The Messenger Box Set: Books 1-6

by J. N. Chaney

  “Custodian,” Conover said, “what’s going on? What happened to Dash.”

  “The Messenger has engaged the Harbinger in battle.”

  There was a moment of quiet as Conover exchanged a grim look with Viktor and Amy. As he did, the image of that Clan Shirna agent’s head erupting into a shower of gore came rushing in again.

  He shook his head. If any of the things they’d done to get here, to this moment, were going to mean anything, they had to get the core installed.

  “Viktor, let’s do this,” he said, pointing at the three separate receptacles the Guardian had previously said were intended for level two cores.

  Viktor nodded then lifted the core and plugged it into the first receptacle. With his implants, Conover waited to see the massive surge of power that should result, energizing the Forge’s systems.

  But nothing happened.

  “Is it working? Amy asked.

  Viktor shrugged. “I don’t know. It should be.”

  “It’s not,” Conover said. “Custodian, what’s wrong? Why isn’t the core powering up?”

  “I cannot provide that information.”

  Now Conover’s fists balled themselves. “The Messenger just told you to give us full access.”

  “I am not withholding the information from you. I cannot provide it because I do not have it.”

  “You mean you don’t know?” Amy said.

  “I do not.”

  She looked from Viktor to Conover. “Any ideas?”

  “As far as I know, all Dash ever did was plug them in, and they worked on their own from there,” Viktor said.

  “Maybe the Messenger has to be the one to actually install it,” Conover said. A pall of bleak despair started to fall on him.

  “Then we’re screwed,” Amy said, finishing his thought.

  “Perhaps not.”

  They turned to Kai, who, along with the other monks, had been staring around at the engine room, practically gaping in wonder. He was pointing at the one of the many polyhedral shapes, apparently different types of devices, scattered throughout the place. A series of symbols flickered and flitted across the surface of this particular one, a glassy tetrahedron. “This is saying something about a reset sequence, I believe.”

  “A restart sequence, actually,” one of the other monks said, peering over Kai’s shoulder.

  Kai nodded. “Wiles here was always better with the Unseen translations than I was.”

  “That’s right,” Conover said. “The monks can read the Unseen language.” He turned to Kai, desperate hope shoving aside the gnawing sense of failure, at least for the moment. “Can you figure out what we need to do to get this core working?”

  “We can try,” Kai said. “It will take a few moments, though.”

  Conover thought about Dash, who was now locked in battle with an alien mech, the outcome of which might very well determine the fate of all sentient life. “It’s not like we have any choice. Do it!”

  The monks scattered, examining and immediately discussing what the various displays around the engine room were saying. For the time being, it left Viktor, Amy, and Conover with nothing to do.

  Except worry.

  19

  Dash narrowed his eyes at the Archetype’s display. The Harbinger remained a fuzzy splotch—as Sentinel explained, it was really an area of varying probability regarding the Golden mech’s actual location, based on the minuscule gravitational distortion it left in real space. Leira couldn’t detect it at all, which meant it might be similar to the Slipwing’s Fade system, but—not surprisingly—far more sophisticated. The only way to make the Fade leave a footprint that small in real space would be to continuously expend colossal amounts of energy, far more than any known tech could produce. But this wasn’t any known tech. It underscored the fact that, when it came to the Golden, even the most kick-ass Unseen tech was, at best, on par.

  “So it seems to me that we should be pretty well inside what you think the maximum range of that thing’s weapons are, right?” Dash said.

  “That is correct,” Sentinel replied.

  “But it’s not shooting at us. Any idea why?”

  “I do not know the enemy’s motives. Perhaps the Harbinger remains in its current state in order to get closer to the Forge, that being its priority target.”

  “Could be, I suppose. But that’s risky. It could find itself facing us and the Forge, assuming Viktor and the others get that core installed in time.”

  “Again, I do not know.”

  Dash frowned at the abrupt silence. He hated it when these AIs did that, and he braced himself for something terrible.

  But Sentinel said, “The Harbinger is transmitting a data stream. It is omnidirectional, suggesting it is either meant for a receiver whose location isn’t certain, or for multiple receivers in different locations.”

  “That means we can receive it, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So maybe it wants to talk. Leira, are you getting any of this?”

  “Actually, I am,” she said. “Or at least I’m intercepting a transmission from that thing, but the comm can’t resolve it into anything but static.”

  “Sentinel, how about you? Can you get anything meaningful out of it?”

  In answer, a cacophony of squeals, chirps, hisses, growls, and a slurry of other noises slammed into Dash’s ears. He winced, listened for a few seconds, then called for Sentinel to shut it off.

  “Sentinel, what the hell was that?”

  “That is the Harbinger’s data stream.”

  “Holy crap. Is it malfunctioning or something?

  “No. That is the language of the Golden.”

  “Really. Sounds more like a computer in its death throes. What’s it saying?”

  “I do not have the means of translating their language. Or, at least, that capability has not yet been unlocked.”

  “Great. So maybe it’s trying to talk to us and we can’t understand it.”

  “Now wouldn’t that suck?” Leira said. “Here this thing has come to offer peace, call off the war, but we can’t translate it, so the war goes on anyway.”

  Dash paused, thinking. “Is that possible?” He felt a dim flicker of hope. “Could the Golden be willing to negotiate?”

  “Based on historical records regarding the Golden,” Sentinel replied, “the probability of that, while not actually zero, is extremely close to it.”

  “You could have just said no.”

  “That would not be true, though. I cannot say the probability actually is zero—”

  “Fine, I get it. So what other reason could it have for transmitting a bunch of…whatever it’s saying to anyone listening?”

  “Dash, maybe it’s sending a signal out to other Golden forces,” Leira said. “If there’s a bunch of them, in different places, then it would make it omnidirectional, right?”

  That glimmer of hope dimmed. “Yeah.” He picked up the bleak thread of Leira’s reasoning. “And those forces might include Clan Shirna, and any other agents they might have around the arm.”

  “So anyone we meet after this could be an enemy—”

  An incoming transmission from the Forge cut Leira off. Custodian was saying that Viktor and the others wanted to speak to Dash.

  “What’s up, guys?” he asked. “Custodian says you want to talk to me. You have that core installed yet?”

  “No,” Viktor replied. “Custodian is being difficult.”

  As they thrashed that out, and Dash ordered Custodian to of course give full access to the others—seriously, sometimes these super-intelligent AIs could be idiots—he kept a wary eye on the Harbinger. That was why, when it abruptly popped back into real space, it didn’t take him completely by surprise.

  Conover said, “Dash?”

  “Can’t talk,” he snapped back.

  Everything turned a searing, incandescent white.

  The blast of raw energy that engulfed the Archetype would have mostly vaporized the Slipwing. As it
was, it ripped away the Archetype’s shielding, searing the armor with its residual effect. Dash shook his head and blinked hard, trying to clear away the purple splotches that filled his vision.

  “Where is it?”

  “Closing quickly,” Sentinel said. “Its energy output is diminished, however. Firing that weapon apparently depleted them.”

  “For how long?”

  “Unknown.”

  “Dash,” Leira called out, “are you okay? That looked like a bloody supernova going off!”

  “Shaken up, but still in one piece. Leira, look—I appreciate your trying to help, but this really isn’t your fight—”

  “Sorry, what was that? Must be bad comms.”

  “Leira!”

  “Dash, let me do my thing. You stay alive!”

  Dash loosed a pair of missiles at the Harbinger, having them swing wide and converge from two different directions. At the same time, he readied the dark-lance. “Leira, if you get caught by even one hit like that—”

  “Then I won’t let that happen, right?” He saw the Slipwing peel away, giving the Harbinger a wide berth. “I see what you’re doing with those missiles. You’re trying to give it too many targets. I’m going to stay at a distance and just poke at it. Any distraction can only help, right?”

  Dash wanted to argue and force her to withdraw, but he instinctively knew they needed the extra targets to clog the Harbinger’s defenses. Instead, he resolved to have a quiet word about the command chain—either before or after hugging her, he wasn’t sure which—and just said, “Fine. Just stay as far back as you can.”

  “Copy that.”

  He fired the dark-lance.

  The ghostly beam flashed out, striking the Harbinger. Dash had seen this beam rip Clan Shirna ships apart at the quantum level; it had even proven deadly against the Golden drones that had attacked the Forge. When it slammed into the Harbinger, though, it just spalled a few glowing fragments from it.

  “That was disappointing,” Dash growled.

  Still, the hit seemed to shake the Harbinger momentarily, letting his two missiles track dangerously close. Only at the last instant did quick, brief pulses of energy, some sort of point-defense system, flash out and destroy them.

  “Firing missiles now, Dash,” Leira said.

  Two projectiles zoomed away from the Slipwing. Leira fired the particle cannons, too, but at extreme range, against the Harbinger, she might as well have been spitting at it.

  Recovering, the Harbinger resumed racing in, closing on the Archetype. It swatted away one of Leira’s missiles with its point-defense, but contemptuously ignored the other, just letting it detonate against its back. Dash couldn’t discern any effect from it at all.

  It didn’t matter. They would continue to pummel the alien with everything in their arsenal. He fired the dark-lance again, and again, as the Harbinger closed. Two more hits—minimal damage. Still it closed. Dash frowned. “What the hell is it up to?”

  “Unknown,” Sentinel said. “It seems determined to engage in a close battle.”

  “Yeah, no kidding.”

  Dash fired the dark-lance again—two more missiles, one of which managed to bypass its point defense and detonate against it, blasting a chunk out of one its legs in a glowing spray of liquified metal. Another pair of the Slipwing’s missiles likewise exploded against it, but it shrugged off the blasts and doggedly just kept coming.

  The Harbinger closed the remaining distance. Dash blasted it twice more with the dark-lance, and then it was on him.

  Time to dance.

  He’d actually expected this to be relatively easy. The Archetype was much larger and bulkier than the slender Harbinger, and Dash knew from many barroom brawls that big and bulky usually overcame small and quick—especially if the big guy landed the first shot. Maybe the Golden mech was on a suicide run, like the drone that had managed to sneak aboard the Forge. If it blew up, basically right on top of the Archetype, the damage might be catastrophic.

  Oh. Bells rang in his head as the pieces fell in place.

  Dash flung himself backward at the thought, desperately trying to keep his distance from the Harbinger. Unfortunately, this was where small and fast trumped big and bulky. The Harbinger closed right, grappling the Archetype. Dash kick and punched, getting in a solid hit that slammed into the Golden mech’s shoulder, spinning it through a half-turn. A metallic shock crashed through Dash’s arm, as the bizarre stuff of the two mechs collided. But Dash wasn’t about to relent.

  White light.

  For a while, Dash just floated, adrift in an ocean of light. He saw nothing else, heard nothing, felt nothing. Dimly, he wondered if he’d somehow been shoved back into the Dark Between. But, no. This wasn’t like that at all. Things were resolving around him, slowly coming back into focus.

  He was still aboard the Archetype, hanging limp in the cradle. Now he did hear something—someone shouting, urgently, even frantically. He tried to make out the words, but they were just gibberish, a string of nonsense. Terse, tense nonsense—but nonsense, nonetheless.

  More of his surroundings resolved. For some reason, the starfield wasn’t right. It was a whirl of smeared streaks, instead of discrete points of light. Something big and bright flashed across his field of view, and then something even bigger and brighter. Right. It was the gas giant around which the Forge orbited, and the star it orbited in turn.

  Reality came crashing back. Dash groaned, fighting to concentrate. “What…happened?”

  “The Harbinger activated a weapon in its torso,” Sentinel said. She sounded muffled and distant. “It fired it, an especially powerful plasma discharge, at effectively point-blank range.”

  “That’s its…big gun. Chest-cannon of some sort.”

  “So it would appear.”

  Dash looked at the starfield. Clearly, the Archetype was spinning out of control. He slowed its rotation, bringing it back into a steady orientation.

  Or tried to, but nothing happened. The stars just kept spinning.

  “What’s wrong? How come I can’t get this thing back under control?”

  “Altitude controls are offline.”

  Nothing in the Meld told him that. In fact, nothing in the Meld told him much of anything about the Archetype, so it must be screwed up, too.

  “How much damage did we take?”

  “A great deal. I have prioritized life-support and situational awareness. Most other systems are offline.”

  “Dammit. Weapons?”

  “All offline.”

  “Propulsion? Can we get back to the Forge, get some repairs done?”

  “Propulsion is offline.”

  Okay. This was bad. Very bad. The Archetype had been entirely gimped. Dash wasn’t even sure where the Harbinger was. It might be lining up another shot, which would probably be all it needed.

  Fifty-fifty chance, huh? Well, if he and Sentinel couldn’t get the Archetype working again, and do it pretty much now, then this would just be another last throw that Dash had lost.

  “Dash! Damnit, Dash, answer me!”

  “I’m here, Leira. More or less, anyway.”

  After a moment, Leira said, “Dash…damn it, do not get yourself killed on me.”

  “Trying not to. Anyway, I’m okay. Just out of the fight for a bit, ‘til we get this thing fixed. I’m alive, just banged up. Gimme a sec.”

  “Okay. Okay. Well, as soon as you can, please.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “That…thing. The Harbinger. I hit it with all the missiles I could to try to get it off your back. Looks like I succeeded. It’s after me now, closing fast.” Dash could hear the fear tightening her voice, but she fought to keep her tone as flat and analytical as she could. “So, yeah, if you get a chance, a little help would be nice.”

  Dash closed his eyes.

  He thought things had been bad before.

  Now, they were much, much worse.

  20

  “I hate to rush you, Kai,” Conover said
, “but the sooner we can figure out what else we need to do—”

  “I understand,” the monk said, poring over a display. “We’re doing this as fast as we are able.” He glanced up. “I would hate to mistranslate something and inadvertently blow this place up. That would be awkward, not to mention embarrassing. We’ve a scholarly reputation to protect.” He managed a tight grin despite the tension.

  “Yeah, that’s not likely,” Amy said in her engineering-nerd voice. “People think it’s way too easy to make complex systems go boom. Who would even design a system that temperamental?”

  “Nonetheless, I think that we must balance speed and accuracy, yes?” Kai said, putting his attention back on the display.

  Conover nodded and looked around the engine room at the rest of the monks. They had spread themselves out, examining the various displays and puzzling out the information each was portraying. They’d quickly been able to eliminate about half of them as being either obviously incidental, or entirely irrelevant. That left them with the other half to scrutinize and try to more fully translate.

  “Custodian,” Conover said, “you still have no idea why that core won’t power up?”

  “I do not. I can register its placement in the receptacle intended for it, but I am otherwise sensing no response from it.”

  Conover looked at the core. Viktor had tried removing it and reseating it, and even trying it in the other two receptacles, in case the first one they’d tried was defective. None of his efforts had changed things, though. The core remained dark and inert, its surface cool and lifeless as a rocky moon. Conover had even tried looking at it, to see if he could suss out something they were missing.

  The fantastic, mind-bending complexity of it and the systems around it had leapt into stark clarity—fortunately, he’d figured out how to not let that knock him comatose, like it had the first time he tried it, with the Lens—but it revealed nothing useful to him. Any one of a multitude of components may have failed or myriad parameters might be off, but with nothing to use as a baseline reference, he had no way of knowing which, if any, had gone wrong.