Also by Vaughn Heppner
Fenris series:
Alien Honor
Alien Shores
Doom Star series:
Star Soldier
Bio-Weapon
Battle Pod
Cyborg Assault
Planet Wrecker
Star Fortress
Planetary Assault (with BV Larson and David VanDyke)
Invasion America series:
Invasion: Alaska
Invasion: California
Invasion: Colorado
Invasion: New York
Invasion: China
Ark Chronicles:
People of the Ark
People of the Flood
People of Babel
People of the Tower
Extinction Wars series:
Assault Troopers
Planet Strike
Star Viking
Lost Civilizations series:
Giants
Leviathan
Tree of Life
Gog
Behemoth
Lod the Warrior
Lod the Galley Slave
Other novels:
Accelerated
I, Weapon
Strontium-90
Death Knight
The Dragon Horn
Elves and Dragons
The Assassin of Carthage
The Great Pagan Army
The Sword of Carthage
The Rogue Knight
The Lost Starship
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2015 Vaughn Heppner
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by 47North, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and 47North are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781477828687
ISBN-10: 1477828680
Cover design by Maciej Rebisz
Illustrated by Maciej Rebisz
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014955283
To my wonderful sister, Bonnie Heppner
CONTENTS
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
1
The Fenris System was two hundred and thirty light-years from Earth. The system’s fourth planet—named Pulsar—was an enormous gas giant twice the mass of Jupiter. High clouds raced in Pulsar’s upper atmosphere. The mists whipped past a teardrop-shaped warship, an Attack Talon. The methane winds howled, shaking the craft. At the same time, the planet’s gravity pulled. It sought to drag the spaceship down into denser gases. There, the gravity would crush the warship out of existence.
As the vessel shuddered under the strain, it continued to fight this fate. For several weeks now, the Attack Talon had hidden from its searching enemies. It did so by staying under the clouds. The ship’s engines strained while grav-plates neared overload. The human hijackers of the craft feared to take the ship into space. If the alien Kresh captured them, their punishment would be long and brutal.
Even now, the Attack Talon sank lower into the atmosphere. Slowly but surely, it was losing the fight against the planet’s powerful gravity. Within the vessel, conditions had become critical. Interior bulkheads shook and metal groaned with a twisting sound.
Cyrus Gant of Earth held his breath as he waited for the horrendous gravity to crumple the ship like tinfoil. If that happened, Jana, his girlfriend, would die, together with Skar 192, Yang, and the others of Berserker Clan who had helped him hijack the spaceship.
If Cyrus died, he’d never get a chance to rescue Dr. Wexx or Chief Monitor Argon of Teleship Discovery. Cyrus had traveled the two hundred and thirty light-years from Earth with them. They had come to colonize the Eden-like planets here. Instead, dinosaur aliens—the Kresh—had attacked them, capturing the Teleship and interning the crew for study. Cyrus had managed to escape, finding human allies in the star system.
Inside the ship, Cyrus shook his head. The situation was bewildering. The Kresh controlled most of the Fenris planets, most but not all. They battled the ground-dwelling Chirr, intelligent insects with vast tunnel complexes sunk deep into the two planets they controlled.
The Attack Talon’s crew waited under Pulsar’s clouds for good reason. A cyborg fleet was coming, and the Kresh didn’t know about it.
So, how did Cyrus know? For a moment, he grinned. His best friend was a psionic master born in the Fenris System. He was a young man named Klane. With his amazing mental powers, Klane had discovered the approaching cyborgs and a closer menace.
The Chirr had burrowed deep under the surfaces of Fenris II and III, named Heenhiss and Glegan respectively. For generations, hidden deep underground, the Chirr had constructed spaceships. Soon, possibly in days, the Nest Intelligences of the Chirr would launch ten thousand warships to battle the Kresh, trying to wrest control of the Fenris System from the dinosaurs.
When that happened, the crew of the hijacked Attack Talon could make its move.
Yet none of that was going to matter in about ten seconds. From an open access hatch, grav-plates howled with complaint and smoke billowed. The stench of electrical burning told Cyrus all he needed to know. Frightened curses rose next, and two unseen techs began to shout.
While holding his breath, Cyrus moved to the hatch, waving smoke from his face. He peered into the gloom. Flames flickered from a panel. Lower down, an exposed grav-plate glowed a dangerous orange color. One of the techs sprayed flames with foam from an extinguisher. The other held a heavy wrench, pointing at the glowing plate.
If the anti-G devices failed, everyone aboard the hijacked ship would die as the vessel plunged deep into the planet’s gaseous interior.
“What’s wrong with the machine?” Cyrus shouted.
The two techs looked up through the glass of their rebreathers. Fear burned in their dark eyes. The orange glow deepened, and a screech sounded from the plate. That whipped the techs’ heads around.
The one with the extinguisher shouted incoherently, aiming his device at the radiating grav-plate. The second tech lowered his shoulder, shoving his mate aside. Then he raised the wrench and swung, striking a protrusion on the plate. A metallic cap popped off. The wrench-wielding tech dropped his tool, unhooked a long device from his belt, and shoved the stiletto part into the
protrusion’s narrow opening.
“No!” shouted the tech on the floor. “You’ll kill us if you do that!”
The second tech never hesitated. He plunged the device into the slot until it clicked and twisted hard to the right.
The howling quit as the plate ground inside, the grating worsening by the moment. Around Cyrus, bulkheads buckled, and the deck shifted under his feet. He stumbled, and the metallic screeching told him the ship would soon twist open, letting in the methane atmosphere.
The tech holding the thin device yelled. He let go of the tool, shaking his hand. Then he grabbed the handle again and yelled even louder, snatching his digits away. The smell of cooked flesh rose with a trickle of smoke from his skin.
“What are you trying to do?” Cyrus shouted. “Maybe I can help.”
The tech looked up. Through his grimace of pain, he shouted, “The sensor shaft has burned out! We knew it would in time. But if I can connect the Kami rod to the liberator spool—”
Cyrus stopped listening to the technobabble. He’d have to do this by feel. Grabbing the sides of the hatch, he jumped down into the smoke. He didn’t wear a rebreather like the techs, but he pinched his nose and squinted. He was a lean young man with steely muscles. He was also a psionic Special from Earth. With his low-grade mental ability, rated Fourth Class, he’d helped power the Faster-than-Light drive that had allowed the Teleship Discovery to reach the Fenris System. The Kresh had captured the Teleship and now they attempted to replicate the sabotaged star-drive at High Station 3.
“We’re doomed!” shouted the tech with the burned hand. “I’d thought to—”
“Shut up!” Cyrus shouted, coughing afterward. The smoke stung his throat. “Let me concentrate.” Despite the electrical smoke and the burnt stench and his coughing, he closed his eyes and gathered his telekinesis. Reaching out with it, he sensed what the tech had attempted to do. A red-hot rod had fused in its chamber. If he could move it . . . ah, that must be the liberator spool . . .
A flare in Cyrus’s cranium told him he’d have a headache after this. Clenching his teeth, he mentally freed the fused metal. He dissipated heat, and that made his noggin hurt badly. This was harder than he’d realized. Concentrating, he blasted the rod with telekinesis—nudging it—and automated sequences finally took over.
The grinding stopped. So did the torturous screeching all around him. The bulkheads quit shaking, and the cyclone sounds powered down. The override system took over, and the grav-plates began working again, dampening the gas giant’s tremendous gravity so it no longer tore the spaceship apart.
A ferocious headache pounded to life, making Cyrus nauseous. He must have used more psionic strength than he realized. His fingers dropped away from his nose. He inhaled smoke and his head jerked back at the acrid bite in his nostrils. He began to cough harder than ever. Then the foul electrical taste reached the back of his throat. Doubling over, he coughed harder yet, and he shuddered. He was going to vomit.
Hands grabbed him. Someone shoved a rebreather over his face.
Cyrus breathed pure air. That helped. He swallowed, forcing his body to relax. His head still hurt, but he was able to open his stinging eyes. Through his tears, he noticed the tech with the burnt palm grinning at him. The man clapped him on the shoulder with his uninjured hand, making Cyrus stagger. The man pointed at the grav-plate. The orange glow had disappeared. It looked normal again.
“We’re going to be okay,” the tech shouted.
Cyrus nodded, which was a bad idea. He bit back a groan. He had to lie down. Soon now, he wasn’t going to be able to see. The coming headache would be worse than any migraine. Probably, he wouldn’t be able to hold anything down for at least a day.
“You saved us, at least for a little while longer,” the tech said.
Cyrus managed a grin. He knew the Kresh were hunting for them, and the aliens had psi-adepts able to detect the use of his talent . . . if they were close enough. But he hadn’t had a choice, right? Die now or die later. He’d chosen later. Besides, Klane had mind-scanned near space several hours ago. No Kresh vessel had been close to Pulsar. Thus, it was impossible anyone had been able to detect his use of telekinesis. He had nothing to worry about, nothing at all.
Cyrus vomited, and blackness descended over his vision. Using his minimal talent almost always cost him. Why couldn’t he be powerful like his friend Klane?
No. Don’t worry about that. We’re alive, and we’re safe for a little longer. Now, if I can just find my way to a quiet hall . . .
2
The raptor-shaped Kresh—Dagon Dar FIFTH—stood in the scanning chamber of his special Battle Fang Whet Steel. He was twice the height of an unmodified human, with gray scaly skin and a blue robe. He had a crocodilian snout and a long tail, and maintained exceptional decorum due to his fabled, coldly reasoned logic. Even in the Innermost Circle of the Hundred—the alien political entity that ruled the Fenris System—none could outthink him. It was why he held the rank of Majestic Interrogator, and it was why he knew that sooner or later he would find the Humanity Ultimates somewhere in orbit around Pulsar.
“Revered One,” said a tall humanoid with an elongated cranium. A baan encircled the forehead, a silver circuit that extended the human’s psionic range. The Bo Taw, for such his kind was named, sat up. That movement removed the baan from the amplifier discs, which were attached to twin prongs curving down into the larger machine.
There were seven other Bo Taw in the chamber, each in a cubicle near the bulkheads. Each wore a forehead baan pressed against amplifier discs as he or she mentally scanned near space, using psionic power. Kresh did not possess such talents, which was why they used gene-warped humans for the task, and why each human had been induced to love those of the master race. It was the best way to ensure obedience.
With deadly elegance, Dagon Dar turned to the Bo Taw who had addressed him. The human kept his gaze lowered in reverence.
“Report,” Dagon Dar said.
“I detected a telekinetic impulse,” the human said in a low tone. “It was of short duration and uncommonly weak. Therefore, I could not pinpoint its exact origin. Yet I believe . . .”
“Finish your thought,” Dagon Dar said. He disliked excitement or rushing anyone needlessly. He desired full data before acting, and thus exhibited great patience even for a Kresh.
“Revered One, as unbelievable as it may sound, I’m sure the thought originated somewhere in the gas giant’s upper atmosphere.”
Because Dagon Dar wanted truth, he hadn’t told the servants his suspicions. Psionic talents were unreliable at times. Worse, such individuals were prone to fabricating mental mirages. Therefore, at his orders, the Bo Taw searched around Pulsar, but they didn’t know for what. It was unlikely any creature subsisting in a one-G environment could be within the atmosphere of Pulsar. Certainly one could rely on grav-plates for a time, but that would be risky. Pulsar’s intense gravity would soon burn out such devices. Not even Humanity Ultimate fools would be so rash. That, in any regard, would be the unspoken consensus. Dagon Dar did not care to deal in those, however. Facts about reality and those alone were his passion so he could add to the Codex of All Knowledge.
The Kresh now felt the faint stirring of the other Bo Taw in the chamber. None looked up, of course. That would be a breach of protocol and might warrant punishment. None wished for that, nor did they care to lose face before him or their peers. Bo Taw were the highest-ranked among the human herd and prickly about their status.
“Was there anything else you wished to add?” Dagon Dar asked.
“No, Revered One.”
“Continue to monitor the ether.”
With a click of metal against metal, the Bo Taw pressed his baan against the amplifying discs, closing his eyes as he searched near space with a combination of telepathy and telekinesis.
The man had given him interesting data, and it
was exactly as Dagon Dar had foreseen. Where else could the rebels hide? Nowhere else made any sense, given the stolen Attack Talon’s origin point on the moon of Jassac. Therefore, logically, the rebels must have risked Pulsar’s high gravity, attempting to hide in the upper atmosphere.
Yes, yes, his search was starting to come together.
Dagon Dar knew himself as the most logical and rational being in the Fenris System. Yet it was gratifying to see his deductions playing out as expected.
Am I not the Majestic Interrogator? Did the FIRST not request my direct participation in solving this mystery?
Dagon Dar took two steps toward the main screen. The claws of his large hind talons scraped against the flooring. Pulsar showed on the screen, a blue-green gas giant with banded colors swirling with a multitude of high cumulous storm clouds.
He’d arrived at this reasoned position after three weeks of study, speculation, and questioning. Yes, over three weeks ago a ripple of discontent had spread throughout the Fenris System. Humans had slain high-ranked Kresh, one of the Hundred itself, Zama Dee the 73rd, in fact. That was a crime against the ordered structure of reality.
Kresh ruled because of their superiority. Humans served with love in their hearts due to their inferiority and easy malleability. A few isolated subjects showed aberrant behavior, becoming . . . yes, becoming Resisters. None of those had ever possessed the means to inflict deadly damage, not on the scale shown on the moon Jassac.
The unbelievable had intruded upon the thoughts of the highest philosopher kings, the Innermost Circle, those ranked ONE through NINE, the single-digit Immaculates. They discussed the anomaly and came to a swift decision, sending him to the scene of the terrorism. Question: Did the murders originate in the minds of Humanity Ultimates or did it have something to do with the escaped Earthling?
As he studied the screen, Dagon Dar used a claw of his upper limb to scratch his jaw.
Three weeks in Pulsar’s gravitational system had taught him many interesting facts. The moon Jassac orbited the gas giant. The reddish moon with its uplands and chasm valleys held spectacular vistas, to be sure. Zama Dee the 73rd and others had set up terraforming stations on the planetoid, attempting to remake it into the lost Kresh home world of long ago.
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