Ruins of the Galaxy Box Set: Books 1-6

by Chaney, J. N.

  “How do I open the damn ship?”

  “Opening damn ship,” Azie said. An access hatch slid aside in the ship’s belly and a platform descended. The majority of the lift was composed of a reclined chair that boasted a harness and what looked to be several translucent control surfaces.

  “Now we’re talking!” Ricio rubbed his hands together.

  “Even despite your objections to our previous discourse?”

  “Yes, Azie. Now, what about a flight helmet?”

  “Unfortunately, sir, I have not had time to fashion one for you, and everything in the armory is tailored for the Novia Minoosh. However, all necessary ship functions that concern you can be carried out without the presence of a helmet.”

  “That’s… good to hear. But I was more worried about keeping myself from suffering a concussion. I’m not sure how Novia physiology works, but hitting one’s head against a dashboard isn’t the best practice.”

  “You have no need to worry about that, commander.”

  “What, no dashboard?”

  “No. My calculations predict that should your gunship suffer enough damage to cause a concussion, your body will be incinerated long before you experience the negative effects.”

  Ricio started to nod slowly and then made the movement larger as understanding broke on him. “Yeah. We can skip the helmet for now. No worries.”

  “Very good, sir. Any further objections?”

  “Not yet.” Ricio approached the seat and pulled the harness straps apart. Then he turned and slid back into the chair. No sooner had he secured the harness around his chest than the entire seat began to move.

  “Holy splick! What’s happening?”

  “The cockpit’s seat is conforming to your body’s shape and mass.” The mechanical machinations continued until the chair hugged the contours of Ricio’s body better than any piece of furniture he’d ever sat in.

  “This thing’s more comfortable than my own damn bed!”

  “I am pleased to hear that, sir. Please activate the closure button located on your right instrument panel in order to secure the cockpit.”

  Ricio pressed the indicated button on the translucent pane near his right hand. The platform ascended, then receded into the fuselage. As Ricio rose into the ship, the dark cockpit began to light up with holo displays, clear instrument panels, and a slender wide-view window that looked down the Fang’s nose.

  “Azie, just one problem. Where are the flight controls?”

  Azelon paused. “Flight controls, sir?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Ricio gave her an irritated chuckle. “How the hell do I fly this thing?”

  “I already informed you that your synaptic signature has been paired with this vessel. Were you not listening?”

  “Don’t you get testy with me, babe. I was just asking a genuine question.”

  Azelon paused again, then said, “Ah. I now see that, based upon a more thorough review of scans of your previous ship, you are used to manual flight controls. The Repub manufacturer only employed rudimentary neurological interfacing.”

  “Rudimentary?” Ricio was pretty sure that the Talons had the most advanced neuro-connection in the quadrant.

  “Indeed, commander. Unlike your vessels, the Fang is neurologically controlled utilizing the Novia biotech interface, or NBTI. It will take several more days to fully integrate you into the Novia Defense Architecture.”

  “Days? Azie, I don’t have days.”

  “I understand. You will be able to control this vessel with my help within a few minutes, though I will need to integrate you into our system over the next several days before you will assume full functionality.”

  “You’re assuming I survive this.”

  “TO-96 has told me that your species enjoys optimism whenever possible.”

  “Perfect,” Ricio said with a dry tone.

  “I’m pleased you think so.”

  “So you’re saying I fly this thing with my thoughts?”

  “So, yes.”

  “You still don’t need to respond with the word so.”

  “Understood. For the record, I do dislike it.”

  Ricio shook his head. “Just tell me how to do this.”

  For the next minute, Azelon gave Ricio a short tutorial on the Fang’s basic handling and weapons systems using nothing more than his thoughts as inputs. She made it sound easy enough, but Ricio had a feeling it might be easier said than done. He’d have to rely on his innate skills as an ace pilot more than ever and hope the skillset transferred. Then again, if it didn’t, he wouldn’t be around to lament his failure.

  “Are you ready to launch, sir? The enemy fighters are less than fifteen minutes from intercept.”

  “Let’s get the party started.”

  “Starting up the party, sir.”

  Azelon initiated the engines and unlocked the docking clamp on the gantry. As soon as the Fang was dislodged, Ricio tried to imagine it hovering. Instead, however, the ship leaped up and smacked into the crane. He swore, lost focus, and felt the vessel drop out from underneath him. The whole exercise felt like riding a hoverbike for the first time as a kid.

  “I have resumed control,” Azelon said as the Fang narrowly missed the deck, then rose to a steady hover.

  “So I launch just by thinking about moving forward?”

  “That is correct, commander. Envision the ship moving where you want it, and the flight system will do the rest—with my assistance, of course.”

  Ricio took a deep breath and then imagined the Fang sliding forward and through the environmental field. As soon as the very first thought sparked in his brain, he felt the ship lurch forward. The sensation was so otherworldly that he felt a surge of adrenaline quicken his heart rate. Then the Fang pressed him back in his seat then shot out of the hangar and into the void.

  “Splick, Azelon! This is mad.”

  “Again, I cannot determine your exact meaning based on your word choice, but I do believe you are responding favorably to this new experience.”

  “Damn straight I am!”

  Ricio decided to attempt his first right turn. Even as the thought entered his mind, he felt his head naturally move to the right. At the same exact instant, the ship veered to starboard. To straighten out, Ricio thought of rolling to the left, and the Fang responded. The sensation was strange, to say the least. Never had any motion been so effortless, save that of moving the limbs and digits of his own body. Thus, the Fang felt less like a vessel he had climbed into and more like a ship he put on. It was, quite literally, an extension of himself.

  Feeling more confident, Ricio attempted a barrel roll to starboard, then to port, and then to starboard again. The Fang moved flawlessly, taking his every thought and translating it into motion. He attempted a power loop, a Paraguutian Cobra maneuver, and then two Alcions in a row. With every action, he felt himself growing more accustomed to his interconnectivity with the flight system.

  “I feel like I’m beginning to get the hang of this,” Ricio said.

  “You are doing moderately well, yes.”

  “Moderately?” Ricio felt put off. “Are you even seeing this right now?”

  “I am fully aware of your flight maneuvers, commander. However, I am currently compensating for a mean discrepancy range of 43.25%.”

  “A mean discrepancy range?”

  “The range is comprised of both oversteering and mental distraction.”

  “So you’re saying I’m actually controlling only 60% of the ship’s flight at the moment?”

  “Approximately, yes. This will increase as your brain becomes accustomed to the operation. Additionally, you will experience a higher resolution of flight dexterity once you are fully integrated into the defense architecture via the biotech interface.”

  “Sounds good. What about weapons?”

  “The Fang boasts four primary armament systems, which include primary and secondary blasters, missiles, and mines.”

  “Now we’re talking.”


  “In addition to general shielding, the Fang also makes use of adaptive and projective shield technology.”

  “And since I have no idea what that means, can you handle the finer points?”

  “Certainly, commander.”

  “How do I access the weapons?”

  “Just the same as your flight controls. However, since I imagine it will be difficult for you to envision items that you have never seen before, I have taken the liberty of populating the display to your left with the ship’s weapons systems. There is no need to touch the item. Instead, select it with your mind and the correlating weapon will be activated on the gunship. Discharging each weapon is likewise a product of mental initiation, for which I will compensate for timing, rate of fire, targeting, tracking, and follow through.

  “Please be advised, commander, that we do not have sufficient time for a complete demonstration now as you must depart immediately if you wish to assist the shuttles.”

  “On it.” But Ricio wasn’t on it. He had no idea where to plug in coordinates, or even see a map. “Except I have no idea how to navigate this thing.”

  Suddenly, a cockpit wide holo display appeared in front of him. Aside from several peripheral windows outlining the ship’s status, the centerpiece of the display was a topographical map of Worru’s northern hemisphere.

  As the view zoomed in on the main continent, narrowing on the city of Plumeria, Azelon said, “Your navigation display can be toggled to show any number of views, ranging from localized planetary maps—such as this—to multidimensional star charts. Conversely, your nav view may be minimized in place of the combat spatial display, or CSD as it is labeled in the upper right-hand corner of your holo.”

  “I could get used to this.”

  “I would hope so, sir.”

  “And if I want to head toward a particular destination, do I just focus on it?”

  “That is correct, commander, assuming that focusing also implies a force of will to head in that direction. The more specific your thoughts, the more accurate your trajectory. In addition to the icons for your friendly shuttles, I am populating the map with targets most suited for your gunship. They include the three squadrons of FAF-28 Talons, anti-orbital defense cannons, and anti-air batteries. I have also added the sensor arrays, communication nodes, and shield generators if you feel like a cocky bastard.”

  Ricio raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you think I am?”

  “I am merely referring to the Galactic Republic Navy personnel file I downloaded from the ships we encountered when you entered metaspace. The data has proven helpful in customizing your Fang to your personal flying style.”

  “Glad it helped. Though, for the record, I’m only a cocky bastard half the time.”

  “And yet the file says all of the time. Shall we review this discrepancy later, commander?”

  “Later is fine.” Ricio clapped his hands together and then rubbed them. Then he cracked his knuckles, loosened his neck, and instinctively reached for the ship’s controls… which were not there.

  “Sir, I feel the need to remind you that there are no physical flight controls in your Fang.”

  “Got it. That’s gonna take some getting used to.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “Think you can keep taking me through the ship’s systems as we head to the planet’s surface?”

  “I would be delighted to, commander.”

  “Great. Let’s do this.” Ricio focused on the squadrons of Talons headed on an intercept course for Magnus and the shuttles. The moment his sense of will desired to head in that direction, the Fang shot forward, pinning Ricio in his seat.

  33

  Ricio tracked west over the planet’s surface toward Plumeria, his Fang skimming less than fifty meters above the ocean. The rolling waves blended into a carpet of aquamarine blue that stretched to the coast, but the air pressure in his gunship’s wake caused the water below to spray up in a long tail.

  His cockpit-wide HUD displayed blue ident reticles around the four friendly shuttles headed toward him while red target reticles designated the enemy fighters and yellow reticles identified ground targets. Seeing as how the shuttles’ eastbound path would take them within range of anti-ship cannon emplacements, Ricio decided it would be prudent to take out what he could before passing the shuttles, crossing Plumeria, and engaging the Talons.

  The ocean gave way to wide dunes and then lush tropical jungles. Ricio moved the Fang over the undulating topography, rising with small hills and weaving between mountain gaps. The Fang climbed as the continent’s elevation increased, closing the distance to the shuttles—now less than sixty seconds away at his present speed. But the first anti-ship emplacement was fifteen seconds out.

  Ricio focused on the icon and then watched the distance to target drop like his credit account on a roulette table. He glanced over at the mines icon on the small readout, and selected them with his mind. Or at least he hoped he did.

  “Commander, you are attempting to select anti-ship mines for a static planet-based target.”

  “Do the mines go boom?” Ricio could see the top of the weapon emplacement protruding from a grove of palm trees. Its metallic dome was adorned with quad cannons, multiple sensor arrays, and a communications tower.

  “If you are inferring a detonation, yes—of course.”

  “Then today, the mines are bombs.”

  “Unconventional, yet intuitive. I should warn you, however, that—”

  “Mines two and three, away!” The words had hardly left Ricio’s mouth when he felt the Fang rise. The gunship closed the remaining distance in less than a second and streaked passed. At first, Ricio thought the blurring foliage behind him was a visual anomaly due to his excessive speed. But as an orange flare washed over the jungle and overtook his ship, he realized it was an explosion. A damn big one.

  Ricio’s Fang shuddered as the shield energy was reallocated to the aft, indicated by new lighting on the graphic representation of his ship. He also felt his body pressed further into his seat—the Fang was accelerating.

  “Target eliminated,” Azie said. “Shields holding. However, you are accelerating at a rate detrimental to your physiology, commander. Would you like to slow down?”

  “Yes!” Ricio cried, fighting the black out that tugged on the edges of his vision. Instantly, the Fang decelerated, throwing him into his harness. Blood rushed to his head and he bit his lip. Rookie mistake, Ricio.

  “Why didn’t you warn me about those things’ payload, Azie?”

  “But commander, I attempted to warn you.”

  “Next time, attempt harder.”

  “Noted, sir. Those mines are meant as passive ranged attacks to be used against Battleship-class warships.”

  “Mystics, Azie! Don’t you think that’s something you should have told me sooner?”

  “I did not anticipate you would use something clearly labeled as mines on an in-atmosphere target, sir.”

  “Yeah, well… neither did I.”

  “Might I suggest missiles or blaster on this next target?”

  “Blasters. I want the missiles for the Talons.”

  “Wise strategy, commander.”

  Ricio focused on the icon for the next closest anti-ship emplacement and watched its range indicator start spiraling down. Then he selected primary blasters from his arsenal menu and gave his full attention to targeting.

  The tower was perched on a rock precipice surrounded by standard Repub plate shielding. Ricio watched as the sunlight glinted off the quad barrels. The operators were certainly tracking something, presumably to combat whatever had taken out the emplacement to the east. “Too bad I’m too fast,” Ricio said. He lined the crosshairs on the bulk of the turret just above the top edges of the plate armor and saw the reticle blink. “And they never even saw you coming.”

  Ricio willed the Fang to fire. The gunship vibrated as two massive spouts of blaster energy kicked from the nose, tore across the sky, and penetrated the targe
t’s shell. Two more rounds of blaster bolts followed the first, filling the tower with heat and light such that the emplacement exploded in a spray of sparks and superheated metal. Ricio pulled up, ripping through the debris field as it bounced off his shields. Feeling energized, he rolled the Fang to the left twice before leveling out.

  “Cocky bastard,” Azelon said.

  “Hey, that was a good shot, you have to admit.”

  “Yet I’m still doing 43% of the work.”

  Ricio flattened his lips. “Whatever, bot.”

  “Twenty seconds to contact with shuttles,” Azelon added. “I have notified the pilots of your approach and ordered the four ships to diverge into two groups.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  “Be advised that your present vector will place you directly over Plumeria when contacting the enemy fighters.”

  “Civilian casualties expected?”

  “Not likely if their city-wide shield generators are employed, which it looks like they are preparing to engage.”

  “Well then, let’s say we give ’em a show, Azie.”

  “A show, commander?”

  “So they won’t forget who they’re dealing with in the future.”

  “Ah, a show, as in an overwhelming display of force.”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Very good. Because the alternatives—one denoting a live theatrical performance, the other a pre-produced episode of holo entertainment—did not seem fitting.”

  “Shuttles, inbound,” Ricio exclaimed, watching the four craft come up fast. He knew he’d never flown a Talon this fast in-atmo before. Yet the Fang’s handling made it seem far more manageable than it ever would have been in the Repub fighter. No doubt thanks to Azie, he surmised. But then again, he didn’t doubt that this ship was more technologically advanced even without her aid.

  A breath later and Ricio’s Fang split the group, racing past them with enough force that he was sure their craft were buffeted by a maelstrom of wind. “Nothing like letting ’em know they’re not alone, eh old girl?”

  “Old girl?” Azelon seemed to hesitate. “Are you referencing me, commander? The term seems both contradictory and misapplied.”