Superdreadnought- The Complete Series

by C H Gideon

  One of them stumbled over Ka’nak’s invisible foot and toppled to the ground at the back of his group. He grunted and clambered to his feet, glancing around to see what happened as his brethren left him behind.

  He never did figure it out.

  Ka’nak stepped out of his doorway and drove a fist through the cultist’s visor. There was a sharp crash of plas-glas breaking, then the meatier crunch of the cultist’s head following suit, and Ka’nak stood there with a helmeted head wrapped about his fist.

  He shook his arm, and the body toppled to the deck with a thump.

  “Stuff him in that alcove so no one spots him right away,” Reynolds told the Melowi.

  Not that it mattered much. They were nearly to the bridge, and it would be damned obvious that the enemy cruiser had been boarded in a few more minutes.

  Ka’nak stashed the body and the crew started off again, reaching the bridge after only having to hide a couple more times.

  “Pop the door,” Reynolds told Geroux as they arrived.

  Geroux got to work, hacking into the simple door-locking mechanism and giving a thumbs-up a second later. “We’re good.”

  Reynolds motioned for them to go and Geroux hit the door, sliding it open. The crew darted inside…

  Directly into a group of outgoing cultists.

  They slammed into them before there was a chance to realize what was happening and avoid them.

  Cultists stumbled backward at the collision, eyes wide, but these people were fanatics. What surprise they suffered was replaced immediately by suspicion and action.

  They opened fire at the same time the Reynolds’ crew did.

  Jiya hissed as she was struck in the shoulder. She stumbled backward and edged behind the wall, Geroux at her side.

  Reynolds was struck twice, as was Maddox.

  The general fell to the deck with a pained groan, facing away from the enemy. Ka’nak positioned himself directly in front of the general and went trigger-free.

  The Melowi’s vicious attack drove the cultists back into the cover of the bridge. Reynolds joined him, cutting down several of the cultists as they ran. The entire bridge turned on the crew at that point, and the corridor was filled with shrieking death.

  Ka’nak grabbed Maddox by the ankle and flung him around, sliding the general into the wall and out of the line of fire. Then the Melowi, shrugging off several more blows, thanks to his armor, leaned out of the way, pressing his back to the wall.

  Reynolds stood his ground a moment longer, making the cultists pay for their aggression. It was only when the enemy started to get a bead on him that he pulled back to avoid return fire.

  “You okay, Maddox?” Jiya asked, staring at the general, who lay on his back on the other side of the corridor.

  “I’m…good,” he answered, although it was clear he was breathing heavily.

  “Biometrics tell me he’ll be fine,” Asya reported from the SD Reynolds. “Cracked rib, but no internal damage.”

  “Are my ribs not internal?” Maddox asked, holding his side.

  “We can’t stay here long,” Jiya told the crew. “There’s no doubt that the captain has summoned every able body to the bridge to deal with us.”

  Reynolds agreed. He eased out and sprayed the bridge with covering fire, using his enhanced senses to survey the layout of the stations and the positioning of the remaining cultists.

  He didn’t like what he saw.

  “There are twenty-two cultists packed onto the bridge, the majority of them taking cover behind the command stations,” the AI reported.

  “Grenade?” Ka’nak asked, holding one up.

  “Seeing as how we came here to raid the computer systems for intel, I think a grenade might be overkill, don’t you?” Jiya asked.

  Ka’nak shrugged. “Maybe just a little.”

  “No grenades,” Reynolds affirmed, not wanting the Melowi to toss the weapon onto the bridge before he could give clear orders not to.

  “I’ve got another way,” Geroux said.

  She reached into her pouch and pulled out a handful of tiny drones like the ones they’d used in Jora’nal’s hideout. The tech activated them, letting them hover in the air around her until they were all ready to go. Then she cupped them back into her hands and threw them into the room.

  The drones scattered.

  They shot across the bridge, strafing cultists and wreaking havoc everywhere they went.

  The cultists, unsure what they were up against, opened fire on the tiny drones to try to take them out. The drones were too fast; they zigged and zagged and hurtled straight at the faces of the cultists, stealing their focus and driving them out of cover in some instances.

  “I’m thinking now would be a good time to go inside,” Geroux suggested, waving to the bridge door as if she were inviting the crew to dinner.

  Ka’nak was the first one inside.

  Still cloaked, and having regained the element of surprise, the warrior was on top of the cultists before they realized the drones were nothing more than a distraction.

  A deadly one.

  Ka’nak angled around the stations to clear his line of fire, and he opened up. Rounds ripped through the unarmored cultists and tore them apart, bodies dropping between the consoles.

  Reynolds strode to the opposite side, keeping the angle to avoid friendly fire, and did the same. The cultists pushed toward him by Ka’nak’s onslaught ran into Reynolds’ barrage.

  Geroux and Jiya moved in front of the door and targeted anyone who stepped out from behind cover to shoot or try to escape.

  Maddox rolled onto his stomach and kept watch on the corridor at their back while the Reynolds’ crew made short work of the cultists on the bridge.

  A smoky moment later, it was all over.

  Jiya ran over and grabbed Maddox and helped him to his feet. Cultists turned the corner then, and Jiya let off bursts of gunfire to keep them back as she pulled the general onto the bridge and out of the line of fire.

  Geroux sealed the bridge and scorched the lock so it wouldn’t open.

  “We’ve got a few minutes,” the young tech told them, “but not much longer than that.”

  “Should be all we need,” Reynolds answered. He waved Geroux over to him. “Ka’nak, you and Jiya on the door. If the cultists start getting through before we’re done, give them hell.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jiya and the Melowi answered in unison as they posted themselves on either side of the bridge door.

  “Geroux, hack their databases and get me everything you can,” the AI told her.

  She nodded and went to work without a word, fingers flying across the keypad of her wrist computer, and then on the ship’s console before her.

  Reynolds reached out over the comm. “Takal, transport Maddox back to the Reynolds, and get him to the infirmary and taken care of.”

  “I’m fine,” the general argued. “I can finish the mission.”

  “It’s not a suggestion,” Reynolds clarified. “We’re only here for a few minutes longer, and you need that rib looked at to make sure you don’t end up with a punctured lung.”

  Maddox scoffed, then winced, grabbing his side with an annoyed grimace. “Fine.”

  “Now, Takal,” Reynolds said.

  The general vanished right after, completely disappearing as if he had never been there to begin with.

  “I’m never going to get used to seeing that,” Jiya commented. “It’s so…weird, people just poofing away like that.”

  “It’s a handy transportation method, especially when people keep blowing up the Pods.” Ka’nak laughed, casting a sideways glance at Reynolds, then Jiya.

  “Probably true.” Jiya smiled.

  “I’m in,” Geroux called. She clattered at the keyboard, then grinned. “All data has been scanned and is being uploaded to the SD Reynolds’ servers.”

  There was a loud boom at the bridge door as the cultists realized they couldn’t bypass the wrecked lock and they needed to be more creat
ive to get inside. The floor and walls shuddered in response to the blow they’d delivered.

  “How much longer?” Reynolds asked Geroux.

  “All done,” she answered after a short pause. She disengaged her system from the ship’s and spun on a heel. “We’re good to go.”

  “I’d love to see the faces of the cultists when they get in here and realize we’re gone. Vanished without a trace,” Jiya said, her smile infectious.

  “Trigger the flux capacitor, Doc!” Reynolds called over the comm.

  There was no response.

  “Uncultured swine,” Reynolds barked, shaking his head. “Transport us out of here, Takal.”

  That time, the inventor complied, and the crew was teleported back to the bridge of the SD Reynolds, leaving the cruiser behind.

  Reynolds motioned to Tactical as soon as they arrived. “Put that hunk out of its misery.”

  Tactical did exactly that, blowing the ship to pieces and letting its remains drift quietly into the void of space.

  “What now?” XO asked.

  “We scrape the cruiser’s databases and see what we can find,” Reynolds answered. “Between it and what we’ve grabbed from Jora’nal’s computer, maybe we’ll have a better lock on where our supposed god is hiding out.”

  “Until then?” Jiya asked.

  Reynolds grinned wide and turned to face her. “How would you like to go home?

  Chapter Twelve

  The Voice arrived on Aspar, to learn that what he’d been told was only part of the story.

  It hadn’t been the Federation crew who’d brought about Jora’nal’s death and the destruction of the cult’s place on the planet, but Jora’nal himself.

  The Voice growled when he learned that, wondering if his master already knew what had happened. What would he tell him now?

  That their own disciple had been the cause of losing both the SD Reynolds and their foothold on the planet?

  He didn’t look forward to speaking with his lord again, but it would happen soon whether he wanted to or not.

  First, however, he would learn all he could about what transpired here on Aspar before he reached out to Phraim-’Eh.

  The Voice drew in a slow, deep breath and let it linger in his lungs until the char began to burn. Then he let it out, staring down the destruction left behind by Jora’nal.

  “Fool,” he mocked the disciple in absentia. “You deserved worse.”

  The Voice marched over the wreckage, grateful that the powers that be of Asparian society cared little about the execution of law and order. Jora’nal’s death had been justice as far as they were concerned.

  The loss of the cult’s headquarters and disciples and resources here mattered little to the ruling elite of Aspar. They only cared that it wouldn’t happen again, so they had banned the cult from settling again or rebuilding in the wake of the catastrophe.

  Phraim-’Eh would not appreciate that, and the Voice was sure his master would rain down judgment upon the rulers of Aspar, but it likely wouldn’t be soon.

  The Voice’s master was consumed with destroying the Federation spawn of Bethany Anne, the AI superdreadnought who had wrought such harm to his plans of expansion.

  No, Phraim-’Eh would chase the sentient ship to the ends of the universe before he calmed enough to deal retribution for such petty grievances as Aspar evicting them.

  But when he did return, the elite of Aspar would rue their decision. They’d be so much ash, such as what the Voice trod upon now. There would be no mercy or compassion shown in Phraim-’Eh’s vengeance.

  The Voice thrilled at the idea, imagining what his master would do to exact his revenge.

  He only prayed he remained alive to witness it.

  As things were, there was little hope of that.

  The Voice traversed the scorched blocks that had been part of a city until just recently, and he came upon the blast point where Jora’nal had made his final ill-advised stand against the Federation agents.

  There’d been no word as to their condition, but common sense told the Voice that Reynolds and his people had survived the blast or the SD Reynolds would have remained nearby to deal with such a tragic loss.

  The timeline the locals had given him largely confirmed that.

  The explosion here on the planet had occurred first, followed by the destruction of the Pillar in space. That made him think Reynolds and the others had slipped away without issue, though given the ruin of the neighborhood, he couldn’t imagine how they’d managed that.

  Nothing sentient could have survived a blast like the one that had occurred there.

  “But if something did, there has to be a trace of it. A hint,” the Voice said to himself as he clambered over a short stretch of wall and entered what had once been a building that had housed the local cult members. “Maybe I’ll find the android’s skull to parade before the master.”

  He laughed at that, given how unlikely it was.

  Reynolds had proven himself durable and quite resilient, much to the Voice’s regret.

  “This would all be so much easier if you would just die, android!” he shouted to the empty, smoke-shrouded sky. “Why can’t you just die?”

  The Voice examined the blast site, scanning it for residual energies. He didn’t expect to find anything, but when he picked up the barest of blips of current still active in the area, he was surprised.

  He followed the line of the signal out of the destroyed building, realizing once he was about two blocks to the east of the explosion that the damage there was far less traumatic.

  He circled a half-demolished building, tracing the signal to a smaller, squat building another block farther that looked almost whole.

  Its neighbor had apparently protected it behind its bulk, taking the blow and leaving the smaller building sheltered in its lee.

  The Voice went to the building and slipped inside.

  It was little better than the other wrecks, but it was whole.

  He traced the signal to a darkened corner covered by debris. With eager hands, he knelt and cast the trash and wreckage aside and ducked into the corner, looking for the source of the signal.

  He’d already figured out what it was by then, but he was glad to see the tiny box screwed to the wall, a single green light beeping on its face, glowing eerily in the dust.

  It was Jora’nal’s backup server, which he used to send coded messages to the Voice and their master from inside the signal-blocked headquarters.

  It was still operational.

  The Voice wiped the dust off and synced his computer to the server, downloading its contents. So little on it, the process only took a few seconds before it was complete.

  The Voice rose from his knees, dusted them off, and commanded his computer to display the contents of the rescued server.

  “Please don’t let him be a greater fool than I already believe,” the Voice muttered as the information scrolled across the screen.

  A moment later, the Voice groaned, realizing Jora’nal was every bit the fool he’d prayed he wasn’t.

  There, amidst the various information the disciple kept, were his communication logs, each time-stamped and encoded with delivery information.

  “Damn you, Jora’nal!” the Voice shrieked, slamming a fist into the wall and kicking up a cloud of gray dust and debris. Shards of stone pattered to the ground around his feet.

  Although the information was insufficient at face value to lead the Federation to Phraim-’Eh, he knew there was enough for an AI to trace back and eventually find the master.

  There was no doubt about that.

  “You’ve damned us all, Jora’nal,” the Voice called. “I pray your death was painful.”

  The Voice knew there was no chance of that.

  Jora’nal had been granted mercy in the form of a quick death. Now it would be the Voice who suffered for his failure to keep their intelligence secure.

  Nothing left to do, the Voice activated his comm and reached out to his ma
ster.

  If death is coming, I’d rather not wait, he thought, although he couldn’t keep his hands from trembling.

  When the channel was opened on the other end and Phraim-’Eh was reached and put on the line, the Voice had summoned what was left of his courage.

  “Jora’nal has betrayed us, Master,” he said.

  The declaration was greeted with brooding silence.

  “Although there is no sign of his remains or those of the Federation scum, I found the server for the headquarters he maintained here.”

  The Voice paused to catch his breath before continuing.

  “On it are coordinates that will lead the SD Reynolds to several locations of strategic value to you, Lord.”

  “Let me guess,” Phraim-’Eh interrupted, the words spilling loose as though he were a serpent. “One of those locations is the military base on Rolant?”

  “Yes, Master,” the Voice answered meekly.

  He knows.

  It was clear how he did, too.

  “Reynolds has already been there?” he asked, knowing the answer.

  “He has,” Phraim-’Eh replied, “and left it a smoldering ruin. Three destroyers and a cruiser were destroyed there, too, and countless disciples left to bleed out in the sand.”

  His master’s voice grew sharper and more jagged with every passing moment.

  “With no witnesses alive to inform me of what happened, I have to assume that Reynolds was able to scrape the databases of the ships and, judging by Jora’nal’s example, I can only presume there is information there that should not be. Information that might lead them to my holdings, beyond what he already possesses.”

  The Voice swallowed hard as the understanding of what his master was saying began to dawn on him.

  Even if they captured or killed Reynolds and his people, the information he held would be sufficient to find Phraim-’Eh and all of his installations. Were the android to forward this intelligence to Bethany Anne or anyone else at the Federation, there would be no end to the hell that would be visited upon them.

  Phraim-’Eh was not ready to face the entire might of the Federation yet, regardless of how powerful he might be.

  Were Bethany Anne to arrive at the head of her full might, the Cult of Phraim-’Eh would be nothing more than a minor footnote in the annals of history.