Fires of Oblivion

by Anthony James

  Fires of Oblivion

  Survival Wars Book 4

  Anthony James

  © 2018 Anthony James

  All rights reserved

  The right of Anthony James to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed upon the subsequent purchaser

  Cover Design by Dan Van Oss www.covermint.design

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter One

  John Nathan Duggan stared at the steel walls of his cell, finding nothing on their hard, unmarked surfaces that offered any hope of escape. There were no windows, and light came from an unidentifiable source, as if the walls themselves exuded it. The single, oversized door was as impassive as the walls – a thick, unpainted slab of dull metal with a seam so thin it was hard to distinguish unless he peered closely.

  Duggan prowled around the room, cursing beneath his breath. In this place, the passing of time become impossible to comprehend until he had no idea if he’d been kept here for weeks or months. With each passing moment, his frustration grew, until it filled him with a futile anger he had no outlet for. He told himself it was the inactivity he hated, when in reality it was the feeling of powerlessness which clawed mercilessly at his resolve.

  He sat on the solitary padded bench which doubled as his bed and tried for the hundredth – thousandth -time to think of a way out of this place. He hadn’t heard from his crew since they’d been separated shortly after arrival at this Ghast facility. There was no reason to think they’d suffered any harm, yet he couldn’t stop worrying about what had befallen them. They’d come here out of loyalty and now they were prisoners. All their previous words about free will meant nothing to Duggan – he was responsible for this. Even worse was the knowledge that each day he remained here, Lieutenant Ortiz and the soldiers he’d been forced to abandon on the planet Kidor came closer to death. Their spacesuits would sustain them for several months – though the drugs would take their toll – but eventually the power would run out and the men and women he’d left behind would starve or suffocate. He wondered if it had happened already and closed his eyes to block out the tormenting thoughts.

  A noise caught his attention – a mixture between hissing and gurgling. He crossed over to a horizontal slot in the wall and pulled out a tray. There were several mounds upon it in a variety of greens and browns. A smell rose up from his meal, far from appetising. Duggan stared at the Ghast-sized portions of food with distaste, aware that each different type would taste faintly like warm mushrooms. Even a starving man would lack relish at what the Ghasts served to their prisoners. He picked at the food, using his fingers to lift gobbets of the paste to his mouth. The Ghasts didn’t provide razorblades, and it was hard to avoid soiling the beard which had grown during his imprisonment. On the plus side, he had a shower cubicle and a clean toilet in an alcove of his cell. In terms of how his captors treated him he had little to complain about, though this didn’t make him feel any better.

  In the time he’d been here, he hadn’t spoken to a single soul. He’d expected Nil-Far to attempt dialogue, but the Ghast hadn’t shown his face since handing Duggan and his crew off to the soldiers on the base. The solitude gave him plenty of time to think about what he’d found on Vempor – there was a pyramid which appeared identical to the ones used by the Dreamers to generate an oxygen atmosphere on otherwise-uninhabitable worlds. Not only that, the scans of the pyramid suggested it had been here for a long time. It raised far more questions than it answered and a small part of Duggan’s brain suggested things would have been easier if they’d simply discovered a Dreamer warship parked on a military base. That would have meant war again and unimaginable death, neither of which Duggan seriously wanted to contemplate. The only thing left to him was a fruitless search for reasons and a hope that the signal from the Ghast ship Ransor-D had successfully reached Monitoring Station Beta. There was nothing in Duggan that shied away from hard choices, but just this once, he hoped someone else would take charge. In Admiral Teron we trust, he thought, laughing quietly and without humour.

  He asked himself if he’d placed too much trust in Teron. In some ways, the man was an enigma. He had to deal with people on the Confederation Council and Duggan supposed this meant the Admiral had to handle many conflicting views from powerful people. What it came down to was the certainty that Teron wanted the best for the Space Corps and would do his utmost to ensure the ongoing survival of humanity. This was enough for Duggan to give him the benefit of the doubt. Teron had promised to do his best to support Duggan after the last mission, so that’s what he’d do.

  With his meal unfinished, Duggan picked up the tray and returned it to the alcove. The tray was sucked away through a slot at the back, leaving splatters of food around the opening. The replicator promptly absorbed them, leaving the opening clean and dry.

  When he turned away, Duggan found the cell door was open, having slid aside so quietly his ears hadn’t detected any sound. There was a corridor beyond, lit in the same manner as the cells and leading away to the left and right. Two Ghasts stood outside – males as they always were - dressed in their familiar grey, stiff-cloth uniforms. They had heavy gauss rifles pointed forward and aimed directly at Duggan. He looked at them in turn, seeing a combination that was both human and unmistakeably alien. They stared back for a few moments, their expressions utterly inscrutable. Then, one of them made a gesture that was easy to read. He lifted the barrel of his gun, beckoning Duggan to come.

  With his heart beating hard, Duggan emerged warily from his cell. He had no idea what was planned for him but he was sure his situation was about to change. Whether that would be for better or worse he had no idea – the only thing which mattered was that something was about to happen which might take him from the interminable existence inside the prison cell.

  He stepped into the corridor. One of the Ghasts walked past him, whilst the other made a quick signal to indicate Duggan should follow. Neither of them spoke. There were devices which could provide a live translation of speech – if either of these soldiers were in possession of one, they didn’t make use of the facility. The three of them walked at a pace which would have bee
n comfortable to most humans - the Ghasts were strong, without being especially quick. Duggan had only a vague memory of the journey though the facility which brought him here, since he’d been struggling to marshal his thoughts at the time. Now, he forced himself to study the route, uncertain if he’d be able to make use of the knowledge again.

  The corridor ran straight for more than one hundred metres. As he walked, Duggan looked to the left and right, noticing the seams of more doors on both sides. The place was eerily quiet and the metal floor absorbed the noise of their passage instead of reflecting it. They saw no others – it was as though the place was deserted except for the three of them. The corridor went to the left and then to the right. Other corridors branched away at intervals, leading to more of the same. Duggan knew the place was big, yet hadn’t realised it was quite so expansive. He wasn’t surprised – the Space Corps military bases were invariably massive, many with huge underground bunkers that stretched for kilometre after kilometre.

  They reached a flight of steps and climbed until Duggan was breathing hard. It was difficult to maintain any sort of fitness in the confines of a prison cell and he discovered he was already out of shape. The steps emerged into a large, square space, at least a hundred metres to each side and with many doorways leading away. There were screens and consoles in abundance, along with many Ghasts to operate them. The occupants didn’t once raise their heads to look at the soldiers walking through and Duggan was reminded how single-minded this alien species was. The Space Corps generally only picked the best, but even amongst its employees there’d be evidence of conversation unrelated to Corps business. From the Ghasts, there was nothing more than the occasional utterance in their harsh-sounding tongue.

  They exited this room, through one of the doorways in the far wall. Soon after, there was another set of steps, leading up to a closed metal door. The lead Ghast pressed his palm to it. The door slid aside, leading to a short corridor with a second door that opened into a square room, only a few metres to each side. There were nine chairs in the middle of the room. They were in three rows of three, each as functional as every other piece of Ghast furniture Duggan had seen. One of the soldiers motioned with his rifle and Duggan took a seat. Before he realised what was happening, his escorts withdrew from the room and the door closed behind them.

  The Ghasts had a reputation for being ruthless warmongers, not for their trickery. Therefore, Duggan was left wondering what was going on. He stood again, looking for a clue as to what this room was for and found nothing. There were no other doors – only chairs and walls, with a single, blank viewscreen.

  Movement caught his eye and the door opened again. There were two more Ghasts, along with a third figure. This figure stumbled inside, surprise evident on his face.

  “Captain?” he asked, his voice halfway between a mumble and a slur.

  “Lieutenant Breeze,” said Duggan. “Have a seat.”

  The door closed once more and Breeze walked across to sit next to Duggan. He looked weary and dishevelled – tired, though not beaten.

  “What’s going to happen, sir?” asked Breeze. There was fear in his voice and also hope.

  “I don’t know,” said Duggan simply.

  The door opened for a third time, once more revealing two Ghast soldiers and a prisoner between them. This time it was Commander Lucy McGlashan. She looked alert and unbowed, as if the period of incarceration hadn’t affected her one bit. If she was concerned, she didn’t show it and she smiled at Duggan and Breeze.

  “Nice to see you,” she said. “Looks like we’re gathering for a party.”

  “Only one more to come if I’m any judge,” said Duggan.

  “I wonder how Frank has taken this,” said Breeze.

  “He’ll be fine,” said Duggan.

  The wait wasn’t a long one. The door opened and Lieutenant Frank Chainer was ushered inside. His hair and beard had grown, but he otherwise appeared to be in good spirits. The man had a melancholy side to him, yet he always got through the toughest situations.

  “What a crap place,” Chainer said. “I guess we’re either going to be executed or set free.”

  “Hello to you too,” said Breeze.

  “Who needs a cheerful hello in a situation like this?” asked Chainer.

  The Ghast soldiers withdrew and the door slid closed behind them. The four humans remained seated and made only the most unimportant of small talk. They had much to discuss, though none felt the desire to do so while there was so much uncertainty over their future.

  “How long have we been in this prison?” asked McGlashan. “I tried to count days and failed.”

  “A month? Two?” said Breeze. “Feels like forever.”

  Something made Duggan think it had been longer than two months. He didn’t get time to say as much – the single viewscreen flared into light. The image of a Ghast appeared, against a backdrop of bare metal. It could have been anywhere.

  “Captain John Duggan,” said Nil-Far, his face impassive and the tone of his voice neutral.

  “How long are you going to keep us here?” asked Duggan, not bothering to return the greeting.

  “You’re going to be moved from the prison facility at once.”

  “Are we being set free?”

  “No. Your fate was decided not long after your capture. Your superiors have tried hard to persuade us otherwise, but on this our laws are clear.”

  Duggan felt himself go cold. Throughout the ordeal of capture and imprisonment, there was a part of him which had remained quietly confident that everything would be resolved. “What is our fate?”

  “You will be taken to the area of the base which deals with criminals who have been sentenced to death under our laws. There, you and your crew will be executed. This will happen today.”

  There was nothing to say, beyond futile protestations of innocence. Duggan held his tongue and looked into the screen. Nil-Far looked neither pleased nor sorrowful at the announcement he’d just made. The viewscreen faded to black, leaving the four of them alone in the room to contemplate the news of their impending deaths.

  Chapter Two

  The wait wasn’t a long one. The echoes of Nil-Far’s words had scarcely faded when the door to the room opened. Two Ghast soldiers entered. They looked belligerent and pointed their rifles at Duggan and the others. There was sound and movement outside - more soldiers were visible, lined up against the walls.

  “Come,” growled one of the Ghasts. He’d been equipped with a translating device, though he didn’t seem inclined to use it for more extensive conversation.

  Duggan stood and indicated to the others that they should do likewise. He didn’t like the idea of walking meekly to his death, but if there was to be an opportunity to escape, it wasn’t now. “Let’s see where they’re taking us,” he said.

  The others followed his instruction, their pale faces blank and shocked. It was one thing to be killed by a sudden missile strike, it was another thing entirely to be taken to your death without hope for luck’s intervention.

  They left the room and walked between the two lines of soldiers. Duggan counted the numbers as he went – there were twelve guards in total, each broad, strong and armed. Throwing a few punches definitely wouldn’t lead to success. The prisoners were placed in the middle of the guards - four of the Ghasts went in front, the remaining ones followed behind. They set off, along a series of new corridors Duggan didn’t recognize.

  “I didn’t think it would end like this,” muttered Chainer nervously.

  “Silence!” barked one of the soldiers, raising his rifle as if to shoot or strike one of the prisoners.

  Chainer took the hint and didn’t say anything more. Duggan looked across and saw anger in the man’s eyes – an emotion that was infinitely better than fear and acceptance. They entered a large foyer, with a high, sloped ceiling. This was the outer edge of the dome-shaped building and there were Ghasts striding purposefully around, almost invariably dressed in the same grey cloth uni
forms. There were no desks, though there were screens built into the walls, along with operating consoles. Once again, Duggan was struck by a sense of familiarity between the Ghasts and humans. Another part of his brain identified the many differences and he asked himself if he was actively searching for a commonality between the two races. Perhaps I want us to be the same, he thought. It’s easier to know someone if you can find the similarities.

  Their escort didn’t pause and walked directly towards the outer wall. Other groups of soldiers went by, most of them carrying rifles. There was no exchange of words when these others walked past – in fact, there was no acknowledgement whatsoever. They either had a strict code of conduct or the Ghasts simply didn’t interact in the way humans did.

  There were no windows onto the outside, though the exit door was easy enough to recognize. It slid aside at their approach and the group of them walked out into sweltering heat. Duggan squinted as his eyes adjusted to the increased light. It wasn’t bright as such and there was a low-lying cloud overheard. After a moment, he realised it wasn’t entirely clouds above – there was a thick, greasiness to the air, redolent with the odour of sulphur. He remembered the high levels of pollution they’d detected on Vempor and knew he was breathing in by-products of the Ghasts’ industries. The contrast with the coolness of their prison was marked and Duggan could feel himself sweating in the thick and stifling air.