Beyond Antares Dimensional Gates

by Edited by Brandon Rospond

Vosper began to speak. "Let's get out . . ."

  He never finished his sentence. His head vanished in a puff of red mist, his body still turning to run for safety. His corpse fell at Kozon's feet.

  Kozon had never been one to panic. His record as a trooper and officer in the Joxiana domari had ever been solid. He felt like panicking now. He caught only a fleeting glimpse of the enemy as they scuttled out from cover. Ghar!

  Two Ghar troopers, giant and bulky in their battlesuits, stalked their way through the wrecks. Behind them scurried an unknown number of their diminutive Outcast subordinates who bounded after their betters like puppies. Ghar battle armor was crude and heavy-looking, a bulbous monstrosity of metal armor plates set above three crustacean-like legs. It was squat too, so unlike the elegant man-machine warbot that they had hid behind. The Ghar were a brutal race, prone to an ugliness in all their designs. There was nothing pretty about their weaponry. The troopers were painted in a light tan-and-gray camouflage pattern to better blend into the desert. Their right arms each ended in a huge powered claw, something that looked like it had been torn off of a terrifying sea creature. Their left arms mounted scourer cannons, tri-barreled weapons capable of unleashing a hellstorm of star-hot plasma against a target. A scourer was short-ranged and downright primitive when compared to the cutting edge tech employed by the Freeborn. Not that it mattered. Two Strikers had been downed in seconds in a clever ambush by such weapons.

  Kozon cursed himself for his stupidity. With their heat signatures muted by the surrounding wreckage, and not expecting other interlopers to be present, he had ignored the warning signs when Uhliss had picked up his anomalous readings. The Ghar were cunning, but they had been helped by Kozon's own lack of imagination.

  Tiny Ghar Outcasts swarmed over Kozon's empty Striker and began prying the plasma cannon from its mount. One of the battle armors, an assault model that must have taken down the third of Fourth Flight’s Strikers with its disrupter bomblets, began to pick its way around the pilfering Outcasts. “Fall back in pairs! Covering fire!” The Freeborn party hurried away from the lumbering troopers through the twisting turns in the wreckage, with Koresbor and Tosibel first laying down a protective screen of gunfire until Kozon and Uhliss had taken up a position behind them so that they could do the same to cover the Mhagris’ retreat.

  Though their discipline was admirable, Kozon’s people were completely outgunned. He carried only a small mag pistol. His protection on this mission had been Vosper, whose lifeless body was still oozing blood onto the sand, Uhliss, and the two Mhagris. How had they missed the presence of the Ghar? For that matter, how had the Ghar found their way through the gate to the Pivaris system? Joxiana's watch on the gate was not as tight as it should have been.

  Koresbor unleashed a ferocious hail of magnetically-accelerated flechettes at the oncoming swarm of Ghar homunculi. They were diminutive things, scarcely human in appearance. They looked to be more like the goblins of ancient Terran folklore and were just as wicked. Blood, pulped brains, and shattered bone sprayed across the wrecked vehicles as Koresbor’s flechettes shredded the Ghar. The barbarian’s face was alight with glee as he poured streams of darts into the humanoids.

  They kept coming. The little Outcasts were cannon fodder to their masters, nothing more than inexpensive biological mass flung at an opponent to soak up fire while other, more valuable troops maneuvered for a more advantageous tactical position.

  Tosibel fought in a style that was starkly different from that of her fellow Mhagris. Where Koresbor butchered the Ghar in droves, the woman picked off the imps one at a time, preventing them from outflanking either her or Koresbor.

  Koresbor’s mag repeater’s magazine quickly emptied, and the barbarian tossed it to the ground. He withdrew his two plasma pistols and began to scorch the remaining Ghar that scurried toward him. Kozon had encountered Ghar several times before. He had always been disturbed by their fanatical willingness to close with an enemy no matter how certain they were to be destroyed. Several theories current among the Vardosi held that the Ghar could not do otherwise, that they were impelled by some deeply-embedded genetic conditioning to kill and destroy, heedless of their own survival.

  Uhliss dutifully added his own plasma fire to support the Mhagris, but there were still too many of them to handle. The plasma coils of Koresbor’s pistols began to glow red-orange from repeated discharges. A lone Ghar ran to within arm's reach, only to be fried by the stream of roiling particles that sped from Koresbor’s weapons.

  To his side, Tosibel cast away her empty mag pistol and withdrew her mag lash and saber. The lash snapped out to split open the skull of an Outcast that had climbed onto a gunship to snipe. The Ghar pressed on. Tosibel’s saber was a blur, severing heads and arms from the creatures as they continued to run at her. She was a whirlwind of slaughter, saber and lash felling the Outcasts each time they struck. Kozon had chosen correctly when he had hired her, he saw, and he congratulated himself on his ability to know a good fighter when he found one.

  Then Tosibel was dead, crushed beneath the falling mass of a Ghar trooper that had jumped from a mound of wreckage behind her. There was little left of her apart from her hair and the shrunken heads that had disconcertingly escaped pulverization. Koresbor roared in defiance and turned his pistols on the trooper. He fired beam after beam of ionised particles at the monstrosity. The Ghar leveled its scourer cannon and launched a torrent of plasma fire. Koresbor vanished in a steaming pink cloud.

  The Ghar trooper scuttled close to where Kozon crouched behind a slab of plasteel armor. It possessed an almost feral aura, with baleful, angry red lights blinking in random patterns and seemed to sense where Kozon was hiding. The machine could neither crouch nor bend to look behind the plasteel, so it extended its claw and took hold of the slab, which began to waver as the Ghar pulled it away from Kozon. He checked his mag pistol. A full magazine. Better than nothing, but not much use against the bonded and layered metallic armor of the trooper. Kozon began to stand. Who knew? At this close range, maybe a lucky shot would penetrate a weak spot in the armor and kill the sniveling Ghar pilot inside.

  A massive clap sounded. There was a bright flash as a wave of intense heat washed over Kozon. The stricken Ghar keeled over and released the slab which settled back into place. Uhliss was beside Kozon now, mouthing words that he could not understand. Why was he not making any sound? Kozon realized, once his ears began to throb, that he had been deafened by the explosion. He made out only ‘plasma grenade’ as Uhliss pulled him out from behind the plasteel and carried him over his shoulder through the twists and turns of the wreckage, hoping to lose the other Ghar who, recovering from the shock of Uhliss's attack, began to follow the fleeing Vardosi.

  Kozon's hearing started to return as a muffled second explosion occurred behind them. "Time-delayed plasma grenade, sir," he shouted to Kozon. “That was my last one."

  Uhliss - his heart was pure, Kozon realized. The young man did his best to carry his superior officer to safety, but the battle armors were too quick. One had chased them through the forest of wrecks, while the other, the bestial assault model armed with a plasma claw and disruptor discharger, had climbed to the top of the wall and had come up above and behind them. They were joined not long afterward by a small knot of four surviving Ghar Outcasts. Kozon and Uhliss were cornered.

  Uhliss started to check the energy gauge on his plasma carbine. Then he smiled wanly at Kozon. "No need to check. I won't be getting off more than one shot, anyway." He leveled his weapon and took aim at the trooper before him.

  A high-pitched whistle sounded above them. A small spherical probe hovered above their heads. The silvery object spun on its axis, back and forth, as if assessing the intruders below it. A pencil-thin beam of energy sped from the surface of the sphere. It sliced through the armor plate of the Ghar trooper on the wall, which toppled over inside it. There was an explosion. The sphere then did the same to the trooper to the fore of Kozon and Uhliss. It slumped visibly after
being struck. Each of the remaining Outcasts was felled in turn by a quick beamshot to the head. The sphere spun once more about its axis and sped off toward the crystal tower.

  Dust covered and wheezing heavily, Kozon wiped perspiration from his brow. He turned to look back toward their little savior. The sphere was already disappearing into the tower.

  “There’s a lot more to this planet than we anticipated,” Uhliss said. “We’re not prepared for this. Something’s active here that’s far above our ability to take on. It doesn’t want us to get too close or it will off us, like it did that Ghar.” The young man gestured toward the wreckage around them. “This place is a tomb. It need not be ours.”

  Uhliss slung his carbine over his shoulder and helped Kozon to his feet. "Ready, sir?"

  Kozon nodded. "I think it is time I looked into a promotion for you, Uhliss." He looked again at the weapons of war all around them. For a moment, he felt a desire to keep exploring this vast, open-air museum of antiquities. The mental image of Vosper's decapitated body chased the thought away instantly. To hell with the Vard and his incessant demand for money. To hell with greedy and faithless Valoora too. "Let us leave this place," he said at last to Uhliss, “and never come back.”

  * * * *

  Night had fallen. A small silver sphere emerged from the crystal tower. With invisible lashes of force, it patiently collected each and every one of the minute fragments of the Ghar trooper that had rashly surmounted the wall. It held the pieces in a suspensor envelope and gently but firmly placed the pile on the top of the wall, which now stood, in that small spot at least, just a little higher.

  A Bountiful Harvest

  By Riley O’Connor

  In the Carmine Canotila’s hold lay a variety of cargo gathered from the trade ship’s recent travels across Antarean space. Among the neat rows of compressor crates was osmium ore mined from the Iron Belt, platinum extracted from the stellar refineries of the Hourglass Nebula, radioactive Nihonium bars crafted in the mantle factories of Kakuno, and two grinning Vardosi of the lesser known House Byzantia.

  Nacen gave a slow exhale as he sprayed his Skyraider with a film of protective nanites. His thin features were drawn in rapt concentration as he concluded the task. The captain stood taller than most of his crew, but even so could barely reach the top of the airbike as he gave it a shimmering coat. He had forgone the protection of his black reflex armor for the time being, in favor of the added maneuverability the under suit alone offered.

  Beside him, Jeta lay under the Skyraider finishing the application of the new grenade tubes. Her curly hair lay on the hold’s polished deck in ebony waves as she made the final tune-ups. She wore the tight, crimson robes of the domari foot troop’s uniform.

  Though Nacen had not taken the bike out flying for nearly a year, the sleek onyx craft had taken a beating in his short time as captain. The first had been a nasty dent caused by a careless Boromite dock worker, though that had not been the harrowing part of that encounter. The second was caused more recently, by an accidental discharge of a mag gun.

  “Thank you for your help, Jeta,” Nacen said, handing her the nanite applicator.

  “My pleasure, Captain.” Jeta slid out from underneath the bike and tossed the device gently into the ship’s maintenance compartment behind her, where it levitated obediently into place among the other tools.

  “I hesitate to take her out and risk damaging all the work we’ve done.”

  Jeta turned and shared Nacen’s gaze at the Skyraider, beaming with pride at their work. She straightened her posture and met Nacen’s eyes. “Sorry again, Captain. I didn’t realize the mag gun was charged when I…”

  “Just keep live rounds confined to the range. I wouldn’t want you to trigger any volatile materials. This ship is already in rough enough shape without our own domari shooting at it,” Nacen nodded to the airbike, feigning a twinge of annoyance. Truthfully, it had been a welcome distraction to work on the airbike. The last few weeks had been disappointing, as several old clients had refused to work with the Byzantia vardos. The cargo hold should be nearly empty at this point in their route, and it was nearly time to return to the homefleet. Nacen’s father did not look kindly on empty hands and mouths full of wild tales.

  Before Jeta could reply, Nacen heard heavy footsteps behind him and turned to see his younger cousin and bodyguard, Camlo, approach. Nacen was surprised to see him in full black reflex armor. His short, curled auburn hair stood in stark contrast to Nacen’s own neatly styled waves, despite being a nearly identical shade of ruddy brown.

  “You’re needed on the bridge, Nacen. Linasette says she’s found something interesting,” Camlo said. Worry colored his young face.

  “Interesting, indeed,” the captain mused. “I wasn’t aware we were being boarded by hostiles.”

  Camlo’s prosthetic right hand reached deftly to his plasma pistol’s holster at his hip. “We are?” He asked, now confused in his own right. He pressed his palm against the grip of the pistol and the plasma coil whirred to life.

  “Easy now,” Nacen said, placing his hand on Camlo’s cold forearm. “I don’t want a repeat of last week’s incident. I just got the color right on my Skyraider... and no, as far as I know we’re not being boarded. I’m wondering why you’ve donned your armor.”

  “I was unprepared for a fight last time. It won’t happen again.” Camlo said, shrugging his titanium-alloy right arm. “Now come on, we’re getting some odd signals between us and the gate to Folasi.”

  The pair exited the hold, with Jeta returning to the domari’s quarters. Camlo led at a brisk pace, red impact cloak billowing behind him.

  The airtight door opened noiselessly. In the small compartment, his chief pilot sat engrossed by an intimidating number of ship diagnostics and navigational displays. Nacen admired the gray, form-fitting flight suit she wore, not for the minimalist Concord fashion but for the way she filled it out. Her pale blonde hair stood her out from the rest of his crew. Though originally a citizen of the Concord, her history with the Carmine Canotila extended much further than Nacen’s recent stint as captain, and her ability to pilot the ship was beyond reproach.

  “Officer Derada,” Nacen acknowledged with a nod as he approached the co-pilot seat.

  “Please, Nacen, you know mercenaries don’t get ranks,” the pilot said.

  “Just being polite, Lina. Care to inform me what’s going on?”

  “Our current route to the Algoryn planet of Folasi has taken us through a large group of objects not recorded on our ship’s shard,” Linasette scrolled through more data. “There’s a high concentration of heavy metals with above average radiation signatures.”

  “Do we need to be concerned about any of this? It doesn’t seem to be interfering with our route to Folasi.”

  Linasette puffed out a cheek as she pondered. “At first it looked like interstellar dust. But it could be detonated mines, debris, any number of things. The Carmine’s shard is still parsing through the data. We should have an answer in a few minutes. I’ve slowed the ship to cruising speeds in the meantime.”

  Nacen thought for a moment. Camlo filled the silence with a cough. “If we’re not detecting anything threatening to us, let’s continue our present course to the gate. No need to stick around longer than we have to.”

  “Will do, Captain,” the pilot replied, tapping at the holographic controls.

  Behind him, Nacen heard footsteps approach. He turned to see Beskin, his vardanari going back beyond Nacen’s recent appointment as captain. Dressed in the same black reflex armor as Camlo, he stood taller than most of the crew, nearly at Nacen’s own height. He had always reminded Nacen of a raven with his black strands of hair and slight hook to his nose.

  The vardanari pressed his right hand to his chest, extending the forefinger and little finger in the sign of dedication to the Byzantia vardos.

  “The heart is our home, and beats to our health.”

  “The stars to roam and spread the wealth,�
� Nacen recited, returning the oath.

  With a flick of her wrist, Linasette brought up a hologram of a pristine fleet. “Essentially, the cloud appears to be a huge, orbiting field of scattered debris. Though it doesn’t look it, the cloud was once a sizable Algoryn fleet. Whoever destroyed it wasn’t just looking for a strategic victory. They annihilated the Algoryn. Pounded them to dust.”

  “Literally,” Camlo added.

  “The Concord has been known to hold a grudge, unfortunately for us. Think they could have done this, Lina?” Nacen asked.

  “I flew interceptor craft with the C3 for twenty years, and I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  There was a brief pause, and Nacen shifted his weight. “You mentioned there were high levels of radiation? Could that be caused by weapons?”

  “Above average. But who uses nuclear weapons anymore?” The pilot bit her lip. “…the Ghar.”

  “Kaha,” Camlo swore at the displays, “there must have been at least forty frigates, maybe even a few cruisers. I bet somebody’s missing that.”

  “Looks like somebody didn't miss,” Beskin replied. “The fleet that did that must be around somewhere.”

  “Possibly on the other side of the gate.”

  Nacen considered how to respond to the hesitations. There was risk any way they went, but they certainly couldn’t turn back. The safest path would be back to the homefleet, through their trade route in Folasi. “I hear you, but we have a schedule to hit before regrouping with the homefleet. We can’t just go jumping into any gate we want. Besides, whoever did this to the Algoryn fleet could just as easily be there. We have no solid proof that it was the Ghar. They’d be mad to attack Folasi head-on. The planet’s defenses form the bulk of the Algoryn’s military infrastructure on this side of the Prominar Rim. We’ll be safer there than anywhere else.”

  The vardanari were silent as they considered this.

  “It’s our best option, and being the captain of the Carmine it’s also an order. Lina, set a course for the Folasi gate for maximum acceleration. Where the needle goes, the thread will follow.”