Hold The Line: Ganog Wars Book 2

by Chris Fox

  Takkar began a deep booming laugh. He leapt from the dais, landing near Fizgig. She slid into a combat stance, but Takkar dropped to one knee. He slowly withdrew his axe from his back and laid it at Fizgig's feet. "You have bested me, completely. In all ways. My fleet is wounded, while yours is unharmed. All for a world that means nothing to you. I do not know how you have accomplished this, but I am Ganog enough to admit when I am in the presence of a superior warrior. I have no wish to follow Zakanna, but I will follow you."

  Fizgig's tail stopped moving. She cocked her head, studying the kneeling Ganog. "You have impressed me, Takkar of the Vkash clan. Your style is bold, and you have potential. If you temper your boldness with caution and cunning, you will be unstoppable."

  "Does this mean you are willing to work with them?" Khar demanded.

  "It doesn't really matter what I think," Fizgig said. She shrugged. "President Dryker and the sycophants known as Congress will have to make that decision. I can say this, though: I agree with the need for an alliance. I will urge Dryker to accept this alliance. Nolan is right about the Gorthians. They are playing a deeper game, and I fear that by the time we learn what it is, it will be too late."

  Epilogue

  Utfa stared up the wide stone steps, which ascended to the mountain top above. He'd been climbing for hours; now he paused to rest, staring at the holiest of sites. He'd always wanted to make the pilgrimage to Azatok, as so many others had before him.

  Azatok lay beyond the borders of the Ganog Imperium. The world was just outside Kthul controlled space, and--if the legends were to be believed--this was the place where the Nameless Ones had handed down their final commandments to the Ganog. Then they had departed into The Cold, never to be seen again.

  Until now.

  Utfa started up the steps again, taking deliberate steps as he neared the summit. The summons had come from another dream fragment. The Nameless One had reached out to him through the arcanotome, touching his sleeping mind. Implanting the suggestion that he travel here.

  And Utfa had obeyed.

  He mounted the final step, entering a wide temple courtyard atop a single slab of granite. The buildings had fallen to ruin, all save the altar at the far side of the courtyard. Utfa approached it, watching warily. No Nameless One leapt out of the shadows, yet when he glanced at the rock face to his left a chill quite unrelated to the cold passed down his spine. The rock bore the carving from his dream--the carving that had spoken to him.

  Utfa stopped before the altar, its stone stained scarlet by hundreds of generations of blood offerings. He reached to his belt, slowly withdrawing the dagger of ceremony. The blade glittered in the strange green light that filtered through the nebula dominating the night sky.

  A quick stroke drew a line of pain across his palm, then droplets of blood began to fall. He clenched his fist, increasing the flow to trace the runes of Ptaff, slowly and precisely. When he'd completed the work, he flared his lower nostrils, sucking in a mighty breath.

  "Terrible Nameless Ones, I tremble before your mighty gaze. This one stands ready for your judgement."

  The words echoed across the courtyard, the echo carried off by the wind. These words were ritual, spoken by millions of seekers over thousands of years. There had never been a single response--and even after his dream Utfa didn't really expect one.

  But something massive loomed into view over the mountain's craggy peaks. Utfa's mind struggled to give meaning to what he was seeing, but it failed utterly. He was left with the impression of tentacles, and too many eyes. Slimy, wet, skin. The scent of sweet, rotting meat, underscored with terrible corruption.

  You seek judgement, and judged you shall be. The words oozed into his mind, insidious and terrible, with a million echoing whispers surrounding each word.

  The thing approached, drifting slowly down the mountain. Still, Utfa struggled to make sense of it. Staring at it tore his mind in some inexplicable way. If he stared long enough, he knew he would lose himself to madness.

  Utfa dropped to his knees, casting his gaze to the stones. He waited, panting, until he sensed the presence looming directly above. The odor was stronger, but still faint and insidious, just like the words.

  More words oozed into his mind. You are an acceptable servant. You have accomplished the first task I have set you.

  "I do not understand," Utfa murmured, immediately regretting the words. One did not question a god, even a benevolent one. And this god was far from benevolent.

  Did you think it was your idea to take Imperalis? Did you believe that it was your hand that guided the guardians? The voice was amused. My gaze fell on you long ago. I molded you. Shaped your thoughts, and dreams, and desires. Everything you are, you are because I wish it.

  Utfa couldn't answer of course. What did one say to that? He flung himself to the stones, prostrating himself before the Nameless One. He wanted to ask what it wished of him, but his terror at the prospect of speaking overwhelmed his curiosity.

  You have accomplished much, yet more work remains. My brethren approach, and they will arrive with a terrible hunger. The traitors among your kind--the Yog, and the Vkash. The impudent Nyar. Their end has come.

  Here is what you will do...

  Press The Line

  The story continues in Press the Line, which should be out in early June of 2017. If you'd like to read the prequel novella, Planetstrider, please sign up to the mailing list.

  In the meantime, feel free to check out the first few chapters of Destroyer.

  Before the Ganog, there were the Void Wraith. Destroyer is the first book in the Void Wraith trilogy, and I've included the first couple chapters so you can see if it's something you'd be into...

  1

  Debris

  Commander Nolan ducked through the hatch into the combat information center of the UFC Johnston. It was smaller than he was used to, the consoles set closer to each other than they'd been back at the Office of Fleet Intelligence. Seven people made the room positively claustrophobic, and he imagined that this was what sailors had experienced aboard submarines just a few centuries past.

  "Captain, we're clearing the sun's corona. Inductive field down to twelve percent. I'm bringing thrusters online," Emo called over his shoulder in a strange southern drawl, completely at odds with his appearance. Waif-thin and pale, he wore black lipstick and white makeup. The left side of his head had been shaved, while the shiny black hair on the right side drooped over his face. He sat near the far end of the CIC, his simple chrome chair aimed at the view screen.

  That view screen showed the most breathtaking vista Nolan had ever seen. Pillars of flame hundreds of miles high shot up around them, more than one coming perilously close to their destroyer class vessel. Emo deftly maneuvered around the flares, slowly gaining distance from the star. The fact that it was even possible to escape a sun's gravitational pull was nothing short of miraculous, but the Helios drives made it commonplace. They simply harnessed the sun's own energy.

  "Commander, are you going to join us?" called a gruff voice. Nolan turned toward the voice, which had come from a chair on the opposite side of the room--one that was set a little higher than the rest, a subtle reminder that the person sitting there was in charge.

  In this case, that person was a short man in his early sixties, a person Nolan had revered his whole life. The legendary Captain Dryker, hero of the Tigris war. His white beard was scraggly and his hair hadn't seen a brush since Nolan had boarded three days past, but the captain's eyes were sharp and his leanly-muscled physique was still that of a much younger officer.

  "Yes, sir," Nolan said, realizing he was still standing just inside the narrow hatchway. He threaded between the communication consoles, wishing he knew the names of the two techs working there. He stepped up next to the captain's chair, folding his hands behind his back.

  "You're two minutes early," the captain said, though his eyes were fixed on the view screen.

  "Yes, sir. I prefer being early," Nolan said,
though he had the impression that the captain wasn't really listening.

  "Captain," Emo called, spinning his chair to face them. "You're going to want to see this. Check grid 729, sir."

  "Noted," Dryker said, scanning a data pad sitting in his lap. He loosened the collar of his uniform, revealing a coffee stain on the cotton shirt underneath. Nolan waited for several moments while the captain scanned. Dryker finally looked up, meeting Nolan's gaze. "What do you make of this, Commander?"

  He handed the pad to Nolan, who quickly scanned the data. "It's a debris field, sir. From the alloy, I'd suggest it's probably the remains of a Tigris vessel. It's smaller than I'd expect, though. A science vessel, maybe?"

  "Very good," Dryker replied, giving a tight nod. "And what can you deduce from the situation?"

  Nolan was silent as he glanced between the view screen and the data pad. There were a lot of disparate pieces, but he knew they added up to something--something the captain was already aware of. "There was a battle, and that battle was recent. Tigris don't generally send their science vessels outside their own space, and they certainly don't send them to a human colony like Mar Kona."

  "Good, but there's a more urgent fact you're missing," Dryker said, eyeing Nolan frostily.

  Nolan resisted the urge to blush. He'd only been aboard the Johnston for a few days, and didn't mind admitting that the war hero intimidated him. "Sir?"

  "The debris is close, maybe three hundred thousand clicks from the sun's corona," Dryker supplied, raising an eyebrow.

  "Ahh, I should have caught that," Nolan replied, finally understanding. He tensed. "The battle was recent. Very recent. If this had happened even a few hours ago the debris field would have already been pulled in by the sun's gravity."

  The Johnston had cleared the corona, and was accelerating toward the debris field. As they approached the view screen's magnification shifted to provide a close up. Large chunks of bronze-colored alloy floated in space, sinking gradually closer to the sun.

  "Set condition one throughout the ship," Dryker barked.

  A blonde lieutenant in her early twenties gave a quick nod and a murmured response, then the lighting changed. The bright halogens faded to soft red, and a single warning klaxon rang across the deck. Nolan had never seen a ship of the line enter combat readiness, but he'd been trained for it back at the academy. He moved a step to the left, clipping himself to a handle on the side of the bulkhead.

  "Captain, do you think whoever did this is still here? Wouldn't we be able to see them?" Nolan asked. It might be a stupid question, but he was genuinely curious.

  "It's possible they could have retreated back into the sun, and they may have already used the Helios Gate," Dryker conceded, his eyes never leaving the view screen. "I don't think so, though. I'm guessing they're still in system. Emo, give me a system scan. Where could a vessel run to?"

  "There are only two real choices," Emo said. "They could go for that asteroid field that used to be a moon, or they could be hiding in Mar Kona's shadow."

  "They'd have to be damned quick to make it to the planet already," Dryker said, rising from his chair and crossing the deck to stand next to Emo. Nolan considered following, but chose to stay clipped to the bulkhead.

  "Sir, if they are in the asteroid field, what are we planning to do about it?" Nolan asked.

  "Captain," the blonde snapped, drawing Nolan's attention. Her blue eyes had gone wide. "Another vessel is emerging from the Helios Gate. It's clearing the sun's corona now. It's broadcasting an ident. Looks to be a Tigris Warship."

  "Battle stations," Dryker barked.

  2

  You're In Charge

  Nolan tensed as the Klaxon blared a second time. That was the only sign that anything had changed. The techs manning the comm stations didn't so much as flinch, instead keeping their focus and continuing to monitor the individual metrics that every warship needed in combat.

  "Commander Nolan," Dryker said, brushing lint from the arm of his uniform. He looked up to meet Nolan's gaze. "You have the bridge."

  "Excuse me? Uh, sir," Nolan said, trying to keep the shock from his voice. The idea that a captain would desert his bridge during a battle was unthinkable.

  "Did I stutter? The shift has changed. It's 0800 and you're scheduled to take command, aren't you? I'm going to go get some chow," Dryker said. His tone was flat, completely devoid of emotion.

  Nolan paused, glancing at the view screen. The Tigris warship loomed behind them, slowly clearing the sun's corona. The spike-shaped vessel dodged a solar flare, disappearing for a moment before returning to view. The thing looked like a high-caliber bullet: long, lean, and deadly. Three ports ringed the midsection, each capable of launching one of the dart fighters the Tigris so loved to employ. Above those ports were a smaller ring of turrets, designed to launch harpoons that would pin their foes long enough to grapple them.

  "Sir, I'm not sure that's appropriate. I've only been aboard ship for three days, and I--" Nolan began.

  "Nolan," Dryker snapped, taking a step closer. Nolan could smell coffee on the captain's breath. "You're an officer of the UFC, are you not? You're trained to command in combat--by OFI, no less. If the Office of Fleet Intelligence hasn't prepared you for battle, then why the hell are you on my ship?"

  "Well, yes, I have been trained," Nolan began again. "But, sir, you've seen at least a dozen battles. Are you certain that--"

  "I'm going to see about breakfast," Dryker said, ducking past Nolan and through the hatch. He paused to poke his head back inside. "Figure it out, Nolan. Or we're all dead."

  Nolan took a deep breath and focused on the view screen. The warship was closing, but because it was exiting the sun's corona it hadn't had time to accelerate yet. They still had a little time to react. That time would be critical. The Tigris warship was three times their size. It was faster, better armored, and packed wall to wall with a race that lived for combat.

  "Pilot," Nolan barked, trying to affect the same tone of authority Dryker had used. "Set course for the asteroid field around Mar Kona."

  "Acknowledged, Commander," Emo replied in a lazy drawl. Nolan couldn't feel the ship accelerate, but the asteroids loomed larger as the Johnston made for them.

  "You," he said, pointing at the blonde comm tech. "What's your name?"

  "Lieutenant Juliard, sir," the woman said, blinking at him.

  "Juliard, open a channel to the Tigris vessel and put it on screen," Nolan ordered. He moved to the captain's chair, pausing to inspect the smooth chrome. Then he sat, resting his arms on the cold metal. The chair had been designed for function, not form. Just like everything else on this rust bucket. The Johnston had been old when the war with the Tigris began, and should have been retired when that war ended.

  "On screen, sir," Juliard said. Nolan glanced up as the screen shimmered. The asteroid disappeared, replaced by a very feline, very angry face. This Tigris had black fur and large yellow eyes. Its shoulders, arms, and chest were corded with thick muscle, and Nolan was thankful they weren't in the same room. This thing could probably tear him apart.

  "You will die for this atrocity, ape," the creature snarled. When it spoke, Nolan caught sight of wicked two-inch fangs. A thickly-furred tail flicked over its shoulder, as though it had a mind of its own. "The Leonis Pride will be alerted to your cowardly actions."

  Nolan attempted to explain. "We didn't destroy your science vessel. We--"

  The view screen went dark.

  "They've cut connection, sir," Juliard said, quite unhelpfully.

  "Lovely," Nolan snarled. He leaned forward in the chair, thinking quickly. "Emo, how close are we to the asteroid field?"

  "Not close enough, sir. I've plotted the Tigris intercept course. They're going to reach us about forty seconds before we make that field," Emo said, glancing over his shoulder at Nolan. Nolan had a hard time taking Emo seriously, and hoped his style of dress didn't mean the young pilot was bad at his job. They were going to need some top-notch flying in the n
ext few minutes.

  He considered his strategy for all of three seconds. Tigris had greater acceleration, which fit their MO. Their vessels had dense tritanium along the spike at their prow, which was perfect for ramming enemy vessels. Once they'd done so, hatches opened all along the tip to allow them to disgorge boarding parties. Tigris loved hand to hand combat, and their vessels didn't have any ranged weaponry beyond their harpoons and dart fighters. That had proven to be more than enough during the eight-year war.

  "Full burn for those asteroids, Emo," Nolan ordered. He turned to a dark-skinned man he'd yet to meet. The man was standing at the gunnery station. "You, Lieutenant...Ezana? Bring turrets one through eight online, and prepare for dispersal firing. See if you can make them wary, at least."

  "Yes, sir." The man bent back to his console.

  Nolan punched a button on the tablet the captain had left him, and the view screen shifted to show the pursuing Tigris vessel. It had already exited the corona, and was accelerating toward them.

  "Commander, they're gaining rapidly," Juliard said, her voice rising half an octave.

  "Damn it," Nolan cursed, knowing they were playing right into the Tigris hands. Should they stand and fight? No, that way lay death. He needed a way to even the odds.

  "Commander, they've launched three darts," Ezana shouted. "I'll try to intercept."

  The entire ship shook as the starboard and aft turrets began firing. Each turret was a miniature gauss cannon, little brothers to the forward-facing main cannon underslung along the hull. Unfortunately, that cannon required them to be facing a foe, and Nolan wasn't about to risk that.

  Three sleek, missile-like ships were rapidly closing the distance to the Johnston. Nolan held his breath as all eight turrets fired. White streaks shot into space--visible evidence of the breakup of the projectile housing, as each turret fired a depleted uranium core accelerated to lethal velocity with powerful magnets.