

  Husher looked from the com’s screen to Caine. “Not a chance. I’m not playing his game. Let’s just let the entire video play out.”

  “But, wait. Wouldn’t it be sort of useful to know if the Prophecies are real or not?”

  Teth remained silent, still smiling at them like a predator sizing up its next meal.

  “Sure. And we can test that by not answering him. Clearly, he’s predicted that we’ll play along. By refusing to do that, we prove he doesn’t know the future.”

  “All right.”

  They both stared at the screen, and Teth stared back at them. “I’m waiting for you to treat this like a conversation,” he said.

  Husher and Caine exchanged glances, but stayed quiet.

  Teth’s smile widened. “I fed that Gok aboard your ship false information about what you’d find inside this building. If you’d like to know why I would do that, I think you should probably speak to me.”

  “Why, then?” Caine said. “Why’d you do it?” Husher shot her a sharp look, and she ignored him.

  “I thought you’d never ask, Sergeant Caine!” Teth said, chuckling. “That was a joke. Obviously I knew that you would. Ixa find humans especially predictable. Maybe it’s because we’re so much alike.”

  “We’re nothing like you,” Caine spat.

  “You’re very much like us. Have you ever noticed that humanity and the Ixa are the only two sentient species in the galaxy to have invented corporations? Immortal entities, legally bound to elevate profit over every other consideration, including the survival of the species. Of course, we’ve learned to control our corporations.”

  Caine spat on the basement’s dirt floor. “We’re in the process of that.”

  “You’re in the process of going extinct, actually. You’re very quiet, Lieutenant Husher. How predictable. I expected you would remain stubbornly silent during our conversation.”

  “Well, I’m speaking now,” Husher shot back. “So I guess you were wrong.”

  “Actually, I was lying. I only said that to trick you into participating. Imagine that! Someone as smart as you assume you are, so easily tricked.”

  Husher clenched his teeth, hard enough that his jaw began to ache.

  “Back to the silent treatment, I see. No matter. Sergeant Caine has already proven to be a pliable interlocutor. You’ve come here to stop Ixan sympathizers from releasing a virophage that will make humans aggressive, but you see, there’s no need for such a virophage, because humans are aggressive enough already! Aggressive enough to kill each other off, along with your own allies…softening yourselves for us to swoop in and dominate you.”

  “Then why did you lead us here?” Caine said.

  “Simple. Thessaly is on the opposite side of the Larkspur System from Spire, and it would take the Providence the better part of a day to return there. By then, the Gok will have cleansed Spire of all life.”

  Chapter 17

  Intercept Course

  A wave of nausea swept over Keyes as he listened to the final words of Teth’s message. To him, the recording had sounded like a bizarre one-sided conversation, but according to Caine and Husher the video had played out just like a real-time exchange.

  By then, the Gok will have cleansed Spire of all life.

  “Lieutenant, I’m deploying a combat shuttle to evac you and your marines, but I can’t wait around for you. I’m taking the Providence to Spire.”

  “Yes, sir. Good luck.”

  “Keyes out.” He twisted around in his chair and fixed his Nav officer with his gaze. “As quickly as you’re able, calculate the most efficient route to Spire that allows for maximum acceleration. Don’t worry about fuel efficiency—only speed. Helm, when Nav sends you the course, punch it. Engage all engines, full power.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Keyes settled in for what promised to be the worst wait of his life. He wanted a coffee, but he forbade his crew to treat his CIC like a food court, and if he wanted to follow his own rule then he’d have to down his beverage in the wardroom. No way was he leaving the CIC for that long. Not at a time like this.

  An hour later, when they were already committed to their course, Werner spoke. “Sir, there are three UHF ships moving on an intercept course. Two frigates and a corvette.”

  Keyes felt his nails biting into his palms, even though he kept them well-trimmed. He relaxed his hands. “Send the corvette a transmission request.”

  Seconds later, a man he recognized as Captain Yamat appeared on the viewscreen. “Captain,” Keyes said, “Can I ask your purpose in positioning yourselves along my trajectory?”

  “With pleasure, Keyes.”

  “It’s Captain Keyes.”

  “Not anymore. You’re in open rebellion against the UHF and the Commonwealth, and so you’ve been stripped of your rank.”

  “I don’t recognize the UHF’s authority to do that.”

  “We’ll have to differ on that, then.”

  “State your business, Captain Yamat.”

  “We were ordered to investigate what you were doing on Thessaly. You’re to tell me, and while you’re at it you can let me know where you’re headed with such haste.”

  “I’m going to provide aid to the Wingers on Spire. They’re under attack by Gok.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”

  “Captain Yamat, an entire species resides on that planet. It would be an unforgivable atrocity to let the Fins be wiped from the universe.”

  “That planet is also our enemy’s homeworld. It makes strategic sense to allow the Gok to complete their attack.”

  Keyes squinted at Yamat. “This isn’t about strategic sense. It’s about—”

  “I have my orders, Keyes, and they include apprehending you. Do you plan to cooperate or not?”

  “Don’t make me do this, Yamat.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “It’s a promise. Clear out of my way.”

  “No.”

  Keyes gestured to his Coms officer to cut off the transmission, and she did. A biting remark had been waiting on his tongue, but his conversation with Yamat had run its course, and his time would be much better spent formulating a battle plan. He’d witnessed too many captains offer up valuable intel to the enemy because of their need to have the last word.

  “Arsenyev, calculate a firing solution that targets the nearest frigate with our primary laser.” Burn it away to nothing, he wanted to add. For that matter, he wanted to pound his fists against his armrests until they were bloody. But detached efficiency was what the day called for. Indeed, every day would call for that, either until this war was won or his corpse had grown cold.

  I need to keep my temper’s throat under my boot.

  “Sir, the three opposing ships are performing retro burns,” Werner said. “The other frigate apparently intends to position itself directly in our path.”

  “That suits me,” Keyes said. “Let’s take advantage of our acceleration. Launch a full salvo of kinetic impactors at it, with a one-mile spread in every direction. Coms, put Lieutenant Fesky on standby.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “There’s no going back now,” Laudano said.

  Keyes turned to face his XO. “Clarify.”

  “We’re firing on crewed UHF ships, aren’t we? We’ve become true rebels. Hopefully we won’t meet the same fate most rebels do.”

  Chapter 18

  A Prisoner Again

  Ochrim couldn’t hear the battle raging over Spire, but he kept his eyes on the sky, and occasionally he saw a flash. A Gok ship exploding, perhaps. Or an orbital defense platform.

  The platforms had the advantage of having nowhere to go, which had afforded their creators the ability to devote most of their mass to artillery. On the other hand, Gok had the advantage of not caring whether they died.

  Even with their increased nuclear arsenal, the defense platforms were
not equipped to repel an enemy with no sense of self-preservation. As they learned when the UHS Buchanan came crashing to the surface.

  An hour into the battle for Spire’s life, Gok warships started breaking through. The first ones were decimated, pockmarked and smoking, robbed of their ability to do anything but crash.

  But a couple of hours after that, the Gok managed to create a hole in the orbital defenses big enough to fly shuttles through unscathed. The first such headed in the direction of Ochrim’s prison.

  He heard them as they rampaged through the jail, accompanied by the cries of the inmates they brutalized. The first Gok Ochrim laid eyes on seemed to take no notice of him. Instead, it forced its way inside the central shelter of the cell opposite the scientist’s.

  Seconds later, the Gok emerged clutching the Winger inmate, who beat its wings helplessly against the giant’s forest-green bulk.

  Ochrim had gotten to know that Winger, a little. His name was Pyron, and his mother had been killed in the First Galactic War. Since then, Pyron had become a pirate who’d ventured too far outside Pirate’s Path.

  It was widely suspected that the Winger government turned a blind eye to the pirates, since they mostly targeted human vessels. But when they strayed into civilized space, the Wingers had no choice but to take action, to avoid angering the human Commonwealth.

  Pyron had a young daughter who’d visited him twice since Ochrim had been imprisoned here.

  The Gok caught one of the talons beating against its rock-like skin and snapped it off, causing Pyron to emit a piercing shriek. Then the hulking alien grabbed the Winger’s crown feathers and used them to smash his face against the side of the building. After several repetitions, the Gok cast the Winger to the ground and ran to the next cell.

  Pyron did not move again. His eyes stared sightlessly at the sky, and his beak was a shattered, bloody ruin.

  More Gok appeared, murdering the prisoners in the surrounding cells in brutal fashion. Amidst the chaos, Ochrim spotted another Ixan walking calmly toward his cell, a long, midnight cape billowing behind him.