Ruins of the Galaxy Box Set: Books 1-6

by Chaney, J. N.

  “All units check in,” Magnus ordered. They did so, and he saw their icons spread out along the beach. Then he ordered his squad to fall in on his location, and the icons started to move closer until everyone was in a loose circle around him.

  “I take it that did not go like you intended,” Abimbola said.

  Magnus shook his head. “Not quite. New plan. We’re gonna activate the planetary defense shield ourselves. TO-96 said we could do so at the main generator core located here.” Magnus populated a map in VNET and ordered everyone to open it. “The atoll is twenty-five klicks west of our current location, and home of Elusian Base and the PDS generator core. There are other relay cores located around the planet, but this is the big one and the only one with a manual override for the entire system.”

  “Manual override, as in we have to walk in there and physically throw the switch?” Titus asked.

  “That’s the idea.” Magnus sent another packet of information to everyone. “TO-96 has already provided three routes into the base for us, all leading to the manual override terminal located here”—Magnus flashed a blue waypoint marker on an outbuilding connected to a sizable hangar-like facility—“next to the power core station.”

  “We flip that, and the PDS goes live, mission over?” Dutch asked.

  Magnus nodded. “That’s what I’m told.”

  “Did he say what kind of resistance we can expect?” Titus said.

  “Based on the fact that we just broke into the Forum Republic, assaulted two high ranking Republic officials, and made quite the exit, I’d say the base will be on high alert. The good news is that the only two people who know we’re interested in raising the PDS are currently unconscious. Until they wake up, no one knows where we’re headed exactly.”

  “Rohoar should have slain them,” Rohoar said.

  “Speaking of slaying, we’re going up against Marines,” Magnus added. “So we’re going to do our absolute best to minimize casualties. We’re not here for them, and they’re not the Paragon. We’re here to get a shield up, copy?”

  “This is all well and good,” Awen said. “But how do you intended to get us twenty-five kilometers into the Midnoric Ocean?”

  “With those.” Magnus pointed toward a large beach hut with a sign that read Jules Sea Skimmer Rentals.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Awen replied.

  “If we ride in pairs, we can act like honeymooners.”

  Awen laughed once. “I’m riding my own. Thank you very much.”

  “What is honeymooners?” Rohoar asked. “And should Rohoar ride with Abimbola?”

  “No,” Abimbola said with a chop of his hand through the air.

  “It means newlyweds,” Titus said to Rohoar, then cocked his head sideways as if considering his explanation. “Uh, people who agree to be married. Family commitment?”

  Rohoar jerked back. “You mean, mating rights?”

  Titus raised both hands toward the Jujari. “There you go. Mating rights.”

  Then, with a sound of abject disgust, Rohoar stepped away from Abimbola. “Rohoar rides alone, like Awen.”

  * * *

  The sea skimmers were parked in a long line under a thatched awning that stretched out from either side of the main hut. Each unit was tethered to a charging station with a locking cable. Magnus asked Rohoar and Czyz to detach enough units for everyone and then raised Azelon over VNET.

  “Any chance you can help us slice these, Azie?” Magnus asked.

  “Please proceed to the procurement terminal,” Azelon replied.

  “The what?”

  “I think she means the checkout counter,” Awen said, pointing to the center desk under the main building.

  “Right,” said Magnus, then he vaulted over the counter and walked to a holo terminal. He waved his hand over the activation sensor, and a translucent keypad appeared at chest height.

  “Standby,” Azelon said. A few moments passed before she listed a series of numerals and letters, which Magnus entered. A green Accept indicator flashed, then opened to a user-friendly vehicle roster display with several easy-to-read tabs—no doubt designed for the cheap hourly labor that ran this touristy establishment. “Now, choose how many vehicles you would like, select Payment, and then enter your Republic account information.”

  Magnus hesitated. “Azie, my account is probably suspended, and I—”

  “I’m producing offspring,” Azelon replied.

  “Huh?”

  “It’s kidding,” TO-96 said, interjecting himself into her avatar frame. “We went over this already.”

  “Quite so. My apologies.” Azelon looked back at Magnus. “I’m kidding.”

  “We don’t have time for this,” Magnus said but had to admit her attempt at humor was at least a little funny.

  “But sir, you said, keeping it light and punchy is a good way to dispel tension in combat.”

  “The slice, Azie.”

  “Stand by.”

  The holo screen flickered, and a few new screens appeared that looked more like Cyril’s backend coding windows than anything an hourly employee would know how to navigate.

  “I’m using your suit’s sensors and your biotech interface to communicate with this business establishment’s security protocol,” Azelon said.

  “Looks like you’re making quick work of it.”

  “It’s a benign system.” Several chimes began ringing down the rows of sea skimmers as the red lights on the locks changed from red to green. “There you are, sir.”

  “Thanks, Azie. Just two more things.”

  “Yes?”

  “First, make sure you remove anything that might govern the speed and balance of our skimmers. Tourists might not want to kill themselves while surfing the waves, but we might.”

  “Curious, but easy enough. What’s the second thing?”

  Magnus looked at a stack of cheap poker chips that served as business cards for the proprietor’s enterprise. “Make sure that Mr. Jules is well compensated for this little venture of ours when all this is over. Chances are, he won’t be getting these skimmers back.”

  “Understood, sir. Also, Mr. Jules is Miss Jules.”

  Awen caught Magnus’s eye and pointed toward several framed images on the back wall. An attractive woman in a wetsuit stood in front of a racing sea skimmer, or held various trophies and awards, or stood beside other racers or dignitaries.

  Magnus whistled. “Nothing like stealing from a champ.” Then he turned back to his squad and told everyone to find an open sea skimmer and prepare to move out.

  * * *

  Sea skimmers were not complicated to operate when their automation was active, which was why almost any planet in the Republic with water had them. When tuned down, the skimmers made for great tourist excursions, as evidenced by Miss Jules’s business, which—if Magnus had to guess—probably had franchises up and down the atoll. Plus, they looked amazing, so who wouldn’t want to give one a try?

  The skimmer’s lack of complexity also made them extremely fun to race, especially when souped-up with oversized drive cores, high-density repulsor panels, and customized steering modulators. The Intergalactic Sea Skimmer League was one of the most developed sporting organizations in the quadrant, right below spaceball, and Magnus had attended his share of races as a youth here in Capriana. He was surprised he’d never heard of Jules before but admitted it had been over ten years since he’d followed the sport.

  Magnus hadn’t ridden a skimmer since he was a teenager, but he knew it would come back to him in a flash. He made sure everyone found a unit suited to their size and weight before climbing on one himself. The entire fleet was painted in obnoxious neon colors and sported large racing numbers to make the tourists feel like they were pros.

  The vehicles were mainly water-based hover sleds, but with several exceptions. The body was a narrow fuselage with a rounded nose in the front and vertical stabilizer for a tail. Small repulsor panels lined the bottom along the spine, making the veh
icle hard to balance when standing still, but extremely maneuverable when at speed. While the addition of two small repulsor wings on each side of the body helped provide some stability, their primary purpose was to help roll the craft as they rotated along their axis. And, unlike repulsor technology used on land, the water-based equivalent afforded sea skimmer pilots a seemingly limitless, ever-increasing speed envelope, as well as the tightest turn radius of any vehicle in the Repub.

  It was no surprise that the military routinely tried to purchase the vehicles. Still, the league consistently refused, not wishing their beloved racing sport to be sullied by the image of blasters strapped to the sides, riding into some interplanetary conflict that may or may not be supported by the league’s diverse fan base. Most followers of the sport agreed with the league’s decision, but not Magnus. They would have changed the tide of the war for us on Caledonia, he thought. Plus, he knew how badass Marines would look riding into battle on a fleet of them. Today, it seemed he’d get his wish, but with gladias instead of Marines.

  Riders leaned forward against the skimmer’s fuselage, nearly prone—hands on angled handlebars and feet on actuator pedals. The horizontal stabilizer in the rear, which sat atop the vertical fin, helped regulate the skimmer’s pitch, and the pedals helped control the yaw. For most everyone, these input values were automated. All a pilot needed to do was turn the handlebars like a bike. But for the more experienced riders, which Magnus liked to think of himself as, automation could be reduced, with control given to the operator in varying degrees of intensity. The very best pilots could perform stunts and tricks that seemed to defy the laws of physics. Today, however, Magnus just needed the skimmer to serve as high-speed transfer sleds.

  “Everyone ready?” Magnus looked up and down the line. “Throttle is in your left hand. Ease forward, find your balance, and then—”

  All at once, Czyz shot forward and struck a media stand, knocking it over. Likewise, Doc Campbell surged forward, braked hard to compensate, and then dropped his sled. It fell sideways with a thud on the boardwalk. Similarly, Haze—the newest member of Granther Company, selected from Forbes’s first platoon—bumped into Czyz’s skimmer. The Jujari turned around and growled at Haze, but then dropped his sled in the sand.

  Magnus shook his head. “Azelon, I’m having second thoughts. Can you return auto stabilization to everyone’s skimmers?”

  “Right away, sir. Please note, however, that it will adversely affect their top speed.”

  “I’m aware. And, right now”—Magnus winced as Rohoar smacked into Abimbola—“I’m fine with that.”

  7

  Second squad opened fire on the four men who came around the corner. Unarmored and brandishing only light sidearms, the security guards didn’t have a chance against the NOV1s. Ultra high-output weapons fire ripped the guards’ bodies to shreds in seconds. But the Paragon troopers who followed behind the security guards were much more prepared. The enemy took cover along the hallway’s bulkhead-like separators and fired downrange toward the console station. Even though the troopers couldn’t see anything, they must’ve known someone or something was there—the unauthorized node access and the dead bodies both here and in the loading bay gave it away.

  “We need a plan,” Zoll said, taking cover behind the mystics’ shielding.

  “And fast,” Bliss added.

  Zoll had hoped this would be a smooth snatch and grab. But now that they were inside the high-security government bio-research facility, his hopes of getting back to the Spire before lunch were fading fast.

  “You following all this?” Zoll asked to Caldwell over VNET.

  “Affirmative, Zoll,” the colonel replied. “Think you can still handle the objective?”

  “I already canceled my breakfast reservations for this, so, since we’re here, why not?”

  Caldwell’s mustache turned up at the ends. “Keep your heads down.”

  “Will do. Would you update Magnus for us?”

  “Roger that.”

  “Thanks. Zoll out.”

  Without warning, a small detonator with a red blinking light rolled down the hallway toward Zoll.

  “Fragger,” Zoll yelled. He stepped forward to kick the enemy ordnance away, but it moved before he could get a boot on it. The detonator reversed course, flew through the air, and then exploded behind the bulkhead where the six troopers took cover. The sudden burst of light and sound shook the hallway and dimmed the lights. When Zoll looked around to see who or what had returned the enemy grenade, he saw Wish—Charlie Team’s mystic—give him a little wave. “That was some fancy-ass splick.”

  “I try and make myself useful,” Wish replied.

  “Fine by me.” Zoll turned from the six dead troopers and the four dead security guards to look at Cyril. “Give us a direction, kid.”

  “That way, on the double duty.” Cyril pointed east, farther down the present corridor. “Then north until we hit the lower elevator banks, ten four.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “But, but, sir. They’re going to be locked down tight.”

  “Can’t you do something about that?”

  Cyril was back on the console, typing furiously. “Anything I do here could be nullified by the time we get down there. The building’s AI is compartmentalizing systems as we speak. It’s almost exactly like the level in Blue Reaper where you constantly have to stay ahead of the alien supermind that’s trying to keep you from escaping from the—”

  “Cyril,” Zoll yelled. “We don’t have time for this!”

  “Oh, right. So sorry, sir. Yes.”

  “Can you slice the elevators?”

  “Yeah, yeah. But, again, I’m not sure how long—”

  “Do it. We’ll improvise when the need arises. That’s why we have you.”

  Cyril nodded and then entered several lines of code that made no sense to Zoll.

  “Longchomps, Grahban, Redmarrow.” Zoll pointed to the three Jujari. “I want you on point. Flip back your OTA extensions and get those snouts and claws ready. Azie’s update on your telecolos covering should extend chameleon coverage to still keep your extremities cloaked. Wish, Telwin, Finderminth, cover our six, and keep Cyril cocooned while you’re at it. Let’s move.”

  As soon as Cyril was done slicing, the team left the data node and continued east down the hallway until they reached a T-intersection.

  The three Jujari sniffed the air, and Longchomps raised a fist. “Hold,” he said in a low tone. “I smell unbathed humans and energy mags.”

  “Which way?” Zoll said.

  “Left. And right. Both stationary.”

  “They’re set up on us,” Bliss said. “Playing defense.”

  Zoll nodded, then looked back at Longchomps. “You go left toward the elevators. We’ll cover right.”

  “With pleasure,” Longchomps replied in a snarl. Before Zoll could move, the three Jujari dove at the far wall—and ran along it. Claws dug into the metal, and Redmarrow even raced along the ceiling. The Paragon troopers started firing, but their aim was imprecise. The Jujari remained clear as they advanced.

  Zoll ordered his three snipers—Reimer, Bettger, and Jaffrey—to swing out and fire south, while Rix and Dozer provided covering fire. The gladias peeled out and took cover behind the bulkheads, NOV1s and CK360s pointed downrange, blaster bolts whizzing.

  Northbound, the Jujari fell upon the defenders like a Bornark fessel pig that hadn’t eaten in three days. Longchomps clotheslined two troopers at once—one who was reloading, and a second who was firing right into the Jujari’s chest. For Longchomps, that cost him 85% of his shield. But the two troopers hit the ground so hard their helmets flew off. Longchomps finished them by driving his palms into the heads, flattening them into a bloody pulp.

  Grahban dropped to his side and slid along the glossy floor—his armor made a high-pitched squealing noise as he did. As he moved through the enemy’s position, he reached out and slashed at the troopers’ legs on either side of the hallway. Sev
eral men dropped to the ground, writhing. But for those who remained standing, Redmarrow dropped from the ceiling, rolled, and then pounced with all his weight. He pressed three troopers to the ground while closing his jaws on a fourth’s torso.

  The man in Redmarrow’s mouth tried to raise his blaster high enough to fire down on the unseen force that crushed his ribs, but before he could get a shot off, the Jujari chewed his way through the stomach and spine, cleaving the trooper in two. The man’s top half fell to the side, while Redmarrow held onto the bottom. When the Jujari turned around to look at Zoll, a pair of armored legs hung from his mouth. They only dropped to the ground when Redmarrow said, “Clear.”

  To the south, Reimer took out two troopers in quick succession, both with headshots. Bettger struck a third in the shoulder, flipping him to the ground, and finished him with a shot to the chest. Meanwhile, Jaffrey dropped a fourth trooper who maintained constant pressure on his trigger finger. The trooper’s blaster continued firing as the man sprawled onto the floor, striking two other Paragon combatants in a deadly friendly fire accident.

  “That counts as three kills,” Jaffrey said.

  “Does not,” Bettger replied. “Unless you’re that first guy—he gets two kills.”

  “South hall is clear,” Robillard said, turning to face Zoll.

  “Let’s move,” Zoll replied, then took off north toward the elevators.

  The Jujari had already arrived at the four elevator doors when Zoll got there. So far, no other troopers had converged on their position, but he had a feeling the reprieve wouldn’t last long.

  Cyril walked up to a control panel and pressed the down button. “Okay, so, so, I guess it’s time to see how far we get, right?”

  “Right,” Zoll replied. “Charlie and Delta, I want you defending this position. Echo, we’re heading to the basement. Stay on comms, and stay alert.” Everyone confirmed his orders in their HUDs, and then Zoll stepped into the open elevator. Echo Team loaded in, but Cyril remained on the outside. “Whaddya think you’re doing?”