Ruins of the Galaxy Box Set: Books 1-6

by Chaney, J. N.

  Awen stared the specter down as the dark eyes jabbed at her.

  “I see you too,” it hissed again.

  “Congratulations,” Awen said mockingly. “Aren’t you just so special. Now, get out of my way!” She dipped her head, eyes fixed, and a blast of energy exploded from her like the shock wave of a quantum warhead. The image and all its realness blew apart, debris scattering into the void. The image’s shrapnel dissipated until Awen was left alone in silence.

  Well, almost alone.

  “Awen, are you in?” TO-96 asked.

  “Yes,” she replied with a smile. “I’m in at last.”

  Awen’s soul was flooded with all the multispectral awareness that the Unity brought, sensing light and sound and time as if they were material things. Each element flowed into the next, stretching out to infinity like a fine tapestry. Here, her skillful hands could follow a single thread—a word, an action, even a thought—from its origin to its end, watching it dance across a colorful landscape of time immemorial. It felt good to be back.

  The first thing Awen noticed was that the temple library was much larger in the Unity than it was in person. However tall the ceiling was in the natural dimension, it was twice as high in her second sight. Additionally, the shelves were taller and held more contents, and the data drives and books were replaced with something else altogether, almost as if a second library existed atop the natural one. How such a thing was possible, she had no idea.

  “The Novia must have been masters in the Unity,” she said cautiously, not wishing to jolt herself from the vision.

  “Oh?” Sootriman asked.

  “They’ve built a second library within the natural one, using some sort of ethereal architecture. I can’t really explain it, as I’ve never seen anything like it. But it’s… beautiful.”

  Awen floated to the nearest shelf and examined a glowing orb, one of the hundreds that occupied each case of shelves. At first, she thought it resembled a large ball, like the type used in a chandelier. But as she got closer, she noticed details within the sphere—planets. And the light was not from the orb itself but from a sun. She looked at the next orb. It, too, had planets and a sun. The third one she looked in had two suns. She looked at the shelf below and at the shelf below that. Then she glanced over her shoulder at the case across the aisle. Each and every orb was a solar system.

  “I can’t believe it,” Awen said.

  “Can’t believe what?” Ezo asked.

  “They’ve mapped thousands—no, it must be millions of star systems. Maybe even billions.”

  “They have?” TO-96 asked.

  “Oh, Ninety-Six, you would love this!” Awen exclaimed. “It’s—it’s too amazing. I have no doubt that the library in the natural world could be full of their people’s history. But here in the Unity, they’ve created a library of star systems. The shelves are full of orbs that show star systems—too many for me to even count.”

  Awen raised her hand in the Unity, reaching toward the closest orb, one with several planets and a bright-yellow sun. As her hand neared it, however, the orb began to glow and push back. It wasn’t a complete block but more like a steady resistance, as if to warn the viewer that they were approaching something they needed to consider before proceeding. Awen thought better of the action and removed her hand. The orb faded back to its normal glow. If she’d proceeded past the cautionary push, she might have been able to examine the star system in detail or perhaps view a data file… or even travel there…

  The thought made her senses tingle, and a surge of excitement coursed through her physical body.

  “Awen, are you all right? I’m detecting high levels of adrenaline in your body.”

  “I’m fine, Ninety-Six. I’m just amazed at what they’ve done. There seems to be more work here than a thousand sentient species could compile in… I can’t even speculate… in generations. Hundreds of generations maybe. And then they stored it all in this—this marvelous space they created. They were actually creating inside the Unity.”

  “That’s not something you do?” Sootriman asked.

  “No, not really. I mean, we can manipulate certain things.”

  “Like blowing apart rocks at the atomic level,” TO-96 suggested.

  “I guess, though that’s not really normal. But the Novia Minoosh—they’ve built something from nothing. And they’ve stored information in it and deposited memories of their findings.”

  “Can you access the data, then?” Ezo inquired.

  Awen had wondered the same thing. “I’m guessing I could, but without knowing more, I’m not sure it’s entirely safe.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, if it’s just a data file, sure. But something tells me there might be more to what I’m seeing than what I’m seeing.”

  “You’re being vague, Star Queen.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that—well—who’s to say I don’t travel to the world I examine?”

  “Wait—that could happen?”

  “I don’t know if it could happen, Ezo. I already told you, this is all new to me. I just have a sense that I should tread carefully.”

  “You said it’s a library of star systems,” Ezo said. “Do you think our galaxy is indexed there? How else could a quantum tunnel exist in it? Maybe if you… touch it or access whatever it is you’re seeing… maybe we can go back!”

  “Easy, love,” Sootriman said, trying to calm Ezo down.

  “Or maybe,” Awen retorted, trying to bring some sense of reason to the conversation, “my soul is severed from my body and the jump kills me. Or maybe it opens a quantum tunnel right now, and we’re jettisoned into the void, unprotected.”

  “Or maybe,” TO-96 suggested, “it forms a spontaneous event horizon whose gravity compresses our combined masses to the subatomic level, thereby instantaneously erasing us from existence.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “On second thought,” Ezo said, “let’s go with the learn more before we leap model.”

  “I agree,” Awen said. “In any case, there’s more here than I could examine in my lifetime.” She turned toward her friends and her corporeal self. That was when she noticed the pedestal and the black box. “Wait a second.”

  “What is it?” Ezo asked. “What d’you see?”

  “The box. In the middle of the circle.” Awen approached it slowly. “It’s glowing.” The box emitted a soft blue light.

  “Everything glows in the Unity,” TO-96 stated wistfully. “I want to go there. I wish to see a world of shiny things.”

  “No time for robot fantasies, ’Six. What d’you see, Awen?”

  “I’m—I’m not sure.” She stretched her hand out. There was none of the resistance that the orbs had projected. If anything, there seemed to be something drawing her to it. An invitation.

  “Where are you now?” Ezo asked.

  “I’m at the pedestal. At the box.”

  “You opening it?”

  “Yes, I think I should.”

  “Careful, Star Queen.”

  “And to think,” Sootriman said with a tsk, “a moment ago, you wanted to send her across the universe without a space suit.”

  “Just be careful.”

  “It’s okay. I think I’m supposed to do this.” Awen reached a hand toward the black box and opened the lid.

  10

  Rohoar blew out a hot breath, the odor wreaking of dead flesh and soured milk. Magnus’s eyes watered. It rivaled the worst smells he’d ever inhaled. Simply horrendous. Still, he held his ground, Abimbola’s instructions of showing no weakness ringing in his ears.

  Faster than Magnus could move, a giant paw slammed down on his left shoulder, almost sending him to the ground, but he managed to stay on his feet.

  “Then we are bound in blood,” Rohoar said.

  Magnus blinked, surprised he was still alive. “Bound in blood?” This was not going how he’d imagined it would.

  “You killed Rohoar’s people. Rohoar killed
your people. Yet here we are, face-to-face as warriors.”

  “Here we are,” Magnus echoed, playing along but not really knowing what to say.

  “And you wish to kill Selskrit?”

  Howls went up around the mwadim’s tent. Magnus looked around then back at Rohoar. “Oh, I do. If they’re the ones holding my unit hostage, then I definitely do.”

  The Jujari nodded, lips pulled back. “Good, good. Then in honor of your death defiance toward Rohoar and toward your mission, Rohoar will refrain from killing you at present.”

  “And I appreciate not being killed.”

  “The Dingfang might kill you. The Clawnip will probably kill you. The Selskrit will definitely kill you. But for now, the Tawnhack will not kill you.”

  “Again, thank you, Great Mwadim.”

  “Tell Rohoar, scrumruk graulap, what will you do for Rohoar should you rescue your people?”

  Cackles went up around the tent. Whatever Rohoar had just called him, it was a cultural inside joke. Magnus looked to Abimbola again. The warlord nodded for Magnus to go on with the plan.

  “If I rescue the hostages, I will ensure that Rohoar is connected with Brigadier General Lovell himself.”

  “Explain connected.”

  “I’ll… make sure you have a private holo-vid call with—”

  “No,” the mwadim said. “Rohoar says no.”

  Menacing growls circulated around the tent, the kind that made the hair on the back of Magnus’s neck stand up.

  “No holo-vid. No calls. Face-to-face. Like you and Rohoar now.”

  “Rohoar, I don’t think you understand…”

  “Rohoar does not understand?”

  The cackles were frenetic, the Jujari males around the room now closing toward them.

  “Watch yourself, Magnus,” Abimbola whispered. It was the first time the warlord had ever used Magnus’s last name.

  So, word choice is a touchy thing. Got it.

  “Forgive me, Great Mwadim. I meant to say that gaining an audience with the general face-to-face may prove to be difficult—maybe even beyond my ability to arrange.”

  “Battling the Selskrit and rescuing your unit may prove to be difficult, maybe even beyond your ability to arrange.”

  Magnus couldn’t believe he was trying to negotiate with a Jujari chieftain. Isn’t this Ambassador Bosworth’s job? But the fat man is dead. They probably ate him for lunch. So it’s up to you, Marine. Dominate, liberate.

  “I will see what I can do.”

  “No deal,” said Rohoar.

  Magnus looked at Abimbola, but the warlord shrugged.

  Come on! Isn’t he supposed to be helping here?

  “All right, when we get back, I will put in a request—”

  “No deal.”

  “Great Mwadim, our chain of command—”

  Rohoar stooped down and looked Magnus in the eye. His foul breath was smothering. “If you cannot do this for Rohoar, then you are not the right person to rescue your people. Perhaps you should call someone else to do scrumruk graulap work.”

  But there was no one else to do the work. And there was no way the Republic would honor a backroom deal that some lieutenant made with a Jujari chieftain. If Magnus was lucky, he’d rescue the hostages and get them all to orbit, and then Rohoar would get the shaft with a holo-vid, if anything. That was just the way the Republic worked. Now who’s being double-crossed? he thought, cursing the evils of bureaucracy.

  Magnus would make it happen. Somehow, some way, he’d do the deal. Lives depended on it. The general had asked him for a favor—maybe that was the leverage he could use for this.

  “A personal meeting with Brigadier General Lovell. You have a deal.”

  Rohoar barked, and spittle flew onto Magnus’s face. Magnus threw his arms up out of instinct. The mwadim was upright, head thrown back in a wild howl that must have shaken the fabric overhead. The rest of the Jujari males joined in, their primal cries mixing together as one. Magnus covered his ears and looked at Abimbola.

  “You have a deal!” the warlord shouted, hands over his ears. “Good job!”

  * * *

  Magnus was back in Hell’s Basket Case with Abimbola at the wheel, moving westbound. He looked through the hatch overhead. His new eyes were almost completely adjusted. Sunlight streamed between buildings, its golden shafts made visible by swirling clouds of dust. Magnus wiped his brow for the hundredth time, sure his bandana was soaked through.

  The meeting with the mwadim had not gone as Magnus expected it to, but then again, he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. He certainly hadn’t expected to meet Chief—Rohoar—again. Magnus wondered how Rohoar had survived the blast. Maybe it had something to do with Awen and her mystical powers. Maybe Rohoar had been close enough to her that her strange force field had protected him.

  Regardless of how he’d survived, the mwadim had certainly given Magnus a run for his money. The Marine hadn’t planned on being interrogated about killing Jujari or arranging a face-to-face meeting with a Republic general. Still, Rohoar had made it worth his while by giving them updated intelligence—the news that the hostages were still in the compound—and by lending an additional twenty Jujari from his personal bodyguard. They would come in handy as long as they didn’t get in the way of Marine and Marauder blaster fire. The Jujari’s presence posed potential problems on the battlefield too—they had no communication, no understanding of tactics, and no coordinated movement. It could turn out to be a real splick show. But then again, their sheer power in battle might make up for whatever additional chaos ensued. That, and these warriors were seasoned in hunting Selskrit, which was infinitely more than Magnus could claim.

  Before Magnus got all sentimental about the provision of Jujari troops, however, he reminded himself that it was also in the mwadim’s favor to send them. They acted as insurance that Magnus didn’t just vanish after a successful rescue. He assumed the bodyguard had orders to stay with Magnus until the meeting was arranged, ready to slit his throat if he failed to do it.

  “Hey,” Magnus said to Abimbola, “do you know what scrumruk graulap means?” He’d wished Awen was there to interpret it because it was probably bad and, therefore, would be another anecdote for the warlord to insult him with. Still, his curiosity had gotten the best of him.

  Abimbola laughed. “It means ‘little hairless warrior.’”

  “Perfect,” Magnus said with a chuckle. “And here I thought it was an insult or something.”

  * * *

  The farther west they drove, the more the pedestrians thinned. Mothers corralled their pups indoors while shop owners dropped gates over storefronts. Fires burned unattended in metal drums while adolescent Jujari bunched together in side streets, staring at the convoy. The knot in Magnus’s stomach grew tighter. The city was preparing for a fight.

  Magnus also noticed that the condition of the buildings was worsening. Whereas the sandstone and metal they’d seen earlier had been in good condition, here it was covered in charred blaster holes and soot. The inook shrouds in the windows were yellowed and tattered, and the gentle blue glow of the force fields that held the elements at bay was gone. The smell was also worse.

  “We are getting close,” Abimbola said, looking out the slats to his left.

  “Definitely not the part of town we were looking for vacation homes in,” Magnus replied, referring to a joke he’d made when he was in the jail with Awen. Abimbola chuckled.

  They’d driven another three hundred meters when a sudden single-note howl resonated from the convoy behind them.

  “We are here,” Abimbola said.

  “Border?”

  Abimbola nodded, slowing the skiff to a stop. “You are going to want to keep your head down,” he said as he closed the hatch overhead.

  “Copy,” Magnus replied, lowering his sunglasses and peeking between the slats in the windshield. Ahead, the city blocks were made of two- and three- and even four-story buildings, whose shrouds were mostly missing. The
sandstone looked like it was ready to collapse. Doors were ajar, and the streets were emptied of Jujari. “Nice place.”

  “Wait until you meet our hosts.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  Abimbola swiped a menu on the touchscreen on his dashboard. A holo-projection flickered to life, displaying the route west. It zigzagged several times before terminating at the compound Magnus remembered from the briefing.

  “Here is the updated route from Rohoar. I sent it to your nav program,” Abimbola said, gesturing toward the holo-pad he’d given Magnus. “You and I can both update it as needed.”

  “You sure it won’t get jammed?”

  “Ha. I am not sure of anything save fate and death, buckethead. But it is a private network, and my code slicers are good. I should be fine.”

  “Don’t you mean I should be fine?”

  “No. I have no idea how you are going to be. I have Basket Case,” Abimbola said, giving his skiff a loving tap, “so I should be fine.”

  “Of course.”

  Magnus flicked the holo-pad on, and a projection of the city sprang to life, reflecting the route on Abimbola’s dashboard. The pad was cumbersome, and Magnus was sure it wouldn’t last the day. What I wouldn’t give for a Recon helmet with nav integration, unit comms, and the latest AI patch!

  “We will soften this corridor first, then it is up to you to clear the way. Call in support as you need it.” Abimbola swiped to another menu and scrolled through ten profile images with descriptions beside them. “Again, these are the Marauders who were bloodthirsty enough to join you.”

  Magnus matched the faces to his memory of the people he’d met in Abimbola’s hideout. He’d barely spoken a word to each, but he was grateful for their help. Of course, he wasn’t sure if he could trust them. But he’d trusted their leader and made it this far. If Abimbola had wanted to betray him, he could have done so plenty of times over. Of course, he still might, you noob. But Magnus had learned that part of operating behind enemy lines meant learning to take chances and forging unlikely partnerships. And—looking at Abimbola—this certainly met the criteria for unlikely.