The Messenger Box Set: Books 1-6

by J. N. Chaney

  “Yeah, that’s not likely,” Dash said. Since that meeting, he’d been stuck turning this new development, and Ragsdale’s comments about it, over and over in his head. It wasn’t something he’d really given much thought. As they made life harder for the Verity in some ways, the bastards would find other ways to get what they wanted. The navy—of the Realm—needed to start anticipating their likely response as Dash and his people continued to make their presence felt.

  Ragsdale sighed, long and slow, as the people shuffled along, directed by several of the Gentle Friends who were acting as guides—and guards. “And refugees is what these people are for sure. I’ll say it again, Dash. I think bringing them here, to the Forge, was an unnecessary risk.”

  “We’ve been through this,” Viktor said, frowning at the security chief. “One look at the state of those ships told Benzel all he needed to know. They were on their last legs. There was no way they were going to make it to anything resembling a friendly system that would be willing to take them in. The Forge was as far as they were going to go.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Ragsdale said. “It’s just that bringing an influx of—how many are there? One hundred and some?”

  “One hundred and twelve,” Viktor said.

  “Bringing a hundred and twelve strangers aboard the Forge, while the war’s escalating and the Verity are changing their tactics—” Ragsdale shrugged. “I just don’t like it.”

  “I don’t like it either,” Dash said, watching as this last group lined up, awaiting scanning and processing by Viktor and the Gentle Friends. “But what was the alternative? Let them die in space? Didn’t they say they were out of food and could synthesize enough for maybe a third of their number, if that?”

  “The translation drive on that smaller of the two freighters out there was almost shot,” Viktor said. “That ship, for sure, wasn’t going any further than this—and probably can’t be salvaged, either.”

  Dash took a moment to study the refugees. They stood huddled in a group, about twenty of them, as many as could be jammed into the cargo pod for the crossing to the Forge. Scruffy only began to describe them—they were dirty, dishevelled, their hair greasy, their clothing stained, dark circles around their eyes accentuating pale, haunted faces. Even a dozen paces away, Dash caught hints of their stink, a pungent reek of unwashed bodies. One in particular caught his attention: a girl, maybe seven or eight years old, clutching a little toy robot with a missing leg. She seemed so small and frail that a strong enough waft from the ventilators might just puff her away to dust.

  And terrified. They were all absolutely terrified, every one of them.

  This is the future, Dash thought. If we don’t defeat the Golden and their damned minions, then whatever sentient life wasn’t outright destroyed would be left fleeing in packed, failing ships, desperately seeking a refuge they’d never find, their inhuman pursuers remorselessly closing in.

  Kai had it right. The Enemy of All Life, indeed.

  “Yeah, I know,” Ragsdale said.

  Dash glanced at him. “Know what?”

  “You’re looking at that little girl and thinking children. Those Verity assholes don’t give a shit that they’re preying on children.” He crossed his arms. “I have a niece about her age. So, while I still think it’s a damned risky thing, bringing these people here, I’m glad we did.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Dash said.

  This is the future?

  His eyes still on the little girl, Dash thought, not while I’m the Messenger, it’s not.

  “Okay, Custodian, what exactly is so urgent?” Dash said. “I’ve got everyone waiting up in the War Room.”

  He stopped as he entered the holding bay, a smaller version of one of the Forge’s docking bays, where finished ships and equipment were stored as they underwent their final checks before deployment.

  “So everyone isn’t waiting in the War Room,” he said. “Conover, what are you doing here?”

  Conover shrugged. “Not sure. Custodian just said I should come here so he could talk to you and me.”

  Dash made a huh sound, and then his attention was caught by what was being tractored in. “Uh, Custodian, what the hell is that?”

  The ship now being set to rest in the bay was like nothing they’d seen the Forge manufacture so far. It was small, about ten meters long, and shaped like a long, slender arrowhead. But as soon as he looked past the outward shape of the thing, he realized the design was much more subtle than it first appeared. The entire craft was essentially an airfoil, meaning it would generate lift across its entire surface area. Dash had never flown many vessels designed for atmospheric use; he was more used to spaceships, like the Slipwing, that had some ability to maneuver in atmo, mostly by brute-force use of thrusters. When it came to atmospheric maneuvers, this thing would run rings around the Slipwing and ships like her.

  “In your parlance, this would be called a Mako,” Custodian said. “It is an atmospheric fighter, the schematic drawn from the Creators’ databases. Sentinel had described how you felt we would eventually need the capability to fight inside atmospheric envelopes, using aerodynamic designs such as this one. I took the liberty of fabricating one for you to review.”

  Dash raised his eyebrows and glanced at Conover. “Okay, I’m impressed, I have to admit. This thing looks fast even when it’s standing still.”

  “It is impressive,” Conover said. “No translation drive, though.”

  “The Mako can be deployed in two modes,” Custodian said. “It can be translation capable, which requires the addition of a module containing the drive, its antimatter fuel, and its control interface. This module can be jettisoned to lessen atmospheric drag and improve performance.”

  “Doesn’t that kind of make it a one-way trip?” Dash asked.

  “It does. If that is not desirable, then the translation module can be retained. Alternatively, the Mako can be carried on board larger, translation-capable vessels, deployed for action, and then recovered.”

  “No weapons, either,” Conover said.

  “Weapons have yet to be installed. Missiles and a scaled down dark-lance are the usual load-out. However, the Mako may be a good candidate for installation of the cannon you and Leira recovered from the crashed Golden ship on the comet.”

  “Can this thing generate enough power for that?”

  “Suitable power supply and distribution modifications would be made, yes.”

  Dash gave the Mako an enthusiastic nod. “Okay, then. Conover, let’s head up to the War Room and fill everyone in on this.” Dash started to turn away, but he stopped when Custodian spoke with some urgency.

  “Messenger, there is another matter, which is the reason I asked Conover to attend here.”

  Dash turned back. “What’s that?”

  “The Mako was designed as a prototype, late in the last cycle of the war. The conflict ended before it could be deployed. So it is untested—however, most of the design is sound, being based on pre-existing technology.”

  Dash and Conover exchanged a look. “Most of it is based on existing tech?” Dash asked.

  “Yes. But it was designed with an experimental flight control system, one derived from the Meld used to allow you and Leira to communicate with the Archetype and the Swift.”

  “Okay,” Dash said, frowning. “Where are you going with this?”

  “The interface that was used to join you and Leira to your mechs is not suited to the Mako, as the flight control system is intended to interface directly with the pilot’s thoughts. In essence, the pilot would think about what he wished to do, and the flight control system would implement that.”

  “That’s amazing,” Conover said. “The pilot can concentrate on strategy and tactics, and not have to worry about the details of flying the ship. And it would all happen at the speed of thought.”

  “What’s this got to do with Conover?” Dash asked.

  “The system depends on a neural interface with its pilot’s conscious and uncons
cious thoughts. The interface used for the Archetype and the Swift isn’t designed to do that. Designing such a system will take considerable time and research, and will require a test subject willing to be subjected to various studies, some of them invasive.”

  “Oh, crap—you want to cut someone open?”

  “No, I explicitly do not wish to do that, Messenger. However, a subject who already had a technological interface with his brain, and therefore his thoughts, could be employed as a pilot for the Mako with minimal modification.”

  Dash looked at Conover—more specifically, at his eye implants. “You want to hook Conover up to this thing through his eyes?”

  “The interface would be non-invasive. It would be possible to transmit and receive data optically, by means of a headset that encloses Conover’s eyes.”

  Conover looked at Dash but said nothing.

  “What are the risks?” Dash asked Custodian.

  “Of establishing the interface itself? Minimal. It is possible that Conover may experience a period of disorientation, and perhaps headaches, after removing the interface. However, there would be no other significant risks.”

  “Except for the fact that he’d be flying into combat,” Dash said.

  Conover swallowed. “I can do that.”

  Dash smiled, but he knew it would come out a little sad. He couldn’t help it. It wasn’t that Conover wouldn’t be able to do it, and it wasn’t that Dash doubted his bravery. No, it was because Conover was…Conover. A goofy kid, who was probably the brightest of all of them, and still in the throes of an obvious teenage crush. He was young, and Dash hated that the universe was conspiring against him doing the things a teenager should be doing, rather than preparing for an escalation into warrior status.

  He put his hand on Conover’s shoulder. “I know you can, Conover. Trust me, you have nothing to prove to us. Hell, you probably single-handedly saved the Forge when that Golden drone embedded itself in it and threatened to blow up.”

  “That was me and Amy.”

  “Yeah, I know. Credit to Amy, sure, but she told me that it all basically came down to you. And you’ve handled yourself well since. But—”

  Conover frowned. “You don’t think I should do it.”

  Dash struggled for something to say that would capture how he was feeling about this. He finally just shrugged.

  “Like I said, Conover, I have no doubt at all you could fly this thing, and fly it well. But, let’s face it, you’re no soldier. You’re more about how things work, and how to make them work better. You’re not about blowing things up.”

  Now Conover seemed to be the one struggling to figure out what he wanted to say. He finally sighed, a sour noise of resignation.

  “Dash, I’m glad I’ve been able to help the way I have. But, what it’s going to ultimately come down to is fighting. The Dark Metal interferometer is great, and I’m proud of it, but we only need to find Dark Metal to make weapons, like the Mako here.” He sighed again. “I know you’re trying to protect me. And don’t get me wrong, I really don’t want to die.” He looked at the Mako. “But if I can pilot this, and it’s going to help us fight this war, how can I not?”

  Dash desperately wanted a reason to say, no, you don’t need to do this, you can stay here on the Forge and keep using that brain of yours, and leave the fighting to those of us cursed with the instincts of a killer. Conover, to Dash, was still a kid, an innocent, not much different from the frightened, dishevelled little refugee girl.

  Except that wasn’t true. Conover really wasn’t an innocent, no matter how much Dash wanted to believe he was. Hell, just a moment ago he’d said Conover had nothing to prove, hadn’t he?

  Dash gave up and started to nod his head, but an impulse made him hug Conover instead. After a moment, Conover hugged him back.

  They separated and Dash started to speak, but he had to work at it around a sudden lump in his throat. “Look what you’ve done,” he finally said. “Got me choked up. No one’s managed that in a long time.”

  “Sorry,” Conover said.

  “Nah, don’t be. Don’t mind me. I just need to get used to the idea of you being a warrior, out there killing stuff. That just doesn’t fit my image of you, you know?”

  “Yeah. I get it. But I need to do this, Dash. Not just for the, you know, greater good and all that. I need to do it for me. I need to be part of what you and Amy, and Leira and Benzel and all the others go through every time you launch from the Forge. I can’t just keep standing here and watching you go and not knowing who’s coming back.”

  Dash nodded. “Okay. You hook up with Custodian after our meeting in the War Room, and you guys do whatever you need to do to get ready.”

  As they headed for the War Room, Dash thought about Conover going into battle, and about terrified little girls fleeing for their lives. He found himself hating the Golden, the Verity, and all the rest of them that much more.

  For a long moment, Dash and the rest of the Inner Circle gathered in the War Room just stared at the holo-map of the galactic arm. Dash had asked Custodian to portray essentially whatever they had learned on the map, from any source—the databases of the Unseen, those he’d uploaded from the Slipwing, Snow Leopard, and Rockhound, from their own experience. There, he thought, is Clan Shirna’s space, the Pasture, and the place where he’d found the Archetype. And over there was Gulch, the planet on which a massive Golden battlecruiser had crashed thousands of years ago, now within a day’s journey of Ragsdale’s home settlement of Port Hannah. Everywhere he looked were systems where’d they confronted the Golden, the Bright, or the Verity.

  Leira summed it all up. “So what?”

  Dash shrugged. “Somewhere amid all that stuff is what we’re looking for: a vulnerable place, a weak point, something we can exploit.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and walked around the image, and then through it, just to get a view of it from the other side—galactic down—in case there might be something of interest that jumped out from that.

  “If I may, I believe that the missile platform you defeated and salvaged was a strongpoint, intended to defend an approach to the Verity home world,” Custodian said. “That means that home world must be nearby.”

  “What makes you say that?” Viktor asked.

  “The missile platform was a resource-intensive installation. It could move under its own power, and even translate, but this was clearly so it could be redeployed, as it had no real ability to maneuver. Such an expensive and cumbersome construct would likely only be used to protect something of value. Their home world is the most obvious candidate, but it could be something else they consider important.”

  Dash stepped back through the image and turned, so that his vantage point had him looking down into the galaxy. “Have to admit, Custodian, that’s a good point.” Dash found the site of the battle against the missile platform and studied it. The others moved in for a closer look—except for Ragsdale, who got a call on his comm and stepped out into the corridor.

  “You know, that might explain why those three ships that gave us so much trouble were there, too,” Wei-Ping said. “If their home system is nearby, they’d probably keep assets like that on hand to protect it.”

  Dash nodded, suddenly caught up in the enthusiasm of the moment. “Yeah. Okay. So, it must be—what, one of these systems here? Six of them total?”

  Benzel leaned in. “Yeah, one of those.” He pointed at a section of the star map nearby. “See this? This rift? No stars for a good twenty light years, all the way along this arc. So, if the Verity kept their defenses on the same side of this rift as that missile platform—”

  “Then it really narrows things down to those six systems Dash just pointed out,” Leira said, nodding.

  “My recommendation is to focus priority on those systems and determine the best candidate, or candidates, for the Verity home world,” Custodian said. “That would be a logical primary objective, as a threat to it would similarly focus the attention of the Verity there.” />
  “And maybe convince them to stop attacking settlements,” Viktor muttered.

  Dash nodded. “Yeah. Secondary objectives would be any place we think they’re still running one of their Sirens,” he said, using the term they’d chosen for the Verity operations to yank ships out of unSpace. “So, here’s the plan—”

  “Excuse me,” Ragsdale said, stepping back into the room. “There’s one of the refugees insisting on speaking to you right away, Dash. It’s Temo, their main spokesperson.”

  Dash waved Ragsdale off. “Kinda busy here. If he’s got an issue with accommodation or whatever, it’ll have to wait until—”

  “No, he says he has information he’s been waiting to pass on—about the Verity. He says we’d probably consider it important.”

  Dash looked around the others, who generally shrugged. “Okay then, have him join us. Uh, Custodian, wipe everything off this map except the stars themselves.”

  “Don’t trust him?” Leira asked.

  “Don’t know him,” Dash replied. “I think I spoke maybe six words to the guy. Anyway, better safe than sorry, right?”

  Ragsdale reappeared, Temo in tow. Still rail-thin and pale, the man had at least showered and cleaned up, and now wore a set of coveralls pulled out of the spares the Gentle Friends had aboard the Snow Leopard. His eyes darted around the room as he entered, and he wrung his hands together. Dash noticed that one of them was a prosthetic, and cheaply made given the texture. There were better versions available, ones almost indistinguishable from the real thing, but they were probably well beyond the means of a man like this.

  “You say you have something to tell us that we’ll consider important,” Dash said. “So, here’s your chance. We’re listening, Temo.”

  Temo shuffled his feet. “Yes. Thank you. I—” He stopped and looked around nervously.

  Dash put on his most disarming smile. “Don’t worry, we’re all pretty friendly here.”

  “Yeah,” Viktor muttered. “Just a bunch of shady couriers and pirates.”