Ruins of the Galaxy Box Set: Books 1-6

by Chaney, J. N.

  “Me?” He pulled back into the shadow as if offended. “Why would you ever say that, child?”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “But you are my granddaughter.”

  “Maybe once. But… there’s something wrong with you. And you lied to me. Good grandpas don’t lie to their granddaughters.”

  “I assure you that I did not lie.”

  “But you, you made me convince everyone to stop the Republic, and now you want to destroy Capriana. I can feel it.” Piper gestured toward the starships. “You made me tell them to—”

  “I didn’t make you do anything. You did it of your own volition.”

  “But, you forced me. I had to help you. It was the only way I could get a ship.”

  Her grandfather shrugged. “Then you’re just going to have to live with that.”

  Piper studied the old man’s face, her eyes trying to find the humanness lurking behind the mask. “You’re—you’re not going to give me a ship, are you.”

  He shook his head. “Sadly, no. You are far too important to my cause, child. Perhaps if you had been less accomplished in the Unity, maybe then I’d have let you go.”

  “I hate you.”

  Her grandfather winced. Suddenly, something flashed in his eyes. It was as if a light turned on, pushing against the blackness. “Please don’t,” he said in a softer tone.

  Piper squinted at the new look in his face. She spoke less confidently than before. “But, I do hate you. You’re evil.”

  “No, Piper. I’m not. I’m simply… lost.”

  The light left her grandfather’s eyes, and his voice changed. “Shut up, Kane.”

  Piper had never seen anyone act like this before. Then again, she’d never seen anyone host a second presence—a second soul. She guessed it was the other being speaking to her grandfather now, the one the Paragon troopers called Moldark. And he scared Piper. She tried not to let it show, but she guessed that, being so small, she probably looked as afraid as she felt. Still, she would need to be strong, especially if she was going to find Awen, Magnus, and her grandmother.

  “You’re an evil person.” Piper pointed her index finger at her grandfather. “It’s you we should fight.”

  “I think you misunderstand my motives, child.”

  “I don’t think I’m misunderstanding anything. You don’t have my best insertions in mind.”

  “Intentions?”

  Piper nodded. “I’m not helping you anymore. And I’ll see myself out.”

  His hand lashed out and grabbed her forearm. “You’re not going anywhere, human offspring.”

  Then the softer voice spoke again—only this time, it had a commanding tone. “Release her, Moldark.”

  Piper’s eyes widened. Was this a battle between the two personalities in her grandfather’s body? She could see their souls intermingling in the Unity, like two different colored clouds phasing in and out of one another.

  “I will not let her leave this ship,” the voice called Moldark said. “She belongs to me.”

  “She does not belong to you,” her grandfather replied.

  Piper watched as the old man’s face contorted. It looked like something moved under the skin over his cheekbones. His eyes twitched, and his nostrils flared.

  “Stop it,” Piper exclaimed. “Leave him alone, Moldark!”

  The man hissed at her, chomping at the air with his razor-like teeth. “I will not leave him alone. I rule him.”

  “No,” Piper said, willing herself to see past Moldark’s presence and into her grandfather’s. “He’s not yours, you monster.”

  “Monster?”

  “You’re bad. And I’m going to stop you—my friends are going to stop you.”

  Moldark laughed, and Piper saw her grandfather’s soul recede. “Nothing can stop me, human child. Surely, you of all people can see my immortal presence, can you not?”

  She could see the celestial energy, flaring more brightly than ever. But she also knew energy could be contained, spread out, and even dispelled. “Every life can end,” she said through tight lips.

  “Dark words for a child.”

  “Maybe.” Piper shivered, choosing to look past Moldark’s shape. “But I can still see you, grandfather.”

  “Shut up, human.” Moldark snapped at her again, still clutching her arm.

  Piper pulled back. “I can see you. Come forward, grandpa. Come toward the light.”

  “Silence, wretch!”

  Suddenly, Piper saw her grandfather’s spirit return and contend with Moldark’s. The two energies morphed and blurred, phasing in and out of one another like ghostly vapors.

  Then a voice spoke from the contending shapes. “You leave her alone,” Piper’s grandfather demanded. “She does not belong to you.”

  “I will do with her as I please, mortal,” Moldark replied.

  “No, you will not. She does not—belong—”

  Kane struggled against Moldark, the two energies embattled in an ethereal fight. Meanwhile, in the natural realm, Piper’s grandfather’s body spasmed in strange jerking movements. “Come on, grandfather! Keep fighting.”

  “Silence,” Moldark said. In the natural realm, his face twisted, and his shoulders twitched. “You will not speak to him anymore.” Suddenly, Moldark pushed Kane’s soul back until Piper couldn’t see it anymore.

  “No,” she cried, grabbing at Moldark’s chest. But she thought better of the action the moment her palm touched his body—a cold sensation raced up her arm, and she felt as though she’d plunged her hand into a bucket of ice water. “Leave him alone.”

  When Moldark spoke again, his voice was soft and low. “How unfortunate for you that you care so much for him.”

  “It’s not unfortunate. You’re unfortunate.”

  Moldark chuckled. “I’m unfortunate? Look around you, child.” He wrenched her arm for emphasis, causing her feet to hit one another. “You are a prisoner on my ship, and—”

  “Not for long.”

  Moldark cocked his head, giving her a pensive look. “You mean your friends out there? Yes, yes. I can see the temptation to hope—to believe that help is on the way. But even now, they are growing weaker, their forces losing ground. I’m afraid there will be no rescue for you today. What’s more, it seems you will finally be alone in the universe.”

  “That’s not true.” Somehow, this man—who was very much not her grandfather—knew that she felt alone. It was like he could see into her heart. But Moldark was not gifted in the Unity—he could not see as she saw. Yet, there was something about him, something powerful and old, that made her afraid. Piper’s cheeks warmed with the tears that traced lines down her face. “They are going to rescue me. You’ll see.”

  Moldark clucked his tongue. “I had hoped you would assist me longer, but you are proving too problematic. Such spirit in you, and such a shame to see it go.”

  Piper felt very confused by his words. They scared her more than she cared to admit. And she was still so tired, which made her even more sensitive. “You won’t. I’m not going to let you.”

  “Is that so?”

  Suddenly, Piper felt as though a pointed shaft of metal had pierced her chest. Her mouth flew open, but no sound came out. The pain was so intense, the feeling so hot that she couldn’t breathe. She tried to swallow—tried to breathe—but she couldn’t.

  From within the Unity, Piper saw a tendril of black smoke stretch from Moldark’s soul and touch her chest. It undulated like a waterspout, flowing from her ribs toward him. Again, she tried to scream, to kick, to do something, but the tendril of smoke paralyzed her. The pain increased as Piper felt whatever strength she had inside her leave. Her knees gave out. She expected to fall but found herself suspended on the tendril. It felt like a hook had snagged her under the ribcage.

  Something caught Moldark’s attention. He looked down at the troopers who guarded the blast doors. To Piper’s astonishment, several of them went flying as if a Magladarian bull had just plowed thro
ugh them. Moldark released Piper, and she collapsed in a heap. She gasped, then let out a wail so deep she thought she broke her soul.

  31

  As Rohoar led the fire teams through the conduit chase, he couldn’t help turning his thoughts toward Piper. He felt responsible for her in ways that didn’t make sense. As a Jujari in the line of the Mwadim’s, Rohoar had never given a hind paw’s care about any hairless human, much less a child. But ever since his conversation with Piper on the Spire’s bridge, he’d found a tender place in his heart for the creature.

  Further still, he regretted their conversation in the cellblock after she’d spoken with Nos Kil—the vile wretch. Rohoar felt he should have done more—should have insisted that Piper speak to one of the elders about what she’d discussed with Nos Kil. Piper seemed deeply wounded by the ordeal, and Rohoar felt she’d closed herself off unnecessarily from those who might help. But if humans were anything like Jujari—at least in this area—he recognized that both species failed to do what was best for themselves more often than not. The good ones, anyway. Instead, they opted for what was best for the pack.

  But in Piper’s case, Rohoar feared she hadn’t done what was best for the pack or herself. In fact, he wondered if she hadn’t misjudged the situation entirely, believing lies from the prisoner turned meat sack instead of pushing back and refuting Nos Kil’s dark words. But she was just a child. How was she to know the difference?

  And that’s why Rohoar felt he’d let her down. Perhaps, had he said something further, had he forced her to speak up, they wouldn’t be here now, sneaking through a tunnel and risking everything to save her. If she died on this mission, he would forfeit his own life as recompense.

  The ladder that Cyril marked as a waypoint was just ahead. It would take them up to Moldark’s observation chambers. Magnus’s voice broke over comms as Rohoar placed a paw on it. “Careful going up. We want the element of surprise if at all possible.”

  Rohoar smiled as he thought of slaughtering more enemies with Magnus. “Copy that, scrumruk graulap.” He climbed the rungs and then eased the floor hatch open just enough to smell the air. Human scent was potent—at least thirty men. Maybe more. Rohoar pushed the plate higher and got eyes on the space, much of which was blocked by crates.

  “I am proceeding into the bay,” Rohaor said. “There are humans here, but our emergence appears to be hidden for the most part.”

  “Copy that. Nice and easy, furball.”

  Rohoar winced. Furballs belonged to Kathorians, not Jujari. “I shed not, scrumruk graulap.”

  “Tell that to Azelon’s cleaning bots,” Magnus replied.

  Rohoar grunted. He would have words with Magnus and Azelon’s cleaning bots when all this was through.

  A dim light filled Rohoar’s immediate surroundings. He scouted a few paces ahead and saw plenty of stacked crates and equipment bins for ample cover. After he advanced five meters, he poked his head around a column of black freight containers and saw a windowplex wall spanning the chamber’s entire width. From here, he saw the Republic battle with his fleet. No, not the Republic, he corrected himself. The Paragon. Either way, pangs of sadness filled his chest as he thought of all the Jujari perishing in the conflict. Seeing it so broadly, without the need for holo screens or cameras, made the battle more real. More brutal. And Rohoar wanted nothing more than to end it and execute those who perpetrated crimes against his people.

  “Tell me what you see, pal,” Magnus said over VNET.

  Rohoar turned his attention to the rest of the room. “Forty troopers, maybe fifty. Focused on the blast door. Sending you my sensor feeds now.”

  Magnus paused. “Got it. They certainly seem preoccupied.”

  “Yes. Certainly.” Rohoar turned to see more gladia emerge from the hole in the floor, and motioned them to move slowly. Then, looking back toward the bay, Rohoar said, “I also see Moldark. And he…”

  “He what? Spit it out.”

  “He has Piper.”

  Rohoar could sense the unspoken gasp that everyone took. The mystics had surely felt the girl’s presence, and Rohoar swore he could smell her. But to make visual contact made his heart leap. “Also, I have nothing in my mouth to spit out.”

  He narrowed his focus on Piper. The child stood beside Moldark on a raised dais that pressed against the room’s large window. Moldark held her arm with one hand and yanked her close to him—an action that made Rohoar’s hackles stand up. The pair seemed to be arguing about something. Rohoar thought of trying to speak to her in the Unity but worried doing so may adversely affect her, or eliminate Granther Company’s element of surprise if she were to cry out.

  “I see her,” Magnus replied. “Something’s wrong. Rohoar, help everyone get staged and keep us covered.”

  “Affirmative.”

  Rohoar worked quickly to keep Alpha and Bravo Teams in the shadows—a task made even easier by chameleon mode. Still, he knew the teams didn’t need any unnecessary risks, at least not this close to securing Piper. When Magnus’s body shape appeared on Rohoar’s HUD, the two conferred while scanning the room.

  “I am worried about stray blaster fire hitting the child,” Rohoar said.

  “A valid concern, but one the enemy may not share.”

  “Agreed.”

  “CQB, then?” Magnus asked, using the acronym from close quarters battle.

  Rohoar grunted in affirmation, savoring what would surely be a glorious battle. “But I suspect there will be ceiling-mounted turrets, none of which I can smell now.”

  “Agreed.” Magnus opened the team channel. “Alright, people. Looks like we’re gonna get the jump on these bastards. We need to limit baster fire in Piper’s direction. Rohaor, Saladin, Bimby, and Titus, you’ll be first up. CQB unless you can’t help it. Silk and Dutch, I need you taking out any auto turrets that appear. Watch the ceiling. Willowood and Nídira, shield those of us in harm’s way as best you can but protect Piper at all costs. Doc and Nubs, I want you firing on anything that’s left over.”

  “What about you?” Rohoar asked.

  “Awen and I are headed for Piper,” Magnus said. “The moment we acquire her, we’re out. I don’t care how. Remember, Piper is mission priority one, more so than any of us. You get her back to the shuttles—that’s all that matters. If we don’t save her, this was all for nothing, and it can’t be all for nothing. Dominate?”

  “Liberate,” everyone replied.

  “Good.” Magnus turned to Rohoar. “You take point. We engage on your lead.”

  Rohoar took a deep breath, savoring the scent of soon to be slain human flesh, double-checked his chameleon mode status, and then moved into the open. Rohoar’s eyes scanned Moldark and the troopers for any signs that they detected him. So far, so good. He crept halfway down the hallway to the nearest troopers and then squatted—muscles tight, breathing controlled, body ready to spring. Rohoar’s claws flexed, and he licked his chops with a slow movement of his tongue. He would have blood tonight.

  He was just about to leap forward when he caught motion out of the corner of his eye. Piper’s head pitched back—mouth agape—and her body convulsed as if she’d touched an open electrical circuit. Rohoar wanted to race to her rescue, but he knew Magnus was already heading that way. Instead, Rohoar needed to diminish the guards’ numbers and prevent casualties. Yet, everything in him wanted to rip Moldark’s head from his shoulders.

  “Now,” Rohoar growled.

  His body snapped like a bowstring, and he flew into the pack of Paragon Marines. Rohoar tore through three men at once, toppling them like toys. His claws sliced through armor as his teeth closed around the exposed tissue just beneath another man’s helmet. The victim screamed, but the air came through the puncture wounds instead of his mouth. Rohoar released the man, rolled, and then landed on all fours.

  Saladin had done just as much damage, righting herself two paces from Rohoar. Together, they turned on their next victims and leaped, claws and teeth glinting in the dim light. Eight
Marines lay bleeding on the floor, and the enemy hadn’t even fired a shot.

  Abimbola and Titus pushed into the ranks with their combat knives slicing at the enemy’s armor. Just as the telecolos’ radial projection hid the Jujari’s snouts and limbs, it kept the two men’s blades from the enemy’s view, making their lethality all the more brutal. The weapons stabbed and swiped, dodged, and stabbed again. Meanwhile, in Rohoar’s HUD, he saw the two gladia grapple with witless Marines who were unable to parry Abimbola and Titus’s bladed attacks.

  Rohoar swiped at more Marines, catching one in the shoulder and the other in the hip. The first man crumpled from the shoulder strike, spine breaking sideways as his blaster went flying. The second man spun into two other Marines, both of whom stumbled backward while trying to point their blasters at the unseen terror assailing their ranks. Before anyone could get a shot off, Rohoar lunged deeper into the fold, carving a furrow through the Marine ranks that separated them into two groups. Divide and conquer, Rohoar noted as he arrived on the far side.

  Blood covered his claws as he turned to face the enemy. His paws painted crimson smears across the glossy black floor, giving the Marines a target area to shoot. The first blaster shot skipped off Rohaor’s armor and dropped his shield to 89%—a meager strike. But as more Marines focused on the space above the smears, Rohoar rolled out of the way. Blaster rounds glanced off the floor and pelted the far wall. He leaped off the floor and dove back into the fray.

  Perhaps sensing the jeopardy posed by staying huddled together, the Paragon forces dispersed and sought cover along the chamber’s walls. They darted around crates and ducked behind structural trusses. Unable to rid himself of the enemy’s blood, Rohoar drew more blaster rounds, which steadily depleted his shield. But not before he took down several retreating Marines. His claws raked the back of one woman’s legs, snapping tendons. The human physique was terribly fragile, and the Repub armor did little to protect the vulnerable places behind the thighs and knees. Rohoar’s victim sprawled on the ground. The woman rolled and attempted to fire, but Rohoar caught the weapon in his mouth, bit down, and then tossed the blaster away.