Message for the Dead (Galaxy's Edge Book 8)

by Jason Anspach

  Bombassa continued to fire on the machines as he approached, and then burst into them, kicking, punching, and crushing them beneath his feet as he plowed through like a sky speeder in a snowstorm. Exo followed, sprinting for all he was worth. He could see the bots flying around as Bombassa passed safely through the mob, and he did his best to stick to the gap the big man had made. Occasionally crunching a fragile bot beneath his feet, he ran, lungs burning, his breath fire, until he knew he was well clear of them.

  Finally, he slowed and looked back to see how Hutch was doing. The Nether Ops agent was a good distance back, moving through the machines, but the bots were crawling all over him. As Exo watched, Hutch dropped his weapon and swatted a bot off of his neck. Then he dropped to his knees, clutching his neck, while more bots swarmed his exposed flesh.

  Exo put Leenah down, and Bombassa did the same with Prisma. The big shock trooper growled at Hutch’s misfortune.

  “Never leave a leej behind,” Exo said stoically. He removed an ear-popper. “Better get clear of the blast.” He waited for them to disappear around a corner of an intersecting corridor, hoping that there weren’t more monstrosities waiting for them. Then, with a seamball infielder’s sidearm throw, he sent the grenade straight down the center of the thoroughfare, directly into the swarming spider-bots.

  It exploded in a blinding flash and a teeth-rattling boom.

  Exo sprinted for the carnage, his weapons stowed. Most of the bots were curled up like dead bugs that had been smacked by a rolled-up tube of paper. Others were still writhing, their delicate legs wriggling. Hutch lay unconscious in the midst of them, and had several puncture marks visible on his neck, face, and arms. Thin trails of blood trickled from the needle wounds.

  “No way he’s going to make it,” Exo mumbled. He grabbed hold of the man’s webbing anyway and dragged him toward the others.

  Bombassa met him halfway, and helped pull the load toward the docking bay doors. “We’ll have to leave him if we run into any further trouble.”

  “Yeah.”

  This was the one faithful rescue Hutch would receive by virtue of his having once been a legionnaire. Performed by men who themselves were no longer in the Legion. It was something Hutch could never have hoped for from his peers in Nether Ops.

  Exo wondered whether, if Hutch pulled through, he’d know that. If he’d realize that it was the Legion that had saved him. And the thought made him question whether he himself had a place in the Legion. Especially if what Wraith’s code slicer had said about Goth Sullus was true.

  These thoughts consumed Exo as he ran, pushing himself to his limits. Redlining.

  The party reached the doors that bore the welcome text: “Docking Bay E-6.” The doors slid open to reveal an even more welcome sight: polished black deck plates, empty of bots, leading to the Indelible VI, which sat unmolested, right where they had left it, already lowering its ramp.

  They ran toward it. This was a miracle. It was better than it had any reason to be.

  Exo would take it.

  ***

  Bombassa was nearly to the Six’s ramp when a set of transparent doors on one side of the docking bay opened, and an industrial-sized rack of bots slid out. The machines unfolded their frames, stepped down from the rack, and began walking in lines toward the lone ship. As the rack rotated, more bots stepped off.

  They were Titans, and each row seemed to comprise a fire squadron. They moved in small units, each with three shield bearers in the front and three more behind, all of them armed with the tri-barreled N-50 blaster cannons.

  Ravi hailed them from the ship. “Where is Captain Keel?”

  With Prisma and Leenah already on board, Bombassa and Exo hurriedly pulled Hutch up the ramp and set the Nether Ops agent down just inside. He looked dead.

  “Wraith went to find the wobanki named Skrizz,” Bombassa replied. “He said to wait only as long as it was safe to do so.”

  “This does not sound like him,” answered Ravi.

  The Indelible VI began to send streams of quad burst fire from its turrets. Bombassa stepped back out to observe and lend his own blaster rifle to the encounter. The Six’s guns were powerful enough to send the shields held by the Titan vanguard flying in all directions, often with the bots’ arms still attached.

  The Titans had now been joined by a number of swift-moving smaller bots, built like typical humanoid soldiers and carrying what looked to be modified N-6 blaster rifles. While Ravi concentrated his fire on the Titans, Bombassa took shots at this second group from the ramp.

  “You will be of more service on board,” Ravi said calmly. “It is my wish that you and Exo take manual control of the topside and belly turrets. Do not be stingy with your firing. The Indelible VI has enough charge to hold off this onslaught for a considerable time. Longer than your body is capable of staying awake, even with illicit stimulants.”

  Bombassa ran up the ramp. “Exo, get up on the topside turrets. I’ll take the belly.”

  “You got it.”

  “I think it will be better if you control the belly turrets from the cockpit,” Ravi said to Bombassa. “I have more for you to do.”

  When the shock trooper changed course, Ravi continued. “In the event of an emergency, I have instructed the ship’s AI to send concussion missiles into anything heavier than a Cybar Titan. They likely have main battle tanks available, judging by the vehicle doors in this bay. But other than in that circumstance, the ship’s AI will only have access to weapons systems if you grant it. Simply say the word and it will be done. But I urge you not to cede control unless you absolutely cannot handle it on your own; I have a concern that the Cybar might be able to influence the Six’s AI.”

  Leenah’s voice came over the ship’s open comm. “I’ve got Hutch in the medical bay. Exo helped me move him.”

  “Good,” Bombassa said, recalling his own time spent in that bay after Keel had turned his ship’s guns on Bombassa’s team. How times had changed. “Are you checked out as a medic?”

  “Not really. A little. I mean, I know how to turn the machines on.”

  “Enough to tell if he’s even alive?”

  “Yeah,” Leenah said. “I hooked him up to the monitors. He’s alive. Barely.”

  “Good enough. Have the machines sedate him. If those bots didn’t kill him outright, there’s no telling what he might do when he wakes up.”

  “Okay, I’ll get on it. And then I’m going to the shield arrays. They might need my help.”

  Bombassa reached the cockpit, just as Exo’s voice burst across the comm.

  “Lots of contact!” Exo reported, the sound of his turrets blazing in the background.

  Ravi seemed unfazed. He gestured for Bombassa to sit, and began to lecture as soon as Bombassa had done so. “I will show you how to control the belly turret from here.” He pointed to a control screen. “This is your fire control. You can adjust pitch and rotation here. It is all very standard. The main cannons are linked, but you can toggle off for individual fire should you feel the need. I have the Six on repulsor standby. So if you are a good enough pilot you can rotate and focus the forward main cannons—those are fixed—on anything that comes your way. They are quite powerful. Currently, I calculate an eighty-nine percent probability that these blast doors,” Ravi pointed to a pair of large impervisteel doors at the opposite end of the massive hangar, “are where the next wave of Titans will emerge. If that happens, engage with your turrets before they unload.”

  Bombassa nodded compulsively, taking in everything the hologram was throwing his way.

  Ravi continued. “I currently have the ship oriented so that the main cannons can fire on the largest door in the docking bay—big enough for HK-PPs—as I calculate a seventy-seven percent likelihood that main battle tanks or similar heavy vehicles will be employed from that location, if they are an available asset. If this proves to be the case, it is of paramount importance that you fire the moment that those doors begin to open.”

  Bombas
sa continued to nod. “Right. Why are you telling me all this?”

  Ravi didn’t immediately answer the question. “Garret has accessed the primary database through the Six’s computer, and is fighting the AI from there. He kept the Cybar ship from overwhelming you on your retreat to the docking bay and is working to mitigate the attack you are now facing. Listen to what he says, though he is not a soldier. This has the potential to keep you alive more than anything. Do you have any questions?”

  “Just one.” Bombassa had deduced the reason Ravi was telling him all of this. “Where will you be going?”

  “I’m going to save my friend.”

  The hologram disappeared.

  11

  Keel had moved about five hundred meters past the corpse of the butchered moktaar when he caught sight of the first roving Cybar Titan on patrol.

  Something about the machine’s helmet looked familiar to him. An image danced in his mind… something he'd seen in a military history course while studying at the Legion Academy. It seemed like that was many lifetimes ago. And in a way, it was. That was before Victory Company. Before Kublar. Before Dark Ops. Before the mission that had brought him out to the edge of the galaxy.

  Back then, in those classes, he’d had no idea who Captain Keel was. Who he would be. He hadn’t met Leenah. It was as if the memory belonged to someone else. But it was him who had sat ramrod straight at the study desk in an Academy dorm room, diligently studying. Reading all the footnotes that everyone knew wouldn’t show up on the exams, because there was just too much to know. With so much history recorded—even accounting for all that had been lost or jumbled before the stabilizing effect of the Great Migration—there was simply too much information for a humanoid brain to contain.

  But he’d absorbed what he could. And now, on this strange ship at the edge of the galaxy, the look of the Titan twigged something in the back of his mind. Something ancient. Keel remembered a digital image of some sort of ancient pottery—a black vessel. Crudely painted, in gold lines, were two men, both naked. One was lying on the ground, and the other was thrusting a spear into the vanquished warrior’s side. And the helmet that the victor wore… it looked a lot like the helmet of the enormous machine that had lumbered into the access corridor, up ahead of where Keel now hid.

  Keel took comfort in knowing what his slug thrower could do to one of these beasts. He also had two ear-poppers, should he need them. And he felt that if he overloaded his charge pack to expend everything with a single shot, that would do the trick as well. Maybe he could even squeeze two lethal shots out of one pack. But that would come later.

  For now, he waited, crouched in the shadows. The Titan had turned down the corridor away from Keel, in the same direction Keel was traveling. He didn’t think the things could see through the backs of their heads, but he wanted to be sure the thing was truly facing away, unable to spot him in its peripheral vision.

  As the bot trudged on, Keel coiled his body, ready to spring out, close the distance, and send a single bullet into the thing’s head. Then he’d continue on in his attempt to reach the ship’s core. Because that was his primary goal. He hadn't yet put much thought into finding Skrizz.

  And so it was a surprise when the wobanki grabbed his arm with his powerful paw.

  Skrizz held up his other paw, mimicking the human body language that called for silence. The motion pushed up his lip and revealed glistening, sharp fangs. Keel kept silent, wondering what the big cat was angling toward. He knew Skrizz wasn’t just a killer, he was also a survivor. Keel had no doubt that it was Skrizz who had killed the moktaar—because he was hungry, and also, in all likelihood, because he simply wanted to.

  The clomping of more bots coming down the hall, toward the two fugitives, told Keel why Skrizz had held him back. Had he jumped out, he would have been spotted for sure.

  Skrizz and Keel pressed themselves farther into the shadows. Even when the three Titans turned at the cross-corridor where the other Titan had entered, they remained hidden. Finally, when Keel’s enhanced audio receptors no longer detected any noise beyond the wobanki’s near-silent breathing, he spoke.

  “Thanks,” he said, his audio output at the lowest possible level.

  “Chetta.” Skrizz pointed at the ceiling.

  Keel looked up. Above him was an open hatch, or maybe just a removed ceiling panel. He understood: that was how the catman had snuck up on him.

  But the opening was a good four meters overhead. “I don’t think I can make that jump, Skrizz.”

  Skrizz nodded in understanding, crouched into a compact ball of muscle, and sprang straight upward into the opening. He tucked up his legs and landed on his feet inside the ceiling. It was an impressive leap; like some sort of ridiculous box jump.

  The catman stood up so that his tail dangled down out of the hole, but Keel knew better than to jump up and use it like a rope. He waited until Skrizz peered back down and lowered his paws. Then Keel holstered his blasters and leapt straight up for all he was worth.

  He just barely caught Skrizz by the wrist.

  The wobanki pulled him up through the opening.

  They were on some sort of sub-floor between the ceiling and the next deck. Keel looked around and whispered, “Are we okay to talk up here?”

  The reply was an affirmative growl.

  “I came here with Ravi and a couple of friends to get out whoever I could find,” Keel explained. “We rescued the prisoners. Prisma and Leenah, should be on my ship right now. Garret too. And Hutch.”

  The catman seemed to show relief on hearing Prisma’s name. She had apparently figured out how to tame this apex predator. “Hezra no salassa Hutch.”

  “I don’t like him either, but he’s with them. As a prisoner.”

  Skrizz yowled like an alley cat. “Prisma hoshazz ne…”

  “I said she’s fine.” Keel shook his head. “You her pet now?”

  Skrizz hissed a denial, but his heart didn’t seem in it.

  What was it with people and that little girl? Was Keel the only one immune to being suckered by her? But then… wasn’t he going ahead and recovering Skrizz after all? Keel was doing exactly what Prisma wanted, as if he’d actually meant what he promised.

  The wobanki jabbered about the docking bay and the fastest way to arrive.

  “Yeah, about that…” Keel couldn't quite believe what he was about to say. “You should go and rejoin her. I promised Prisma that I’d find you just to get her to leave the cell block. She wouldn’t budge otherwise.”

  By the expression on Skrizz’s face, it was clear the aloof catman was touched.

  “Thing of it is,” Keel continued, “I can’t come with you.”

  Skrizz purred a question.

  “Sure I want to stay alive. Trouble is, living isn’t really an option here. Skrizz, I can’t let whatever’s controlling this ship get set loose on the galaxy. And right now might be my only chance to stop it. A chance that the Republic or Legion may never have again.”

  “Cha Skrizz hassa Keel halach?”

  “No, I’m not going to make you come with me. But I could use your guidance. Garret said you’ve been exploring the ship?”

  The catman spread his arms wide and brought his tail up over his head to indicate just how much of the ship he’d personally explored.

  “Good. In that case, can you point me to the ship’s reactor? I’m going to blow it.”

  The wobanki’s ears flattened. Clearly he didn’t like this plan. This suicide mission.

  “By the time I actually do it, you and Prisma and Leenah and everybody else will be safe in hyperspace.”

  This didn’t seem to alter Skrizz’s opinion of the plan. But he didn’t try to talk Keel out of it. He simply asked whether there was anything he could do. He said that he hadn’t forgotten how Keel rescued him back on Tusca, when the remote caller for the Obsidian Crow ignored his commands, nearly stranding him.

  “Yes,” Keel answered. “There is something you can do for me. If
you ever see Chhun again, tell him that Wraith says he didn’t forget nothin’.”

  ***

  Keel moved with Skrizz for what his HUD recorded as nearly a mile through the ship’s overhead ducting and ventilation. All Keel had asked was to be pointed in the right direction, not a guided tour. And yet, when he brought this up to the wobanki, Skrizz would only reply that the route was on his way, and he would break away when the time was right.

  “Secha ret na lazzasse?”

  “Yes,” replied Keel. “I do enjoy the company.”

  They came to a stop shortly thereafter. Skrizz pulled open a floor panel, revealing a four-meter drop down into an empty corridor. Or at least, what looked like an empty corridor. They waited several minutes to be sure there were no nearby sentries.

  Skrizz dropped feet first through the opening and landed in a silent crouch on the deck below. Keel lowered himself until he hung as if from a pull-up bar. Then he dropped as well, landing almost as silently, except for the small clatter his armor made on the deck.

  This corridor was different from any of the ship Keel had seen so far. It extended a long way, with no doors or side passages. But it was really just the one wall that struck Keel as if it didn’t belong. It was a gray that looked like primed impervisteel, and it had a slight convexity to it. The opposite wall was an ordinary white, making the impervisteel stand out all the more.

  As Skrizz beckoned for Keel to follow him down the hall, Keel knew that the wobanki had no intention of heading back to the docking bay. Not yet. Somewhere in its predator brain, it knew the same truth as Keel. The catman might not stick around to see everything go boom, but he had the sense to help Wraith make it happen.

  The two walked for what seemed like forever.

  “This trip ever end?” Keel asked.

  The wobanki purred to assure Keel that, yes, it did.

  Keel shook his head. “As long as you know where we’re headed.”

  The corridor didn’t seem to have a purpose beyond continuing on and on. There was not a single blast door or exit. No duty stations. Nothing. There was nothing to look at, other than the slightly convex impervisteel gray wall.