Endless Night (The Guild Wars Book 3)

by Tim C. Taylor

  Gloriana ground her beak. Such Human impudence! Her last attempt to quell this rebellious underling had failed. In truth, Gloriana didn’t know how to enforce orders over Midnight Sun. It was an intolerable situation but not one she could resolve immediately.

  She blocked the link to Midnight Sun. If the Human wished to contact her again, she could do it through the correct Uzhan command chain.

  She calmed herself. Her emotional outburst had almost obscured the important data Blue had inadvertently revealed about the Patriots.

  Gloriana’s plan had been to wait for the Selroth surrender. Then she could contact the Maki commander with the intention of hiring her fleet to wipe out the Spine Patriots. If the Spine Patriots were to attack early, it would be better to make the offer to the Maki now.

  Her pinplants anticipated her desires and queried whether she wished to establish the link to the Maki, but she hesitated and wiped away the option. Doubts still wore away at her.

  Not only had the announcement of the Selroth surrender not yet reached her, she wasn’t receiving updates from the Romalin command at all.

  Things went wrong in the chaos of battle. And when you were a secret commander controlling your forces through invisible threads, problems were inevitable.

  If, for some unimaginable reason, the Selroth assault had somehow succeeded, then she would need the Patriots as allies.

  No, she couldn’t risk even a hint of her devious calculations getting through to the Patriots. Not until after the Selroth surrender.

  Why was that taking so long?

  “The Maki are moving,” announced Ferikik-Irk.

  Ah, at last. This must be it, the Maki readying themselves to exit the system after a completed contract.

  “Their highguard force near the emergence point is moving closer to Aneb-4. There’s movement toward the gate. Entropy! Our drone feed is destroyed.”

  “Analysis, Captain.”

  “I cannot say. Their movement makes no sense. Which means there’s an element to this engagement we do not yet understand.”

  “This has gone on long enough. I need to know what’s happening on Romalin. I’m going to order the Tagoz to fly down into the atmosphere and make a reconnaissance pass.”

  “Patriot fleet is moving, Councilor. Captain Blue has an update. Shall I put her through to you?”

  Gloriana pinlinked an affirmative, and into her mind came the transmission from Midnight Sun.

  “It’s a fubar fuck up,” declared the Human. “The island’s lost. We’ve been routed. The Patriot ships with the capability are flying down to pick up survivors. I’m taking Midnight Sun with them. Request Uzhan and Tagoz cover us as we go in.”

  “Listen to me, Blue, this must be a mistake. The Selroth force was very powerful, but it was nowhere near enough to overcome the defenses on Romalin. They can’t possibly have won.”

  “The Selroth didn’t act alone, Gloriana. They had allies. An underwater army. The one you brought all the way from Tyzhou.”

  Gloriana went rigid with shock. Tyzhou. It had been Xal-Ssap, her former husband, who had argued to bring them here so quickly after contact. The other races they had recruited had undergone generations of indoctrination to ensure their loyalty before posting them here. He’d seen their natural talent for warfare and dreamed of unleashing it across the Union under the direction of Goltar commanders. It was a necessity, he’d argued, because the Veetanho had been making preparations for war.

  Oh, Xal-Ssap. What have you done?

  * * * * *

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  Branco flinched when a burst of Tyzhoune fire ricocheted off Jex’s left flank armor, spraying bullets into the Patriot cargo shuttle keeping level just above the surface of the sea.

  Gripping hard on the cargo strap, he leaned out the open door and pumped the last four rounds from his HP-4 into the patch of water he thought they’d taken fire from. The situation was so fluid, though, that the bullets could have come from anywhere.

  Even for an extraction under fire, their exit from Romalin was confusing. Not to mention bizarre.

  While Branco swapped out mags, the shuttle bobbed lower, skimming off the waves a couple of times before slowing down to just twenty knots. Ducted fans blew the ocean into a dense cloud of spray.

  Into this watery maelstrom, Jex dangled from a cargo hook, his CASPer’s legs ploughing twin white furrows into the sea. With his CASPer’s weapons systems inoperative, Jex had insisted he was the one to be dangled into the water like bait.

  Goltar bait.

  Survivors from Mishkan-Ijk’s team still in the water swam for the bait, clambering up Jex’s CASPer and through the wide rectangular door of a shuttle still configured for carrying livestock to orbit.

  Through the deafening pandemonium of the air-sea rescue, Branco thought he heard the Pop, pop, pop of their guardian angel firing her MAC, though it was just as likely to be his imagination.

  The shuttle passed beyond the extraction zone and lifted twenty feet clear of the water, leaving three Goltar still thrashing in the sea, firing their pistols beneath the swell.

  “One more pass,” said Jex. “We’ll pick up the major, too.”

  Branco realized that Jex was speaking aloud for his benefit. He was all right, that Obadiah.

  “There she is,” said Skuilher-Dour, pointing into the water.

  Branco followed the Selroth’s finger through the curtain of spray. He saw Sun circling the remaining Goltar like an ancient champion commanding the battlefield from her chariot. Except in Sun’s case, the chariot was a river ferry with bays marked out for passenger vehicles. At its center stood a huge auto-dispenser filled with drinks and snacks for a score of races. Sun had braced herself against this as the hover vehicle bumped along the water’s surface.

  “Get out, Sun,” Branco urged as the overburdened shuttle came about for one last pick up.

  But Sun didn’t eject from her Mk 6. Instead, she fired her MAC down into the water at unseen targets.

  The ferry exploded.

  There was no warning. It suddenly cleaved in two, belching flame and propelling Sun’s CASPer into the sea.

  The Patriot shuttle was only seconds away from picking up the three Goltar remaining in the water, but they dived down after Sun.

  So did Mishkan-Ijk and another Goltar, diving twenty feet straight out the side of the shuttle, punching through the surface of the water like missiles.

  The shuttle descended, bullets raking her belly, but the fusillade of return fire from the Patriots and Midnighters stuffed inside the shuttle was fearsome, though hampered by the need to avoid hitting their own people in the sea.

  Nonetheless, the Tyzhoune fire slackened.

  Another Goltar brushed against Branco’s shoulder and dropped into the water.

  Branco joined him.

  The impact as he hit the water was a shock, but Scotty’s swim sleeve kept him warm and mobile. Branco checked that his rebreather mask fit tightly, then he kicked up his tail and pushed down beneath the sea.

  He sensed a splash beside him. Someone was diving alongside him.

  Skuilher-Dour.

  “You’re crazy, Human. Anyone ever tell you that?”

  Branco chuckled beneath his mask. His pendant translated the underwater gurgling of his Selroth friend without a problem. Human speech wouldn’t pass back so effectively, so he gave a thumbs up and pushed on, deeper, searching for Sun.

  The ghostly silhouette of her Mk 6 was sinking far below them. The clamshell canopy was open. She’d bailed out.

  A wave of shapes flew at them from the depths, too fast to be Human.

  “Hold your fire,” Skuilher-Dour warned. “They’re Goltar.”

  Branco had been so intent on chasing after Sun, he hadn’t thought things through. He’d left his HP-4 pistol on the shuttle. He reached behind and felt the reassuring shape of his pressure cannon. He snapped it off its mounting and readied its charge.

  “Sun!” he cried as the perso
n he cared about more than anything in the universe sped past, her face blue, but shooting up like a torpedo in the clutches of her Goltar rescuers.

  Of course, she didn’t hear. Didn’t even know he was there.

  Below her, more figures were rising in pursuit.

  They were dark and sleek, their silhouettes bony with long skeletal tails. Dozens of them.

  Branco fired at the center of the Tyzhoune swarm, the pressure pulse visible as it passed through the water and scattered the aliens like bowling pins. Bullets from Tyzhoune return fire tunneled through the water, seeking revenge, but failed to find their targets.

  Branco evaded, thrashing his tail and putting on a burst of speed with his turbine. The pressure cannon was a powerful weapon, but it took five seconds to recharge, and its charge pack could only deliver three shots at that power.

  Skuilher-Dour fired his harpoon rifle, but it was little more than a gesture. His four-shot weapon was only really effective at close range.

  The Tyzhoune attack seem to have stalled, though an advance party of three of the underwater horrors were swimming for Branco, their tails high and twitching.

  He shuddered at recent memories of what those tails could do, slicing through Human flesh.

  His cannon bleeped the completion of a charge cycle and he fired at them.

  This time he was rewarded with a direct hit, and the shockwave shattered the lead Tyzhoune, exploding bony fragments like shrapnel in all directions. The other two Tyzhounes tumbled into the depths, apparently unconscious.

  The main mass of Tyzhounes gave them a wide berth, working around them to come at their objective, whatever that might be.

  Branco waited for his cannon to cycle again and fired his final shot at them.

  Without waiting to see the results, he struck out for the surface.

  He breached the waves and found himself inside a wild tumult of noise, wind, and spray. He lifted his mask to see better.

  Branco looked through the cargo door of the shuttle in the moments before it closed shut. Sun was there, coughing up water, but she was alive.

  The shuttle sealed its doors and lit its thrusters, boosting for orbit.

  Branco was blown along the surface of the sea like a leaf in a pond.

  By the time he’d steadied himself and stopped choking on the water, the Patriot shuttle was a grey rectangular box atop a column of fire and smoke propelling it high into the sky.

  Similar columns were lifting off from Romalin Island and the surrounding seas. Some pushed all the way into space. Others terminated in debris plumes.

  “She’ll be back for you,” said Skuilher-Dour. “You do know that, right?”

  “I—” Branco shook his head. This wasn’t happening the way it was supposed to. “I haven’t much time left, Skuilher-Dour. All I wanted was to spend it with her.”

  “Like I was saying,” said Skuilher-Dour fiercely. “Sun will battle through massed legions of mercs and pirates to get back to you. Which is why she’s going to be severely pissed off if you get your stupid ass killed before she gets here.”

  Branco was too stunned to answer, and he stared at his Selroth friend blankly.

  “If you want to live,” said Skuilher-Dour, “then here’s our situation.” He pointed to Romalin Island just over a mile away. “As far as we’re concerned, that is now the island of death. There’s an ocean between here and the next slice of land big enough for you to crawl out of the water and make like you’re something special because your ancestors gave up their gills. Luckily for you, my people are natural ocean dwellers. Now, are you coming with me, Branco? Or are you going to sink into your despair and die?”

  “Scotty claims the power cell for this swimsuit is good for eight thousand miles and a thousand hours. You think Sun will be pissed if she returns and finds me dead? Imagine how pissed that Jeha will be if I don’t test the endurance of his creation.”

  Skuilher-Dour gave a keening noise that Branco’s pendant translated as laughter.

  “In any case,” said Branco, warming to the task ahead, “we’re Spine Patriots, right? It’s our job to raise an army and kick those bony Tyzhoune bastards off this planet.”

  “Let’s concentrate on staying alive first,” said Skuilher-Dour. “First thing we need to do is get away from Romalin.”

  Skuilher-Dour dipped beneath the waves and swam away. Branco took one last look at the island. Columns of smoke lifted from a dozen fires.

  “I’ll be back.”

  Branco slipped beneath the surface and activated his turbine in maximum economy mode.

  There was a long swim ahead.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Eighty

  Gloriana regarded the gleaming golden ball ploughing furrows of fire through the upper atmosphere of Aneb-4.

  That ship was so beautiful.

  And so very many credits had gone into her.

  She steeled her resolve and ordered Uzhan and Tagoz to abandon Aneb-4 and make for the gate at flank speed.

  Immediately, missiles set out to pursue them.

  “Gate Mistress, I need expedited access.”

  “Impossible,” said the Sumatozou wrapped in fine fabrics.

  In her communications with the representatives of the Cartography Guild, Gloriana had always wreathed herself in darkness and cloaked her voice in electronic trickery, but now she provided a clear camera view and revealed herself in her glory to the gate’s controller. “The Infinite Flow passes through your gate and pays you and your guild very healthily. You will do this.”

  “That is not correct,” said an alien voice. Human.

  The gate mistress stepped aside and a Human and a Pushtal came into the camera view, both wearing Endless Night emblems stitched into military-style jackets.

  “We enable the Infinite Flow,” said the Human. Tattooed stripes across his face mirrored the pattern of his companion’s fur. “Endless Night owns the Spine Nebula now.”

  “How dare you, Human! It is we who own Endless Night.”

  “Not anymore, you don’t. Our spies in the Spine Patriots have taught us a lot. You created us, Goltar. We were part of your operation to keep the people of the nebula so cowed that they never looked up and saw what you were doing. Well, now that we know, the Infinite Flow will make the nebula rich and Endless Night will grow fat on the profits. While you…? You’re finished, Goltar. Goodbye.”

  Gloriana’s universe exploded in light and noise and a violent, wrenching motion.

  Hissing. Grinding. Shearing. Crumpling. A second explosion shook the deck plates and extinguished the lights.

  “No.” Panic seized Gloriana. “This can’t be happening.”

  Emergency lighting switched on. It colored the CIC water chlorine green.

  “Councilor!”

  She snapped out of her horror and saw an officer talking to her. It was the Sensor Officer. Lieutenant Diyar-Dir. “Councilor, you must escape.”

  “No!”

  Gloriana allowed herself to be pulled out from her station and escorted along a corridor already choked with smoke and noise, then pushed into an escape pod with Diyar-Dir and a security trooper.

  The pod punched out hard from the stricken ship, leaving it in a trail of dizzying explosions as the little bubble of metal and water spun out into the black.

  A final explosion eclipsed all the others as Uzhan’s reactor blew.

  Then the ship was gone.

  The pod’s spinning slowed enough so Gloriana could seek the Tagoz, the proud Goltar frigate who would avenge Uzhan and rescue the escape pods.

  The realization hit her hard. In the direction of Aneb-4 lay another hot debris cloud, the same size as Uzhan’s.

  There would be no rescue.

  Gloriana reached out a tentacle to the porthole above her head. She could see the stargate glinting in the sunlight. It was so close it felt like she could reach out and touch it.

  She had failed.

  A frigate came for them.

  It was dir
ty, belching smoke, and the front of its starboard nacelle had been replaced by a crudely welded plate. But against even this fourth-rate ship, they were doomed.

  “We cannot be captured,” she said and drew a bone pistol. “My every sinew yearns to fight to my last breath, to take as many of the Endless Night scum with me as I can, but we cannot risk being captured.”

  “We must endure the dishonor of self-termination,” agreed Lieutenant Diyar-Dir, who bowed in respectful acquiescence.

  The security trooper made no such acknowledgement.

  “Do you disagree?” Gloriana challenged the trooper. “Do I need to shoot you myself?”

  “That will be unnecessary, Councilor. I shall end myself as you have ordered. But I, Hametkal-Ryz, disagree with your statement. The shame of self-termination is nothing compared to the stain on our honor caused by our actions in the Spine Nebula over many generations. These pirates are our creation. It is justice that our ship was destroyed by the consequences of our own mistakes.” He flicked a tentacle at her in disdain. “There are many who think as I do.”

  Gloriana raised her other pistol and aimed at the trooper. She would take out this disruptive renegade as her last act.

  “Wait!” called the officer. “What’s that?”

  Lieutenant Diyar-Dir set the porthole display to magnify a region of space behind them.

  It showed a gleaming metal sphere heading their way.

  Midnight Sun had survived!

  Fire belched from her three main gun ports.

  The Endless Night frigate spun on its axis, turning to thrust on a new bearing. Too late.

  Its aft shields flared briefly all the way into ultraviolet. A one-ton projectile fired by her battlecruiser would have been slowed by the shields but not stopped. The small fortune spent on upgrading the cannons had not been wasted.

  The pursuing frigate exploded.

  “Captain Blue,” Gloriana whispered. “You impress me. Genuinely.” She gloated at the renegade trooper. “Yes, Endless Night is our bastard creation, but she—” Gloriana waved a tentacle proudly at Midnight Sun, “—she is my creation.”