A Greater Duty (Galaxy Ascendant Book 1)

by Yakov Merkin

  “If you are hearing, well, seeing this,” the Reizan’Tvay spoke in the Tyrannodon language that Darkclaw was beginning to doubt was theirs alone, albeit with a slight accent, dragging the softer sounds out somewhat, “then there is unfortunately no living Imperial representative to guide you, but fortunately you were designed to be capable of thinking for yourselves. However, for now, you’re stuck with a simple researcher.”

  The Reizan’Tvay smiled thinly, as though amused by Darkclaw’s unasked question—capable of thinking for themselves as opposed to what? “Congratulations, Tyrannodon, on your rejoining the realm of the living. It is truly a pity that circumstances within the Empire have led to the abandonment of us and our important projects; there are many among our kind that should have liked to meet you. But our meeting was not fated, and this device had a limited memory capacity; there are things you should know.

  “I took steps to ensure that the databanks here would not deteriorate over time; they will contain information that should aid you in your task, as well as point you to the rest of our facilities in this region of space. For security’s sake, however, I was forbidden from storing any information not directly related to your task or your finding us in this facility.” The Reizan’Tvay paused again, and made a sound that might have been a sigh.

  “There is really so much more that I wish I had time to share with you, about our studies of the mysteries of the universe, and the abilities granted to several of your kind. The central base in this quadrant of the galaxy contained such information, but its condition when you find it none but Fate can tell. Eventually, I am confident you will learn all that is needed. Oh, one final thing; I will need to be succinct, not sure how much time is left for this recording. I’ll put it simply. The passing on of a Reizan’Tvay’s corpeiternis—eternal body are of particular importance to us; they are often passed to friends or relatives, or to one who can make use of them. I ask you, Tyrannodon, to take all that remains of me and keep the parts safe until you can deliver them to the one they must go to—it is of vital importance. The recipient will be known as a child of a lost world, and it is vital that my remains are delivered, for the survival of your kind. You will know who it is by—” The Reizan’Tvay abruptly paused as a beep was heard. “Sorry. No time. Sure you’ll figure it out,” was all he added before the message cut off, and the device shut down.

  Darkclaw placed the device inside a storage compartment in his armor then carefully gathered the Reizan’Tvay’s eternal body parts into a neat pile, then opened the bed, tore a strip from the bedding, and tied the pile together. Overall, an odd but potentially very useful experience, an unlikely mix of very useful knowledge along with more loose ends and more questions.

  Darkclaw contacted the Hudecar and ordered an engineering team into the outpost to extract whatever they could from it. Darkclaw picked up the small bundle, returned to the main area and sat down in the chair, which was just large enough to fit him. The High Lord was right, as always. The Tyrannodons were truly replacing their creators.

  The Reizan’Tvay had been true to his word. The databanks in the outpost were still functional, thought the vast majority of the information was useless, sparse updates on projects or outdated intelligence on the Galactic Alliance worlds. However, the High Lord would be pleased to know that they now had the locations of the primary Reizan’Tvay facilities. The catch was, they were all deep within Alliance space, the central base being unsurprisingly on Dorandor, the center of Alliance power.

  And then there was the Reizan’Tvay’s odd request. He had seemed sincere, but Darkclaw could not determine if there was any real importance to his eternal body, and there was too little information to determine who should be given them.

  As Darkclaw left the outpost, he ordered the engineers to see to it that everything, from hardware to furniture, was taken from the outpost for future study. There was no telling what advances the study of even the message device would bring.

  His job done, Darkclaw returned to the High Lord’s throne room and contacted him.

  “Excellent work, Darkclaw,” the High Lord said after reviewing what Darkclaw had experienced in the outpost.

  “This will suffice, for now. We cannot afford to focus on the Reizan’Tvay overmuch now. As our current enemies fall, we will learn what we need for the next phase in our existence. And we have more proof of the untrustworthiness of the Reizan’Tvay; they leave us useless information and a cryptic request. More than likely a fabrication or an attempt to manipulate us,” the High Lord concluded.

  Darkclaw agreed.

  “However, store those parts on the Hudecar. I will find a use for them. Now, Executor, the war will commence once more. You will begin a push to the center of Alliance space; starting with the world they call Venariss II. You will personally oversee the collection of any recovered Reizan’Tvay or military information there, as well as appropriate the resources stored in its primary city as necessary. Once you are successful, you will contact me. Understood?”

  “I understand and will do as you command, my lord.”

  “You do,” the High Lord stated. “You have succeeded in overcoming your… lapse. You are truly a worthy servant, as I have intended, free of emotional burdens and failings. I expect word of your success soon, Executor.” The communication abruptly concluded, the High Lord’s presence gone from Darkclaw’s mind.

  Darkclaw rose and returned to the Hudecar’s command deck, and gave the order to rendezvous with the fleet, where he would begin the High Lord’s conquest anew. Darkclaw felt nothing, there was only emptiness. All was as it should be.

  * * *

  Second Scion Dalcon stepped gingerly as he made his way to the conference room. The wound he’d received to his left leg during the escape from Darvia had just about healed over the week and a half of unexpected quiet since the battle, but putting pressure on the leg was still plenty painful.

  Dalcon reached the secure room, located in a subterranean level of the Assembly building, and nodded at the two guards, who opened the door and allowed him inside.

  So much had changed since his last visit to Dorandor. With no way to hide the fall of Darvia and the other worlds from the public, the Alliance—the fractured remains of it, anyway—had declared a full state of war, though the Legion—beyond the ships that had been deployed before this all began—had yet to fire a single shot. Dalcon shook his head. Over a half dozen systems taken, half of the Alliance cut off from the rest, and still the Legion clustered around the core worlds like a child afraid to leave its mother.

  All of the familiar faces were already in the conference room, though the war was clearly wearing on them; Chairman Gasno, Supreme Commander Ronner, Chief Strategic Advisor ren Parstin, and First Scion Gendae. The only new face at the meeting was a Tehlman Scion that Dalcon recalled seeing before, but couldn’t put a name to, who stood behind the seated First Scion. There was a palpable tension in the room.

  “Second Scion,” the supreme commander greeted him warmly, then stood and clasped Dalcon’s hand. “It’s good to see you on your feet.” The supreme commander seemed well, all things considered, but there was no hiding his tired eyes, looking more sunken than usual in his eye crest.

  “It wasn’t that bad,” Dalcon replied with a grin. “Lots of painful tissue damage, but the bone was fine. Nothing basic treatment and a few more days’ rest won’t fix.”

  “Glad to hear it,” said the chairman. We have a great need of heroes, Second Scion, and I’d hate to see one of the few we have sidelined. You saved no less than five thousand able, and now very angry Darvian soldiers.” The chairman paused to cough, then continued, “But we really should get to business.” He gestured toward the only vacant seat at the table, next to the First Scion Gendae, opposite Rotam.

  Dalcon carefully made his way to his seat, passing the standing Scion, who nodded silently. The poor man looked exhausted; unsurprising, given the workload thrust on the Scions since the war had begun as the only group activ
ely fighting.

  As soon as Dalcon was seated, the chairman began. “We’ve read through your reports on the Battle of Darvia,” he began. They’ve already named it? Dalcon wondered as the chairman continued. “I can’t think of anything more that could have been done to hold back such an overwhelming force—”

  “If we had sent the Legion to Darvia, we could have annihilated them and saved the system!” Rotam interjected with a snarl.

  “The Legion was not fully mobilized at the time, Rotam. The amount of ships that could have been sent wouldn’t have affected the outcome. We would have lost those ships as well,” replied the supreme commander.

  The chairman nodded. “The loss of Darvia and its holdings is a great one, but as the supreme commander has stated, there was little more we would have done, and it wouldn’t have changed much regardless. We did what we could, dispatching Scions. Thanks to their actions,” he nodded at the Scions, “several thousand Darvian soldiers escaped the carnage. But we did lose most of the Scions sent to the planet.

  “However, we did gain something from this loss. For the first time we have actual information about the invading aliens, the Tyrannodons, they are called.”

  “I don’t see what good it does us,” Dalcon said, “if it doesn’t help us fight them. We have a significant amount of information on their ships, their soldiers. We need to formulate a plan and strike back!” If the current pattern kept up, Alliance worlds, bereft of support, would begin treating with the enemy, leaving the core worlds—and their fleet—on their own.

  “And how should we go about that?” asked Gendae. “If we send the Legion Navy out to retake a world or attack one of the enemy strongpoints, Felinar or Sneva, the enemy will sweep in and conquer the core worlds in one fell swoop.”

  “Their pattern thus far has been to press the attack, overwhelming with one crushing offensive after another. If we expend some ships to track their movements, we can time a strike to retake some of our worlds, show the citizens of the outer systems that the Alliance has not abandoned them. Mark my words, if we continued to leave systems defenseless they will begin folding without a fight, leaving us on our own.”

  “And what of the enemy’s silence these last weeks?” Gendae asked. “The pattern has been deliberately broken, and they could well be preparing for a push to the core. If these worlds fall, the Alliance falls.”

  “The Legion Navy still outnumbers the combined Tyrannodon, Felinaris, and Snevan fleets almost two to one. Plus several hundred ships we can gather from planetary defense forces, such as the Talvostan fleet,” Rotam said evenly, sounding somehow more threatening than he did when shouting. “We can afford to take offensive action. Additionally, if they so desire, the enemy can contain us within the core systems for years as they grow their fleet so large that we’ll have no chance against them.”

  “Numbers alone don’t win a battle, let alone a war, Advisor,” argued the supreme commander. “Both the Felinaris and Snevan ships are superior one-on-one to ours, and the initial information on the Tyrannodon warships indicates that they are at least as formidable.”

  “Wars are not won in weeks,” added the First Scion, “despite the Tyrannodons’ clear desire to do so. The safest path is to hold the core worlds and wait for an opportunity to present itself. Throughout history, invasion forces that have won a string of victories tend to overreach.”

  Rotam pushed his chair away from the table and stood up violently, knocking his chair over in the process. “There are Felinaris occupying Darvia and an alien invasion fleet running unchecked through Alliance space, and your plan is to sit here waiting for them to make a mistake? They damn well haven’t so far, and you might wait a long time for an opening. I don’t want any part in this!” He kicked at the fallen chair, then stormed out of the room.

  “He’s right, you know,” Dalcon said after a few moments of awkward silence.

  “And there are many who share his view,” the chairman added. “We should take at least some action, even if it’s minor.”

  Supreme Commander Ronner looked thoughtful, glanced toward Gendae, who sat silently, then spoke. “We can send some Navy battlegroups to a few of the major outer systems—or rather the worlds that fill that role now, such as Venariss or Ciraton. Even if they can’t hold out on their own, they could at least buy time for response forces to be dispatched.”

  “And if we cut back on local operations,” Dalcon added, “we can deploy additional Scions to combat units.”

  “Very good then,” interjected the chairman. “I should go talk to Rotam. I’ll let you three—four,” he corrected, noting the Tehlman Scion, “to make the necessary arrangements.” That said, he rose and left the room.

  “There is one more thing,” Dalcon said once the chairman had left, “that I didn’t mention in my report, as I feel only those of us here now would take it seriously.” In truth, Dalcon wasn’t even sure that the First Scion or supreme commander would take it seriously, or considering it an issue, but he had to say it. “On Darvia, I encountered a Tyrannodon that was able to block and sever imicric constructs. He killed one Scion singlehandedly, without so much as a flesh wound, and was a match for me.” Dalcon paused for breath. “Right now we, the Scions, are the Alliance’s only advantage in this fight. If the Tyrannodons are capable of this, we’ll be in an even hotter hell.”

  “You are right to be concerned, Dalcon. This is a troublesome revelation,” Gendae said immediately, though he himself did not sound unduly worried. Of course he barely looked awake, which likely deadened his responses at least somewhat. “But bear in mind that any new enemy seems more powerful when first met. Even though this Tyrannodon is powerful and dangerous, by your account, we will adapt and endure.”

  Gendae was taking it too lightly. “And what if there are more than one capable of negating our power?”

  “There aren’t,” Gendae replied. When Dalcon raised an eye at the certainty in the First Scion’s voice, Gendae smiled. “If there were more of them, old friend, you would not have escaped.”

  Dalcon smiled. Gendae sounded like the man Dalcon had looked up to when he joined the organization years prior. It was good to know that that Gendae was still there, despite the age. Then they got to work.

  Hours later, when the meeting and planning finally concluded, Dalcon left the room at last, headed straight for his living quarters. He felt exhausted. For the briefest moment, Dalcon understood the desire of some to sit on the sidelines and not fight. Strategizing was tediously slow, dull and tiresome.

  But at least his leg was feeling better.

  CHAPTER 15

  “Beginning initial approach now,” Darkclaw said aloud, informing his counterparts and subordinates, Grand Admiral Khariah, Admiral Kharitzon, Praetor Keeneye, First Flight Commander Senkar, and Supreme Warlord Sarkan, the last of whom had insisted on his presence at the “plunder” of Venariss II.

  While Darkclaw would have used different wording, it would be correct to say that the attack of Venariss II, the only inhabited world in the Metran system, was financially motivated. The High Lord had named it a target due to the effect its fall would have on the Alliance economy, and because a crushing victory would likely drive other Alliance worlds to sue for peace without a fight. Additionally, the Felinaris and Snevans required additional capital to fund their war efforts. While the Tyrannodons had no need of pure capital at the moment and the High Lord had not specifically ordered Darkclaw to secure spoils, Darkclaw had decided to ensure that the Tyrannodons received a fair share, for future use, along with most of the raw materials in the rich system, which would supply Selixan Station for years to come.

  “Well, it looks like the Legion Navy has finally come out to play,” Nayasar commented over the audio feed, which prompted a burst of frivolous conversation amongst the other commanders.

  Darkclaw ignored the banter. It was a waste of time when the fleet would be in weapons range in a mere six minutes.

  He opened a channel to the Legion Na
vy fleet, only seven hundred ships in total. They wouldn’t stand a chance, without some significant plan in mind. “Attention Legion Navy commander,” he began. “This will be your one opportunity to surrender your forces and scuttle your ships. If you do not surrender, your fleet will be annihilated.” Of course, any captured military personnel would be executed, but the offer, however fallacious, was worth making regardless.

  There was no response. Unsurprising. Darkclaw wondered if the enemy had figured out what fate awaited them if captured, or if the Legion Navy was as stubborn as the Darvians. With the Tyrannodon fleet cutting off long-range communications, the Legion Navy could not even efficiently call for help, though they would try. Whatever their plan, the Legion Navy would be at least as dangerous as the Darvians.

  Darkclaw rechecked the formation status as they neared weapons range. Then several ships began to report taking damage. The Legion warships were still out of range.

  A few moments later, Darkclaw determined what was happening, while the Felinaris and Snevans were only starting to figure it out .

  “Mines,” he informed them. They would not amount to much more than an inconvenience, a stalling measure, but Darkclaw supposed that the Legion had deployed the relatively low-yield mines simply because that was what was available. They were cleverly designed mines, weak as they were. They were all but invisible to visual scans, and so small that it was almost impossible to pick up on a sensor sweep. It would be a good idea to capture a handful for future use.

  Darkclaw dispatched a handful of ships to locate and capture a number of the mines, and then, as the fleet was approaching weapons range, gave the order to fire at will.

  The Legion fleet, less than a third the size of Darkclaw’s own, should have begun melting away under the combined fire of Darkclaw’s forces, but only a small number erupted into flame. And there was a distinctive blue shimmer as the fleet’s fire failed to strike targets.