Ruins of the Galaxy Box Set: Books 1-6

by Chaney, J. N.

  But to Magnus’s point—yes. Ricio had in fact noticed plenty that wasn’t “normal.” Hell, Admiral Kane’s transformation into Moldark was perhaps the craziest splick Ricio had ever seen. And he certainly seemed to have acquired command of all three fleets rather quickly—and all on the eve of war with the Jujari. And talk about delusions of grandeur, Moldark’s made Magnus’s look pathetic by comparison.

  “Let’s say that I have noticed some strange, hypothetically speaking. What does that gain me here?”

  “We won’t kill you today,” the Jujari said.

  “And how’s that comforting? It just sounds like tomorrow is the next best option.”

  “That’s why it’s comforting.”

  Magnus cocked his head at Ricio. “If you’re willing to give us more information about Admiral Kane, his superior, and the ships at his disposal, then—as the Jujari has said—we’ll spare your life, Commander Longo.”

  Suddenly, the Miblimbian tensed. Why, Ricio had no idea. But the giant seemed to study Ricio with more interest than before.

  “Furthermore,” Magnus continued, “if you’re willing to entertain our proof and you find it convincing, we could use another good pilot around here.”

  “You want me to work for you?” Ricio snickered.

  “With us,” the Elonian added. “There’s a difference.”

  “For, with—whatever. I’m not buying it.” But the more the seconds passed, the more Ricio had a strange feeling that these misfits were more integral to the Republic’s survival than he cared to admit. Call it a gut feeling. Which gave him even more cause for concern: his gut was rarely wrong. “Why don’t we jump straight to the proof then. I’ve never been one to move slow.”

  Magnus straightened. “Fair enough. Azelon, bring up the footage of Nos Kil’s confession about the bombing.” Ricio looked around the cell block and wondered if Azelon wasn’t a shipboard AI. When the order was met with silence, Magnus repeated the request. Still the AI did not reply.

  Ricio looked around the cell block. “Is something supposed to be happening here?”

  Magnus turned and looked at the bot with the missiles and blaster on its forearms. “’Six, where’s Azelon?”

  “Unfortunately, sir, she seems to be unreachable.”

  “What do you mean unreachable?”

  “I mean, I am having trouble finding her on the ship’s mainframe. This is highly unusual.”

  “Well find her, dammit.”

  “Magnus,” the Elonina said, her voice matching the look of concern on her face. “Something’s wrong… Mystics, It’s Piper!”

  As if on cue, the scream of a little girl cut through the cell block.

  12

  With Magnus and Awen interrogating the prisoners, and a short reprieve to prepare himself for the encounter, Rohoar had returned to the bridge alone. He was both eager and apprehensive to see where the conversation might lead. While he’d had some time to process the startling revelation of his long-lost ancestors, the Novia Minoosh, he had not had any occasion to speak with Azelon about it. Until now. So when he saw Azelon turn around to greet him from in front of the bridge-wide holo display, he was entirely unsure of how to start the conversation.

  “Azelon, this is Rohoar,” he said, guessing the introduction was pointless only after he’d spoken it.

  “I am aware of who you are, Rohoar of the Tanwhack,” the bot-AI replied. “Welcome.”

  “Thank you.” He moved to the captain’s chair and sat down. He noted, once again, how the seat fit his body’s shape and mass perfectly.

  “I was hoping to speak with you alone,” Rohoar said.

  Azelon looked around the room and then back at the Jujari. “It seems you have found an opportune time to speak with me then.”

  He nodded. “Yes. And not just you, but… you know. You.”

  “As in the Novia Minoosh within the singularity?”

  “Yes.”

  “We are all here,” Azelon replied, suddenly using the plural pronoun. There was something strange about speaking to an entire collective at once, all channeled through Azelon and this starship. How they’d even managed such a technological feat was beyond Rohoar.

  “Are you here to discuss your ancestry with us?” Azelon asked.

  The hackles on Rohoar’s neck went up. “Yes.”

  “How may we help you?”

  Rohoar had thought long and hard about what he was going to say and about all the questions he might ask. But now that the moment was upon him, he felt unsure of how to begin.

  “Rohoar, how may we help you?”

  He shifted in his seat and moved his tail since it was falling asleep. “I have so much to ask you that I do not know where to begin.”

  “Why don’t you begin with what you know, or at least with what you suspect that you know.”

  Rohoar licked his chops and sat back. “That seems wise.”

  He began with the stories that he’d inherited from his father, and his father before him, going back to what he believed was the very beginning of his people. Just as he’d detailed on Neith Tearness with the rest of Granther Company, Rohoar recounted the history of mwadims, of how the Gladio Umbra parted ways with their kin and escaped to the stars, eventually opting to leave the universe and settle on Oorajee.

  There was a long pause as Azelon seemed to take in everything he said. “All of this, as you have recounted it, is true, Rohoar of the Tawnhack.”

  An intense wave of emotions flooded Rohaor’s chest. It was as if some magical fairytale that was too lofty for reality had suddenly been yanked from the land of fiction and dropped into reality. If he had been told he could now fly, he wouldn’t have been any more dazzled by the truth of it.

  “And so, here I am,” Rohoar said.

  “Indeed,” said Azelon.

  Rohoar didn’t know what to say next. But he hoped maybe Azelon might. When she didn’t continue, he added, “And what do you think of me?”

  “Could you please rephrase the question?”

  Rohoar flicked his ears. “Are you… all of you, are you mad with us? Mad with me?” The question made his face hot, as though it were asking something he shouldn’t.

  Azelon stepped forward and tilted her head. “Why would we be mad with you?”

  “Because… well, because we abandoned you.”

  “I see,” said Azelon. She moved her head again. “We are not mad with you, nor do we feel that you abandoned us.”

  “You don’t?” The sense of relief that washed over Rohoar was overwhelming. Still, some measure of apprehension remained locked in his chest. “Why not?”

  “Because, Rohoar of the Tawnhack, your ancestors did what they believed was right. We did not fight, though we did dispute. In the end, however, it was the ardent belief of each faction that they should be free to pursue their beliefs unobstructed by the assertions of the other. Therefore, each party deemed it necessary to separate in ways that would serve the other’s best interests.”

  Rohoar blinked several times, flaring his nostrils and smelling the air. It was out of habit more than anything else, trying to detect some pheromone or another in an attempt to determine the speaker’s truthfulness. He was, of course, speaking to a non-biological being, so he scolded himself for being so unintuitive.

  “Are you relieved, Rohoar? Your vital signs seem to indicate so.”

  He nodded. “I am, yes. More than you could know.”

  “We are pleased to hear this.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we too have often wondered what happened to you, our kin.”

  “You have?”

  “Of course. You were never our enemies. Only our lost brothers and sisters. We were, to put it in your terms, quite excited to see you when you arrived in the system. We knew it would only be a matter of time before you recognized yourself in the shadow of our world, opting to let you make the discovery yourself rather than burden you with insight that may inadvertently harm your psyche.”


  This was as Rohoar had suspected, and he felt a certain connectedness over the shared conclusion. “I thank you for your patience.”

  Azelon nodded. “As more time has passed for us than for you, this meeting provides a welcomed termination to a milleniums-long question. Though, we might point out, our perception of time is dramatically different than when we were organic lifeforms. Therefore, this resolution is as much instantaneous as it is dramatic.”

  “I can imagine. I think. Well… I am glad to provide you with a sense of closure.” Rohoar fidgeted in his seat, unsure of what to say next. The relief he felt knowing that there was no hostility was truly overwhelming. Once again, he wished his father could have been here to witness all this.

  “My sire… he was right.”

  “About what?” Azelon asked.

  “You. This.” Rohoar gestured at the starship’s bridge. “This realm of the universe. All of it. He believed it was not a bedtime story for our pups. He believed it was real.”

  “And the rest of your tribe did not?”

  Rohoar raised an eyebrow. “In truth, the rest of our tribe knew nothing about it. Only a small percentage of the ruling tribe had some of the facts, and most used it as a fiction for their children. Even most of the mwadims thought it was a fairytale.”

  “But your father didn’t. Why?”

  Rohaor’s ears perked up. “I do not know what made him different. But, somehow, he knew the stories were sacred. He knew you were out there—out here.”

  “Then why did he not come to us? He had the stardrive, did he not?”

  “He did, yes. But he feared the reunion might result in conflict as our tribes had grown violent over the centuries. The last thing he wanted was for an otherwise peaceful meeting to be marred once again with a stain from our people.”

  “We are all the same people,” Azelon said. “And any bloodshed would be the responsibility of us all.”

  “Only you wouldn’t be the ones doing the bleeding.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “We, of course, didn’t know that you would be…” Rohoar restated, still thinking it was uncanny that Azelon embodied all that was left of the Novia Minoosh. “We didn’t know that you’d be like this.”

  “Non-biological, you mean.”

  “Correct.”

  “It is unnerving, we understand.”

  “May I be permitted to ask more questions?”

  “Of course, Rohoar. How may we serve you?”

  “How many of you were there? Before, you know, this.” He motioned a paw at Azelon.

  “If by this you mean our singular state of shared consciousness, then the answer is 832,674,901 Novia Minoosh.”

  “That is a very precise figure,” Rohoar noted, overwhelmed at just how many of his ancestors there had been at one point.

  “We are a precise species.”

  “As are we.” Rohoar thought better of his response. “As we were, but still are.” He shook his head, frustrated with himself. “My apologies. This is all rather… confusing.”

  “In what way is it confusing, Rohoar?”

  Rohoar shrugged. “There was almost a billion of you, and now, I’m speaking to a robot.” He held out a paw. “No offense intended, Azelon.”

  “None taken. We all understand. It must be rather sterile to look at a non-biological unit and attempt to associate it with an entire species.”

  “Especially when Azelon doesn’t even look like a Jujari. Rather, a Novia.”

  “Would you like to see what we looked like?”

  Rohoar’s heart thumped loudly in his chest. “You… you can show me this?”

  “Of course. Our records are extensive, filling vast libraries—both in the natural realm and in the Unity. Awen has already encountered one such library on Ithnor Ithelia.”

  “How? How may I see all of this?”

  “There is a limited archive on the Spire, but the unabridged histories lie secured within the temple library. I believe you would use the term firewall.”

  Rohoar sat forward. “So there is content you can show me now?”

  “Of course. Observe.”

  Suddenly, Azelon’s body began to glow—not just her eyes or the blue joints between plates—all of her. Rohoar squinted, accepting the pain as permission for not missing a single moment of whatever was happening.

  From Azelon’s thin body emerged thick bones that seemed to change her stature from the streamlined and erect robot to a hunched and hulking Jujari skeleton. Muscles, sinews, and tendons appeared to grow out of the bone, followed by tissue, blood vessels, and skin. At last, a thick layer of fur grew from countless hair follicles, forming into a luxurious black and white coat.

  Rohoar stood up slowly, his mouth agape. While the creature was definitely related to him, there were several aspects that made it wholly different. For one, the beast was at least a head taller than Rohoar. The snout was longer and more slender, and the ears were also narrower. And where a Jujari tail was short and rather stubby, this being’s tail was longer and more bushy.

  When the creature spoke, Rohoar nearly sat back down in shock, but caught himself instead. “This is as we once were, Rohoar,” the Novia said in a gravelly voice shrouded by its row of sharp teeth. Or was it Azelon’s voice, just changed to resemble a Novia?

  “This… this is what you all looked like?”

  “The representation you see before you is a composite of all subset averages. An amalgamation, as it were. What do you think?”

  “You are…” Rohoar wasn’t sure what to say. “You are worthy of admiration.”

  “Thank you. As are you.”

  Rohoar dipped his head in honor of the compliment. “May I approach you?”

  The Novia—or Azelon—bowed and rolled its head to the side, exposing the neck. Rohoar felt a shiver run down his spine. The gesture was a Jujari one… which was a Novia one, apparently.

  He crossed the open space and began to circle the being, taking in all of the details. He couldn’t help but marvel at seeing a representation of his ancestors. The emotions swelling in his chest wanted to make him weep and roar all at once. The figure looked so real he thought he could reach out and touch it. He raised a paw but then stopped himself.

  “It’s okay,” the creature said—Azelon said. But in the Novia’s voice still. “You may touch me.”

  Rohoar’s paw shook slightly as his digits caressed the soft fur of the Novias’s arm. “How is this possible?”

  “Hard light,” Azelon said. “Generated at an atomic level so that the atoms of your body are pressing against but never disrupting the atomic bonds of the projection.”

  “Fascinating.”

  “And so, it is these bodies that you abandoned for the sake of your singularity.”

  “That is correct.”

  Rohoar removed his hand and felt his shoulders slouch.

  “Is something the matter, Rohoar?”

  He sighed. “I am sad.”

  “Why?”

  “It seems like such a loss. You were a beautiful people.”

  “It was our choice,” Azelon replied. “One which represents the apex of our evolution.”

  “Do you regret it?”

  “Regret is a construct of a biological sentient’s need for self-preservation and, therefore, has no bearing on our collective consciousness.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “But what?”

  Rohoar felt as though words were stuck in his throat and he didn’t know how to retrieve them. Instead, he shook his head and stepped back. “Thank you for showing me.”

  “You are most welcome. Are you satisfied with the presentation? Or would you like me to remain as I am?”

  “You can go back to being Azelon. I think that might be better for now.”

  “As you wish.” In reverse order, the body’s layers began to dissolve, retreating into the bones and then reforming into the slender shape of the bot.

  Rohoar sniffed the air, noting that the display h
ad neither projected the heat nor the smell of a Jujari. The lack of either made the experience feel sterile. Which, strangely, was how his heart felt. He walked back to the captain’s chair and sat down. When he looked back at Azelon, he felt grateful to see her, not wanting to think further on the lives that were forfeited to make the Novia’s dream of a singularity possible. The thought of so many lives, so many bodies… of so much death made his stomach churn. How was it that such a poor decision had been willfully entertained by such a technologically advanced species? Clearly, Rohoar had many more questions to ask.

  But rather than spend the rest of this initial conversation on himself, Rohoar decided to act in the best interests of his team. Any clues he could glean as to what the Republic’s rogue admiral and his Recon team were after, and why they’d want to frame someone like Magnus, might go a long way in gaining a foothold over the enemy in the coming conflicts.

  “May I ask another question, Azelon?”

  “Of course.”

  “The Recon team in Itheliana. You said to Magnus that they were nearing something of great importance. What was it?”

  “We chose to withhold that information from Magnus for several reasons. However, to you we will grant access, given our unique relationshhh—”

  The glow of Azelon’s eyes flickered.

  “Please st-st-stand by.”

  Rohoar’s ears perked up. Something was not right.

  “It seems that I am ex-ex-experie—unexpected core-ore-ore malf—due t-t-to—increased—”

  “Azelon?” Rohoar asked, standing up. “What’s the matter?”

  All at once, Azelon’s body went limp and her body’s glow went out.

  “Azelon?” Rohoar raced to the bot and touched it, but there was no response. It was if the sentient life-force had left her body.

  A new voice erupted inside his head. “Rohoar,” Awen yelled. Rohoar spun around but the Elonian was not on the bridge. “We need you in the brig, now!”

  “Awen, where are you?”

  “Come to the brig. It’s Piper.”

  * * *

  Rohoar burst from the elevator and ran down the brig-level corridor on all fours. He slammed into walls around each turn, leaving claw marks on the glossy white floors. As he neared the brig’s main entrance, he saw that the door was open. He darted inside, moved around the control consoles, and passed into the hallways leading to the five cell blocks. Gathered around the first one was a group of people struggling to stare through a small window in a blast door.