Ruins of the Galaxy Box Set: Books 1-6

by Chaney, J. N.

  But hope was not lost.

  TO-96 noticed it first—a sudden rush of Jujari ships from behind their defensive line. To the naked eye, nothing seemed to change except the appearance of thrusters firing up. But even that wasn’t unusual; ships jostled for better positions all the time. But as the vessels picked up speed and drove headlong into the Paragon’s Second Fleet, TO-96 spoke up.

  “Sirs, please be advised. I’m detecting a fleet surge from the Jujari ships.”

  Ricio was first to reply. “Can you be more specific?”

  “All of the Jujari ships have broken ranks and are heading into Second Fleet.”

  Ezo could see the confusion on Ricio’s face, so he asked a question of his own. “Where are they headed, ’Six?”

  The bot didn’t hesitate. “Toward us, sir.”

  Ezo pulled up his nav holo and zoomed out, allowing him a top-down view of every vessel this side of Oorajee. Sure enough, every remaining Jujari ship was on the move, heading toward Magnus’s shuttle—and fast.

  “They seem to be conducting a full burn,” TO-96 added. “The only greater speed they’re capable of is a subspace jump.”

  “They’re coming to help,” Nolan finally said. “But that’s… that’s crazy.”

  “No,” Rohoar said, his booming voice overtaking the channel. “That is valor. That is my son.”

  “Victorio?” Ezo asked, thinking he’d rightly remembered the mwadim’s heir.

  “As it has been spoken,” Rohoar replied. “He has chosen the way for his people.”

  “But… how?” Ezo asked.

  “They have some sort of pack connection,” Magnus interjected. “Kinda like the Unity but kinda not.”

  “It allows our hearts to speak,” Rohoar said. “And my son has heard mine.”

  “Fluffy and sentimental,” Ezo said. To himself, he added, “Next thing you know, they’re gonna ask me to pet them.”

  “I heard that, Nimprinth.”

  “Just jokes, just jokes.” Ezo held his hands up. “So, what’s the play?”

  “The play?” Rohoar repeated, looking off-camera, presumably at Magnus.

  “He means, what do they intend to do,” Caldwell explained. “Your boy there—what’s his plan with all this?”

  Rohoar sniffed, speaking as though it were the most obvious thing in the universe. “He means to make good our escape by any means necessary.”

  “But they’re going to put themselves in an indefensible situation,” Nolan said. “They’ll never be able to recover.”

  A moment’s silence fell over those on the channel as Nolan’s assessment rang true with everything Ezo knew about tactics. It was a suicide mission. It was Rohoar who broke the silence. “They are not trying to defend themselves. They are trying to defend us. It is the Jujari way.”

  “You know, your Jujari ways have always seemed crazy to Ezo,” he said. “But this one? Ezo can get behind this one.”

  “Then let’s make it count,” Caldwell said. Ezo saw him pull out a lighter and suck the flame through the tip of his tobacco. “Magnus, I need you encouraging those mystics with you to put up everything they’ve got. Tell ’em they can retire after this one if they want, just don’t let up. Ninety-Six, I want you matching your Fangs against optimal targets—no risky business, just sure-fire bets. And, Miss Smarty Pants?”

  “Yes, sir?” Azelon replied.

  “I’m tired of sitting this one out. Bring us around the planet’s shadow and give me some mysticsdamned sightlines on those ships with some of your biggest guns.”

  “I must warn you, sir, that doing so may jeopardize our entire mission.”

  “Bot lady, if those two shuttles get taken out, that is the entire mission. It’s game over. And I didn’t sign up to lose.” Back at the squadron commanders, Caldwell said, “You can bet your asses they’ll be launching Talons any minute now. I want you to watch yourselves. You’re superior pilots with all that tech you’re in, but they have numbers, so stay sharp.”

  “Copy that,” Ricio said.

  “I have the utmost trust in all of you,” Caldwell said. “Now, let’s get that little girl and everyone else home safe. Dominate!”

  “Liberate!”

  37

  The first sign that Moldark’s fleet noticed the surprise attack was when their Talons changed vectors—twice. First, the enemy starfighters launched and headed toward Magnus’s shuttle. Then, without warning, all 154 fighters slowed, turned 180º, and headed back to engage the incoming Jujari vessels. And then, finally, the squadrons were split in two—one half headed toward the Juajri, and the other to the escaping shuttles. While Piper’s ship had a slight head start on Magnus’s, it wouldn’t take Talons long to make up the difference. Taking one down meant taking both down, and Ricio wasn’t going to let that happen.

  “Let’s engage those Talons,” Ricio said to Ezo and Nolan. “I think the big boats will have their hands full with the Jujari.”

  “Agreed,” Ezo replied. “Plus, Ezo feels like chasing something, don’t you, Nolan?”

  “I do,” Nolan replied.

  “Really?” Ezo sounded unimpressed. “That’s it?”

  “What?”

  “That’s all you got, Nolan?” Ezo seemed like he was about to pick a street fight. “Man, you gotta get pumped for stuff like this.”

  “I am pumped.”

  “Well, Ezo doesn’t think you sound like it.”

  “Well, Nolan is,” Nolan said, using Ezo’s third-person pronoun hack. “Nolan is feeling very pumped.”

  “Well then, Ezo and Nolan should go blow some splick up!”

  “Alright,” Ricio said. “Quit the chatter, you two. Talons inbound. ’Six, assign us some targets, would you?”

  “My pleasure, sir. Happy hunting, once again.”

  “Copy that.”

  Ricio watched his HUD flood with targets in order of priority. Half of 154 was 77, which meant there were plenty of Talons to go around for everyone. He divided the enemies among all of Fang Company, favoring the better pilots with an extra target each. “Contact in ten seconds,” Ricio said. “Let’s torch these sons a’bitches.”

  The two swarms of starfighters converged and drove through one another’s ranks at speeds that defied comprehension. Blaster bolts crisscrossed against the planet’s curvature, pulverizing shields and tearing into metal. In the first three seconds, four Fangs were disabled, two of which ended in massive explosions as their drive cores ruptured. The other two spiraled off toward deep space, their pilots screaming in terror.

  The Paragon, however, fared much worse. Sixteen Talons met a catastrophic end as blaster fire, and at least two missiles ripped off wings, split hulls, and detonated power systems and ordinance. The explosions popped throughout the converging fleets like firecrackers—fire and sparks one second, atoms and debris trails the next.

  Ricio brought his Fang around in a full turn, careful not to crush his body under too many Gs. He saw a pair of Talons break from formation and head straight for Magnus’s shuttle. “Oh, no you don’t.” Rico locked onto both vessels and gave his Fang the command to fire. His fuselage cannons roared, sending out three waves of rounds—one for each ship, and a final pair to finish them off. The first blaster bolts struck their targets with such devastating results that the follow-through rounds swept through debris clouds. The newly super-charged particles let off small lightning bolts as Ricio flew by.

  “On your six,” Ezo said over comms.

  Ricio flipped around—his Fang still hurtling forward—and lined up on a single Talon that had snuck up on him. “Someone’s been naughty,” he said, then ordered his Fang to hit the enemy fighter. Ricio’s wingtip blasters pummeled the Talon’s shields. The Paragon ship tried to nose up in an effort to escape, but the ship’s exposed belly took several critical hits and ruptured. The explosion flooded Ricio’s cockpit with light. “Suck it!”

  “Three more, closing on Hotel Two,” Ezo said.

  “I got them,” Nolan s
aid.

  Ricio noticed Nolan’s Fang was running dangerously low on ammunition. He must have given the fleet ships a run for their money earlier.

  “Stand down, Nolan,” Ricio said. “I’m on it.”

  “Negative. I’m closer, and you won’t make it in time.”

  The Talons opened fire on Magnus’s shuttle. Blaster rounds exploded against the Unity shielding, but Ricio noticed the shuttle lurch sideways. They’d absorbed a partial hit.

  Ricio tried to get a lock on the ships, but Nolan was in the way. “Stand down, Nolan!”

  “Negative, this one’s on me. You buy the next round.”

  Nolan emptied his energy mags on a single Talon—its shield blinked out, followed by a blinding explosion in the engines. He fired his last remaining missile, which detonated directly over the pilot’s head. The ship’s nose blew off, and the wings cartwheeled into open space. But the third Talon was on the run, and Nolan was out of weapons.

  “Nolan,” Ricio roared. But he knew what the pilot was about to do because Ricio would have done the same thing. Nolan must have known there was no way Ricio could have made it in time, and the Talon’s proximity all but ensured a kill shot. “Dammit, Nolan!”

  Gold Squadron’s commander lined up on the enemy Talon, punched his jump drive, and then instantly disengaged it. The result was a sub-light jump of no more than a kilometer, but it sent Nolan directly into the Talon. His Fang materialized within the enemy ship, causing an explosion on an atomic level. The shockwave was so staggering that Ricio’s shields dropped by 30%, and he was thrown forward into his harness. Similarly, Magnus’s shuttle got a sudden boost as the radiation buffeted the Unity shields.

  Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the light vanished, and the free energy evaporated as though nothing had happened. Nolan was gone.

  “Son of a bitch,” Ricio said, rolling back toward the main body of Talons. Nolan had been with Magnus since the beginning of all this, and he was a damn good pilot. He would be missed. And there would be hell to pay when Magnus found out.

  * * *

  Past the convergence of starfighters, Ricio saw the first warship collision he’d witnessed in over a decade. Modern navigation, sensors arrays, and avoidance systems made the occurrence a rarity. But then again, the Galactic Republic had never gone up against the Juajri before, which made the starship collision even more spectacular. Victorio’s ships were ramming Third Fleet’s Carriers.

  Ricio wasn’t the only one to notice either. Every Talon in the fight slowed and turned toward the mayhem, presumably just as shocked as the Gladio Umbra.

  “Are you seeing this, colonel?” Ricio asked over VNET.

  “Sure am, son. Sure the hell am.”

  First, there was the Jujari vessel named A Glorious Day for Liberating the Exiles of Rugar Muda, a Pride-class Juajari Battleship. It had engaged maximum thrusters as it rammed up and into the belly of the Paragon Battleship Emergent Horizon. Had the collision happened in atmosphere, Ricio knew the quake would have been felt and heard for a hundred klicks. And while the entire thing seemed to happen in slow motion, Ricio knew the vessels hurtled toward one another at terrific speeds.

  Jujari Pride-class Battleships weighed in at 252,000 tons, with a crew of almost 3,000 sailors. Its nose pierced into the Paragon’s ship, plunging up into the control tower topside. Bolts of free electricity raced along both ships’ hulls around the point of contact, while successive explosions rippled out in all directions. Secondary explosions appeared in the Emmergent’s top deck, blowing off entire sections of the ship. Then the control tower itself bent backward, pried loose by the Glorious Day’s momentum.

  While explosions continued to wreak havoc along the ships, it was the mutual loss of propulsion systems that spelled the end for the two vessels. Oorajee’s gravity well reached out and took hold of the Battleships, pulling them slowly at first. Hundreds of tiny escape pods shot free of the dead giants. Ricio was glad to know that at least some of the Jujari’s noble crew would live to fight another day. But before long, the two beasts—locked in a death roll—started spiraling toward the planet’s atmosphere. In another few minutes, they’d punch through the sky in a blaze of fire and then crash into the dunes.

  The two Battleships weren’t the only collisions. Three more Jujari ships—a Dreadnaught and two Battlecruisers—also made contact with Paragon ships. Even the Labyrinth came close to being struck, but it managed to escape calamity by rolling aside. The most it got was a grazed hit from the Jujari Battleship Terrified Enemies Hide in Dark Caves Awaiting Dawn that Will Never Come. The Jujari ship rubbed up against the Labyrinth’s hull before anti-ship cannons blew holes in its bridge, disabling it.

  “Son of cock wielding dingus in a gunfight,” Caldwell said. “Would you look at that.” Then, just as fast, he added, “Now, get back to handing them their asses, people! This ain’t no perv show!”

  With the warships engaged, Ricio immediately noticed all the Paragon’s Talons were redirected to the retreating shuttles. “Well, this isn’t awesome,” he said to TO-96. “You seeing this?”

  “I am, sir. It seems the Talons have been given a new directive and are attempting to converge on Magnus’s shuttle.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Ricio moved into position behind a trio of unsuspecting Talons and opened fire. His high-frequency rounds pulverized their lowered rear shields and tore into their fuselages. The fighters tumbled into pieces, and Ricio shot passed the wreckage. Even as quickly as the three fighters went down, there were still almost one hundred to go, and Ricio’s ammo was getting dangerously low.

  “I hate to say it”—Ricio but his lip—“but I’m not sure we’re getting Magnus or Piper out of this one.”

  “Then I won’t bother giving you the statistical likelihood of your success, sir,” said TO-96.

  “Wait, so you’re saying there’s a chance we might succeed?”

  TO-96’s head tilted in his avatar window. “My apologies, sir. That was an inaccurate statement. I should have put forth the statistical likelihood of your failure.”

  “You’re a real buzz-kill, you know that, bot?”

  “I’m unfamiliar with the term. Does it have to do with mathematical proficiency and statistical accuracy?”

  “Sure,” Ricio said, resigning himself to his sour mood. He looked down at his ammunition capacity, glanced at this energy reserves, then looked at the photograph of his wife and son. “Take care of yourselves, loves. I’ll be seeing you beyond the void soon enough.” He touched their faces one last time, then picked out his next targets. He was about to send off his last missile when someone screamed over comms.

  “She’s back!” Ezo pumped his fists in the air and pointed off-screen. “Ezo’s baby’s back, and—hot damn—can she deliver!”

  Ricio reigned in his thoughts and kept his Fang from firing the missile. Instead, he looked into the distance, trying to see what Ezo was pointing at. “Magnify,” Ricio said, prompting his sensor suite to expand and zoom in on a section of space beyond Oorajee’s orbit. “Magnify,” he said again. That was when he saw something… something strange. To Ezo, he said, “That’s… that’s your wife?”

  “She’s so hot when she gets pissed,” Ezo replied. “And don’t you go getting any shifty ideas after this.”

  “I dunno,” Ricio said, wiping his lower lip with a thumb. “I’m starting to get that tingly feeling all down in my loins if that’s what I think it is.” Ricio accelerated.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” Ezo replied. “Hey! Come back here! That’s my woman you’re talking about!”

  38

  “Seems like your husband’s cooked up quite the splick storm out there,” Chloe said over comms.

  Sootriman looked out her ship’s cockpit to see the red-haired magistrate of Klon piloting her craft. Chloe had been the last of Ki Nar Four’s magistrates to sign on to this crazy plan, but Sootriman was glad she’d said yes. Any battle plan without the famed Terror of Tresseldor wouldn’t be the same
. “Ezo does have a curious way of pissing people off,” Sootriman said. “But mystics know I love him.”

  “You loved me like that once,” Dieddelwolf said from the other side of Sootriman’s ship. She wondered how his long grey beard didn’t get stuck in his controls.

  “In your dreams, Wolf,” Chloe said.

  “She’d sooner love a mottled dwarf newt,” Magistrate Phineas Barlow added. “Plus, you’re not spry enough, old man.”

  “I beg to differ,” said Dieddelwolf. “You haven’t heard what the ladies have said about me recently.”

  “And that’s enough of that,” Sootriman said, preventing the old man from going on another one of his long rants about stamina and flexibility. “Contact in two minutes. And by the looks of it, they’re gonna need our help.”

  By all accounts, Sootriman led the most diverse fleet in the quadrant. Granted, it wasn’t so much a fleet as it was a ragtag conglomeration of independent ships. But, once in a while, when the need arose, Sootriman managed to rally the Twelve and convince their numbers to fly as one. Today was just such an occasion—her little speech had worked.

  No two starships in her fleet were the same. They ranged from Gull- and Lawrence-class heavy freighters to rebuilt Mk. I Talon starfighters purchased at black market auctions. Retrofitted Light Armored Transports flew beside Corvettes that had wandered far from their Republic planets of origin. There was even one Frigate that someone had spent decades resurrecting from the dunes of Rithcosia. The resurrected wreck was rumored to have a drive modulator that made it the fastest ship in the quadrant, thought Sootriman guessed that was more fable than truth—everyone knew her ships were always the fastest in the quadrant.