Ixan Legacy Box Set
Page 50
Husher lowered his eyes, very aware of his CIC crew all around him. “Tactical, fire on the stealth ship with a round of kinetic impactors.”
Chief Tucker turned toward him, eyes wide with shock and disappointment.
“Do it,” Husher said, his voice hardening.
“Yes, sir.”
On the main viewscreen, Carrow nodded, the scarlet slowly draining from his face. “You can have a bright career with the UHF, Husher. I’ve rarely seen a young officer with your potential, so I’m willing to overlook today’s transgression. But if you ever hint at defying my orders again, I will arrange that court martial. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Admiral.”
Chapter 1
Not a Request
Fesky stared at the CIC’s main display, unable to process what she was seeing. The display showed her best friend’s face—Captain Vin Husher’s face. But it wasn’t really her friend. It couldn’t be. This Husher had a scar running from temple to chin, and he was glaring at her with murder in his eyes.
“Unknown vessel, identify yourself at once or prepare to be attacked,” he said.
Fesky tried to speak, but couldn’t at first. Then, finally, she managed it: “Husher?”
He narrowed his eyes, though otherwise he didn’t react. Fesky sensed the coldness that exuded from him—as though he was ready to kill her without a glimmer of remorse. For her, that was the most jarring thing of all.
“How do you know my name?” he said.
When Fesky had agreed to captain the Spire, the IGF’s first interdimensional vessel, she’d assumed she was in for some bizarre experiences. But nothing could have prepared her for this.
“I asked you a question,” Husher said. “Two questions, technically. Who are you? And how do you know my name?”
She glanced at the tactical display on her console and estimated that the other ship would enter firing range within ten minutes. We should transition out of this universe. But Husher—the Husher she’d known for decades; the one who didn’t act like he wanted to kill her—had sent her to the Progenitors’ home dimension to gather intel for the IGF. Intel they could use to end the war.
There was plenty about this place she didn’t understand. Why did the Progenitors occupy a system whose layout matched Sol? And why was there a gigantic forcefield surrounding the entire system, suspended just beyond what could only be the Kuiper Belt?
Why is my best friend captaining a Progenitor ship?
Fesky’s own ship, the Spire, sat just inside that Kuiper Belt. She needed to use the ten minutes before the opposing ship entered firing range to find out anything she could. And right now, this warped version of Husher was her primary source of intel.
“Last chance,” he said. “Who—”
“I’m Commander Fesky of the Integrated Galactic Fleet,” she said. “I’ve known you for twenty years, and I served as your XO for seventeen of them. I’m also your best friend.”
“Liar. I’d never befriend a Winger.”
Fesky’s beak snapped shut. It felt like she’d been slapped. “Why not?” she said at last.
“Because you belong to an inferior species. Which is why you were wiped out.”
“But we weren’t wiped out. I’m right here.”
Husher frowned. “Prove it to me. Prove that you know me.”
“Okay,” Fesky said, and drew a shaky breath. “Your greatest hero was Leonard Keyes.”
Husher laughed loudly. “That couldn’t be farther from the truth. I’m not sure how you knew Keyes, but I was no admirer of his.” He lifted a finger to his face, running it along the puckered line that crossed it. “Keyes was the one who gave me this.”
“We served together, you and I,” Fesky said, fighting through her shock at Husher’s words. “On the Providence.”
“Wrong again. Absurdly wrong. Are you delusional, Winger?”
“Your father is Warren Husher, a starship captain before you. Your mother is Cassandra. She raised you in a bungalow on Venus.”
That seemed to give Husher pause. “So you do know some personal details about me,” he said. Nodding as though to himself, he went on: “I’d like to discuss this further, face-to-face. I’m interested to hear how you came by your information, but I’m much more concerned about how you made it to this system in the first place.”
“I’m afraid that discussion isn’t going to happen,” Fesky said. The other ship was drawing too near, for her liking, and it was time for the Spire to leave. This other Husher hadn’t been very forthcoming, but her sensor operator had had plenty of time to collect data—on the thousands of ships in this system, as well as on its layout. We have to get back with what we have. She turned to her Nav officer.
“Oh, it wasn’t a request,” Husher broke in before she could give an order.
“Ma’am,” her sensor operator said, sounding panicked, “there’s a change with several asteroids along a wide arc off our stern. Parts of them are opening up, revealing mounted weapons. They’re firing on us.”
“Nav, get us out of this universe!” Fesky yelled.
Chief Devar bent over her console to enter the necessary command, but it was too late. Ordnance connected with the Spire’s hull, and an explosion rocked the ship, then another.
“Yvan, what was that?” she snapped.
“Our starboard and port main capacitor banks,” the sensor operator said. “They’re both blown.”
Devar turned to Fesky, and when she spoke, her voice was soft. “We no longer have the charge necessary to transition out of this universe, ma’am. We’re stuck.”
With creeping horror, Fesky returned her gaze to the tactical display, where the Progenitor ship was about to enter firing range.
She remembered the cold stare this version of Husher had directed at her, and part of her wanted to order an attack, in the hopes of forcing him to destroy the Spire. She had no desire to meet him in person, or to give him access to whatever information there was to be gleaned from her ship or her crew.
But she had a duty to that crew. She couldn’t just sacrifice their lives on a whim.
“Coms,” she said softly, “send the approaching ship a transmission request. Tell them we surrender.”
Chapter 2
The Cavern
Husher adjusted the cuffs of his midnight Darkstream military uniform as he walked toward the shuttle that would take him and his prisoner to Ragnarok Station, in high Earth orbit.
He found her inside, strapped into a crash seat, arms and wings bound together.
“I’m told you didn’t resist capture,” he said. “You’re pliant. Just like a Winger.”
She cursed him, and he sat in the crash seat opposite her, fixing her with his gaze. A pair of marines filed into the shuttle, taking seats on either side of the Winger.
He’d taken several prisoners from the strange vessel that had appeared on the system’s outskirts, but he didn’t want them all crowded in the shuttle with him during the trip to the space station. They would all end up there before the day was out, but he didn’t want to have to look at them.
He didn’t particularly want to look at the Winger, either. But since she’d been in command, he expected her to be the most valuable source of information.
Information he intended to extract quickly.
“I’m taking you into the Cavern,” he told her. “The difference between you and everyone else I’ve ever taken there is that they knew where they were headed. You’re much calmer than they were.”
“I won’t tell you anything,” the Winger said.
“Of course you will. Wingers always put on a show at first, always so eager to demonstrate their loyalty and obedience to their masters. But I’m going to hurt you, Winger, in just the right ways. I’m going to dismantle your psyche, and then I’ll rebuild it to serve a new master. Me. You’ll be just as eager to obey.”
“I won’t tell you anything,” the Winger repeated.
“We’ll see.”
Th
e shuttle passed through an exterior airlock and into one of Ragnarok’s massive landing bays, setting down near a hatch leading into the station. Husher nodded to the two marines, and they seized the Winger, dragging her from her seat and through the shuttle’s airlock. That done, they fell in behind Husher as he led the way through the labyrinthine station.
At last, they arrived at the Cavern, situated in the center of the station. Husher punched in his access code, and the hatch slid open to admit them. “Put her in the chair,” he ordered the marines. They shoved the Winger through the hatch.
Husher followed at a leisurely pace, hands clasped behind his back, enjoying the vastness of the Cavern. The ceiling hung far overheard, hidden by the chamber’s murk. When you stood in the center, the bulkheads weren’t visible either—only the floor was lit, by a light source none could see. At Husher’s request, one of the AIs had been instructed to work out how to make oxygen molecules low-hanging and phosphorescent.
He felt powerful, here—more powerful even than sitting in the command seat of his destroyer. Here, he commanded the universe, and the universe obeyed.
The marines had finished strapping the Winger securely into the chair. “Go,” he told them, and they left.
“Welcome to the Cavern,” Husher said, turning to his subject after watching the marines exit. “I’m sure even your dim wits can discern what’s about to happen.” He smiled. “I make no promises about what will happen after the pain stops, but I can tell you that there’s only one way to make it stop completely: by giving me what I want. I want to know how you reached this solar system—this universe—and from where. I’ll start with the second part. A small bit of data you might offer me, to smooth relations between us. Are you from the Milky Way? The one situated in the universe we’re in the process of conquering?”
The bird remained silent.
“You can spare yourself any pain at all by giving me the information I need right away,” he said.
“We’re best friends,” the Winger said. “We’ve been best friends for twenty years.”
“Well, if you’re not going to talk, I’m afraid today may strain the friendship.” He took a step forward. “I think you are from the Milky Way, which means I must know how you got here, and whether the IU has the means to get here as well. Trust me, I will find out. I’ve tortured thousands of beings, including plenty of Wingers. You may think it distasteful for the commander of system defense to moonlight as a torturer, but the truth is, I’ve come to enjoy it. Besides, no one else is as good at it as I am. Keep in mind, bird, that I’m not restricted by the sort of interstellar conventions they have in the IU. I have full reign to use absolutely any method I wish, and if you die in the process, I won’t face any consequences.” Husher turned, gesturing at the murky void created by the Cavern. “I requested this room’s construction myself, after developing a theory of what sort of environments would best facilitate the infliction of pain. I was given exactly what I wanted. Don’t you think it perfectly emulates the empty hopelessness of space?”
“You can’t do this to me,” the Winger rasped. “Vin Husher would never be able to bring himself to do such a thing.”
“Anyone can bring themselves to do such a thing. Anyone is capable of this. If you haven’t realized that yet, you haven’t been paying attention. You should know, bird, that continuing to resist me will guarantee permanent disfigurement, of the sort your society’s iatric nanobots simply cannot repair. That’s in case you’re harboring hope of escape or rescue. If that were to happen, which it won’t, you’d never be able to look upon your peers again without them seeing how you’ve been diminished.
Husher approached the chair, directing both hands toward it and shaping it with midair gestures. The top half of the chair twisted toward him, offering the Winger’s face for him to backhand. He did so, and she cried out, her face snapping sideways.
“You’ll feel like you’re deteriorating,” he went on, “like you’re being removed from yourself, piece by piece. That’s because you will be deteriorating.”
He snapped his fingers, and twin syringes extended from opposite sides of the chair, affixed to the ends of spindly, articulated metal arms. They were programmed to identify the species of the subject and seek a usable vein, which they did now, jabbing the Winger in the neck and arm.
The Winger’s beak snapped shut, and her head lifted from the chair’s headrest as she strained against the straps keeping her down.
“You’ve just been injected with methamphetamine,” Husher explained. “It will help keep you conscious, and once you’ve developed a dependence on the drug and I start denying you it, the withdrawal symptoms will serve as additional threads in your tapestry of pain.”
Sliding a vertical hand through the air, he opened a compartment built into the deck underneath the chair, from which he extracted a pair of leather, steel-studded gloves. His fist crashed into the side of the Winger’s face.
An hour later, he stood over a battered, bleeding Winger, whose beak was cracked and whose wide eyes jerked back and forth.
Still, she refused to give him the information he needed.
A memory gripped him, then—from the last time he’d underestimated an enemy.
Captain Leonard Keyes had locked eyes with him the moment he’d exited the shuttle. They were cold eyes, and they never left Husher’s as the marines forced the rogue captain to cross the flight deck.
“Nine years,” Husher said when the marines brought Keyes within earshot. “Nine years I’ve hunted you while you played the downtrodden revolutionary. And now my marines find you in an incompetently hidden base on a forsaken rock deep inside the Bastion Sector. I suppose it’s fitting.”
“The Bastion Sector won’t exist for much longer if your masters are allowed to continue, Darkstream dog.”
Husher chuckled. “Who’s going to stop them? And why would anyone want to? Humanity rules the galaxy. We’ve achieved something our ancestors couldn’t have even dreamed—”
“The galaxy won’t exist either,” Keyes said. “Dark tech is ripping this universe apart.”
“We have contingency plans,” Husher said. “The AIs—”
Keyes tore himself from the marines’ grasp, a blade extending from his uniform’s sleeve. His arm swung upward in a wide arc, and Husher raised his hands to block—too late. Keyes dragged the blade across Husher’s face, and he staggered backward, blinking through a curtain of blood.
Husher palmed the wetness from his face and saw that the marines had seized Keyes again, though the man’s bunched sleeve was still clutched in his fingers, to give the blade stability.
Husher drew his sidearm and shot Keyes in the face at point-blank range. The marines released him, then, and the rebel captain slumped backward onto the deck. Striding forward, Husher emptied the clip into his torso.
The Winger coughed, pulling him back to the present. He realized he’d been standing there in silence for at least a minute, completely still.
Without another word, he yanked off the scarlet-covered gloves by the fingertips, dropping them to the floor. Then he strode toward the exit hatch.
Out in the corridor, he yanked his com from its holster to contact his boss.
“Captain Husher,” Tennyson Steele said. “Have you extracted the relevant information from the subject?”
“No. I intend to, but for now, she’s holding out. I don’t think we should underestimate the significance of that. The fact she’s so determined not to talk suggests she possesses some very valuable intel.”
“Like the IU having discovered interdimensional travel.”
“Yes. I don’t know how, but the bird’s presence makes it a near-certainty. Sooner or later, more ships will follow.”
“How do you think we should respond to this revelation?”
Husher drew a deep breath. “We need to begin prioritizing speed over efficiency. It’s time to begin the invasion.”
Chapter 3
Laying Waste
Despite that the Vesta was still limping after the previous day’s battle—one of her main capacitors had been blown out completely—Husher was left with no choice: he ordered the Vesta to respond.
“The Progenitor ships are reacting to our approach, sir,” Winterton said, mostly successful in keeping the fatigue out of his voice.
We’re all exhausted. They’d just finished fighting back-to-back battles against the IU and then the Progenitors, and now the Progenitors were pressing the attack again. “Reacting in what way, Winterton?” Husher could already see how the enemy was reacting, but he needed the sensor operator to say it, so that every CIC officer was on the same page.
“They appear to be abandoning their attack on Abdera completely. Their ships are vanishing from the universe, one by one.”
“I don’t trust that for a second,” Husher said. “Coms, order Commander Ayam to launch the Air Group, and tell Captain Harding that she and the other captains should expect an attack at any moment. They need to be ready to adopt lateral evasive maneuvers, in the event the Progenitors target them with particle beams.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Tremaine, ready the primary laser, along with two Hydra broadsides. If they form a sphere around us again, I don’t plan to leave it intact for very long.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Ships appearing off our bow, sir,” Winterton said, which confirmed Husher’s suspicions about the Progenitors’ supposed retreat. They just wanted to engage us away from Abdera’s defense platforms. “Looks like a curved wall formation, one that’s fairly dispersed,” the ensign continued, then he winced. “One of the UHF-model ships just went down.”
Damn it. Husher’s warning about the particle beam clearly hadn’t arrived in time. He opened a direct channel to his CAG. “Commander Ayam, do you read me?”