Hell's Reach (Galactic Liberation Series Book 6)

by B. V. Larson

  “And by the way,” Chiara said, “they stop that fast, too. They seem to have no inertia at all.”

  “Wow. Inertialess drive. What’s it doing?”

  “Looking at us. Checking us out.”

  “But there’s no indication of a scan.”

  “There never is... but believe me, Mechron knows. That’s why everything high-tech on this ship has been shut down.”

  “Mechron doesn’t care if we have the equipment, just that we use it, right?”

  “Fortunately, Mechron’s more rational than most species. It doesn’t freak out because we have something it doesn’t like—only if we use it. It treats us like adults—and holds us accountable. Ruthlessly.”

  “Adults, huh? That’s an interesting viewpoint.”

  “That’s my viewpoint,” she said. “Not everybody agrees.”

  Loco wasn’t sure he did either, but each such odd declaration helped him understand Chiara better. “So it’s like a machine cop—or an automated defense system. Act in the right way, you’re safe. Act in the wrong way, there’s no appeal—it blasts you.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “And you call that adult?”

  Chiara shrugged.

  Loco looked annoyed. “Seems more childish and immature, simpleminded. My way or the highway, no discussion.”

  “Simple rules, consistently enforced. Sounds like one of the principles of leadership Straker’s always on about.”

  “There’s more to it than that.”

  “There always is. But for our survival, that’s all there is right now.”

  “Got it.” Loco continued to watch the bubble with fascination and a certain level of visceral terror, thoroughly aware that this powerful, unknown, alien thing could destroy them before they could escape.

  And then it vanished.

  “Where’d it go?”

  Chiara pointed at a display, which showed a streak of black. “It moved away—at half light speed. That’s the track Cassiel’s SAI can infer from its disruption of space dust and from radiation.”

  “Why does Mechron let us use the SAI?”

  “I guess it’s not advanced enough to bother it... or maybe because the SAI doesn’t do anything outside the ship, anything that affects anyone else. Visitors have been having discussions like this for thousands of years. There’s no point in trying to understand why it does what it does—only what the rules are.”

  “I might swallow that answer, but don’t ever say that to Zaxby or Murdock—or any brainiac. They might suddenly run off and dedicate their whole life to figuring Mechron out.”

  “Noted.” Chiara spoke into the intercom. “Stay on the tail gun, Raj. Just don’t fire at anything of Mechron origin.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “We’re heading in.” She slowly shoved forward the fusion engine throttles, next to the impeller controls—over which she’d taped a hard cover.

  The cruise time into the system allowed Loco plenty of time to examine the planets—at least, as well as he could with the sloop’s crappy sensors. Oh, they were good enough when it came to identifying immediate threats, but poor compared to a military ship’s suite of opticals and fused EM detectors.

  There were thirteen planets. That was normal enough. However, the resemblance of normalcy ended there.

  First, each and every planet was a blue-green, life-bearing world—the most common kind, for the most common type of life: Earthlike, oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere, supporting carbon-based living things. While other kinds of life were known—the radioactive Thorians, or the strange Crystals for example—most life bigger than microbes was of this type.

  Next, the planets themselves occupied the same stellar orbit, like beads on a curved, invisible string. They whirled around the blazingly bright blue central star—far larger and hotter than most suns that shone above life-bearing worlds. Each planet had an axial tilt and a single large moon—more resemblances to Earth, and to a few other prominent blue-green homeworlds, the kind that had developed their own independent sentient life.

  Only one planet showed signs of technology, though: Mechrono-7, the home of the Living. Toward that planet they set course.

  Here and there, bubbles flew on their inscrutable tasks. Hundreds of them whizzed around. They also detected at least eleven non-Mechron ships, though all were so far away they couldn’t be positively identified yet.

  “Mechron must have built this system,” Loco said as he scrolled through the data and fiddled with the sensors. “It’s completely unnatural.”

  “Obviously. If nothing else, thirteen planets in the same orbit are so delicately balanced that they’d start shifting and wandering within a few years if not constantly adjusted.”

  “Reminds me a little of Utopia, in a way.”

  Chiara glanced sharply at him. “That’s true. Maybe they’re related. Or maybe advanced civilizations—or AIs—like to build impressive things.”

  “Or maybe there used to be one old advanced galactic civilization that came before all of us—one that had many sections or parts, or subspecies, or... ” Loco ground to a halt. “Just speculation, I guess, but this is stuff I never thought about before.”

  “Yes, it sure makes you think... and realize how big and weird it all is.” Chiara locked the controls before reaching over to take his hand.

  He held her hand gingerly, then more firmly. It seemed a delicate bridge, a peace offering that he didn’t want to disrupt.

  They cruised in silence for some time before Chiara shook her hand free, unlocked the controls, and altered their course to insert into orbit around Mechrono-7. There were no orbital defenses, but there were several satellites and some kind of base on the inner, planet-facing surface of the moon. All seemed to be using basic radio waves—UHF and VHF mostly—for communication and telemetry.

  And there was another ship in orbit.

  An Arattak frigate, just like the ones which had attacked the Hercules.

  Chapter 9

  Humbar system, aboard Redwolf.

  “More precisely, the Hercules was sent to a place called Hell’s Reach, or Hellheim,” Zaxby said as he brought up a star map in the Redwolf’s holotank. “It’s an enormous nebula-like structure on the edge of the Middle Reach, toward the galactic center. If the Middle Reach is the Wild West, this Hellheim Nebula is the badlands. There are reported dangers there unique to known space—crazy stories, some seem to be true, some are almost certainly not.”

  “Like what?” Steiner asked.

  “Unstable proto-stars, for instance,” Zaxby rattled on. “Beings composed of energy and plasma. Gigantic spacegoing creatures, some sentient, some little more than simplistic eating machines. Lithoid creatures of similar ilk to the azoic Crystals. Gravitic and ionic storms. Pulsars. Quasars. Singularities. Stars that don’t conform to known types. It’s said that in some regions, the laws of physics are different.”

  “Huh… Hellheim is a good name,” Steiner said. “In the Old Sachsen tongue that place was Hellia. Some would say Hella-Heim or Helheim. The underworld, the land of the dead, ruled by the goddess Hel.”

  Straker lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “That’s the first time you’ve said more than five words that didn’t involve soldiering.”

  “It is the mythology of my people. I watch many fantasy vids based on this mythology.”

  “Sounds entertaining. Forward me copies, if you don’t mind.” Straker turned to Zaxby. “And you have data on Hell’s Reach?”

  “We have little but rumors, unsubstantiated newsnet postings, and the lurid stories of the popular fiction industry. No doubt genuine hard data exists, but the Middle Reach is not known for its scientific inquiry—unless money can be made from it. Those who’ve been to Hellheim apparently keep the information for themselves, hoping to profit.”

  “So we’re going in blind?”

  “As usual,” Zaxby answered, “you’re exercising your penchant for hyperbole. We’re far from blind. I’d like to think we’re goi
ng in with minds and eyes open.”

  “But without much intel.” Straker flexed his right hand, a nervous tic since he’d regenerated it less than a year ago.

  Mara said, “How about asking our friends, the Humbar? Or the Thorians?”

  “The Thorians don’t talk much.”

  “Yet they showed up to help.”

  “You’re right. Turn on our transponder. Hail them and let’s see what they say.”

  Mara set course for the former battle zone, now easily visible and identifiable to both friendly contingents. “I’ve got a Fleet Bull Ternus on the comlink, asking to speak with you, Derek.”

  “Put him on.”

  The audio buzzed, and then: “Herd Bull Straker?”

  “I’m here, ah, Fleet Bull Ternus.”

  “I’m the senior commander of military forces at Humbar-5. Thank you for your intervention efforts. They were timely and of great respect to our defenders.”

  “You’re welcome. We value our Humbar friends, and hope for closer ties in the future.”

  “Thank you for your diplomacy, but I am only a humble, grateful warrior. I would like to invite you to a meeting.”

  “Thanks very much, but we’ll have to decline. We have pressing matters, especially the recovery of some of our people the Arattak kidnapped.”

  “Perhaps you will reconsider when I tell you it is the Thorians who request it.”

  Straker turned to see Zaxby waving several tentacles for attention. “One moment, Fleet Bull. Mute comlink.” He signaled Zaxby to speak.

  “The Thorians seldom meet with anyone, Derek Straker. This could be a unique opportunity to acquire information.”

  He forced himself to think it over. Every fiber of his being screamed to go straight after Carla and the others, but heading for Hell’s Reach without enough intel was asking for disaster. Besides, it would only be a few hours until the Breaker fleet arrived. The Redwolf was fast and flexible, but there was nothing like real warships for power and security.

  “All right. We might as well wait until Gray shows up. Gather intel, make a plan. Unmute the comlink. Fleet Bull Ternus, we accept your invitation.”

  “We are pleased. Details will follow via data burst. Ternus out.”

  Once he’d programmed in the flight plan, Zaxby stood. “I have work to do.”

  “Work?”

  “I must modify my water suit for increased radiation shielding. I suggest you humans optimize spacesuits, as well as prepare an assortment of equipment for radiation detection and mitigation.”

  “I’ll get working on that, Derek,” Mara said.

  “Won’t the Bug repair any radiation damage?” Straker asked.

  “Sure, eventually. How long do you want to be blinded and vomiting for?”

  “Point taken.” Straker took the pilot’s seat and let the SAI autopilot the yacht into orbit around H-5. Soon, as instructed, they landed inside an underground hangar on one of the gas giant’s many moons. Mara synchronized translator modules to standard comlinks and pinned the speakers to the humans’ chests. Straker ordered Steiner to stay aboard.

  When they walked down the disembarkation ramp, Straker saw hundreds of uniformed Humbar drawn up in ranks. They saluted the Breakers, left hands held upward, all four fingers splayed. Straker returned the salute in the traditional human manner.

  At the bottom of the ramp waited an imposing, long-horned male in a fancy uniform—Fleet Bull Ternus, of course. He and Straker exchanged salutes again, and then an awkward left-handed handshake. The Humbar’s right hand looked to have been recently amputated at the elbow, with a medical machine-sleeve covering the stump—a battle injury, no doubt. Straker could sympathize.

  “Thank you for the honors, Fleet Bull, but I’m sure your people have a lot to do. We’re fine with less formality, if you are.”

  “That is courteous of you.” He turned to bellow something unintelligible, and the assembly dissolved.

  “I see you saw some personal action.” Straker gestured at the missing arm.

  Ternus touched it with his opposite hand. “Actually, this is something else. Come this way.” He began to walk. Four other bulls followed at a discreet distance—security? Aides? Herd instinct?

  “I mean no insult, Fleet Bull,” Mara said as they followed Ternus across the hangar, “but have all precautions been taken for the meeting with the Thorians? Humans are even more susceptible to radiation than Humbar.”

  “Only one Thorian. He will remain inside his own suit. And yes, my technicians have researched your physiology and made sure the radiation levels are safe—for a short time.”

  “Good. I have my own scanners and medical items here, just in case.” She hefted the utility bag she carried.

  “Of course.”

  The Thorian waited inside the meeting room, across a large, heavy table. It—Thorians had no sex or gender—stood shoulder-high, with four blocky legs, four stubby arms, and a squarish head, with no apparent front or back—just four sides.

  It wore a sealed, silvered suit. Straker was reminded of ancient science-fiction showvids where every surface and fabric was shiny and metallic. In fact, the multiple metal coatings were there to keep the radiation in, not out.

  Mara consulted a handheld detector and nodded. “We’re good for an hour or two at this rate.”

  To a Thorian, as Zaxby had briefed them, much of the universe was cold and sterile. Only high-radiation environments felt warm and welcoming. Since they derived all their sustenance from radiation and radiating materials, for a Thorian, having no radiation was as if a human had no heat, food or water. Thus, they carried radiation sources with them, inside their suits and ships.

  The translated, artificial voice that emanated from the suit was as metallic as the suit coatings, making the Thorian seem more like a robot than a living creature. “I am here.” That’s all it said.

  “We are here,” Zaxby replied.

  “My fission-mate speaks well of you.”

  Straker swiveled his head to Zaxby and Mara. “Who’s he talking about?”

  “I’m not sure,” Mara said.

  Zaxby said, “A fission-mate is the other person created when a Thorian divides into two beings. It’s their method of reproduction. There is no closer relationship in Thorian society.”

  “Like a sibling, a parent and a child, all in one,” Mara added. “Or a twin.”

  “Then who’s he talking about?”

  “I can venture a guess.” said Zaxby. “Do you recall we rescued a lone Thorian from the Korveni crimorg?”

  Mara snapped her fingers. “Right! It asked to be dropped off at Crossroads with some of the other rescued people.”

  Straker addressed the Thorian. “I’m glad your fission-mate spoke well of us. What can we do for you?”

  “Nothing at present. For the future, we propose an alliance. Details are here.” The Thorian extended a limb and placed a data module on the table.

  Mara scanned it, and then put on a glove to pick it up and place it in a container. “I’ll decontaminate this and download it later.”

  Straker asked, “Does this proposed alliance include the Humbar?”

  “It does. Also, others.”

  He turned to Herd Bull Ternus. “What do you think about this proposal?”

  “My government has already agreed in principle. This attack has demonstrated our vulnerability to the Axis of Predators.”

  “Axis of Predators?”

  “According to reports, the Arattak, the Korven, the Dicon, the Crocs and the Vulps have banded together to prey on the vulnerable. Others may join them, if they demonstrate success.”

  “I presume that on-the-nose alliance name means they’re all predator species, looking to increase their power at the expense of peaceable people like the Humbar.”

  “So it appears,” Ternus said. “Given the attack we just suffered, we are willing to make alliances, even with meat-eating omnivores such as yourselves—no offense.”

  “None t
aken.” Straker checked his people for objections, and then nodded to the Thorian. “We agree in principle.”

  “Good. We must fuse, you and I.” The Thorian walked sideways to the end of the table, and without turning, shifted direction to approach Straker.

  “Hold on,” Straker said, lifting a hand and backing up.

  The Thorian stopped.

  Mara held up her detector. “Rads just tripled. Time, shielding and distance, Derek. Its shielding is fixed, so decreasing our distance just decreased the time we can stay here. We have maybe twenty minutes now—or we can put on our suits.”

  “Okay, twenty minutes. Let me talk to our new friend here.” Straker turned to the Thorian. “I’m Derek Straker. What should we call you?”

  “Emissary.”

  “No, I mean, you individually.”

  It seemed to ponder. “Roentgen.”

  “Cute,” Mara said. “A radiation joke. At least now we know Thorians have a sense of humor.”

  “Either that, or they’re utterly literal-minded,” Straker replied.

  The Thorian spoke again. “We must fuse, you and I, Derek Straker.”

  “Uh... fuse? That sounds dangerous.”

  “You will survive.”

  “I’d be happy to fuse with you, Roentgen,” Zaxby said eagerly.

  “No. It must be Derek Straker.”

  “Why?” Straker asked.

  “Because he is the Liberator.”

  “The role that will not die.” Straker looked at Mara. “What’s fusing involve?”

  “It looks like a handshake, no gloves, but for Thorians, it’s like... a mind-meld. It’s very intimate. Particles are exchanged.”

  He forced himself to think past his immediate revulsion and consider it. “So we’ll be... brainlinked, in a way?”

  “According to the reports, it will be less clear, more like shared dreaming or hallucinations.”

  “And why is this necessary?” Straker asked.