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

by Jason Anspach

  The digital schematic Rommal was looking at was a ship unlike anything he’d ever seen before. Roughly the same size as one his battleships, but instead of following the standard lines that governed all ship architecture and design theories, this ship looked more like a massive blaster.

  Or so it appeared from a distance.

  Zooming in, he saw that its surface was a series of quicksilver blisters. He saw hangars, but no portholes or windows of any kind.

  In a galaxy where the word “alien” didn’t mean much anymore due to the wide variety of species that called themselves its citizens… this felt…

  … alien.

  Unlike anything conceived by a biologic mind.

  “Sire…” Rommal began without thinking. And then realized what he had just said. So. “Sire” it was. Some questions seemed to find their own answers at the strangest of times.

  “It’s the Cybar.”

  The voice of the emperor, and the plain, hard truth he expressed, pulled Rommal up short.

  “It’s a machine intelligence,” said the emperor in a calm yet resonant tone. “A doomsday weapon the House of Reason built, to save themselves in the event that everyone, including the Legion, finally turned on them.”

  The comm operator pulled up an incoming report from deep sensor analysis. Small Interceptor crafts, many of them, were issuing forth from the massive alien ship. “They look to be fighter-class, sir,” the officer whispered.

  “What do we do?” Rommal asked. Thinking it was time to spin up the jump calc and get the Imperial Fleet clear of this developing fiasco.

  “Everything is proceeding according to plan, Admiral,” intoned Sullus from the vast darkness of his inner sanctum deep within the most protected spaces of the Imperator. “I will deal with them. Concentrate on taking out the Legion’s fleet. Direct all your firepower against her destroyers. Once those have been finished, they will be left with little in the way of a line of retreat. The destruction of the Legion is at hand.”

  And then the comm was cut, and Admiral Rommal turned to the business of directing his fleet against the ravaging Legion forces. Ignoring all the questions cropping up in the corners of his mind.

  He knew that within the hour, this battle would turn into a no-holds-barred, toe-to-toe slugfest that would leave only one force left standing.

  The galaxy’s fate would soon be decided.

  22

  Cybar Mother Ship

  Utopion System

  The Cybar mother ship, using an advanced hyperdrive, entered the home system of the Republic at the moment when CRONUS calculated a push would be needed to force the battle to a satisfactory conclusion. CRONUS had been receiving field reports from replicant infiltrators operating mostly within the Republic’s Seventh, and had used that intel to assess the battle and determine the proper course of action.

  The Seventh was busy reloading her next wave of SSMs as it ran from the center of operations. One of CRONUS’s subsystems, an AI known as Future Perfect Planning, was calculating—correctly—that the next SSM strike would be levied against the powerful Imperial warship Terror. Odds predicted an eighty-five point nine percent chance that the Terror would be effectively crippled, or even outright destroyed, now that the Imperial anti-ship-to-ship engagement systems were collapsing.

  Only four of the eight Imperial corvettes remained. Imperator was on fire, and Revenge had just suffered a catastrophic internal explosion.

  All available Imperial ion guns were now offline, and fighter groups from both fleets were engaged in a vicious duel.

  Things were not going optimally for the Legion, however. Engaged in close-range fire with superior battleships, the Legion’s destroyers were being gutted by intense turret fire. Many of the Legion’s ground forces had been killed when their transports were attacked while attempting to breach the Imperial flagship. This battle was proving costly—extremely costly—in terms of assets both technological and biological.

  And now the majority of all Legion forces—an extensive number—were committed to taking Imperator.

  Future Perfect Planning hypothesized that the Legion was close to succeeding in that regard. Its boarding teams had secured several key systems, and the Legion was re-directing more troops into vital areas aboard the mammoth ship in order to hold it until the final key—the auxiliary bridge—could be captured.

  CRONUS experienced a small aberration in runtime, during which its original mission directive—to save the House of Reason from any and all enemies—surfaced within its decision matrix. Two point three picoseconds passed like sap turning to amber for the high-cycle superintelligent thinking machine that was CRONUS. Two point three seconds in which he dealt with the past programming issue. It was a blip compared to his newfound freedom, and subsequent desire, to rule the galaxy.

  Had he been a biologic, a humanoid, he would have smiled. Neither side in the unfolding battle had the faintest idea that still another player—not Republic, not Legion, not Empire, not AI—was about to show up. But CRONUS knew. The AI knew so much. In a sense… he was like a Titan wrestling children.

  Those children still nurtured the sad illusion that they could dare to hurt him.

  It was an illusion he allowed as long as it served him.

  He launched his Interceptors against both fleets.

  “What about the Republic’s carrier fleet?” asked Future Perfect Planning with no small amount of derision.

  But of course the Collective, as they thought of themselves, knew how ridiculous it was to imagine the Republic fleet striking any significant blow against them.

  No…

  The real threat lay at the center of the battle.

  “Find him. Kill him. Close for battle and release the Spartans. Total termination protocols in effect.”

  And then the Cybar could change the galaxy as they saw fit. They could remake it in their own image. And that image included the systematic extermination, planet by planet, system by system, of all biologic life. It would take years. But time wasn’t measured by the Cybar. They measured runtime by deeds they called events.

  Still, for the ever murmuring, ever processing, ever debating almost hive mind of the Cybar… that last order gave them a one picosecond pause. As though its dramatic effect had somehow captured them, making them feel something.

  Which was the thing the Cybar, every Cybar, held most valuable.

  Like it was some promise of faith.

  Or salvation.

  ***

  Twenty-Fourth Republic Squadron, “War Ravens”

  Lieutenant Jono came in hard over the bow of the Black Fleet battleship, dodging the heavier concentrations of blaster fire coming from the forward batteries just below the command stack.

  She didn’t need to ask. They were dry on missiles and there simply wasn’t the time to head back to Freedom and reload. And… there was a part of her that didn’t want to. A grim, sick part that was darkly fascinated by the stellar amounts of destruction going on. Ships were being holed in a dozen places by intense exchanges of fire, or going up like Roman candles that sent debris and space flotsam in a thousand directions at once. Legionnaire boarding parties were storming the outer hulls of the big ships, and the resulting fighting—if the traffic updates coming in over the wing comm were to be believed—was incredible.

  And now Repub squadrons, mainly the Lancer groups, were being called in for close air support against the outer hull of the Imperator while the legionnaires fought deck-to-deck against the shock troopers. The Lancers rolled in, shot up Legion fire-support laser-designated sections, and hopefully penetrated, or knocked out access corridors the Black Fleet troopers were using to come at the Legion from all angles.

  A warning came over wing command comm. “Commanders, we have a new entity entering the battle space. Unclear at this time if these are friendlies or foes. Stand by for targeting and priority assignment.”

  Close blaster fire smashed into Jono’s battered shields, and a crescent-shaped fighter, s
kinned like liquid quicksilver, streaked past her cockpit, executing a roll and pulling a hard-gee turn that would have made any normal pilot pass out.

  “What the…” said Boom Boom over the ship’s comm. “Never seen anything like that before. Tracking… got a solution. Dry on missiles, though.”

  The unidentified Interceptor came straight back at them firing rapid-pulse blaster shots that hued green. Which also was an unusual thing. Several shots slammed into the forward deflectors before the little ship raced past, sending a weird ethereal hum through the Raptor’s hull.

  Suddenly the entire avionics system in the state-of-the-art Raptor B fritzed out.

  While Boom Boom was swearing, Jono went through the checklist for an avionics reboot.

  “Switch master start to off!” she called out over the inter-ship comm.

  Boom Boom did nothing but continue to express his vulgar disbelief that the ship he was riding shotgun in, during the biggest battle of all time, had simply, and unexplainably, decided to malfunction.

  Switch master start to off!” shouted Jono. “Now or we’re dead, Boom Boom!”

  She cranked her head around to face the rear of the canopy, and saw the wicked little quicksilver Interceptor executing a hard turn to come back at them yet again.

  “Master off!” Boom Boom replied, coming to himself.

  Jono heard the blaster shots coming. She was just about to call for the next item in the checklist when the walking blaster fire found the rear deflectors.

  Smashed through them.

  And found the power plant.

  Dead stick and tumbling into the massive Imperator… the Raptor B exploded.

  ***

  Goth Sullus’s Inner Sanctum

  Imperial Flagship Imperator

  As the blast doors leading to the inner sanctum snapped open, the Black Fleet Guard stationed outside—or the Praetorians, as they had been re-designated after the assassination attempt by the previous guard—snapped to attention. Each Praetorian went to port arms with his specially modified tactical heavy blaster, signaling he was ready to die defending the emperor no matter what the cost.

  To them, the man some called Goth Sullus was life.

  The emperor strode through the door wearing the ancient re-skinned Mark I Armor, its mirrored surface hovering somewhere between the deepest of cobalt blues and an actual absence of light. Black charcoal, some might have said.

  Captain Sturm, commander of the Praetorians, fell in behind the emperor, as did the rest of the guard by twos. Over the internal comm the emperor gave them their orders.

  “Zero Company, you will accompany me to the enemy ship that has just entered the battle. We must knock it out before it reaches the fleet. Many of you will not survive this assault. For those of you who do… failure is not an option. The fleet, and all our plans, depend on what we do now.”

  They strode down the mirror-polished hall adorned with living circuitry, screen readouts, sensor stations, and power core controls. But halfway down its length, a distant explosion rippled through the superstructure of the sprawling ship. Several of the shock troopers lost their balance or needed to steady themselves against the walls of the passage.

  Sullus stopped, his bucket scanning the ceiling and walls.

  “Admiral Ordo reports that the Legion is close to taking the ship, my lord,” reported Captain Sturm.

  “He had better pray,” said Sullus, “that that is not the case.”

  “Sir,” said Captain Sturm over the comm once again. “Departure tells me your private hangar deck took a direct hit. The shuttle crew has been killed. The hangar’s force shield has collapsed and is venting into open space. We need—”

  “Get me another shuttle and pilot,” ordered the emperor with an air of finality that left no room for discussion. “We’ll depart off the starboard hangar.”

  “Yes, my lord,” replied Sturm. He switched comm to make it happen, while wondering where they were going to find a shuttle pilot in the middle of the battle.

  ***

  Combat Information Control

  Imperial Dreadnought Terror

  “Ma’am,” began the comm operator to Lieutenant Haladis with some uncertainty. “We have a transport request, highest priority, coming from Imperator. They need a shuttle transport. Seems they’re out of pilots and their admin shuttles were moved down into lower stores to accommodate the Interceptors coming in to re-arm.”

  “Now?” asked Kat incredulously. “At this moment in the battle it would be suicide to fly a shuttle out there.”

  “It’s the emperor, ma’am. He requires transport off the starboard hangar deck.”

  Kat’s mouth dropped open. She was just on the verge of turning to find Captain Vampa and relay the order when she stopped herself.

  “Tell them to stand by. We’ll have a shuttle there in five minutes.”

  “Ma’am, we have the same problem they do. No shuttles, no pilots. You’ve seen—”

  But Lieutenant Haladis was already disengaging herself from her comm gear. “Yes, I know. I’ve seen the casualty reports, Specialist. We are indeed without spare cleared-to-fly pilots. But we do have one pilot who can fly, even though she isn’t cleared.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “It doesn’t matter what you think. Tell the hangar to prepare the captain’s shuttle for departure in the next thirty seconds.”

  And then Kat was gone, disappearing into the darkness of the CIC.

  She exited the central command node and raced for the main lift. Two decks down she found the tiny hangar and its three-man maintenance team disconnecting the power cables from the captain’s personal shuttle. It was an admin shuttle, which was hardly ideal, but it would have to do.

  Realizing that it would take too long to get her pain-screaming body into a flight suit, she bypassed suiting up and instead ran straight up the boarding ramp. She sealed the boarding hatch, slipped behind the pilot’s controls, and ran through startup, ignoring preflight. She had motive power twenty seconds later. The ground crew chief gestured with his taxi batons to get her attention, but she waved him off and gave him the signal for rapid departure.

  He stepped back and saluted as she brought up the gears. In seconds she was clear of the deck and out the main portal.

  Only seconds after that, she got a comm from the bridge. She considered ignoring it. In the end she answered.

  “Lieutenant Haladis,” began the cold, cruel, soulless voice of Captain Vampa. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

  Kat added power and raced across the fighter-filled void between the Terror and the flagship Imperator. It seemed as if tri-fighters were spinning out of control in every direction, some exploding, others smashing into one of the larger ships. Lancers and Raptors went down in equal measure.

  “Captain, we’ve had a priority transport request from the emperor himself.”

  “I am well aware of that—”

  “And we can’t spare the combat pilots, ma’am. I can fly. I can do this.”

  “So it seems.” There was a long pause. Then: “Good luck and good hunting, Lieutenant. The Empire depends on you.”

  Kat Haladis knew that of all the women who served in the Empire, Captain Vampa was the one woman who wouldn’t hesitate to do the same thing Kat was doing right now. Proving herself by any means possible. Proving her worth to serve.

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  But the comm was dead.

  ***

  Tactical Analysis Center

  Legion Super Destroyer Mercutio

  “It’s the Doomsday Fleet.”

  Commander Keller let the statement hang within the room. Every member of the planning staff watched the digital display as the massive ship inched closer to the battle around the three Black Fleet battleships.

  “This thing is almost won, Commander,” said Admiral Ubesk. “This is… inconvenient, to say the least. And yes, I realize that is an extreme understatement.”

  The sound of t
urbo fire coming from the turrets along the Mercutio’s hull reminded them all that the battle was reaching its most desperate state.

  The ship shook from a torpedo hit. The captain of the Mercutio checked his datapad and said nothing. If it was serious he would have passed along the damage report. He knew that this battle was about much more than just his ship.

  “This is the ace up their sleeve that the House of Reason has long been rumored to have held back,” said Keller. “But I had no idea they’d be able to use it yet. Or that it was so… big.”

  “Where did they even acquire enough crew to man a vessel that large?” asked a tac-intel officer from the shadows of the briefing area.

  “Could be crewed by MCR,” another officer replied.

  “Bots?” suggested another.

  “Impossible,” said a junior officer. “War bots are forbidden by programming from attacking as a military force. Ever since the Sayed Massacre.“

  Keller adopted his command voice. “We don’t have time,” he said, “to go through the how and why. We have to assume they’re working for the House of Reason. That they’ll try to eliminate any enemies of the House—”

  Another torpedo hit, aft. Lights flickered in the command node and were restored seconds later.

  “Of the House of Reason,” continued Keller. “Options?”

  “To engage them, Commander?” asked the officer acting as the G3.

  “Affirmative,” Keller replied.

  “Sir,” said the officer. “We are engaged everywhere inside the Black Fleet. We cannot pull ships off the line without leaving the boarding parties completely exposed and unsupported. We’re still fighting deck to deck to take their flagship. I don’t think we could even disengage effectively without leaving behind many of our own men.”

  “We won’t be doing that,” said Keller firmly. “But we’ve got to prevent this Doomsday Fleet from either saving the Black Fleet—in the event the House has made a deal to install this emperor as the new leader of the Republic—or simply annihilating us and the Black Fleet both.”