Tyche's Demons: A Space Opera Military Science Fiction Epic (Ezeroc Wars: Tyche's Progeny Book 1)

by Richard Lloyd Parry

  “Neat,” said Hope. “They blew the internal inversion field. I don’t think I’ve seen one of those before. I mean, in the training materials, sure, but—”

  “Hope,” said Nate. “Will this be a problem?”

  “Yes,” said Hope. “Five is not the same as six.”

  “Will it still work?” said Kohl.

  “Oh. Maybe,” said Hope. “Probably. We’ll need to try it.”

  Gracie’s voice, smooth and calm, came over the comm. “Hope? Are you saying we need to find one of the enemy ships before we know if this will work?”

  “Yes,” said Hope.

  No one spoke for a while. Kohl spent the time making faces at Will. The kid was good at it, give him credit, especially for someone who’s head looked like a soccer ball. Had a good squint nailed, and Kohl figured that as an important talent for later in life.

  Gracie broke the silence. “I’ve got a contact on scan.” Pause. “Empire ship. It’s the Gravedigger.”

  Well, shit. About time we had good news. “That’s Chad’s ship,” said Kohl. “The little weasel made it.”

  “Second contact,” said Nate. “Unregistered vessel. Looks like an AI ship.”

  “I don’t like this new good-news, bad-news you,” said El. “I prefer more consistency.”

  “Here’s what we’ll do,” said Nate. “El? I need you here.”

  “Copy that, Cap.”

  “Grace will stay here. Keep the drives synced. Make sure comms are clear.”

  “I will?”

  “Yep,” said Nate, but Kohl thought he heard more than a little don’t hit me in Nate’s voice. Always risky, trying to give orders to someone who could turn you inside out like a sock. “I can’t do it. You’re almost as good as Hope with this stuff.”

  “I’m not,” said Gracie, but in a way that said but I won’t fight you on this one. “Where will you be?”

  “Getting Hope off the Tyche and down to Engineering,” said Nate. “Saveria, too. Need her hands on the drives if this will work. Right, Hope?”

  “Easier than being here. Sure, Cap,” said Hope.

  “What am I doing?” said Kohl.

  “Escort duty, same as me,” said Nate. “Get El to the Bridge.”

  Kohl gave El a squint. Lucky he’d been practicing with the kid. She nodded back, a let’s-do-this set to her jaw.

  “The Gravedigger’s burning hard,” said Gracie. “She’s in trouble.”

  “One shot, people,” said Nate. “One lucky shot. That’s all we need. Now get moving.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  NATE DIDN’T LIKE lying. Not real lying. Cheating at cards, or double-crossing villains and thieves didn’t count. No, the lying he hated was when he was talking to the people closest to him. Trying to convince them to do what was needed, not what they figured on being best. Captaining hadn’t come easy to him. Nate knew at least a hundred people who’d make a better captain than him, and a thousand who’d be better emperors.

  Wasn’t the point. He was the man with his hand on the tiller at this particular moment. And he needed to do his best job at lying, so people might survive. So the Empire might survive.

  His feet hammered decking as he ran. Grace—

  The best person you’ve ever met, Chevell. She’ll be mad at you after this. Hell, mad’s not even the right term. Blinding fury would be closer to the truth.

  —behind him on the bridge, waiting for a Helm to fly the aging Cantor. Turn a station back into a starship. One that had civilians on board. It wasn’t a thing he was happy about, which is one reason he’d lied. Sure, Hope’s plan was well and good, but the Cantor wasn’t a warship. One day back when, she’d carried suitcases and apples. Hope was fixing to use her as a gravity weapon, untested, against an enemy that milled humans down to base parts so they could suck out the iron in their blood. Seemed risky to Nate to send the Cantor against a foe like that. Risky, and unfair.

  Second reason? No one was doing the real math. The Cantor had a few weapons. PDCs. Nothing good enough to take out a capital ship. And those AI motherfuckers had the ability to take the knocks. The only way to win was to buy the Gravedigger a little slice of time. Just enough to get a couple good, clean shots. The Cantor couldn’t do it alone.

  Which was why he was running towards the Tyche. Nate’s back-of-a-napkin working said the AI weren’t after the Gravedigger. Hell, they hadn’t been after Earth. They’d been after the Empire, and the Empire was the emperor. They were after Nate, and he was fixing to give them what they wanted.

  He hit the docking bay at a run, the Tyche’s wink catching him off guard for a second. The ship trusted him, and he was taking her into the hard black. A mission he figured had about ninety-nine percent chance of death, and one percent chance of mutilation before death. No room for anything else. But Nate didn’t pause, because Hope was outside the airlock. She wore her rig, Saveria in tow. Nate clanged down the gangway. “Hey,” he said, trying to be casual around the puffing.

  “Hey, Cap,” said Hope. “Let’s go.”

  Nate said nothing for a second, and Saveria stepped forward. “Oh,” was all she said.

  “Yeah,” said Nate. He pulled out his blaster, checked the charge, then spun the weapon around the trigger guard. Nate held the butt towards Saveria. “Here.”

  She looked at it like it was a snake. “No,” she said.

  “What’s going on?” said Hope.

  “Nothing,” said Nate.

  “Everything,” said Saveria. She looked small, baseball cap on atop her scrunched up expression. “You can’t do this.”

  “Can,” said Nate. “Doing it now.”

  “No, really,” said Hope. “What’s going on?”

  “What’s going on is this,” said Nate. “Saveria’ll escort you to Engineering. I know she can do it because she’s one of Chad’s. She’s strong, and tough, and can fight with her mind. She can keep the Ezeroc away in ways no one else can. You’ll make it safe, Hope. You’ll make it safe, and then you’ll save the Empire.”

  “I know that bit,” said Hope. “I mean, why?”

  “Because the emperor is going to die,” said Saveria. She jerked a thumb at the massive hangar airlock. “Out there. In the hard black. He’s going against the machines that killed his homeworld. Is it pride?”

  “Two points of order,” said Nate. “First, not my homeworld. Ganymede. That’s where I came from.”

  “Oh,” said Saveria. “I thought Ganymede made nothing but pirates.”

  “Sounds about right,” said Nate.

  “Pirates don’t throw their lives away,” said Saveria.

  “Second point of order,” said Nate, ignoring her, because a dialog wasn’t helping beat the clock, “is that this isn’t about pride. It’s about survival. We’ve got no teeth here. No guns against the lions, Saveria. It’s us, and an aging bridgeliner, against machines that can move and think faster than we can. Only way we win? Giving ‘em something to focus on.”

  “Cap,” said Hope. “You’re taking the Tyche out there?”

  “Yep.”

  “Can’t,” she said. “Please. Don’t. You don’t know what they’re like. What they’re capable of.”

  “Kinda do,” said Nate. “Hurry along, Hope. It’ll be okay.”

  “I could make you,” said Saveria, taking another step forward. “I could make you turn around.”

  “And I could order you not to,” said Nate. “But neither of us is going to. Won’t end well, hey? Sooner or later throwing your weight around catches up with you. We know what needs to happen. Don’t we, Saveria Complex?”

  “Don’t do this,” said Hope.

  “It’s already done,” said Nate. He stepped around them, into the Tyche’s airlock. Nate looked at them both. “Save my family,” he said. “That’s all that matters.” He hit the airlock controls, the Tyche shutting off the hangar. He stepped into the cargo bay, closing the interior airlock. Noticed the crate with the robo-Reiko was missing. Nothing to be done a
bout that now.

  • • •

  Nate held his black blade in his flesh and blood hand, blocking out the world. No more Ezeroc clawing at his mind. And no more Grace, on the edge of his thoughts. She didn’t look in his mind, because they didn’t do that to each other, but he knew it’d shut a door. Close her off, and she’d notice it.

  His comm chirped. “Nate?” It was Grace, as expected.

  Nate ignored the comm, climbing the ladder to the crew deck. He worked his way through the ready room. The ship held memories aplenty, and he felt like he was wearing them like a cape. When Nate first got the ship from Harlow, she’d worn a name that didn’t fit. But even then, the Tyche had been lucky. Pulled a worn-out soldier like him up from the mud, brushed the dirt off, and set him on his way. Nate had gathered a crew. A Helm. An Engineer. Muscle, for the rough times.

  And someone to share his life with.

  Nate settled himself into the Helm’s acceleration couch on the Tyche’s flight deck. The ship hummed alive around him, the bridge holo bright. There were a bunch of angry red warnings on the holo, everything from worn drives to the broken Endless system. None of that mattered, because he was a terrible pilot. Even the best of ships would stumble with him at the Helm.

  “Nate? What are you doing?” Grace’s voice was alarmed.

  He still ignored his comm, putting a hand on the Helm console. “This is it,” he said. “You and me. I’m fixing to save humanity. Hands that built you. I figure we owe ‘em. People do plenty of horrible things. But they do wonderful things too. Out here in the hard black, we’ve seen it. You and me. My Tyche. I tell you this. I won’t fly you out to die. Not unless you agree. You and me, that’s how we work. I’m just the captain. You’re the goddess.”

  The ship hummed, the hush of the air cyclers, the thrum of the reactor behind him. Electronics on the flight deck. Nate waited, sword in one hand, resting it against his leg.

  After a moment, the holo cleared, updating with the Tyche’s view of the hard black. The Gravedigger, burning hard for Cantor. On the sliver of chance help would be there. Behind them, marked in red, an UNKNOWN HOSTILE. The Tyche updated vectors, showed the AI gaining on the Gravedigger, burning harder than human bones could take. An estimated five minutes before the AI were in range to fire, destroying what could well be the last Empire warship. And this one was only a corvette. But the Tyche saw the Gravedigger, and painted the green of her holo marker with ALLIED VESSEL NEEDS AID.

  “Okay,” said Nate. “But only because you asked.” He clicked Helm controls, checking out the window. Hope and Saveria were long gone. The hangar was clear. Nate keyed the launch sequence, the Tyche negotiating with the Cantor. The hangar extracted air, then the hangar doors opened into the hard black.

  Nate tipped the ship into the dark, the drives rumbling behind him.

  “Nathan Chevell,” said Grace, her voice desperate. “Where are you going?”

  “Grace,” said Nate. He touched fingers against the comm’s speaker on the Helm’s console, as if he could touch his wife’s skin one last time. “Grace Gushiken. It needs to be like this, don’t you see?”

  “Nate?” Her voice held a rawness he’d never heard before, and he winced, hating himself more than a little. “Don’t go. Don’t do this. You don’t need to be the hero. Together, remember?”

  Nate shut his eyes. Together. “Only counts if we both live. This way, you get a chance.” He tapped his fingers on the comm. “I love you.” Then he snapped switches, cutting the Cantor off. The station drifted further away. Nate pointed his ship in the direction of the Gravedigger, then keyed a gentle G of thrust.

  After a few seconds of feeling miserable, he rubbed his face, then keyed the comm again. “Gravedigger, this is the Tyche.” He left the channel open and wide, for whomever or whatever might be listening. “Gravedigger, please respond.” He leaned closer to the comm, so there could be no mistake. “This is your emperor.”

  A crackle of static, then Chadd spoke. “Tyche, this is Gravedigger actual. Nate? What the hell are you doing?”

  “Is that any way to speak to your emperor?”

  “Sure,” said Chad. They were so close speed of light delay wasn’t noticeable. “Especially if your emperor is being a dickhead.”

  “A what?”

  “An asshole. A jerk. Maybe an imbecile,” said Chad. “Look, I don’t have time to explain the minutiae. We’ve got one of these fuckers on our six, and they’ll kill everyone. You’ve got to leave.”

  “Negative copy on that,” said Nate. “We’ve got a plan.”

  “Now I know we’ll die,” said Chad. “Do not tell me the plan on an open comm.”

  At that moment, Grace’s voice came over the channel. “Chad? Don’t listen to him. Don’t—”

  Nate clicked the comm, switching to a secure channel. “Chad?”

  “Nate.” A pause. “Nate, she’s pissed. I’m getting it in the ear, if you get my meaning.”

  “I get it,” said Nate. “Doesn’t matter. Here’s what I need you to do.”

  • • •

  When the Gravedigger passed the Tyche, two ships in a night made of hard black, Nate imagined he could make out faces pressed to viewports. Pure fantasy at the speeds they were going, but it made him feel better. They were so close he felt he could touch the other ship’s hull. The Tyche wasn’t worried, no COLLISION WARNING errors. Just gentle beeps as she confirmed the Gravedigger’s vector. Then the corvette was gone in the Tyche’s wake. Or was the Tyche in the Gravedigger’s wake? Didn’t much matter. The Gravedigger blew past so fast it was like standing still, all five hundred meters gone in the blink of an eye.

  The holo stage flickered, then ENEMY TARGET LOCK appeared. EVASIVE ACTION REQUIRED.

  “I’m on it,” said Nate. He spun the Tyche, pointing her drives at the AI ship. No transponder, but he and Chad agreed to call it the Fuckers. Nate clicked the console, hands on the sticks, then kicked in the thrust as hard as he figured the ship would take. 3Gs, a shade more perhaps. The Tyche grumbled, frame creaking with the strain. Spars groaning under the load. But she’d take it. She had to, or they were all dead.

  The Fuckers was gaining fast. Ahead, the Cantor’s drives bloomed, bright and hard against the darkness. Huge pillars of fire out the back of the ancient bridgeliner, as the Helm poured on all the thrust the ship could take, and then more. And then? Even more. The Tyche’s holo, telemetry updated with LIDAR and RADAR, showed fragments of structure breaking away from the station, reborn as a starship. Organic additions, sheared away under the force of thrust.

  Nate cleared his mind. He needed to talk to Hope. He needed her to listen.

  NATE Hope, need you

  Nothing. She had a bracelet on, which was good thinking.

  NATE Saveria, I need Hope, I need my Hope

  SAVERIA Grace will kill you

  NATE She can get in line

  SAVERIA Hope has her bracelet off

  Nate smiled.

  NATE Hope

  HOPE Cap this is weird, you’re in my mind

  NATE I need you to do something, I have a plan

  HOPE Is it like our other plan

  NATE Similar

  HOPE Okay

  Nate outlined what he wanted her to do. Then, because the Cantor was still too far away, and the Fuckers was gaining faster than was comfortable, Nate pressed the Tyche’s throttles forward further. Another G of thrust, the ship trembling like a frightened horse under his fingers. “It’s okay,” said Nate. “I’m here.” Speaking at 4Gs wasn’t comfortable, but dying in silence wasn’t great either, so Nate chose the path that made his heart feel better. “Just you and me, hey?” He put on a little more thrust. 5Gs. The holo said the Fuckers’ thrust vector was now aligned with the Tyche, not the Gravedigger. So far, things were working out great.

  The ship’s trembling subsided as they passed some mysterious resonance threshold. The Cantor was ahead, difficult to see in the massive bloom of fire in her wake. His Grace was making
sure they’d be here. Making sure that humanity would win, even if it cost them a single emperor. The Gravedigger had spun, a braking burn slowing the ship, bringing her back around.

  Way it had to be.

  The Tyche blared a flat warning. The Fuckers were getting within weapons range. Ahead, the Gravedigger was under a crippling braking burn, well over 12Gs. The Cantor was pushing ahead at a more modest 9Gs, and Nate could imagine the civilians inside her hull, the ones without acceleration couches screaming with the pain on their joints.

  Also the way it had to be.

  All Nate needed to pull this off was a little luck. He probably wouldn’t be there to see the victory, but that wasn’t how luck worked. It wasn’t about being lucky for yourself. It was about being generally lucky, the odds in your favor, so your team got across the line. Go Team Empire, hey?

  Nate clicked the console, twisting the Tyche about. She yawned and weaved, enough to create a targeting problem.

  NATE Hope now, now is the time

  HOPE Okay, okay, gravity weapon online

  NATE Thought it wasn’t a gravity weapon

  HOPE I named it for you

  NATE That’s nice

  HOPE I will miss you, you, miss you

  Nate’s hands trembled with more than thrust vectors. He shut his eyes for a second.

  Way it had to be.

  NATE Chad, now’s the time

  CHAD Making it rain

  The Gravedigger opened fire, everything she had. Particle cannons. Masers and lasers. Three railguns. Torpedoes dropped into the still waters of the hard black sparked, drive plumed flaring. Beams of light lanced past Nate.

  The Fuckers opened fire and began their tactical evasive maneuvers. The Tyche’s holo updated as the enemy ship jerked and weaved at speeds impossible for humans to match without being turned into paste.

  NATE Hope what is happening

  HOPE Five drives not as good as six, we have problems

  NATE Hope

  HOPE I’m working, I’m working

  NATE No, not that, just know, whatever happens, thank you for trying to save our Empire