Ix Incursion: The Chaos Wave Book 2

by James Palmer

“You can ask them later,” said Hamilton. “Right now let’s just try to stay alive.”

  “Roger that,” said the gunner. “Returning fire.”

  They could feel the muffled thump of the rail gun as its one hundred electromagnets fired a depleted uranium shell at their attacker. Everyone on the command deck watched expectantly as it struck its target, exploded—and did little if any damage.

  “Damn!” said Hamilton. “Let’s see what we can do with the ion cannons.”

  “How are our Draconi friends holding up?” asked Leda, still trying to clear her mind of what she had just experienced. Her right temple itched horribly, but she again resisted the urge to scratch it.

  “They ignored our formation suggestions,” said Hudson. “They’ve each veered off in a different direction, going straight into the heart of the Chaos Wave’s attack configuration.”

  “You’ve gotta admire their spunk,” muttered Cade.

  “Let’s hope that spunk buys us some time,” said Hamilton.

  Hamilton watched the tactical display as the blue rectangles representing the enemy fleet spat out smaller star-shaped dots. “What the hell are those?”

  “Some kind of small fighters,” said Cade. He punched a series of buttons on his workstation, and a smaller holographic viewer formed in the air, showing a somewhat grainy picture of what the fighters actually looked like. They had a central shaft and four razor-shaped wings jutting out from them, and appeared to be composed of the same blue-gray metal as the main ships.

  “They’re incredible fast,” said Hudson. “No telling what kind of g-forces they might be pulling.”

  “They could be automated,” said Leda. She looked up at Hamilton, who read her expression. “There’s something else too.”

  “What is it?”

  “A moment ago, when we first pulled into orbit, I got a strange sensation. I could hear the beings on the other vessels. They were uttering a single word: Ix. Ix. Ix. Over and over again. I think this is what they call themselves.”

  Hamilton nodded grimly. The light from the tactical display was reflected in his eyes. “Good to know.”

  He glanced at her once more. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Of course,” said Leda, her words sounding too slow, even to her. The next moment she was sitting on the deck, swaying dizzily.

  “Medic!” Hamilton shouted from a thousand miles away.

  In her head she heard them. Ix. Ix. Ix. In her mind’s eye she saw them, nightmare sculptures of gleaming blue metal. Eyes like blood red jewels. They were coming for her.

  She felt a hand touch her. It was cold, and the fingers ended in razor sharp blades. She pulled away.

  “It’s all right, Leda,” said Hamilton. “Let him help you.”

  Leda looked around. The Ix that had surrounded her were gone. And the hand touching her was human, sheathed in a diagnostic gauntlet. A brown-haired medic she couldn’t name was scanning her vitals.

  “I’m all right,” she said through gritted teeth. “Just help me up.

  The medic helped her into the command chair and continued his scan.

  “You’re not fine,” said Hamilton. The ship shook, and a control panel at the far end of the command deck exploded in a shower of sparks. “Tamp that down!” he snapped.

  “They’re out there,” Leda said. “The Ix. I can feel them.”

  “She’s got a low grade fever,” said the medic. “Heart rate was high, but it’s coming down now. Blood pressure normal. What most concerns me is that.” He pointed to Leda’s right temple, which was itching fiercely now.

  “I said I’m fine.”

  The medic followed the circuitry with his eyes down the curve of Leda’s neck. “Roll up your sleeve, Commander.”

  Leda did so. Her arm was red, inflamed and itching. She could see the circuitry growing, forming new connections. “This must be what’s causing the fever,” said the medic. “I’m going to need you to come with me to the med bay.”

  “I’m not leaving,” said Leda evenly. “We’re in the middle of a battle.”

  “That’s an order, Commander,” said Hamilton, his eyes still on the tactical display.

  “I said I’m fine!”

  Leda jumped out of the chair, shoving the medic in the chest. He flew backward a good five feet before landing in a heap against Brackett’s communication console.

  Everyone stared briefly at Leda. She looked at Hamilton. “I relieve myself of duty,” she said tearfully. “I will remain in my quarters.”

  Before Hamilton could say anything, Leda ran toward the exit. She paused briefly to mutter an apology to the medic, who stared up at her stupidly as she left the command deck.

  Hamilton watched as the medic slowly got to his feet and brushed himself off.

  “You OK?” he asked.

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “All right, everyone,” said Hamilton. “Show’s over. We’ve got a battle to win.”

  In the back of his mind Hamilton worried about Leda. What was happening to her? And what did it mean for all of them?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Nightshade

  Once they had returned to Tau Lambda Prime, Drizda negotiated a longer-term contract with the shrewd Zarl and Tarl, who clearly knew a profitable venture when they saw it. Under the circumstances, though, Drizda felt safer dealing with such mercenaries. It meant she could buy their loyalty, and they wouldn’t be likely to kill her and take the artifact and try and sell it on the black market. On the contrary, they seemed to be in love with the adventure this quest promised, though they still wanted to be well compensated for their trouble. Drizda paid them—happy for her generous endowment from the Draconi as well as the League Science Academies—and went to find temporary lodging for herself. Zarl and Tarl attracted too much attention, and she wanted to distance herself from them until she once again needed their services. They were more comfortable sleeping aboard their ship the Snark anyway.

  As for herself, she was traveling under an alias, and made sure to keep her clan markings covered with her leathern hood whenever she went outside, which she did infrequently. The world had teeth suddenly, as an old Draconi saying went, and fierce though she was she wasn’t overly eager to step into the jaws of danger after what had happened. For some reason having the Progenitor Icon on her person made her feel like she had a target imprinted upon her scales. But for all she knew she probably did. If the Magus had managed to free himself and get away before the Draconi authorities arrived at Shazara to apprehend him—but she pushed such thoughts from her mind.

  Her room was a simple affair. Just an outdated maker, a sleeping platform suited for her anatomy, and a tightbeam media interface, which she had turned on three standard days ago, and which was still blaring in the background. She sat on a stool near the sleeping platform, turning the object she had retrieved from Shazara over in her hands, staring at it. The tightbeam relayed bad news from all over the quadrant: a mass exodus as an incursion of alien vessels made their way through, destroying every living thing they encountered. There were lines hundreds of vessels long in front of many of the Q-gates, which the human and Draconi militaries had co-opted for their own use, prioritizing according to need. Drizda watched briefly scenes from some battle that a remote relay had captured before it too was destroyed. It had never gotten this bad, not even during the height of the Draconi-Human war. Whatever this Chaos Wave was, Drizda felt like it was going to win. Unless the triangular object in her hands was what she believed it to be.

  At one point, Drizda slept, but her dreams were troubling, full of vague chaos and death. The smell of blood was in her nostrils. At one point her tail thrashed, knocking over something. She’d get it later.

  Something else came to her through the haze of fitful sleep, an alien stimulus. She felt cool air against her skin, heard the almost imperceptible whir of tiny motors. Her tongue flicked from her mouth, tasting machine oil.

  Slowly, her nictitating membranes slide back f
rom her eyes, and she detected movement in the small hostel room. Someone was in there with her. Gripping her flechette pistol in one hand—for she had slept with it—the artifact in the other, Drizda made ready to pounce.

  “Hand it over, lizard,” said a human male in heavily accented Standard. “And I promise to make your death a painless one.”

  She sensed rather than saw the weapon aimed just inches from her head. She saw the booted feet of her attacker, and saw the carbon nanotube armature of his powered exoskeleton.

  “What do the Wanderers want with a Progenitor trinket?” she said.

  “You’re in no position to ask questions, lizard. Just hand it over.”

  She heard the thump of feet behind her. Her visitor wasn’t alone. She could smell their sweat and fear. She could slash the gunman’s companion with her tail, but she didn’t know exactly where he was. She could misjudge, and end up with a cloud of needles in her back. She played out various scenarios quickly in her mind, but there was no version that did not end with her death and the Wanderers taking the artifact. But if she gave it to them willingly, she would also be dead, and they’d have it.

  A warm, oily breeze blew through the still-open door. That was when the impossible happened.

  The man holding the gun to Drizda’s head staggered suddenly backward, crying out in pain as he dropped his weapon. Drizda jumped from the sleeping platform and landed in a crouch in front of him. A small black blade was lodged in his right wrist. He clutched at it, his face a rictus of pain, until another blade appeared suddenly in his throat. He choked out a gurgling cry as he fell against the wall and slumped to the floor.

  Drizda looked to see his companion locked in combat with a shadow. Drizda could sense there was something there, but it was clear her would-be assassin had no idea where his attacker was. He swung at empty air and missed, only to be pummeled backward by the deft fists of the shadow. She watched amazed as the shadow skillfully disabled her attacker’s exoskeleton in just the right places, making him as useless in a fight as a rag doll. He collapsed under the force of Lambda Prime’s gravity, then his nose and mouth filled with blood as the shadow struck him a final time in the face. He slumped to the floor, dead or unconscious Drizda didn’t know, and didn’t really care.

  Drizda focused on the shadow, a thing that was both there and not there, and trained her weapon on it.

  The shadow held up its right hand in a surrendering gesture, and touched something on its neck with its left. There was a shimmer, and a male human form was suddenly visible.

  “Easy there, Drizda,” he said, pulling a black hood off his head. “I’m Corporal Jason Hemlock. My friends call me Nightshade. It’s kind of my codename.”

  Drizda’s tongue flicked the air, tasting blood and machine oil. She got up from her crouch and stepped over the body of the lead Wanderer. “That’s an exuberant designation, Corporal. But I thank you for your assistance.”

  He smiled. “It comes from my last name: Hemlock. There’s a deadly Earth plant called hemlock, also known as nightshade.”

  Drizda nodded politely, as this bizarre fact seemed more important to her mysterious savior than it did to her. He was young, though she didn’t know enough about human aging and longevity to guess his age. His hair was reddish blond and was shaved into a buzz cut the human military required of its male members. He wore a form-fitting black suit composed of sturdy nanocarbon plate. A row of throwing knives was slung across it at belt height, and he was also equipped with numerous pouches and pockets containing a wide variety of things Drizda could not identify.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Commander Niles asked me to protect you,” he said. “I’m in Black Ops.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “Same way the Wanderers did. I asked around. It’s not safe here. We need to get you to a secure location.”

  Drizda nodded. Hemlock glanced out into the early morning gloom before closing the door and leaning against it. Drizda began gathering her things, thankful she always traveled light.

  “That’s very interesting armor,” she said. “How does it work? I saw little more than a shadow, but from the Wanderers’ reactions you were completely invisible to them.”

  “Yes, that’s true,” he said. “They couldn’t see me at all, but you Draconi can detect heat signatures. That’s why R&D scrapped them for use against your people. But they are great for reconnaissance against human enemies of the League.”

  She stared at him. “How did you know that?”

  The young soldier chose his words carefully before he spoke. “I imagine we know a lot about the other that we wouldn’t want to be common knowledge.”

  “Yes, Corporal,” said Drizda. “I suppose you’re right.” She remembered the early days of the Draconi-Human war and the human autopsies. Many Draconi wanted to study their enemy in this way, to learn how to more efficiently kill them. It had likely been the same with the humans. She decided she’d rather not think about it, and changed the subject.

  “What about these two?” she gestured at the dead Wanderers.

  “Leave them. Let the local authorities sort it out. There are lots of ways for Wanderers to come to tragic ends on this world. They’ll choose the one that promises less paperwork, and that will be that. But we need to be very far away from here when that happens.”

  “I’m coming,” she said. “I have a ship waiting, and capable pilots.”

  “Good,” said Hemlock. “I hitched a ride on a troop transport on its way to the Gameran system to help with evacuation efforts.”

  Drizda nodded. “It’s getting bad, isn’t it?”

  “I’m afraid so. I understand you might have the key to stopping all this.”

  “Yes,” said Drizda. “I’ll explain when we are in more secure surroundings.” She stepped toward the door. “After you, Nightshade.”

  Chapter Twenty:

  Aftermath

  Hamilton stood amid virtual, holographic fire.

  The battle was not going well. The 7th had lost ten ships within the first few hours, their massive frigates either incinerated by the Ix’s plasma weaponry or drilled full of holes by the aliens’ razor winged craft. The small Draconi fleet had done their race proud, but hadn’t fared much better. Hamilton watched helplessly as one by one the blips representing the Dragons’ vessels winked out of existence.

  They were beyond protecting Lethe at this point; Hamilton watched through the viewer as hundred-thousand mile wide forest fires started by the Ix’s plasma weapons consumed the planet. The world’s atmosphere filled with thick black smoke, blocking the deaths of millions from view.

  Gunner Cade busied himself with taking out as many razor winged ships that got too close with the ion cannons, having way more fun than he should, while the Zelazny’s rail gun hammered at the larger ships without causing much if any damage.

  Hamilton’s cochlear implant filled his head with chatter over the command circuit, as instructions and casualty reports went out from the other ships. Amid the chaos he heard the familiar voice of a gruff fleet commander bark. His orders were clear.

  “Hudson, get us the hell out of here,” said Hamilton. “We’re to pull back to the Gallas system.”

  “Plotting coordinates for the Q-gate now,” said the navigator. Gunner Cade continued taking pot shots at any of the small Ix fighters that strayed too close to the Zelazny’s hull. They had been lucky so far. Every one of the tiny craft that had approached them had either bounced off the deflector field or been incinerated by the ship’s ion cannons.

  “The rest of the fleet is following suit,” said Hudson. “The Ix are breaking off.”

  Hamilton nodded. “We’re no longer a threat to them, and they have a planet to destroy.”

  Hamilton smoothed his uniform front. “Alert me when we are through the Q-gate. I have to go check on something. Cade is in charge until I get back.”

  Hamilton left the command deck and through a maze of corri
dors toward Leda’s quarters. He stood in front of her door for a long moment before it irised open. She was sitting on the bed. She had been crying.

  “How goes the battle?” she said, wiping her eyes.

  “We lost Lethe,” he said, entering the room. “The Draconi fleet was destroyed, along with most of the 7th. We’re pushing back to the Gallas system. It is believed that will be the Ix’s next likely target.”

  Leda nodded. “Sundra. I’ve been there.”

  “I want to know about you,” said Hamilton, sitting on the bed beside her. “What the hell happened back there?”

  “I don’t know,” said Leda. “This.” She rolled up her sleeve, showing him the line of nanocircuitry running up her arm like a maintenance corridor. The redness had subsided somewhat, but it still itched.

  “What did that Swarm probe do to you? Is it malevolent?”

  Leda shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “First there was that incident during your martial arts training exercise, then Medic Coleman. I want you to get tested. Have them run everything. I want to know what is going on with my second in command.”

  “So do I, Captain.”

  “Dammit, Leda,” said Hamilton. “You’re the best I’ve got. I’m not ordering you to do this as your Captain. I’m asking you to do this as your friend.”

  “I know, Noah. I’m sorry. I wish I knew what was going on. I can feel this stuff moving around in my arm, my head. I get strange flashes of insight, like knowing that the beings behind the Chaos Wave call themselves the Ix. I can anticipate an attack three moves ahead. I’m faster and stronger than any human being without augs has a right to be. Whatever that probe did, it changed me. It’s still changing me. And I just want to change back.”

  She wrapped her arms around him in an embrace. “We’ll figure this thing out,” he said. “Together.”

  Leda pulled away, nodding. “You think maybe I’m some Ix secret weapon?” she said with a half smile.

  Hamilton shrugged. “Maybe. It makes about as much sense as anything else has since those alien probes showed up. Now, I want yo to report to the med bay for a full body scan.”