Ruins of the Galaxy Box Set: Books 1-6

by Chaney, J. N.

  “Roger, copy that, bravo,” the code slicer replied, still looking unstable after the jump.

  “Once we’ve got a fix on the assets, we’ll go from there. Any questions?”

  Jaffrey’s hand went up. He was Echo Team’s sniper and the youngest member of Granther Company’s second squad. He’d also trained with Handley the most. “What about Handley, sir?”

  Zoll took a deep breath. “He was a good gladia. But he died doing what he believed in, so we honor that by making sure this mission isn’t for nothing. Which means we all have to stay focused. Shoot now, grieve later—you got that, Jaffrey?”

  “I do, sir.” The kid nodded.

  “And what about Robillard?” Bliss asked.

  “What about me?” Robillard replied. “Do you think I’m not ready to kick some ass? Cause I can kick some ass right here, right now.”

  “Easy,” Zoll said, raising a hand. “I think he’s just checking to make sure you’re okay after that drone strike.”

  “Me? You should see the drone,” Robillard said, shrugging his shoulder away from Bliss. “I’m ready to go, Lead.”

  “All right,” Zoll said. “But if you—”

  “I’ll let you know if anything goes south,” Robillard said. “Don’t you worry your pretty little hiney.”

  Zoll smiled. He liked the fight in this gladia. “All right, teams. Let’s move.”

  * * *

  “Feels like a lifetime since we were back on Oorjaee, doesn’t it, Rix?” Zoll asked as the squad ran toward the lab.

  Rix laughed. “Hell, where’s Oorajee?”

  “Copy that.”

  “Doesn’t matter much anyway,” Robillard said. “The way I see it, it’s a different place but the same old story.”

  “Only this place has palm trees,” Rix said.

  “And bikini-clad babes when the sun is out,” Bliss added.

  “Good thing you’re invisible, Bliss,” Robillard said. “Or they’d be running.”

  “That’s not what your girl said when she showed up at my quarters last night.”

  Robillard reached out and punched Bliss in the shoulder.

  Bliss made a show of rubbing his arm. “That hurt so bad.”

  “All right, you two,” Zoll said, but laughed as he spoke. “Knock it off.”

  “I know what you mean, Robillard,” Rix said as they turned left at an intersection. “Not about Bliss and your woman. Different place, same story. The powerful do horrible splick to the weak, and we’re left to sort through the rubble.”

  “I’m not so sure about that, guys,” Zoll said while he double checked his squad’s six. “This feels different.”

  “How you figure that?” Bliss asked.

  “’Cause now we’ve got cool armor and awesome weapons,” Robillard said.

  “Nah. But they’re definitely legit.” Zoll looked ahead toward the next intersection and signaled the team to turn right. “Somehow, with the Gladio Umbra, I feel like we’re making a real difference. It’s not just turf wars for the sake of pissing people off or fighting over scraps in the Dregs. We’re actually doing something that people might remember.”

  “If anyone’s left to remember it,” Robillard said.

  “Shut up,” Bliss said as he returned the earlier punch. “He’s being serious.”

  Even despite his guys’ antics, Zoll knew what he’d said was true. The Gladio Umbra had given them all a chance to make something of their lives again, to lift themselves out of the desert sands and contribute to the cosmos. “We’re making a difference. I know we are. I can feel it.”

  * * *

  On the outside, the lab looked like any other fancy office building in the high-end beach community—four stories of glass, metal, and wood arranged by some overpaid, overly artistic architect. The only notable thing to Zoll was the illuminated sign beneath a cluster of palm trees that read Burndale Home Furnishing Solutions.

  “You sure this is the right place?” Bliss asked.

  “You want to be the one to ask TO-96 to double-check his calculations?” Robillard replied before Zoll could say anything.

  “Not if Azelon’s around, I don’t,” Bliss said. “She’s so defensive about him these days.”

  “Copy that,” said Robillard.

  “It’s a front,” Zoll said. “Stay low, and let’s head around the back.”

  He led all three teams around the north side, over a grassy berm, and up to a security fence. Longchomps bit through the wire lattice and pulled open a hole for everyone to go through.

  Zoll noticed several security cameras along the roofline and two in the loading bay. “Just be aware of the eyes on us,” he said, marking the cameras on the HUD map.

  The teams crossed the tarmac and moved up a set of stairs to a wide landing. Interestingly, there were still no guards to be seen, which was okay with Zoll. He’d take every advantage they could get. The extra-wide main door was really a reinforced blast door made to look like a loading bay port. Upon closer inspection, Zoll recognized the armor plating and telltale angular indents. He ran his fingers along the diagonal closure seam and turned back to the gladias.

  “Now, why would a home design studio need thirty centimeters of reinforced armor plating on its back door?” Zoll looked around. “Anyone?”

  “Bet they’ve got some expensive kitchen appliances,” Reimer said.

  “You cooking?” Bliss asked.

  “Depends what you’re willing to pay me.”

  Zoll raised a hand to quiet them. “Wish, a little help?”

  “Certainly,” said the woman. She stepped forward and lowered her head. Telwin and Finderminth came forward and joined her. Zoll wasn’t sure they were doing anything until the sound of a latch mechanism released inside the door. A moment later the blast door’s two primary leaves parted, exposing a narrow slit extending from the upper left to the lower right.

  “Help me get this open,” Zoll said. Longchomps, Grahban, and Redmarrow stepped forward and began separating the doors just enough that the other gladias could start sliding through. The metal groaned as the Jujari fought against the actuators buried in the frame.

  “Come on, everyone through,” Zoll ordered. “They’ll be seeing this any second.” All three teams slid through the gap, including the Jujari, before Zoll rolled over the lower of the two diagonal doors and landed safely on the other side. As soon as he was in, the sound of trotting footsteps came down a hall perpendicular to the main corridor. Zoll ordered everyone against the sidewalls and waited.

  A security guard never appeared—but a Marine did, dressed in black armor with three white stripes on his left pauldron. The trooper turned toward the half-opened blast door and slowed, tilting his head to examine it. The moment his weapon lowered a centimeter, Zoll gave the order for Grahban to take him. “No rehab program.” He could practically hear the Jujari smile.

  Grahban swung a giant paw and struck the Paragon trooper in the back of the head so hard that the man’s body flew forward and hit the ground, while his torso and legs carried over his back. The force was enough to split the man’s spine, paralyzing him and—over the next few seconds—killing him.

  “Leave him,” Zoll ordered. “More will be coming to investigate, but we need to move.” He led the way down the main corridor and followed his HUD’s route to the first data node located one level up. “We’ll take the stairs. Bliss, you take point.”

  “Copy,” Bliss replied, then stepped through the sliding door and started up the switchback staircase.

  Zoll waited for everyone else to follow, and then stepped halfway through himself when he heard more footsteps behind him. Three more Paragon troopers rounded the corner and knelt to examine their incapacitated counterpart. They shared looks between one another, but no alarm went off. Perhaps they thought it was an accident? After all, there were no blaster marks, and the security cameras wouldn’t show anyone assaulting the trooper. Still, Zoll knew it wouldn’t be long before they lost the element of surpr
ise. He pulled back and let the door shut before bounding up the stairs.

  On the second floor, Cyril was already at a data node, typing furiously on a holo console.

  “Whaddya got?” Zoll asked.

  “Working on it, big leader,” Cyril replied.

  Zoll looked up and down the new hallway when he heard Robillard chuckle. “What is it?” Zoll asked.

  “I don’t imagine a whole lot of customers find this ambiance accommodating.” Robillard waved his NOV1 at all the Repub-styled bulkheads and trunk lines. It felt more like they were on a starship than in an office building.

  “I don’t know,” Bliss said. “I kinda like the spartan look. Gives it a post-industrial feel.”

  “I’ll give you a post in your industry feeler,” Robillard said with a raised fist.

  “Are they always like this?” Wish asked Zoll.

  “Pretty much,” he said. “Sometimes worse.”

  She gave a quick shake of her head. “Noted.”

  “Hey, hey, Mr. Zoll, leader man person?” Cyril asked.

  Zoll detected a hint of concern in the code slicer’s voice. “You find them?”

  “Uh-huh. Yeah, I think so, yeah. But, we might have a problem. A big one.”

  Zoll crossed to Cyril’s position. “Why? What is it?”

  Cyril expanded a holo window and then pointed. The display showed the building schematic everyone was familiar with. Then it showed several additional floors—subterranean floors—as well as the words Bio Safety Level Four in red letters.

  “Splick,” Zoll said. “Is that what I think it is?”

  Cyril nodded.

  “Hold up,” said Robillard. “What do you think it is?”

  Zoll shook his head. “Seems TO-96 was only half right. This isn’t just a lab; it’s a bank for every deadly microbe in the galaxy.”

  “A what?” Bliss asked.

  “A biohazard research facility,” Cyril replied. “And Bosworth has Awen’s parents locked up on level four.”

  “That’s better than level five, right?” Robillard asked.

  “There is no level five,” Zoll replied.

  Cyril nodded. “Four is as bad as you can get. And it’s hard to break into for some very excellently important reasons.”

  A klaxon sounded and yellow lights began swirling down the hallway. Robillard nudged Zoll. “Looks like we’ve got some breaking in to do.”

  “And fast,” Bliss said, raising his NOV1 to high ready position and pointing it down the hall. “’Cause here they come.”

  5

  Magnus led his two fire teams across a shared office workspace, down a hallway, and then toward a bank of elevator doors. He paid extra attention to the security cameras at each junction but rested in the fact that this floor didn’t seem to be of much significance—as per TO-96’s assumption—thus, the security measures were not very strict. Further down toward CENTCOM, however, Magnus knew the story would be different.

  Alpha and Bravo Teams loaded into two transparent elevators with a view of the campus’s north side. To the west, Magnus could see Centennial Tower and the remains of their A-frame rig peeking above the rooftop.

  Abimbola and Titus held the doors, making sure to hit their destination buttons at the same time. Once pressed, the doors slid shut, and the pods sank. Magnus didn’t like how vulnerable the teams were, but he reminded himself that to any onlookers, these empty elevators were simply being called to another floor. It was the people monitoring the security cameras and elevator sensors who concerned him. But he was playing the odds that at 0330, the security guards were more interested in their latest serial holo than whatever late-night illegal races the elevator pods were having with one another.

  “All systems look nominal,” TO-96 said in a private channel with Magnus. Video of his face filled a small window in the lower left of Magnus’s HUD. “So far, I’m detecting no alarms or security calls.”

  “Let’s hope it stays that way,” Magnus replied.

  “Indeed. Please remember that, as you descend, you may experience a comms blackout with us, as well as mild separation anxiety.”

  Magnus furrowed his brow. “Separation anxiety?”

  “That is correct, sir. There is significant data on the human species, among others, which concludes you experience emotional distress when relieved of vital interpersonal relationships, either through physical or communicative separation.”

  “So, you’re saying our relationship is vital?”

  “Given all we’ve been through, I assume you feel a deep connection to me.”

  Magnus chuckled. “I mean, you are pretty attractive.” When TO-96 didn’t reply right away, Magnus said, “What is it, bot?”

  “Sir, I regret to inform you that—well…”

  “Spit it out, ’Six.”

  “I’m already spoken for, sir. In that way, I mean.”

  “Spoken for?” Magnus was doing his very best not to burst out laughing.

  “Yes, sir. As in, someone has already expressed an interest in my particular affections.”

  Magnus could feel his armor bouncing as he silently laughed between clamped lips. But he also knew he couldn’t afford to be too distracted, so he kept one eye on the descending floor numbers. “Let me guess. Is it Dutch?”

  “No, sir. Though she would be a prime companion.”

  “Would she now?” Magnus brought Dutch into the channel as TO-96 replied.

  “Yes, sir. Miss Aubrey Dutch exhibits several key characteristics essential for a healthy mating relationship.”

  Dutch turned to face him, and Magnus didn’t need to have X-ray vision to know her eyebrows were raised in surprise. Magnus pointed to his ear as if to say, “Keep listening. It gets better.”

  “She is extremely faithful,” TO-96 said. “As well as intelligent, strong, resilient, charming when she’s not pointing a weapon at you, and she has ample hip displacement suitable for incubating and dispatching several progenies, perhaps in multiples.”

  Dutch seemed about to protest, but Magnus held a hand up. He was doing his best not to stop the bot with his hysterical laughter, and Magnus didn’t want Dutch ruining it either, no matter how offensive she found it.

  “Moreover, Miss Dutch’s attributes would be wasted on me,” TO-96 said. “For three primary reasons.”

  “Which are?” Magnus asked.

  “First, I am not threatened by her threats of bodily injury, primarily those made with weapons—items that she loves so much. Therefore, as a mate, I would be improperly motivated to accommodate her needs if held at gunpoint.”

  Magnus stifled more laughter and glanced up at the floor count. They were almost there. “Fair enough. Next?”

  “Second, I do not find myself attracted to Miss Dutch physically or hormonally. Granted, I lack the physiological systems necessary to facilitate copulation. However, I do feel that I understand the implications well enough to make certain hypothetical postulations about my preferences.”

  “Mystics knows I can’t wait to hear what your preferences might be,” Magnus replied. “And lastly?”

  “Third, and closely related to the second point, I am unable to impregnate Miss Dutch, thus wasting both of our potential to preserve the species that are driven by the evolutionary desire for immortality. That said, however, I do believe I would be more than able to please Miss Dutch given my knowledge of—”

  “And would you look at that,” Dutch said, stepping toward the parting doors. “Here we are.”

  “Sorry, ’Six,” Magnus said. “Looks like the rest of this convo’s gonna have to wait.”

  “Ah, very good, sir. I will leave you to your work.”

  * * *

  The good news was that VNET still had integrity on sublevel twenty, at least in the vicinity of the elevator banks. The bad news was that the large corridor leading to CENTCOM’s entrance was full of high-end security measures, at least as far as Magnus’s bioteknia eyes could read. Point defense guns lay recessed in the ceil
ing while redundant multi-point sensor plates and multi-spectrum cameras ran along the walls and floor. Then there were the impregnable blast doors at the far end, operated by quantum encrypted ID panels—and all this was before anyone had even entered CENTCOM.

  Two Marines in battle armor stood on either side of a luxurious check-in desk. An attractive woman seated behind the counter wore her hair pulled back into a ponytail and sported a combination headphone and mic. Apparently, people had stuff to do, even at this hour, because the secretary was busy taking calls, typing on three different holo screens, and attending to a short queue of people waiting to speak to her.

  The guards held their weapons across their chests and kept their heads aimed at the line of people. Had it not been for the queue, Magnus felt certain the Marines would have noticed the elevator doors open. And when no one stepped out, they would have investigated. But as it was, Alpha and Bravo Teams’ presence remained unnoticed.

  While the space appeared pristine—no doubt designed to fit in with the capital complex’s auspicious facade—Magnus guessed that what lay beyond the blast doors was hard-nosed military to the core. Here, glossy white surfaces with black trim and bright lighting reinforced the prestigious decor of the Galactic Republic. But there, inside those doors, lay the heart of the industrial-military complex.

  “So, what is the plan, buckethead?” Abimbola asked as the two teams pressed up against the sidewalls.

  “We’ve got redundant multi-spectrum cameras along the entire hallway’s ceiling,” Magnus said. “Pressure sensors on the floor, thermal and motion on the walls. And point defense turrets hidden in the ceiling. Not to mention the quantum encrypted ID security and the big blast doors that none of us can shoot through.”

  “It’s a damn kill box,” Dutch said. “Splick.”

  “So, what you are saying is, it will be a walk in the park,” Abimbola replied.

  “Pretty much.” Magnus looked back at the elevators. “Because I don’t plan on going into CENTCOM.”