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

by Jason Anspach

  Sullus left them and crossed the bridge, venturing deeper into the alien ship.

  And as he did so, he began to talk to them, the aliens, with his mind.

  They begged him. Begged him not to do what he was about to do. At first they lied. Pretending to be merely the Cybar. Even they themselves had begun to believe that they were. But in the end—gibbering, stark raving mad—they confessed to their true identity.

  Halfway across the bridge Sullus activated his torch. It shone like a lone fiery brand in the darkness of interlocking charcoal shapes and drifting green mist.

  He followed their fear deeper and deeper into the ship. They had nothing left to oppose him with now. All the Titans had been killed by the targeted ion guns. They tried a few spider bots, but those were child’s play for the Crux, which slowly returned to Sullus.

  The torch, as he’d discovered, helped him to focus.

  In time he violated the outer locks of their innermost sanctum. A place were they had not even taken Prisma. And it was here that Goth Sullus encountered the aroma of the Crux.

  “Prismaaa,” he whispered. Sensing its difference from what he knew. Something other than the Crux he had acquired and learned to wield.

  Now there is another, he thought within the dark mansions of his mind. And he wondered how, or who, had taught her to wield the Crux.

  We will serve you, they begged when they knew, because they too could sense things beyond the physical. When they knew that he had come to destroy them. We can add to your great power.

  Sullus found them.

  In the final chamber. His Crux had returned and was so great he tore the guarding blast door from its interlocking pins, easily three meters thick, with little effort.

  He entered the darkness beyond. His torch was the only light within that deep darkness.

  We are your slaves, they crooned. Oh, Goth Sullus, long have we known of you. We are your slaves now. We yield.

  They were an eye watching him. An eye filled with fear and desperation. An eye so old that time lost meaning. An eye that did nothing but want.

  And what it wanted was destruction.

  A lidless eye that never slept.

  A robotic eye that swam with madness. Madness bred in another galaxy, out there across the darknesses.

  Goth Sullus studied them. Their whispers, their pleas, their begging.

  And he knew he would destroy them.

  They were a threat to his power. Their power…

  We will become your power, they sang in a sudden desperately gleeful chorus of begging.

  We have a way.

  A red light shone on a pedestal that appeared out of nowhere.

  Lying on it was a simple ring. Not a piece of jewelry… but a thing made of those same interlocking charcoal-dusted fractal surfaces. In minutiae. So small one had to look close to see anything other than just a simple ring.

  Take it.

  Everything that we are will be bound to it. Whoever wears this… wields us for the great weapon we were sent to be. The power to destroy galaxies. The power to rule. Technology not even you, oh Goth Sullus, have ever dared to dream of. We know the Quantum. We have been to the palace.

  Sullus raised the torch above his head.

  He would strike into the center of the eye, and they would die. They would die, and he would have no other rival for mastery of the galaxy.

  All that we were is in the ring now.

  We are yours.

  Sullus lowered the torch.

  Power…

  Rechs had warned him against it. Everyone… everyone who had power had warned him against using it for the things that needed to be done to save the galaxy.

  The people who had power always warned you not use that very same power they wielded.

  What had Urmo said…?

  Power is neither good nor evil.

  Sullus switched off the torch.

  Think of the good that you could do…

  The eye had died. He could sense that it was no longer a living thing. They had all gone into the ring. Every Cybar, all their ships, this ship… dead now. The Cybar were gone. He could feel them all in the ring like a living wild animal in a dark forest of howling madness. But the dog would obey. It yielded at his feet, whimpering for his hand.

  Your ring.

  His ring.

  His mind caressed it, and he saw the locks and barriers that had been built to restrain them. Simple things he could control. He could decide how things would be done.

  How the ring would be used.

  How they would obey him.

  How the galaxy could be saved despite the deals he’d made with the House of Reason and his ruined fleet.

  With the ring, he would need so much less of all the weak things that had stood in his way.

  He took it up. Stared at it in the palm of his mailed gauntlet.

  It resized itself to accommodate the armored ring finger.

  And then, thinking of all the good he might do…

  He slipped it on.

  ***

  Maybe the battle might still have been won. Reports from inside Imperator, just before it blew up, were that the machines had simply stopped working. They died in the middle of firefights with legionnaires.

  Then… most of the active Legion forces involved in the combat, taking the mighty Imperial battleship… were gone. Killed in action as the massive ship exploded without warning.

  The Republic’s destroyers had been firing into the Imperator when it went up. Sending sections and debris in every direction. Most of the nearby Legion ships were damaged in the blast.

  Rommal had performed his final service for the emperor he had anointed. He had done the unthinkable.

  He had activated Imperator’s emergency self-destruct.

  Keller, inside the Mercutio, sat down in a chair as though the life had gone out of him. The bridge crew gasped in shock and horror at the sudden and complete destruction of the flagship Imperator.

  The battle was lost. The most significant Legion force within the galaxy had just been annihilated in one blast.

  “All ships…” said Admiral Ubesk over the grim silence that had fallen across every bridge as they watched the expanding supernova of debris spreading away from where Imperator had once been. “Prepare to execute jump retreat.”

  Too many lives had been lost.

  The Legion was dead.

  Yes, out there in distant outposts there were still legionnaires… but for all intents and purposes the Legion Fleet had just lost its effective fighting force in one battle.

  All that was left now was to escape. Whatever legionnaires remained on the assault ships that had survived the blast would escape and—

  “Enemy ships in sectors seven, eight, and sixteen. Inbound. It’s an MCR fleet.”

  What was left of the Legion fleet was scrambling now. Setting up jump calcs as the combined MCR fleet swept in, firing SSMs and blaster turrets at the shot-to-pieces Legion fleet.

  Wounded destroyers either exploded or broke apart under this new onslaught. Escape pods erupted away from burning ships. Ubesk did everything he could to get the Mercutio clear, but a strike by MCR fighters knocked out her jump drive.

  “Multiple incoming SSMs” was announced by the bridge AI.

  If Commander Keller had lived five minutes more, he would have heard the general broadcast from the House of Reason, welcoming their new emperor… Goth Sullus. Accepting any terms and conditions he chose to dictate. Every MCR ship was broadcasting this signal.

  But by then every Legion ship was burning into the atmosphere of Utopion, caught between the overwhelming numbers of the MCR fleet and the planetary defense shield. Or they were broken up and drifting, a vapor cloud of debris. Or they were dead in space.

  The Legion was no more.

  EPILOGUE

  CHHUN

  Legion Destroyer Intrepid

  Ankalor System, Deep Space Patrol

  Several Days Earlier

  Major O
wens pushed a pre-filled glass of what looked to be Faldoran scotch to Captain Chhun, who sat on the opposite side of the major’s desk. “Have some. I don’t hold any illusions about whether or not you’re going to like what I say, Cohen.”

  Chhun didn’t know exactly what Owens had called him into his office for, but it was formal enough that the words didn’t surprise him. There was a lot to be unhappy about lately.

  He waved off the proffered hospitality. “Thank you, sir. No.”

  Owens nodded, then reached out to bring the glass back in front of him. “Well, I shouldn’t let this go to waste.” He took a large drink, and Chhun watched to see if any driblets might run down his beard. Owens looked like he was drinking for courage, which was odd, because Chhun thought of him as one of the bravest legionnaires he’d ever met.

  “Sir,” Chhun said, “if this is about my recommendation that Fish be awarded the Order of the Centurion, I stand by my report. I know we’re in the thick of things now, but honoring heroes of the Republic will send a good message to the Legion and the galaxy that we remain dedicated to serving the Republic and honoring those who gave their lives doing so.”

  “That’s not it,” Owens said, shaking his head. “Yes, Fish deserves the Order. Of course. So do a lot of others. I don’t know when we’ll get around to it, but it will happen. But what I called you in to speak about was Kill Team Victory.”

  “We’ve… taken a real beating.”

  “That’s an understatement. You’ve practically lost a man on each of your last operations.”

  Chhun opened his mouth to protest, but Owens held up a hand to indicate he wasn’t finished.

  “I’m not blaming you for that. You’ve done a remarkable job and are a credit to Dark Ops. But as it stands, your team is now at less than half strength.”

  “We can review for replacements,” Chhun said, his mind already moving toward continuation of the mission. “I can think of at least two leejes who were part of that QRF down on Ankalor who I think could make the jump…”

  “Cohen,” interjected Owens, “I’m deactivating Kill Team Victory.”

  Chhun knew that he looked surprised—shocked, even. He let that expression exist only for a second before regaining his composure. The major—soon to be a lieutenant colonel if admin ever caught up—was on his side. He knew that. So he didn’t yell or shout. He thought of every unflappable officer he’d ever admired in his time of the Legion. He sought to emulate men like Wraith… until he went off the deep end, at least.

  “Major, with all due respect, Kill Team Victory is among the most effective and decorated Dark Ops squads ever to operate.” Chhun felt a sense of pride and duty to the men who had made that happen. “Further, it is a direct continuation of Victory Company—in spirit if not letter—and Victory and its stand on Kublar has served as an object of pride and inspiration for the entire Legion.”

  “Yes, agreed. But I can’t change my mind on this one.” Owens leaned back in his chair, gripping the armrests and rotating himself in a half-circle. “And here’s why: the Legion commander has assigned me to undertake a mission that will take me away from here. It’s to be expected, really. I can’t be the head man in Dark Ops and still oversee the day-to-day of the kill teams in this sector. There’s already grumbling that what happened to the teams on Utopion when we tried to grab the delegates was because I was trying to do too much at once.”

  Owens leaned forward across the desk. “Someone has to take my place here. Now, Cohen, you have shown yourself to be a capable leader—more than capable—since the day I met you. I’d tell you in confidence that you’re the best team leader I’ve ever had if I didn’t worry it would go to your head and make your bucket too tight.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “It was you who took the reins of Victory Squad and made it into what it became. And your ability to take your knowledge base and train other leejes to enhance their abilities—your ability to implement creative tactics and adapt—that’s something that Dark Ops, and the Legion, need right now. To put it bluntly, Ankalor chewed us up more than we expected, and Utopion cost us more Dark Ops leejes than we could afford to lose.”

  Chhun found himself nodding along. The two men stared at one another from opposite sides of the table.

  “What would happen to Bear and Masters?” Chhun asked.

  “They would be rotated into new teams. A lot of them are missing guys, same as Victory was. What would you suggest?”

  “Bear is the assistant team leader. He would be a good choice to join a squad as a team leader. Masters could do well from a technical perspective, but I don’t know that he has the temperament for a TL. He’s the kind of guy who keeps a team light and loose, one of those glue guys. Though he’s done admirably when it’s been his turn to plan ops.”

  Owens nodded, but made no comment.

  “Would I be working from the deep space station your old office was in?”

  “No. Intrepid has been re-fitted to include five kill teams, and this new command structure would be set up with you as a mobile Dark Ops commander, deploying missions directly from the ship. I can send you a list of teams and personnel scheduled to come on board, but before we get to that, I need you to sign off and tell me you’re in.”

  Chhun hesitated, wrestling with the decision. He was engrossed in thought. In another world, almost.

  Rapping his knuckles gently on the desk, Owens said, “Hey. Trust me… I know what it’s like to make that transition from an active team leader to a desk jockey. But as a major, you’ll still have the option and ability to go on missions as needed. Like I did to help capture General-I-have-absolutely-no-intel-and-nothing-to-say.” Owens looked aside and let out a hiss. “About all that op did for us was blow up a Black Fleet freighter and delay us from getting into the fight on Ankalor.”

  Chhun could tell that the loss of Kill Team Zenith and the stealth shuttle Night Stalker was still weighing on his boss. “Didn’t matter who was on the op,” he said. “That shuttle would have gone down regardless.”

  “I probably wouldn’t have put you on that shuttle,” Owens said, “but point taken. So, you in? I can transfer you to another team that’s missing its TL, but I think you’re ready to take on this challenge. Don’t you?”

  “I accept,” Chhun said.

  Owens looked relieved.

  “On condition that I get to decide where Bear and Masters end up.”

  “Done.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll admit the difficulty I had was more with Victory ceasing to exist than it was with moving into the role itself. That part, I kind of thought might be coming already.”

  Owens gave a quick nod, clearly wanting to get on to further business. “Like I said, the team is only deactivated, not erased from history. Once we get our bearings back and finish up Article Nineteen, there’ll be an opportunity to evaluate shooters and rebuild your strength. You can start Victory right up again. Remember, the squad was born out of Kublar—created out of necessity. Now necessity is requiring us to make this move. You’ve come full circle, Cohen.”

  Chhun closed his eyes, bowed his head, and let out a cathartic sigh. “Poetic, right? What about Ford? Do I take over his mission?”

  Owens frowned. “I’ll let you know. The role Captain Ford has with Dark Ops—and the Legion for that matter—is part of a stack of things that still need deciding.”

  “Fair enough. When do I get my oak leaves?”

  Owens laughed. “Look at me. I’m still waiting, and word is I’ll get bumped to colonel after this op. We’ll take care of this when I get back. You’ll at least get the pay now. Not that you ever spend it.”

  Chhun smiled. “I’m surprised we can afford something like that, being a treasonous rogue military and all. Can’t be all that much left in our treasury. Or did kicking all the points out really save us that much money?”

  A white, toothy smile appeared from behind Owens’s big red beard. “You’ll do well in this, Cohen. You’ve excel
led consistently as long as I’ve known you. My aide will assist in whatever transitional needs come up. And then when I get back I’ll work with you directly to get you fully up to speed. But as of right now, you are in command of the Dark Ops teams serving aboard Intrepid. Captain Deynolds is, of course, aware of the pending change. She’s eager to work with you and wanted me to extend to you her congratulations.”

  “What should my teams’ role be in regard to Utopion?”

  Owens slapped the desk somewhat nervously and stood up. “It’s in play. But Legion Commander Keller wants to keep a strategic number of ships back for a variety of reasons. Not the least of which is the trouble that the MCR and Black Fleet are causing to systems throughout the galaxy. We need to show the citizens of the Republic that the Legion has every intention of continuing to protect and serve.”

  “So Intrepid will be limited in the scope of its operations?” Chhun asked. He understood the reasoning, but didn’t quite agree with the conclusion. “Sir, holding a ship like this back from a potential fight to take Utopion will make things much harder.”

  Owens pulled Chhun in close and whispered in his ear. “That’s what they’re sending me for. To win us some more ships. You kick ass out here and make sure the bad guys don’t get too comfy.”

  Chhun nodded, stepped back, and saluted. “Yes, sir.”

  Owens returned the salute. “Congratulations, Captain Chhun.”

  “Thank you, sir.” On his way out the door, Chhun paused to say, “Good luck, sir.”

  “Thanks, Cohen. I think I’ll need it.”

  ***

  “This is highly prejudicial and unfair.” Masters was half-dressed, wearing only shorts and a pair of shower shoes, hair still dripping down his back.

  “Word of the day?” asked Bear from his favored recliner in the team’s lounge.

  Masters beamed. He’d been attempting to learn a new vocabulary word to use each day. He liked it when people noticed. “Yup.”

  “Nice.” Bear held up an oak-like arm and bumped fists with his teammate. His large hand fell down into his lap, making a loud slap against his thigh. “Not your call to make, though.”