Attack of Shadows (Galaxy's Edge Book 4)

by Nick Cole

  “Gonna have to.”

  “Roger,” Owens answered. “KTF.”

  02

  Deep Space Supply Station 9

  Dark Ops Headquarters, Galaxy’s Edge

  90 minutes ago

  Major Ellek Owens fumbled his cup of caff on the way to the conference room. It was hot, but not enough to elicit anything beyond a disgusted frown from the Dark Ops sector commander. Owens switched his mug into a dry hand and shook the drink from his fingers. Six cups this morning and it still didn’t quite feel awake.

  “Weak,” he mumbled to himself.

  The station’s beverage dispensers seemed incapable of delivering caff that was hot enough or strong enough. Owens dreamed about past rotations on super destroyers, and the first rate meals those ships provided. At least the Republic navy got that much right. But there were leejes in the field who probably wouldn’t even find time to drop a caff tab into a water unit. Owens knew he needn’t grumble about the station’s weak coffee, cold showers, or rickety hull structures. Embrace the suck and remember that Dark Ops never promised a life of ease, and Owens had it better than most in his role as tactical field commander for this section of the edge.

  Owens put his dripping mug on the conference table. He did not use a coaster.

  Flopping into a chair, Owens leaned back and looked down across his nose, acting as though he only now noticed the woman already seated at the table. He hooked a finger on his sunglasses and pulled them down to reveal his dark eyes. “Thought you were off station?”

  Andien Broxin, the lone Nether Ops agent Owens had ever liked or found helpful, offered an unapologetic smile. “That was the plan. But so many field reports have chimed in the last few hours that it seemed like a good idea to stay in one place a little while longer.”

  Owens examined the stained ceiling, still showing the wear from some contaminant leak who knows how long ago. “Picked a pretty lousy place.”

  Andien shrugged. “Our line of work doesn’t lead us to the galaxy’s nicer places.”

  With a half-smile, Owens said, “Forty-eight hours ago I forward Wraith’s report. Now you’re here. Legion Commander Keller schedules a private-band meeting… I’m guessing our very first Dark Ops agent found the goods?”

  “Time will tell…”

  The conference comm light flashed, indicating that the time was now. Owens leaned forward and opened up the channel, and a holographic image of Legion Commander Keller was rendered at the head of the table in a seated position.

  “Commander,” greeted Owens.

  “Major Owens,” Keller said back, nodding his head. He turned to face Andien. “Agent Broxin.”

  “Commander,” answered Andien.

  The three of them shared a history. One that dated back to the aftermath of the Battle of Kublar. The trio had worked together in forming the Victory Kill Team, which had become the most successful team Dark Ops had ever known. They shared information, with Andien confirming intelligence through her Nether Ops contacts—at personal risk—while Owens’ kill teams and Keller’s control over the Legion allowed Andien to strike at the bad guys even when her political handlers wanted Nether Ops to look the other way.

  And now the culmination of years of collaboration was at hand.

  “Goth Sullus,” Keller said, as if speaking the name itself was the story. And in a way, it was. The whispered storm at galaxy’s edge, the link that connected the failing MCR, numerous crime syndicates, and who-knew-what-else… was named Goth Sullus. It was a name none of them had ever heard of prior to the transmission of Captain Ford—call sign: Wraith, alias Aeson Keel—a scant two days prior.

  “If you’ll allow me the use of an archaic expression,” Keller continued, “Goth Sullus is our white whale. And he’s made the first move.”

  Owens shifted in his seat. This was the first he’d heard of any action. By the way Andien straightened her posture and cleared her throat, Owens imagined this news was new to her as well.

  “How do you mean, Commander?” Andien asked, leaning forward toward the holoprojection to await an answer.

  “Unconfirmed,” conceded Keller, “but with the intelligence sent in by Major Owen’s agent in the field… it’s him. That is, assuming we can still trust Captain Ford. I spent the morning reading up on what we have on record of Captain Keel and the bounty hunter Wraith’s actions. Clever trick, that. Using his armor to create a secondary persona. He certainly took to heart the directives to blend in and become part of the fringe of the galaxy.”

  “Ford’s the only one who could have pulled the job off,” offered Owens.

  But the Legion Commander’s observation was true, and it troubled Owens. Captain Ford, as Aeson Keel, had made a reputation for himself that rivaled the notorious Tyrus Rechs who was, apparently, now dead.

  Andien offered her support. “There’s no disputing his effectiveness. He also disrupted multiple MCR operations and provided tips that helped the Republic clamp down on pirate activity throughout the galaxy.”

  Keller nodded. “We can discuss Captain Ford another time. I don’t disagree with what either of you said.”

  The room fell silent. Owens and Andien both waiting for Keller to drop the bombshell they knew was coming.

  “At zero-one hundred hours, local time, Tarrago Prime and its moon were attacked. We are not receiving any communication from Fortress Omicron and suspect saboteurs may have shut down base communications. The Tarrago defense fleet is engaging with three Republic destroyers and citizens on Tarrago Prime are transmitting grainy holocam images of what appear to be legionnaires in black-gloss armor. Not our boys. Now that all matches up exactly with the intelligence we received from Wraith reported seeing on Tusca, which is now a nuclear disaster zone according to a Legion recon team.”

  “So Goth Sullus is attacking Tarrago?” asked Andien. “Why?”

  “My belief,” Keller said, “is that he’s looking to build an armada that would threaten the Republic itself.”

  “Shipyards,” Owens answered. “That’s the only reason to try and brave the moon’s guns. He needs to seize control of the shipyards.”

  “That’s my assessment as well, Major.” Keller rubbed his chin. “Fortress Omicron and its guns is the only thing capable of defending Tarrago. The Defense fleet is ill-trained and not suited for anything beyond scaring off pirates or smugglers. With Omicron not answering comm relays… I believe Sullus to be capable of taking the shipyards. And if he takes the moon as well… we aren’t in a position to win them back.”

  “What’s Utopion’s take on all of this?” Owens asked.

  Keller gave a brief look of contempt at the name. “The Security Council is under the impression this is a hit-and-fade by the MCR. They aren’t meeting, though I’ve been asked to standby all the same. That the House and Senate…dislike the Legion is known. Given the information we have, what we’ve done to obtain it and who’s involved, I’m not inclined to tell those armchair generals any more than I have to.”

  Andien nodded grimly. “The report mentioned Admiral Devers attempting to make contact with Sullus. Do we know why?”

  Owens let out a grunt of a laugh. “Knowing that point S-O-B, I doubt it’s good.”

  “No,” Keller said. “His fleet is right where it ought to be, based on comm relay reports. Let me cut to the chase. Sullus wants the shipyards. We need to deny him that. Now I can’t unilaterally organize a full scale counter assault with the Legion without starting a civil war. The House and Senate have been trying for decades to assume control of the Legion, and something like that would give them the incentive they need. I’ll be ordered to stand down and stand down I would. For the sake of the galaxy.”

  “But they can’t stop a kill team,” offered Owens.

  Keller smiled. “They can’t stop a kill team. But it needs to be our best.”

  “Victory is near the region, on Rawl Kima, dealing with some MCR warlord-flavor-of-the-month,” Owens consulted his datapad. “Op launched about
the same time as our meeting started. Shouldn’t be more than forty-five minutes to completion. I can get them back in the field and on their way to Tarrago within two hours.”

  Andien shook her head. “Rawl Kima might be a problem. I read an intel report that a cease-fire and no-fly order was negotiated between the MCR government and the Illustrious’s captain. I’ll be you your Legion crest that your team is denied ex-filtration.”

  Owens stood up abruptly. “If that’s true, I need to work on some contingency plans to get them out.”

  Keller looked down at his own datapad. “Ellek, it doesn’t look to me like there are any other Legion resources anywhere nearby… do you have another team available?”

  “We’ve got one shot at this, sir. If we want it done, it has to be Victory.” Owens gave a grin. “But don’t worry, I’ve got a resource that won’t show up in the battlenet.”

  ***

  Captain Aeson Keel looked back from the swirling layers of hyperspace to again examine the message.

  Wraith. LS-33. Return to shell.

  P-1.

  It was a clarion call. A message that communicated volumes while saying nothing in and of itself. At least, nothing to anyone other than him. Keel had expected this transmission since the day he’d left the stolen corvette, Pride of Ankalore.

  How far would they have him go before they called him back in?

  How would he know when he’d found whatever it was that he was sent to discover?

  This call was the culmination of years of work all across galaxy’s edge. Work that had seen him become rich beyond his wildest imagination.

  Not that I’ve had any time to enjoy it, Keel mused to himself. He’d only been a galactic multi-millionaire for a few days.

  But it wasn’t credits that led to him leaving his brothers on the kill team, Victory. The Republic had enemies out beyond the edge. Foes that made the machinations of malcontents on Kublar possible. Murderers who began with the destruction of the Chiasm. Terrorists that nearly destroyed the House of Reason, warts and all.

  Keel was a new man, forged by the threats of the past and the promised dangers of the future. His was an identity started and infused a wealth of credits funneled through Dark Ops. Enough to buy a ship. Clothes. Contacts. And then… disappear.

  So why come back now? Had he finally found what Dark Ops sent him looking for?

  Even as layers of hyperspace unfolded outside of the Six’s canopy windows, possibilities swirled in Keel’s head.

  Why? Why now?

  Was it Rechs? Keel saw the infamous bounty hunter die aboard his ship in a nuclear explosion. Was that really something that would require a recall and debrief?

  Maybe it was whatever Admiral Devers was up to with this Goth Sullus player. For his part, Keel had no idea why Devers was meeting with a representative of Sullus. He’d only meant to kill the point.

  The mysterious dark legionnaires?

  Or was it him, Keel?

  Had he gone too far in… everything? There was an unspoken expectation that this job would leave his hands dirty. But had they become too filthy to clean off?

  Too much theft and smuggling. Too many contracted kills. And, yes, real legionnaires dead—not that the crop of legionnaires the Republic put out was anything like the Legion Keel had served it. The Legion was overflowing with points at almost every level. The Republic’s goal of assuming control was practically a fait accomplis. It shouldn’t be that. Keel had been careful around the kill teams. Around any leej he felt to be the real deal. He made sure those survived.

  But…who could say?

  “Do what needs doing.” That’s what Captain Owens had said to Keel as he prepared to depart onboard the newly acquired Indelible VI.

  “Don’t lose yourself out there.” That’s what Lieutenant Chhun had said next.

  And even then, when the trappings of a commission as a Legion captain were still fresh, Keel knew he couldn’t do both. He would accept the consequences of his actions. Dark Ops and the Legion Commanders would determine whether he fulfilled his mission. And Keel would accept and live with that determination.

  The legionnaires, basics, marines, and navy troopers Keel had dusted along the way were acceptable losses. They had to be.

  Leenah, the pink-skinned Endurian former rebel. The genius mechanic who had spent as much time in Ravi’s old navigator chair since the hologram disappeared as the maintenance hatches. She was watching him. She’d read the message. She was waiting for a response of some sort. Patiently.

  Keel took a deep breath and turned to face her. “We all have a past, right?”

  Leenah nodded. Delicately. Eager to agree, it seemed to Keel.

  Keel pointed at the display, letting his hand linger for a moment before speaking. “This message is the exact point where my past catches up to my present.”

  “So you were a legionnaire,” observed Leenah. “I figured as much. When you put on the armor—became Wraith—you had that… bearing, I guess. I’m not sure what else to call it.”

  Keel shifted in his chair. “Technically I’m still in the Legion.”

  Leenah’s face betrayed surprise. That soon gave way to skepticism. “I… but I’ve seen you… fight. Kill Republic legionnaires and soldiers and…” She bobbed her head, causing her pink hair-like tendrils to sway. “I guess I’ve seen you shoot a lot of people. I’m confused.”

  “Nothing to be confused about,” Keel said with a slight frown. “It was them or me. Always has been.”

  “So this whole time you’ve been—what?—under cover? Working for the Republic?”

  “For the Legion.” Keel flipped a few switches above the console, readying the ship to dump out of hyperspace. “There’s a difference. At least, there used to be.”

  Leenah clenched her jaw, but didn’t seem interested in pursuing the issue further. Keel felt an urge to provide an explanation, but tabled the sensation in favor of the task at hand. He needed to make contact.

  Looking over his shoulder, Keel sought to read the nav-display in front of Leenah, but without success. “Hey, uh, do you mind telling me where we are?”

  The mechanic-turned-navigator paused a moment, as though weighing an objection, and then leaned forward. She studied the display and furrowed her brows. “Looks like nowhere. Deep space, nowhere near…anything.”

  “Good.”

  Keel squeezed the hyperdrive’s gear control, disengaging the safety, and then slowly reduced the ship’s speed until the swirling layers of space receded into the elongated lines of each individual star and, finally, the vastness of space. Billions of distant, twinkling lights winked through the darkness, mere pinpoints visible the ship’s canopy.

  Leenah stood. “The rest of the crew will wonder why we’ve dropped out of hyperspace. I’ll go and tell them you received an urgent message.”

  Keel grabbed Leenah by the arm as she attempted to move past his pilot’s seat. “No, hey… why don’t you sit down? You want to know what’s going on, who I am, this is your ticket.”

  Leenah considered, and for a moment it seemed that she could go either way. Stay or leave.

  “Stay,” Keel said gently. “I don’t know exactly what’s coming, but I know that I want you to stay aboard.”

  “As a crew member?”

  Keel swallowed. “Sure.”

  The comm chimed. Keel gave a nod for Leenah to answer it. She missed what he meant entirely, sitting still in her chair with a raised, quizzical eyebrow.

  Ravi would have brought the comm up.

  “Never mind. I’ll get it.” Keel reached forward and switched the comm to audio-only. “This is the freighter Frisky Landshark.” Keel gave a slight grin. He’d wanted to use that false registry for ages, but Ravi always nixed it. “Go for—“

  The cabin lights dimmed and a projected holodisplay splashed before Keel. The Captain’s eyes darted down to verify that he had indeed selected audio only.

  He had.

  But the larger than life image of
his old Dark Ops team leader, Ellek Owens, appeared before him.

  “…go for Captain Keel,” the captain restated, a wry tone of exasperation in his voice. “And be thankful you didn’t catch me in the shower.”

  “Yeah, we can force your visuals. Bad ass, huh Captain Ford?” Owens said, his voice booming over the comms. He looked the same, thick beard, muscles… if he’d aged, developed crow’s feet, his perpetually worn shades covered the evidence. “Got your message and decided the time has come to bring you back in. Trouble’s here.”

  03

  Keel leaned back in his cockpit chair, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “Bring me in how?”

  Owens worked over a piece of gum before saying, “Assigning you to an op. Well, two of the technically. If you’re feeling rusty, don’t worry. All you have to do is pick up Chhun’s kill team and fly them to a target.”

  “I didn’t let myself get rusty,” Keel said, giving a sidelong glance to Leenah.

  “Relax. Giving you a hard time. I’ve read the reports filed by all the people you’ve—” Owens made air quotes with his fingers, “—done business with. Trust me, I know you’re still capable of some KTF.”

  Keel swallowed, wondering how often those reports included his treatment of the new class of legionnaires. Moral questions long buried were scratching their way to the surface of Keel’s conscience like undead monsters. Would it all be seen as “whatever is necessary?” Had he made the right decisions? These were the issue that deep down, Keel had assumed he would never have to deal with. His role in Dark Ops was dangerous enough. Throw in working out on the edge as a smuggler and bounty hunter, and Keel was banking on getting killed before he had to sort all this out. But no matter how hard the other guys tried… they never seemed able to snuff him out.

  Owens looked to the female in the navigator’s chair. “Who’s the Endurian?”