Ruins of the Galaxy Box Set: Books 1-6

by Chaney, J. N.

  Ezo gave a half-smile and a quick nod of his head. “Ezo like your style, bot. No wonder ’Six likes you.”

  “I do have the ability to perform many useful and pleasing tasks.”

  “Okay, stop right there.”

  Just then, TO-96’s voice broke over the channel. “Azelon, we need your Talons’ assistance in sector three, grids twenty-three and twenty-four.”

  “I see them,” Azelon replied.

  “Ezo doesn’t,” Ezo said. “What’s happening?”

  “The Magistrates are taking heavy fire from three retreating Destroyers,” TO-96 said.

  Ezo did the mental gymnastics required to pull up the grid in question and then reorient his Fang. “Blue Squadron, on Ezo!”

  “But, sir, we have plenty—”

  “Can it, ’Six. If my lady needs backup, there’s nowhere else you’re going to task me.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “Is that how you feel about me?” Azelon asked TO-96.

  “Answer carefully, buddy,” Ezo said to him, accelerating his Fang.

  “Of course, Azelon,” TO-96 replied. “Only I would come to your aid twice as fast.”

  “Good answer,” Ezo said.

  But Azelon didn’t seem impressed. “That is a pity.”

  Ezo studied Azelon’s face in his HUD and noticed that TO-96 seemed equally perplexed. “And why is that a pity?” the bot inquired.

  “I wouldn’t need the help.”

  * * *

  Sootriman and about twenty of her Magistrates found themselves in the unlucky position of being hemmed in on two sides by two Destroyers, with a third behind them. Even though the ships seemed bent on retreating from the system now that Moldark and his flagship were destroyed, it didn’t mean they weren’t going to take out whoever they could in the process.

  A heavy base of blaster fire kept Sootriman’s forces dashing back and forth between the two flanking destroyers while Talons made passes from the front. Even despite her best efforts to get the Radiant Queen’s Panther-class canons on target, the enemy seemed to be twice as fast. So for every Talon she took down, the Destroyers took out two of hers.

  Frustrated with the toll her squadron was taking, Sootriman decided to change tactics. She closed on the nearest Destroyer and raced along the port side. The Queen’s blasters blazed against point defense turrets, silencing their assault on her remaining ships—now only eight strong.

  Oncoming Talons forced her to double back along the Destroyer, so she used the opportunity to scout an idea she had forming. If her squadron couldn’t get past the Destroyers, maybe she could fly through them. As she ripped along the Destroyer’s port side again, she stole a glance inside the hangar bay. Sure enough, her suspicions were confirmed.

  “You still with me, Chloe?” she asked.

  “Yeah. But we just lost Boris and Pell,” Chloe replied, her voice tight.

  “Splick,” Sootriman said. How had the enemy’s imminent defeat turned into such heavy losses for her people? She ground her teeth and tried to keep tunnel vision from getting the best of her. Ironic, she thought, considering what she was about to do.

  “But you still have me,” Diddelwolf said. “I’m like the rash you get from—”

  “Don’t need to finish that, Wolfy,” Chloe said. “We all know.”

  “You’ve still got me too,” Barlow replied. “Whaddya have in mind?”

  “Follow my lead,” Sootriman said. “We’re getting out of here.” She pulled the Queen back and shot away from the Destroyer’s hull, then arced around until she was pointed back at the port side.

  “I mean no disrespect, my queen,” Diddelwolf said. “But what are your intentions?”

  “Keep your heads down and all your dangly bits tucked in,” she replied, and then punched her Panther-class starfighter forward. Her bow was pointed directly at the hangar bay, which ran through the entire ship and opened on the other side.

  “You’re one crazy-ass queen-bitch,” Chloe said. “I’ll follow you anywhere.”

  The Queen broke the atmosphere shield at full thrust but slowed from the sudden appearance of both air and gravity slowed her ship as well as pulled it toward the deck. The ship struck the hangar bay floor on her belly, sending out waves of sparks as it skidded across the deck. Flight crews dove out of the way as Sootriman’s ship annihilated supply trains and cargo containers. What concerned her the most, however, was a grounded Talon on the far end of the hangar bay.

  “This might get bumpy,” she said.

  “It’s not already?” Barlow asked. “Splick.”

  Sootriman manually aimed her main ion cannons at the upcoming obstacle and then squeezed the triggers on her flight controls. The ion cannons sent bolts of charged particles sizzling through the hangar bay’s air, sending small whips of lightning into everything they passed over. But when the rounds met the Talon, they tore through the fuselage and blew the ship out of the way.

  Sootriman did her best to guide her ship across the deck before it shot from the other side of the hull and rendered the void. The flames vanished, and the sudden acceleration pushed her back in her seat.

  “Hell, yeah,” Chloe shouted. “I’m through.”

  “Penetration successful,” Diddelwolf said.

  “You’re old and gross,” Chloe replied. Then she cursed.

  As the Queen arced out and away from the Destroyers, Sootriman eyed the hangar bay, spewing fire into hard vacuum. Starship pieces flew from the hole, including painted sections she knew all too well.

  “We lost Phineas,” Chloe said. “As well as—”

  “The rest,” Sootriman said, sparing Chloe the list of names. She made two fists and bashed them down on her console three times, yelling as she did. “No!”

  How had she just lost eighteen ships in less than five minutes? Sootriman brought up her squadron roster. The other half was still on the far side of center, assisting TO-96’s Fangs. Still, she counted only five ships there—five, plus her three—that was eight out of an original fifty.

  It was impossible.

  Completely outrageous.

  And inexcusable.

  “I’m here,” Ezo said over comms. “Where do you need us?”

  Sootriman swallowed the tears that she’d licked off her lips. “You’re too late, husband.”

  There was a moment’s hesitation before Ezo replied. “But I only count three of you.”

  “And that’s all there is here. Five more in grid forty.”

  “But that can’t be right.”

  Sootriman felt her anger burn like a volcano about to erupt in paradise. Her thoughts flooded with memories of Caledonia, of charred bodies washing up on shore, of Republic ships leaving the planet, and of her family being left to pick up the pieces. She switched over to a private channel. “Isn’t that what happens when you try and fight someone else’s war? You lose. You always lose.”

  “There must be some mistake,” Ezo said, his face searching the holo screens around his cockpit. Sootriman could see his eyes growing wider as the reality of the Magistrate losses dawned on him. “This can’t be right.”

  “No mistake, husband. We may have defeated Moldark, but it seems our people—my people—paid the highest price, once again.”

  Ezo’s ship pulled up beside her as the first enemy ships began jumping into subspace. The flashes of departing light lit their faces as husband and wife looked at one another across the void.

  “I wanna leave,” Sootriman said at last. “I just wanna go home.”

  “But, love sauce, we’ve got—”

  “Don’t you love sauce me, husband.” She wasn’t about to let him sweet talk her into staying. “There’s nothing left for me here. Nothing left for me with the Gladio Umbra.”

  “That’s not true, and you know it. What about the people who survived down there? You’re saying you don’t want to be a part of rescuing them when you have the chance?”

  Sootriman looked out her cockpit window and studied
the burning islands hundreds of kilometers below. How anyone could survive such massive destruction was beyond her. But helping the innocent survive Moldark’s dark reign was precisely what she’d set out to do—what she’d convinced her Magistrates to do too.

  There was something else about the islands that stirred her heart. The scene reminded her of Caledonia, and her mind flashed back to the how her people had watched the Repub aid shuttles leave long before their work had been concluded. The costs were too high to continue, she was told. They’ve done as much as they can. But there were still tens of thousands of displaced Caledonians from the war.

  If Sootriman left now, she wouldn’t be any different than the Republic. “And I’ll be damned if I have that on my conscience.”

  “What was that, love?” Ezo asked.

  She sighed. “It means I’m staying. But only until the rescue efforts are under control. Then I’m out.”

  “I can live with that.”

  “Good, ’cause if you can’t, you’re sleeping on Geronimo Nine when you get back to Ki Nar Four.”

  “Not the worst quarters.”

  “I stripped out the ship’s core.”

  Ezo swallowed hard. “I stand corrected.”

  * * *

  Magnus and Awen walked onto the Spire’s bridge, still covered in grime and dried saltwater. They were exhausted, having seen their share of death, and ready for a shower, food, and a lot of sleep. But Magnus wanted to report to the Colonel, and Awen said she wouldn’t let him go alone.

  “Lieutenant Magnus,” TO-96 exclaimed in a chipper tone. “And Awen! So good to see you.” The bot walked toward them and threw his arms around their armor in awkward hugs.

  “You too, TO-96,” Awen replied. Her head jerked sideways, attached to the bot’s elbow. “And—that’s my hair.”

  “My apologies.”

  “You’ve still got my—ouch! My hair.”

  “I’m terribly—”

  “Stop pulling away, ’Six!”

  “Here,” Magnus said, grabbing the bot’s arm to keep him from yanking Awen’s head any more. “Relax your elbow. Now, slowly pull it away. There you go.”

  “Ah, thank you, sir. Again, I’m terribly sorry, Awen.”

  “It’s fine,” she said, rubbing her head. “Compared to everything else I’ve been through today, it’s the least of my concerns.”

  “You have been busy, indeed.” TO-96 looked at Magnus. “Sir, you mentioned that I could share Capriana’s municipal engineering history with you upon your return. Would this be a suitable time?”

  “Magnus, Awen,” Caldwell said as he prompted the bot to step aside, and then offered his hand to Awen. “It’s good to see you.”

  “And you, Colonel,” Magnus replied. Then to TO-96, he whispered, “Later, ’Six. I promise.”

  “I see Piper saved your wet asses,” Caldwell said.

  Awen smiled. “That she did. And to be honest, sir, we’re both a little surprised you let her go.”

  “Awen, if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s don’t mess with a woman when she has her mind set on something.”

  “Piper, sir?” Awen asked.

  “She certainly counts. But I mean someone far more intimidating.”

  “Willowood,” Magnus said.

  The colonel nodded. “Said the kid was going with or without my approval. Which meant I’d better give some express consent or there was going to be a lifetime of hell to pay. Fastest option was to stick the kid with Ricio and see what happened. The rest, I think you know.”

  Magnus nodded, reminding himself to thank Ricio when he got back. “What’s the latest with the planet?”

  “Well, how dark do you like your coffee, son?”

  Magnus knew the meaning of the colonel’s expression. “The only real way to drink it. Straight up.”

  Caldwell blew smoke out his nostrils and through his mustache. “We expect few survivors on the planet. Azelon gave victims on the far side the best survival rate. Thinks maybe 20% of the inhabitants will survive.”

  “I’ve revised that to 17%, sir,” she added.

  “Well, splick.” Caldwell raised a hand as if giving up on the numbers game. He refocused on Magnus and took a deep breath. “It’s bad, son. That’s what we know right now. The fallout from the blasts is worse than we expected too.”

  “Thus my revised numbers, sir,” Azelon said.

  Caldwell ignored her. “Up here, we lost six Fangs altogether.”

  “That ain’t too shabby, Colonel,” Magnus said.

  But Caldwell took the cigar stump from his mouth. “Sootriman’s Magistrates took the heaviest losses.”

  “How bad?”

  “Lost forty-two ships.”

  “Forty-two?” Magnus touched his forehead. “How?”

  “Half her squadron got pinned down by three Destroyers leaving the sector. The other half took heavy losses while defending our clean up after the Labyrinth went down.”

  “Mystics. And how’s she taking it?”

  “Very hard, as I believe the expression goes, sir,” TO-96 said. “But she has at least agreed to help with rescuing any survivors on the planet.”

  “Then she’s headed back to Ki Nar Four,” Caldwell said. “Can’t say that I blame her.”

  “And Ezo?” Awen asked.

  “He’s still out there finishing off the Paragon Talons that couldn’t jump away,” Caldwell said.

  “What about when he’s through?” she said. “Is he going to stay with us?”

  “I believe he’s staying for me,” TO-96 said. “But I assume he intends to take me back to Ki Nar Four as well.”

  Magnus looked at Awen and then to the bot. “And will you go?”

  TO-96 tilted his head as if giving the question serious consideration. “Since my maker has not yet offered me a proposition, I cannot rightfully provide a meaningful answer to your hypothetical inquiry.”

  “Meaning, you want to check in with Azelon first,” Awen said, nodding toward the other bot. The mystic had an uncanny way of reading between the lines of code.

  “No.” TO-96 looked over at Azelon. “She and I have already discussed all possible scenarios.”

  “When?” Caldwell asked.

  “Just now. She will support my decision, whatever it may be.”

  “Well, just be sure to let us know too,” Magnus said.

  “I will, sir. Thank you.”

  The idea of splitting the team up didn’t sit well with Magnus. But then again, did he really expect things to stay this way forever?

  Caldwell took another drag on the stub in his mouth. “As for Moldark’s fleet, only fourteen warships and six Talons survived, and they just jumped out of the system.”

  “Five Talons, sir,” Azelon said. “The last one was just destroyed.”

  “Five Talons,” Caldwell said.

  “Those are some heavy losses.”

  “You’re telling me, son. We owe most of that to First Fleet, but they fared only a little better. Thirty-three warships, including just five carriers, and sixty-one Talons.”

  “That’s a quarter of the Navy’s original fighting force,” Magnus said, more to himself than to the colonel. Caldwell still nodded, trying to keep his cigar from burning the edges of his lips. “So, what now?”

  “I suppose that’s a call for all of us to make together,” Caldwell said, looking at Awen and then the two bots. “We’ll wait for Willowood, of course. But our options include sticking around to help whoever’s left on the planet or going after Moldark’s remaining ships.”

  “Don’t forget So-Elku,” Awen said. “He won’t have been sitting idle during all this.”

  “Agreed,” Caldwell replied. “So there’s plenty to discuss.”

  “And Moldark?” Magnus asked, trying not to jinx the question everyone wanted to know the answer to.

  “We have every reason to believe he was on board the Black Labyrinth when it went down,” Caldwell said. “And I’d like to hope t
hat’s the case. It would sure spare us all a splick-load of trouble.”

  Magnus looked at the bots. “Any probability that he escaped?”

  “Of course,” Azelon said. “Nothing is certain without sufficient proof. I place Moldark’s survival at less than 3%. I am reviewing all sensor data from the conflict, looking for evidence of his escape.”

  “3%,” Awen said softly. “I don’t like those odds.”

  “Neither do I,” Magnus said. “Let’s hope for the best.”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, Hottie, but we are being hailed across all channels by Commodore David Seaman of First Fleet. He’s onboard the Solera Fortuna.”

  Caldwell gave Magnus and Awen a raised eyebrow before turning toward the main holo display. Magnus looked at Awen and mouthed the word “Hottie?” Then the colonel dropped the cigar on the deck and crushed it with his foot. “Put him on, Smarty Pants. Let’s see how the Repub feels about us now.”

  Epilogue

  Moldark sat in the chair on his observation deck, glaring at First Fleet as it sought to defend what remained of Capriana Prime. He bit his lower lip in rapt wonder as two enemy Dreadnaughts suffered point-blank LO9D strikes. The blasts tore both ships apart in a spectacular release of energy, cleaving the vessel in pieces, and blasting the remains toward the planet’s gravity.

  Commodore Seaman’s attempts to stop Moldark were admirable, in so much as a hurricane admires a bird’s attempt to fly through it. But in the end? Fruitless.

  The fool, Moldark thought.

  The dark lord had handed the Republic officer the opportunity of his short and insignificant lifetime—to live out his remaining days as one of the most powerful men in the galaxy. And what did he choose to do with it? Moldark spat blood on the floor. Has he no ambition?

  Seaman’s betrayal mattered little, ultimately. The man was merely a means to an end—as were all these ships, people, and planets. They played their parts, served his purposes, and then it was over. They were all expendable.

  The important thing today was that the Nine had been decimated. The traitors. Moldark had tasted their fear and drank of their lives. Well, most of them, anyway. Moldark despised that fact that he had to resort to the orbital bombardment instead of face-to-face retribution. Killing wholesale was so impersonal, like the way the Novia Minoosh had ripped his people’s lives away. However, even though not all deaths were equal, Moldark’s personal reckoning with the Nine was complete, and the traitors had breathed their last breaths. Blackman, most of all. It was what it was.