by Richard Fox
Hale shook his head. “Have FTL engines and the Crucible gates…”
“You’d be unstoppable,” Elias said.
“Which we are not,” Hale said. “At all. We’re not on Earth with all the manpower and manufacturing resources we’d ever need. We are hanging on by our fingernails out here. How long until you can have an astranite engine outfitted on the Valiant?” he asked Danielle.
“This is tech we know.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Assuming there isn’t any damage we haven’t seen yet…give me three days. Then there are field tests.”
“I think you could do it in two.” Elias held up his data pad. “I worked out the structural mechanics while you were on the way back from Negev and—”
“Three days,” Hale said.
“No, Dad, I said two if—”
Hale looked at Danielle.
She rolled her eyes and held out a hand to Elias. “Let me see what you’ve got there.” She glanced over the screen, then her eyes narrowed. “Have you passed the Fundamentals of Engineering exam? You’ve labeled everything to guild standards.”
“I passed it when I was fourteen,” Elias said.
“Governor, can I keep him?” Danielle asked.
Hale put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “You cause a problem and you’ll be digging trenches.”
“Scout’s honor.” Elias nodded quickly.
“I want updates every six hours,” Hale said to Danielle. “There any resource you need, you’ll have it. Getting the Valiant ready to leave this star system is Terra Nova’s top priority.”
Chapter 4
A plume of super-cooled vapor hissed as the coupling disengaged and the hose fell away from the generation tube. The latch clicked open and automated hinges opened the curved transparent enclosure, thick with frost. Heavy vapor rolled out of the coffin as it turned vertical, spreading out over the metal-grated deck.
Jared Hale resisted the urge to shiver as the cold reached him. He stepped forward, his footsteps creating swirls through the fog, and tapped the generation tube’s control panel. Inside the tube, the dissipating fog revealed a still form, the tall, muscular biological construct that Jared had come to dread. Long jaw, sunken eyes, and bald head visited him every night in his nightmares.
Interior lights flashed and the Netherguard’s eyes snapped open. Its first breath was long and deep. Its blood-red eyes fell on Jared.
“I serve.” Its voice was deep, raspy.
“Who do you serve?” Jared asked.
“I serve,” the Netherguard said again. “The Triumvirate.”
“Arise.”
Jared stepped back, giving the construct room to exit the tube. This new generation, designed with the latest modifications from Arch Duke Cigyd, was a significant step forward from previous generations of the Triumvirate’s foot soldiers.
Waldo’s arms folded down from the ceiling, fitting slate-grey armor around the Netherguard’s neck and shoulders, arms and legs. The skeletal helmet and faceplate came last, locking into place with a metallic click. The Netherguard moved its arms up and down, testing the armor’s flexibility.
Another arm lowered one of the new Ultari weapons into the Netherguard’s waiting hands. The long gunmetal-grey staff, topped with an energy blaster and two scimitar-like blades sprouting from the underside of the barrel. The Netherguard spun the weapons, testing the weight, then hit the butt against the ground once, coming to attention.
“You are NG-1B,” Jared said, using the creature’s batch designation.
When it spoke next, its already deep, menacing voice came out with a digitized tone. “Designation NG-1B. I serve.”
Jared walked around the Netherguard, inspecting its armor. “Where are you?”
“Generation Hive 1, Pod 1. Deck 12, on board the Ultar’s Wrath.”
“Do you know where the Barracks Deck is?”
“I do.”
“Good,” Jared said. “Report to Bay 01 and begin your training.”
“By your will, Battle Commander.”
Fortunately, the ritual wouldn’t need to be repeated. The rest of the proccies hybrids would be directed by the ship’s computer and fall in line with their senior Netherguard. Now that the prototype had passed inspection, the rest of the tubes would begin their assembly cycles, producing a new generation Netherguard every ten minutes.
Years ago, he’d led a platoon of doughboys in combat against the reptilian Toth when they attacked Earth. His doughboys had been far simpler than these Netherguard, capable of answering only the simplest of questions and good at only one thing; combat. The Arch Duke had altered the bio-construct’s programming to the point they could operate independently, vastly improving their coding. The core limitation on the Netherguard was the same as the doughboys’; they needed a leader, direction. These new Netherguard had a tendency to freeze up if they encountered an unfamiliar situation.
Jared knew the limitations Marc Ibarra designed the battle constructs with; was likely the only reason the Triumvirate still needed him.
He waited until the Netherguard had disappeared through the hatch, then turned back to the tube and started the reset procedure. He set the automation routines, then backed away as the unit folded back together.
Lights embedded into the ceiling came on in sequence, illuminating the expansive bay nearby, then spreading out away from him. Blue lighting around the base of each tube flashed, then held steady as each unit folded together, ready to begin assembly. In ten minutes, 100 next-generation Netherguard would open their eyes, don their armor, and take their first steps in the service of the Triumvirate.
Jared’s creations had been impressive before, even by Ultari standards, but these new soldiers, with the new source material, weapons, and armor—they would be a force to be reckoned with, and that terrified him. He’d gone over the data a hundred times; looking for a way to slip a flaw in, something that would give his brother an edge in the coming battle, but the Triumvirate would be looking for that, and all the Arch Duke needed was a reason. The only thing Jared could do was bide his time and wait for Ken Hale to do what Ken Hale always did, solve problems.
The ships comms crackled and buzzed overhead and the Arch Duke’s voice, digitized and deep, came through the unseen speakers. “Servant, report to the bridge immediately.”
The comm shut off before Hale could respond. Not that Cigyd would’ve listened to his response anyway. Out of the three, Jared hated Arch Duke Cigyd the most. The Ultari cyborg never stopped plotting, never took his mind off the destruction of his foes, never stopped thinking about revenge. Had the Arch Duke been human, Jared might’ve classified the creature as insane, but he wasn’t sure that term fit in this particular instance. The Arch Duke was simply…driven.
Five minutes later, Jared stepped onto the bridge of the Ultar’s Wrath. The ovoid-shaped command center contained little; several computer stations lined the sides of the room, and a raised dais in the center held a single, oversized chair, two meters off the ground. The top of the high-backed chair was ornamented with gold and silver artifacts Jared guessed represented the Ultari’s history, or maybe tribal affiliation. Emperor Kyrios sat, facing away from Jared, fingers tapping on the chair’s armrest.
The Prince and the Arch Duke stood to Jared’s right, discussing something on one of the monitors that he couldn’t make out. They looked up as he entered, then returned to their discussion without so much as a nod. He wasn’t worth their time.
A wide view screen wrapped around the front of the compartment, displaying visuals from the system they’d just warped into. A blue-white orb hung in against a backdrop of stars and a wide swath of orange-red nebulas. Multicolored rings wrapped around the planet, similar to Saturn. The planet’s only moon hung in high orbit, its surface cracked and broken. It looked like a huge chunk had been blown away sometime in the past, and over time, fragments had continued to break apart and drift away.
Jared stepped to the center of the bridge and waited. Afte
r several silent minutes, Emperor Kyrios turned, his chair spinning to face him.
The Ultari robot didn’t look as menacing while sitting, but Jared didn’t let his guard down. The razor-edged metal body and long three-fingered hands could cut through him in an instant. The twin yellow photocells that served as Kyrios’ eyes bore into him as the Emperor drew near. His metal face never moved as he spoke. “The Netherguard replacements?”
“They are in production, my lord,” Jared said. “I inspected the first warrior myself. Your creations are perfect. They will crush your enemies, my lord.”
“Mmmmm,” Kyrios said, long metal fingers tapping against the armrest. “Why did your Netherguard fail us on Negev? A handful of these…Pathfinders…nearly cost us everything.”
Jared went to his knees and pressed his forehead to the deck in kowtow. “The fault is mine.”
“Your brother is far more dangerous than you. A war hero. Are all human brood pairs so mismatched in ability?” The Emperor leaned forward, examining Jared.
Jared lifted his forehead an inch off the deck. A tinge of jealousy gripped his heart.
“My brother followed a different path than I. He chose to be a warrior. I was to be a builder, but the war against the Xaros changed my role.”
“The dark tide,” the Prince rumbled.
“Your service will be tested,” Emperor Kyrios said. “If you are found lacking, you will not be the first to be punished.” He gestured to a bulkhead, where Jared’s pregnant wife and daughter were held in stasis beneath several feet of crystal.
The Arch Duke looked up. “You allow him too much, Kyrios. He is nothing more than a shepherd. You must rein in the wretch.”
“A shepherd indeed, Cigyd,” the Emperor said. “He will remember his place. Will you not, servant?”
“Of course, my lord.”
“Bah,” Cigyd said, waving a hand in obvious disgust. “The Netherguard don’t need a shepherd; they should be unleashed. Let them fight wild. I will harvest any useful subroutines from their remains. Nothing will stand against our armies, Kyrios. Not even the Rightly Guided.”
Kyrios hissed, “Do not speak their name, Cigyd.”
The Arch Duke took a step forward. “I must, Emperor. You know, better than most, their scourge must be recognized. To destroy a thing, we must identify a thing.”
The Prince turned, his blue eyes reflecting off the smooth metal surface of his featureless face. “Cigyd is right. We cannot ignore the threat. Their very existence is a bane to ours.”
This wasn’t the first time the Triumvirate had discussed the Rightly Guided, the faction that deposed the three and imprisoned them on Negev, but it was the first time they’d openly argued about them in front of Jared. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
“I will not debate this,” Kyrios said, his voice never wavering. “I am well aware of who our enemies are. I will not hear their name. Only after we wipe their scourge from this galaxy, they will fade into nothing and only our glory will remain.”
The two junior members of the Triumvirate looked as though they wanted to continue arguing, but a look from the Emperor put those ambitions aside. Cygid glared at Jared for a moment, then turned back to the monitor and his conversation with the Prince.
Kyrios stood and moved down the curving stairs from his dais to the deck. His unsteady gate slowed his progress; Jared would need to run another diagnostic on the Ultari’s motor-function subroutines. It wouldn’t do to have Kyrios fall and embarrass himself in front of the other two. The Emperor would suffer a lot of things, but losing face in front of the Arch Duke and Prince was not one of them.
Kyrios moved across the deck, the clanking of his staff’s metal heel echoing around the chamber. The golden haft was smooth, ending in the same gunmetal grey energy cannon the new Netherguard were armed with, with three razor sharp blades curving up from where the head and haft met.
He stepped up beside Jared, his lanky, metal body almost two heads taller than the human. “Do you know where we are?”
Jared considered the planet on the screen for a moment, then shook his head. “I do not.”
“This is where our empire fractured. This was the first of our vassal planets to side with the traitors…from here, more worlds fell into rebellion. Many Ultari surrendered to the false promises before we showed them the error of their ways.”
Kyrios waved a hand at the screen. “But this, this is where their fall began. What you see before you is the price they paid for their arrogance. A broken world, left to die and wither. Our mighty fleets cracked their moon, their god, and rained destruction onto their world.”
Cigyd scoffed. “God indeed.”
“An unholy pagan belief,” Kyrios said. “Blasphemous. That they worshipped the very thing that ultimately destroyed them seems fitting, does it now?”
Jared nodded. “It does, my lord.”
Kyrios waved a hand and the image on the screen zoomed in on the broken moon. A massive fortress came into view, built right into the broken surface of the moon. The superstructure stood hundreds of stories tall, reaching several kilometers above the surface and spreading out into a lattice work of docking rings and massive habitat blocks. Large sections of the fortress were bathed in darkness, while smaller, seemingly random sections appeared to be powered as lights blinked on and off.
“Our home,” Kyrios said. “Impressive, is it not?”
“It is remarkable,” Jared said. The station was probably twice the size of a Crucible gate on Earth and many times larger than the star forts orbiting Earth.
“Look at it,” the Prince said, stepping closer to the screen. “It’s a travesty, a shadow of its former glory. It’s disgraceful.”
“I do not disagree,” Kyrios said. “This fortress was once the staging point for our entire armada. Now look at it.”
“We are being hailed,” the Arch Duke said, looking up from his station.
“Ah,” Kyrios said. “Our flock prepares to receive its shepherd.”
“My Emperor,” the Prince said. “I do not think our present… condition is suitable for the menials to observe. That we are in the forms the Rightly Guided—traitors—made for us will...not match expectations.”
“Hmmm, perhaps you are right,” Kyrios said. He flicked a finger and several panels slid open in the ceiling. Waldo arms descended, carrying smaller versions of the Netherguard armor.
Jared took a step back as the arms neared him, confused.
“Be still, servant,” Kyrios said. “You shall be our emissary to the faithful. A herald for your Emperor.”
Jared held his arms out to the side as the arms fitted the armor to his frame, the red and yellow segmented plates sealing together on their own. It was surprisingly light, and as he moved his arms, testing the suit, he found that it didn’t inhibit his movement at all. A yellow helmet, its face painted like a red skull, slid over Jared’s head and the face plate folded down, sealing itself into place. Pain flared through his skin as the suit adjusted to his body.
He clenched his teeth against the pain as a cable attached itself to the port at the base of his neck, just between his shoulder blades, and the interior of the faceplate came to life, becoming completely transparent. Holographic overlays hung in the air in front of him, displaying suit vitals, room temperature, locations of the three Ultari leaders, and their distances from him. His eye movement combined with his thoughts controlled the interface.
The pain slowly subsided as his nerves became accustomed to their new inputs. He felt power he’d never felt before, even in the hybrid control suit he’d worn on Negev. Strike Marine armor was the closest comparison, but next to this, the old human armor paled. He waited for the halberd to appear, but one never did.
Typical, he thought.
“You will be our emissary,” Kyrios repeated. “It has been too long since our banishment, and I fear some…encouragement of the faithful may be necessary.”
“They are disgraceful,” Prince Zviera sai
d, his voice full of contempt. “Look at what they’ve let themselves become. The fortress is falling apart, entire hab blocks are without power.”
“We shall remind them of our glory,” Kyrios said, stepping to the side.
The central dais lowered, disappearing into the deck, and Jared stepped forward to where it had once stood. The view of the broken moon and fortress vanished, replaced by a true born Ultari. The alien’s face was lit from above. Its black hair was disheveled, small gold rings pierced into its jawline. Its clothes were tattered; a brown jacket hung up over a purple shirt. A large golden medallion hung on a chain around the Ultari’s neck was the only thing that looked like it had been cared for.
“You’re not of the clans,” the Ultari said. “I’ll give you this warning. Leave or die.”
“We will not,” Jared said, trying to sound more confident that he actually was. Text appeared on his HUD, and he spoke them. “By the order of his Holy Emperor Kyrios, you will beg forgiveness and receive his glory.”
The alien laughed. “Holy Emperor?” He looked off screen and said, “Another emperor,” he said. There was a pause as someone off screen spoke and the Ultari laughed. He waved a dismissive hand. “You’re amusing in that get-up. Tell whoever’s playing at emperor that…Mighty Litha. Sure. I’m mighty. Mighty Litha doesn’t want to waste a torp on your ship. Piss off.”
Jared took a step toward the screen. “We will not. The Holy Emp—”
“What emperor is this? Jahard the 18th, no? Harken the 7th? I’m going to work up a firing solution right now. Then I’m changing my name to Annoyed Litha, Not Player of Gamers.”
As the Ultari spoke, words appeared on Jared’s HUD. He read them silently, then repeated them aloud. “The first and only Emperor Kyrios, High Lord of the Ultari, God of Wrath, Ancestor’s Chosen, the Face of the Spirit, the Sword of the Triumvirate. Your supreme ruler. You will submit.”
