The Messenger Box Set: Books 1-6

by J. N. Chaney

  Ragsdale conspicuously looked around the bridge, then at the star-map, then back at Dash. “My view of the universe has changed quite a bit in the past hours.”

  “I can’t blame you. It’s about to change even more,” Dash said, taking a deep breath, “so it’s like this. Let’s start with an ancient war."

  He told Ragsdale everything—finding the Archetype, and then the Forge; searching for the power cores; their clashes with the Golden and their journey here to retrieve Dark Metal and whatever else they could scavenge from the crashed ship. Aside from some minor details that didn’t really add much to the story, Dash held nothing back.

  “We’re embroiled in a war that has gone on for longer than we can understand. The opponents are alien, the tech verges into the realm of sorcery, and I’ve been given a battle command that includes a mech capable of leveling a planet, give or take a city or two.”

  “Longer than history?” Ragsdale asked.

  “More than two hundred thousand years, anyway,” Viktor said. He’d joined Dash and Leira, leaving Conover to study the stunning array of Golden tech around them, and Amy to keep watch.

  Dash waited for Ragsdale to react.

  For a long moment, the Security Chief just stared. Dash started to think the man simply wasn’t going to believe any of it and wondered what more he could do to convince him, that the wrecked Golden ship couldn’t. But Ragsdale finally nodded.

  “Okay. I believe you.”

  Dash gave him a narrow-eyed look. “Really? No questions at all?”

  “Oh, there are questions. Lots of them. Not even sure where to begin with them. But questions can wait.”

  “So you believe us,” Leira said, apparently a little skeptical herself.

  Ragsdale gestured around them. “This clearly isn’t anything made by humans, or any other race I know. You’ve even referred to the Unseen, and these Golden, as something distinct from humans. And then there’s your…what did you call it, your Archetype? There’s no way that was made by humans, either.” He shrugged. “So, yes, I believe you.”

  Dash stuck out his hand, and Ragsdale shook it. “I apologize for being slow to reveal this, but you understand why?”

  “Are you shitting me? If you’d told me this right away, I—well, you can imagine my reaction,” Ragsdale said with a bark of laughter.

  Viktor nodded, wincing slightly and glancing at his injured shoulder as he did. “You seem to be taking it very well, in fact.”

  Ragsdale actually smiled, but it didn’t manage to reach his eyes. “Oh, I’m scared shitless, believe me. Kind of hard not to be, when you tell me that not only is there an entire, super-advanced alien race determined to wipe all of us out, but that one of their ships is sitting a day’s journey from my home. A ship, I might add, that you’ve been calling a wreck, but that clearly isn’t that wrecked at all.”

  “Glad you understand, and welcome aboard Team Humanity,” Dash replied.

  Ragsdale gave a firm nod. “No, you did absolutely the right thing. If you’d have tried to claim any of this back at Port Hannah, you would have faced a lot more of an uphill battle for credibility, I think. Having seen all of this, though…well, I’d have to be either balls deep in denial, a complete idiot, or maybe both, to just write off what you’re telling me here.” He sighed, and it was a tired sound. “Ironically, now I’m the one who has to make some tough decisions about who, if anyone, to tell about this back at Port Hannah, and how much to tell them.”

  “Just putting the word out could cause a panic,” Leira said.

  “And also likely bring a bunch of gawkers and treasure hunters here,” Viktor added.

  Dash gave Ragsdale a sympathetic nod. Genuine relief flooded him. Not only was he glad Ragsdale believed what he’d told him, but he really did like and respect the man. Like Kai and the monks, he saw him as a loyal and competent ally. Still, something nagged at him.

  “I’ll be honest,” Dash said. “My one regret is that I still don’t know what the long-term consequences for letting you into the circle of knowledge will be. I can’t help thinking that ignorance might actually be a sort of protection.”

  “Sure,” Ragsdale replied, “right up to the moment a Golden ship appears over Port Hannah and turns us all to ionized gas.”

  Dash looked at Leira and Viktor. He knew they were both thinking the same thing he was—that might still happen, so maybe it would be better just to not see it coming.

  “Dash?” Conover called. “Something over here.”

  They exchanged glances, then moved to join Conover, who now stood close to the huge star-map display.

  “What have you got?” Dash asked.

  “There’s something new happening,” Conover replied, his gaze on the star-map, but unfocused, as though he looked past it, at something beyond. “There’s not just raw power being distributed through this ship now. Some of it’s being modulated.”

  “Modulated?”

  “Yeah. Like data, flowing through a computer network.”

  “That’s probably exactly what it is,” Viktor said. “This star-map isn’t just painted on the wall. It’s being projected from data somewhere.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” Conover replied, shaking his head. “This is new. It started after we came in here. Sure, there’s data being transmitted to show this map”—he pointed at something that he, and only he, could see behind the wall—“but there’s more, and I’m not sure what it is or where it’s going.” He now pointed at other things they couldn’t see, his gestures seeming to follow cables or conduits behind the screen.

  “Conover, are you saying this ship is—what, waking up?” Dash glanced at Ragsdale as he said it. This time, he could tell exactly what the man was thinking. Had they roused something dangerous, something that could be an imminent threat to Port Hannah, just by coming here?

  Conover, though, shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s still just a trickle, I think, compared to what it’s probably capable of. But it’s definitely something new happening.”

  On impulse, Dash reached out and touched the star-map, where Conover had just been pointing. He expected nothing to happen, but something did, the instant his hand made contact. A bluish glow enveloped him; at the same time there was a rush of noise, like wind, except it wasn’t something he heard with his ears.

  It swept through his mind, and the storm of input would not be denied.

  Dash found himself in two places at once—standing in the wrecked ship, one hand touching the viewscreen depicting the cryptic star-map. But he also stood amid a swirl of what he knew was data, as though he stood in a river of information and it was rising, closing over him, immersing him completely. The part of him still in the real world felt a touch on his arm, and then a voice. He recognized it as Leira’s, but she sounded like she was speaking from far, far away, and both muffled and distorted at that, as though he heard her through a long tube or pipe.

  “Dash, are you alright?”

  He had to concentrate hard to make his real-world self reply.

  “I think it’s—it’s some Messenger thing,” Dash replied, his own voice a slurred mutter. “I can almost understand. Like a whisper across the room. It feels like words, but I can only get a few of them.”

  “Is it coming from here?” Leira asked, waving at the star-map.

  “No,” Dash said, closing his eyes. The river of data rushed past him, over him. He let it. Most of it meant nothing. But bits of it bumped into him and stuck, and he slowly began to understand. Finally, he opened his eyes.

  “It’s coming from there,” he said, pointing his gun toward another set of open doors, leading further forward and deeper into the ship from the bridge. Only darkness lay beyond.

  And then they all heard the soft rattle of something metallic.

  13

  Dash yanked his hand away from the star-map and the wash of information stopped, like someone had twisted a valve shut. He blinked in the sudden transition as he was jolted back to reality.


  Amy, closest to the ominous doorway and furtive metallic noises emanating from it, lifted her weapon and sighted on the dark opening. “A little help over here’d be nice,” she called back, dropping her night vision into place. “I see something moving in there but can’t make out what.”

  The rest of them immediately moved to support Amy, leveling all of their weapons at the gaping doors. Only Viktor hung back, keeping his attention elsewhere—especially behind them, on the doors through which they’d entered—alert for other threats.

  They waited.

  The metallic clicks and whispers stopped.

  Started again.

  Stopped again.

  Silence.

  “So what’s the plan?” Amy asked. “Do we wait for whatever it is to come to us?”

  “What if it doesn’t?” Conover replied. “How long do we stand out here?”

  “Not only that,” Leira said, “but unless this is as far as we want to go, we need to go through those doors. It’s the only way forward.”

  Dash glanced at Ragsdale. “Well, you’re part of our happy little band now. What do you think?”

  “I think we need to know what’s in there,” Ragsdale replied. “Even if we turn back, whatever it is will still be behind us.”

  “Good point.”

  Dash looked at the others then said, “Only one of us at a time can fit through the opening. I’ll go first,”

  “No, you won’t,” Ragsdale said.

  “Beg your pardon?”

  “Based on what you’ve told me, you’re this Messenger. For whatever reason, you got chosen for the part, right?”

  “I was surprised too, but it turns out I’ve got a taste for it,” Dash said.

  “What that means,” Ragsdale went on, “is that you can’t be the first into trouble anymore, Dash. You’re too valuable.” With the authoritative snap of someone used to being in charge, Ragsdale said, “I’m taking point and going in first. I’ll go left once I’m inside. Then it’s Leira, Amy, and Conover, going right, then left, then right respectively. Dash, you’ll come in after that, going left. Viktor, you bring up the rear and keep watch in this compartment. Everyone got it?”

  Dash held up a hand. “A moment.”

  “We can have this argument later,” Ragsdale said.

  Dash stepped in front of him, a level look holding Ragsdale in place. “We won’t have an argument, because I won’t allow it. Your point is taken. Your method is not.”

  Ragsdale was used to being obeyed, but he knew his situation. “You’re something more than a brawler, Dash.”

  “I know.”

  “Then let us handle some of the brawls,” Ragsdale said.

  Dash gave a terse nod. “Fair enough.”

  Ragsdale flipped his own night vision into place, sighted along his weapon, and moved to one side before rushing through the opening. The air immediately rattled with the staccato blasts of slug fire from his carbine.

  In rapid succession, Leira, Amy, and Conover hurried through the doors. The fusillade of shooting intensified. Dash gathered himself and rushed through the opening, weapon up and ready.

  Dash glimpsed a compartment similar to the bridge they’d just left, although smaller. What immediately caught his attention was another trio of the robots they’d encountered previously. One sparked and guttered from ragged holes blasted in its hull, but the other two pulsed out sizzling bolts of energy as they raced forward, closing, their wicked mechanical claws snapping. One bolt slammed into the bulkhead just centimeters from Dash’s head, exploding in a shower of sparks and a sharp concussion that left his ears ringing.

  He raised his carbine and aimed, but his target shuddered under sudden, repeated impacts of explosive slugs and slewed to a smoldering halt. Dash’s eyes tracked left, trying to line up on the still-mobile bot, but the bot leapt into a wild series of accelerations and turns. It slammed into Leira, knocking her into a console with a heavy grunt, but it otherwise ignored her and sped on by. Dash now saw the odd material that might be liquid Dark Metal coating it. The slugs that smacked into it detonated, but their effect seemed to be swallowed by the dark, powdery goo.

  Dash aimed again and saw the bot coming straight for him, ignoring everyone else as it did, just blasting out bursts of energy that kept them all ducking. More slugs slammed into it, but the gelatinous stuff that slathered it blunted the worst of each impact.

  They weren’t going to stop, Dash realized. Not with slug fire alone, anyway.

  Fine.

  He lowered the carbine and braced himself, dodging as its twinned weapons slewed around and opened up on him. Bolts flashed past him, narrowly missing. One hit a console just as he dodged behind it; he immediately reversed and jumped back.

  It was just two meters away. Now a meter. Dash ducked, another pair of shots crackling over his head, the ionized discharge of their passage buzzing across his scalp like a swarm of ants. But he doggedly ignored it, keeping his attention on the bot and its nasty, snapping claw.

  It swung at him, trying to catch him up in a grip that would no doubt slice flesh and crush bone. He swung back with the carbine, bashing its butt into the claw, deflecting it. The claw slammed shut on the carbine, its composite butt cracking and splintering. Dash swept out his slug-pistol, flung his weight onto the carbine to keep the claw away from him, then jammed the pistol’s muzzle into the sensor cluster atop the bot and squeezed the trigger.

  The slug rounds exploded with deafening cracks, almost right in his face. He kept enough presence of mind to turn his head away and jam his chin down into his chest, letting his helmet take the brunt of each blast. It still made his head ring like a gong, his vision blurring. He kept squeezing the trigger anyway, grimly determined to stop this thing.

  Green-grey fireworks blossomed behind Dash’s eyes, and a shrill whine filled his head. Well, shit, he thought. He’d underestimated just how much concussion there’d be from these slugs. He stumbled, collapsing against the bot. As soon as he did, the whine permeating his brain faded, replaced by that rush of information again.

  More bits and pieces stuck to him. Alarm. Intruders.

  Converge.

  Attack.

  There was more, but the world picked that moment to rotate sideways and turn softly grey, and then black.

  “Dash?”

  The voice came from a million miles away—from the top of a cliff that nudged the heavens, and he was sprawled at the bottom.

  “Dash. Wake up.”

  He groaned. I don’t want to wake up, he thought. Not when my hangover is that bad. I just want to sleep, to get over what must have been one hell of a night.

  “Dash! Open your eyes!”

  The voice cracked like a whip. Dash’s eyes flicked open involuntarily, and he saw blurs. Blurs that were moving. Blurs that were—

  “Leira?” He had to say it around a tongue that felt like a cold slab of meat. “Ragsdale?”

  “He’s lucid,” Leira said. “That’s something, at least.”

  “Lucid,” he mumbled. “Yeah. Let’s call it that.”

  With Leira’s and Ragsdale’s help, Dash levered himself up to a sitting position. He saw consoles around him, and the bot that had attacked him was squatting less than a meter away. Acrid smoke curled from the shattered sensor cluster.

  Oh. Right. He’d blasted that apart.

  Dash looked at his hand and hissed in pain. Someone had sprayed glistening first aid gel over it, but it didn’t hide the multitude of lacerations, some of them wide and deep.

  “Okay,” he said, “that’s been better.”

  “No shit,” Ragsdale said. “You’re not supposed to fire slugs at…what would you call even closer than point-blank range, anyway?”

  “Sub-optimal,” Leira said, relief and exasperation in her voice. “Maybe even dumb.”

  “I didn’t even think the damned things were supposed to arm until they’d travelled at least a couple of meters from the muzzle,” Amy said from somewhere be
hind Dash. “Supposed to be a safety feature.”

  Dash sniffed. “Eh, I disabled that a long time ago.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Seemed like a good idea at the time.” He looked at the bot. “Besides, it worked, didn’t it?”

  They helped him to his feet. The tell-tale buzz of a stim injection someone had given him put a sharp edge on his thoughts, rapidly clearing away the fuzz of his unconsciousness.

  “Yeah, it worked alright,” Leira said, glaring at him. “A little too well. You almost killed yourself, killing that bot.”

  “Almost being the operative word.” He grimaced at the wrecked machine. “That stuff, liquid Dark Metal, or whatever it is—it seemed to give it extra protection somehow.”

  “It did,” Viktor said, crouching and studying the inert bot. “I don’t understand how it came to be covered in it like this, though.”

  “I do.” Dash winced at his hand again. Fortunately, the first aid gel was busily at work, dulling the pain and rapidly turning clotted blood to scabs. “It goes back to those tanks we found a few compartments back. The big, transparent ones.”

  Viktor stood. His own shoulder looked mostly restored, the gel having done days of healing in maybe a couple of hours. “What do you mean?”

  Dash nodded at the bot. “Some of those tanks are for things like this—what we call machines.”

  “What do you mean, what we call machines?” Conover asked, glancing back from the console he’d been studying. “That implies, what, that you’d call them something different?”

  “Not me. The Golden. They don’t seem to distinguish between organic life, like us, and machines, like these bots.”

  “Okay, that doesn’t make any sense,” Leira said. “They’re machines, and they want to wipe out all organic life.” Her face tightened into a puzzled frown. “Don’t they? Or did we have this wrong this whole time?”

  “No, you’re right,” Dash said. “It’s more complicated than that, though. There’s more to it.” He shrugged. “Their purpose is more—I don’t want to say nuanced, because they have a single goal. Their methods aren’t entirely linear, though, but I’m learning.”