by J. N. Chaney
“That’s true, unfortunately,” Benzel said. “Your ships are in the same situation as ours were, like the Snow Leopard. She’s a damned good ship, and we’ve upgraded her as much as her systems allow, but she’s still second line at best. To make her first line, we’d, well, pretty much have to just build a brand new ship here at the Forge and name her the Snow Leopard.”
“Still,” Al’Bijea said. “This line—the axis along which you intend to advance the Forge, there are systems a smaller power like us can investigate, and even secure. That would free up your first-line assets for direct battle with the Golden.”
Dash nodded, again impressed. Al’Bijea not only had business acumen, he clearly had a keen strategic mind. They’d have to have him involved in their planning—”
Conover burst into the room.
He stood in the doorway, almost hyperventilating. “Dash, everyone, you need to come see what we’ve found.”
“What is it?” Leira asked.
But Conover shook his head. “Better if I show you. You’ll need to come down to the fabrication plant.”
As they exchanged looks, they all began to stand and Dash gave Conover a bemused look. “Do we really need a dramatic reveal here? Can you at least give us a hint?”
“It’s something that might change everything,” he said. “It might even be the key to winning this war.”
As he turned and began leading them back down to the fabrication level, Leira looked at Dash and shrugged. “Dramatic reveal it is, I guess.”
“This was included in the Golden tech you retrieved from that cache on Burrow,” Conover said, gesturing at a holo-image of a partial schematic of—something. To Dash, it just looked like a random piece of machinery apparently called a Shroud. There was nothing to indicate what it was for.
He gave Conover a questioning look. “Okay. And what, exactly, does a Shroud do?”
Viktor answered. “Based on the limited data we’ve managed to retrieve from this Golden tech, they hacked or stole a partial plan for building this Shroud.”
“But they couldn’t break the encryption, it seemed, and extract any other info,” Amy said, crouching beside one of the pieces of Golden tech scattered across the holding bay’s deck. Somehow, despite none of the alien items involving lubrication, she’d managed to get something smeared on her cheek that looked like hatch grease. It made Dash smile.
“They got this much out of it, it seems,” Conover went on, waving a hand at the schematic. “Then they stashed it, and all this other stuff, on Burrow for—well, reasons. I mean, who knows why they do the things they do?”
Dash nodded. “True.” He rubbed his chin. “And there’s nothing to indicate what it does? I thought you said this could be a game changer.”
Conover’s grin turned smug. “I was saving that part.”
“More dramatic reveal,” Leira said, sniffing. “You guys want a drumroll?”
Conover shrugged. “Sorry, but this is big. See, a Shroud, whatever it is, makes power cores.”
A moment passed in stunned silence for Dash and his people, bemused silence for Al’Bijea and his. Finally, the Aquarian leader said, “I gather this is significant?”
Dash turned to him. “Oh. Yeah. More than significant. Conover’s right, this would be a game changer.”
“Because…?”
“Oh, sorry,” Dash said. “Caught up in the moment. All of this Unseen tech—the Archetype and the Swift, the ships of the Silent Fleet like the Herald, even the Forge itself—they all run on these power cores.”
“And they’re really about much more than just producing power, although they definitely do that,” Viktor said. “They also make it possible for that power to be distributed to where it’s needed, when it’s needed.”
“They also usually contain information,” Conover said. “New data that tells us new things about the Golden, or new tech that we can build, that sort of thing. They’re kind of a big deal.”
“Which means that being able to make our own would be a huge deal,” Dash said. “For one, it would save us running all over the galactic arm, and beyond, hunting the damned things down.”
Al’Bijea frowned. “The Unseen have scattered these cores all over the place? Why would they do that if they wanted you to find and use their tech against the Golden?”
“That’s an excellent question,” Leira said. “Even their own AIs don’t seem to know their reason for it. We assume it’s so that anyone who happened to stumble on their tech—especially the Golden or their agents—wouldn’t find something already fully powered up, and would have to be able to retrieve the pieces they needed to get it that way.”
“But it might be because they just love sending people on scavenger hunts,” Dash said, crossing his arms. “Or it’s something spiritual, or that they’re just dicks. For that matter, the reason might be an entirely alien one that wouldn’t make any sense to us even if we did know what it was. But that doesn’t change the fact that decentralized power sources make the Golden that much more difficult to defeat.”
“What it is, is frustrating,” Amy said. “I mean, these guys have gone looking for way more of these cores than I have, and it still drives me crazy. Just give us the tech already so we can run off these Golden assholes!”
Dash looked around. “So where’s that power core now?”
“Kai has it in the engine room,” Conover answered. “We didn’t want to install it without your say-so, Dash.”
“Oh. Okay. Custodian, can you see any reason we shouldn’t just go ahead and plug that new core in?”
“None is evident,” the AI replied. “However, my protocols are clear. Only the Messenger may allow a power core to be installed in the Forge.”
Dash paused, then gave a decisive nod. “Kai, you can go ahead and plug that core in.”
“I’m doing so now,” came the monk’s reply over the comm.
A moment passed. They all waited, some of them looking around as though something momentous might happen.
But nothing changed.
“Well, that was anticlimactic,” Al’Bijea said.
Dash gave a wry smile, though. “Hey, when we do something like that and nothing blows up, it’s a win.”
“Custodian,” Conover said, his voice taut with anticipation. “What happened?”
No response.
Now the looks exchanged became nervous ones. Dash put his hands on his hips. “Custodian?”
“My apologies,” the AI said. “I was experiencing an upgrade and was briefly offline. The Forge’s power levels have been increased by fifteen percent. Power distribution efficiency has increased twenty-two percent. Another section of the Forge has been powered up and is now available for use.”
“Oh.” Dash nodded. “That’s all—well, both good and a pleasant surprise. Any more ideas about this Shroud thing, though, or what it actually is? These schematics don’t look complete.”
“They are not complete. As surmised, the schematic you are viewing was all that the Golden were able to extract from this core. These are the complete schematics.”
The image changed. It was the same machine, but with far more detail included.
Viktor and Conover both studied it closely. “It says something here about power cores and Dark Metal,” Conover said.
“Yes,” Custodian replied. “In essence, the Shroud uses Dark Metal to fabricate power cores.”
“I sense that things may be coming together,” Al’Bijea said. “We have the remains of a facility on the Ring that was apparently used by the Golden to produce Dark Metal. And now you have a means of turning Dark Metal into these power cores, which are fundamental to the war effort.”
Dash turned to Conover and slapped him on the shoulder. “I know this was a team effort, but damn, kid, you were right. This could be the key to winning this war.”
“Dash,” Sentinel cut in. “I have an urgent matter to bring to your attention.”
Dash winced and automatically looked around. The last time s
omething urgent happened, it was a Verity force infiltrating the Forge, followed by a ferocious brawl. The damage was still being repaired.
He recovered quickly, shaking off the echo of that firefight. “What are you talking about, Sentinel?”
“This is a matter with security implications.”
Dash looked around at his companions, including Al’Bijea and his people. “Go ahead. Everyone here is part of the team.”
“During a routine test of the Archetype’s comm systems, I noted an anomaly in a sideband range to one of the radio spectrum frequencies we normally use. After analysis, I was able to determine that it is a transmission that has been hidden in that sideband range as radio noise. It is, however, modulated and contains information.”
“What sort of information?”
“Unknown. It is encrypted in a way that neither Tybalt nor I can readily break.”
“That doesn’t sound like standard tech,” Amy said. “That sounds like something the Unseen would use—or the Golden.”
Dash nodded. “Yeah. So where is this signal coming from?”
“From inside the Forge. And someone appears to be responding, also from inside the Forge.”
“We’ve got spies aboard,” Leira said.
Dash nodded again, grimly. “Yeah. Where’s that guy we caught trying to sneak tech off the Forge—Sturdivan, I think his name was? We shipped him away, didn’t we?”
“We did,” Benzel said. “But he might have had accomplices.”
“I have isolated the general location of both signals,” Custodian put in. “I am showing them now.”
A schematic of the Forge replaced the Shroud, with two locations marked as flashing icons.
“Okay,” Dash said. His voice was rich with disgust. “Let’s run these bastards down.”
“Most of the Gentle Friends are off the Forge,” Wei-Ping said. “They’re aboard the Herald and the Snow Leopard, doing maintenance and repairs, plus we still have some teams sweeping the Greenbelt for any more hidden Verity. We don’t have many people on the Forge right now, and it’s going to take a while to bring them back.”
“Go ahead and call at least a few squads back,” Dash said. “But we’re not going to wait. Viktor, you and Amy stay here with Al’Bijea and his people, protect them and this tech. Leira, take Benzel and whatever Gentle Friends you can find to go find this one.” He pointed at one of the flashing icons. “I’ll take Wei-Ping and go after the other.”
Harolyn stepped forward. “I realize I’m no soldier, Dash, but you don’t do geological surveys on remote fringe planets without learning something about fighting.”
Dash looked at her, then nodded. “Fair enough. You know how to shoot?”
“Point the gun, pull the trigger, make the bad guy go away.” Harolyn shrugged, earning a smile from Dash.
“Clean and simple,” Dash said.
“Not if I shoot them,” Harolyn replied, her lips a grim line.
Dash stopped, the pulse gun he’d retrieved from the armory ready, and peered around a corner along a corridor just one level above the main fabricating plant. This was déjà vu for sure; hadn’t he just done this a short while ago, hunting and fighting the Verity? And that was on top of the whole Sturdivan thing? Why were they suddenly having so many security problems aboard the Forge?
He filed that thought away as something to discuss with Ragsdale, who had been aboard the Greenbelt when Sentinel’s security came up. The Security Chief was rushing back now, preceded by a stream of curses over the comm that would have made a dock worker on Passage blush.
Dash glanced back. Harolyn was right behind him, and Wei-Ping behind her. He gave them a wait sign, then said, his voice hushed, “Custodian, any update on the location of that signal?”
“The last transmission originated ten meters from your current position,” Custodian replied, the volume of his speech likewise reduced. “Along the corridor to your right, and then immediately to the left around the next bend.”
Dash looked back again, gave a nod, and rounded the corner. He crept along the corridor, trying to keep his footfalls silent enough to be lost in the background rumble of the Forge’s multitude of operating systems.
He stopped again, just short of the corner, then he crouched and looked around it.
A man knelt in the corridor about five meters away. Dash vaguely recognized him as a refugee from Burrow. He’d removed an access panel from the bulkhead, and now fiddled with a piece of tech in his hand, something he apparently wanted to insert into whatever circuits or conduits he’d exposed.
Dash looked back at his companions, nodded, then stepped around the corner, his pulse-gun leveled.
“Stop, back away from that bulkhead with your hands where I can—”
The man spun and fired a small slug-pistol he’d apparently been holding out of sight, three shots in rapid succession. Two shots snapped past Dash like whip cracks, and one struck the bulkhead beside him and fragmented. Something touched Dash’s neck with a bright flare of pain.
He spat a curse and dodged aside, firing the pulse-gun. The shot flashed down the corridor, striking another bulkhead near the next intersection. The spy fired his slug-pistol again; this time, the round smacked into the pulse-gun, which gave a shrill error beep.
The entire exchange lasted three seconds. Dash flung the disabled pulse-gun at the man and meant to dodge back into the side corridor with Harolyn and Wei-Ping. But some instinct drove him forward instead, and he charged the spy.
The man flinched as he ducked the thrown pulse-gun, then his eyes widened as he saw Dash charging him. He fired again, two shots, but they cracked past Dash. Someone behind Dash uttered a sharp cry, but Dash didn’t have time to turn back or do anything but stop this man. He slammed into him with a body tackle, knocking him back with an explosive breath and the dull snap of a rib.
Dash lost track of the slug-pistol, but there was no time to do anything but get his arms free to swing. He landed a solid blow on the side of the man’s head. The man grunted then headbutted Dash back, making the world flash green and another of those shrill, endless whines flood his skull. Dash lashed out blindly, satisfied to hear the spy’s nose crunch and crumple.
The man heaved, threw Dash aside, and lunged for something—the device he’d been intending to plant behind the bulkhead. Dash grabbed him and pulled him back, making his clutching fingers fall just a few centimeters short. Beyond the man, he saw Harolyn standing with a pulse-gun, desperately trying to line up a clear shot; Wei-Ping was down a couple of meters behind her. He had no time to even think about that.
“Harolyn, grab that device!”
She lunged forward, kicked the man’s hand away, then scooped up the device and yanked it away. The spy reversed and lunged back, slamming a fist at Dash that almost caught him square in the face. Dash hit back, and the next few seconds passed with the two of them rolling across the corridor, each desperately trying to land a solid on the other.
This man was, Dash realized, both stronger and more skilled than he was. A knee drove into his gut, and a fist finally connected, snapping his head to one side and amping up that damned whine. Worse, he saw the slug-pistol was still in the man’s hand, and he was trying to get it back into play. Dash saw the muzzle coming around—saw that they were now piled against a door.
“Custodian,” Dash shouted. “Open the door!”
The portal slid open and they both toppled partly into the compartment beyond. The man swore and brought the pistol up again.
Dash threw himself back, keeping his weight on the man’s waist and legs. “Custodian, close the door!”
It closed with the spy still sprawled halfway across the threshold. He screamed, an awful, rising shriek that suddenly cut off when the door shut fully, seated inside the frame.
Dash fell back, gasping.
Harolyn appeared beside him, kneeling. “Dash, can you hear me? You okay?”
“Yeah. Shit—yeah.” He sucked in a breath. “Wei-Ping. How
’s Wei—?”
“I’m fine,” she snapped, clutching at her leg. “Asshole caught me with a lucky shot—damn, but that feels like fire in my veins.”
Harolyn helped Dash sit back against the bulkhead opposite the now very-messily dead spy. “Leira—status?”
“Dash? You okay? You sound—”
“Bit of a tussle. I’m fine.”
“We caught the spy,” Leira said. “She came at us with a carbon-knife. Conover shot her.”
Dash remembered the only other time he recalled Conover shooting and killing a man, on Shylock, when they’d been racing to get off the planet with Kai and his monks. The experience had shaken the kid, badly.
“Conover, how about you? Are you okay?”
“Uh—yeah, I’m fine. Not a scratch.”
“Yeah, but you—you know, shot someone.”
“Yup. It’s funny, it was a lot easier this time,” Conover said, his voice seemingly unconcerned.
Dash let his head sink back against the bulkhead, suddenly weary beyond words—and not just because of the fight.
Because of this war, Conover had gone from a wide-eyed kid who romanticized space and everything about it, to a young man who could shoot and kill someone without much care.
Conover had said, It’s funny. But there was nothing funny about that at all.
They’d taken Wei-Ping to the infirmary to have her gunshot treated. It was a nasty wound, but only through the meaty part of her thigh and relatively easy for the Forge’s medical systems to patch up. Dash also had his neck wound treated; an even more minor wound, thankfully.
“The slug fragment that struck you penetrated your neck and passed four centimeters from your jugular vein,” Custodian said, while a pair of articulated arms deftly attended to his wound. “Had it opened the vein—”
“You don’t need to go into details,” Dash said. “I get the picture.” He looked at Harolyn, who’d raised her eyebrows and now gave Dash a wow look.
“That wouldn’t have been good,” she said.
“Especially from this side,” Dash agreed.
They’d taken what they could from the bodies of the two spies and returned to the War Room. Harolyn placed the device she’d retrieved on the table. “Custodian, can you identify this?”