Books One to Three Omnibus (Armada Wars)

by R. Curtis Venture

  “Excellent.” She continued to stare at the holographic dreadship. Its outlandish design was eerily captivating.

  “It’s stopped,” said Tactical.

  “What has?” Thande tore herself away from the holo.

  “Listen. The blast doors.”

  “There’s no more thumping,” Thande realised. “Whoever was trying to get in here has given up.”

  “Listen!”

  Though the thick plasteel barrier, a faint exchange could be heard. Muffled voices; the words blurred together, but the tone unmistakeable. In the passageway just outside the bridge, some kind of confrontation was being played out.

  Thande’s heart leapt into her mouth when, straining to hear, her ears were assaulted by the sharp rattle of automatic gunfire.

  “Can you get the security feed back up?” She asked COMOP.

  “If Panovar has restored the internals, yes,” COMOP said. “I’ve got it. Stand by… looks like MAGA troops outside the blast doors. Those ones who came aboard with Shard Caden, I think. They’ve greased some of our crew.”

  “Mutinous ones, I hope?”

  “Hard to be sure, Captain,” COMOP said. “But seeing as they’re all laid out across a breaching ram, I’m going to go with ‘yes’ on that one.”

  — 19 —

  A Rock and a Hard Place

  Caden’s body slammed against the far wall, knocked aside effortlessly by Throam’s weight.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Caden shouted.

  Throam had already turned on his heel, leaped towards the doorway that separated their corridor from Castigon’s, and slapped his hand against the control panel. The security door slammed closed with the reassuring clang of solid metal. He was pretty sure there were no insecure controls on the other side, but Castigon was nothing if not resourceful. He locked it just to be sure.

  “I said, what are you doing?”

  Throam’s voice was angry. “You were going to try and fight him.”

  “You bet your fat ass I was.”

  “Your orders are to extract Doctor Bel-Ures. If anyone is going to take on Castigon, it’s going to be me.”

  “I was also ordered to kill that cunt.”

  “Yeah, but she takes priority. You have to keep her safe. I don’t. I have to keep you alive. Seems to me killing Castigon is a good way to do that.”

  “Use your head. If you go off to fight him and he kills you, he’s just going to come for me anyway, and she’ll probably end up caught between us.”

  “So you’re going to go challenge him to a duel? Are you broken? That literally couldn’t make less sense.”

  “It did sort of make more sense when it was still inside my brain,” Caden admitted.

  “This is what counterparts are for, Caden. This is my whole purpose.”

  “I don’t want you to die.”

  “Dying is the one thing we all turn out to be naturally good at.”

  There was a pause before Caden answered.

  “I didn’t know you ran so deep.”

  “I can do deep. I read, pal. And for your information, my ass is not fat: it’s muscular and proportionate. So fuck you, right in the skinny ass.”

  “I love you too.”

  Throam turned to face the security door and rested his hand against the wall, just next to the controls.

  “You need to leave,” he said. “In case he’s still behind this door.”

  “Ren—”

  “You need to leave,” he said again. “Now, Elm. Right now.”

  He kept facing the door until he was sure Caden had gone.

  • • •

  Even with all the weapons of the Disputer at her fingertips, Captain Helia Thande was powerless in the face of the dreadship incursion. While she stood helplessly on the command deck of her carrier — a ship of which she had been so proud for so long — the huge alien craft dominated the skies of Meccrace Prime, and did so with complete impunity.

  Overlapping messages from the comm system echoed the feeling back to her. As each one of the Eighth Fleet’s surviving ships came back under control, and broadcast their emergencies and their needs, her hope for a victory at Meccrace dwindled.

  “—Captain Nahori dead, XO is now—“

  “—uncontained fire: all of deck three—“

  “—lost engineering. We’re going to mount a counter-offensive—“

  Thande gritted her teeth. It was no time to feel sorrow; there would be opportunity enough for that later. Unless they were destroyed — then, it would stop mattering.

  “What word from the admiral?”

  “Ma’am, the Dawn’s Early Light has gone down,” said COMOP. “The Eighth Fleet has no flagship right now.”

  “Who’s taken command?”

  “It’s a real mess out there. I’m not sure anyone has.”

  Thande turned her back on the battle map, and returned to her station.

  “What’s the status of the planet?”

  “Hard to tell.” COMOP swept his hands through his holo, reorienting data and mapping displays. “It looks like there are plenty of transports and shuttles leaving the surface unhindered. Whatever those things are doing, they aren’t stopping people from leaving.”

  “Well, that’s one thing to be thankful for. Any word from Shard Caden?”

  “No Ma’am.”

  She cursed under her breath.

  “Send a message to all commands. I suggest that the fleet starts taking on refugees. If those things are happy to let ships escape, hopefully they won’t interfere with us.”

  “What about the people still on the surface?” COMOP’s hands were already flying across the holo.

  “There’s nothing we can do about that for the moment. Signal planetary defence control for both Duraang and Nathal; if they haven’t started already, they ought to begin evacuations of their own.”

  “Yes Ma’am. On with that now.”

  “As soon as you’re done with that, get me a priority channel to Fleet Command. I’ll pick it up in the wardroom.”

  “Ma’am, I’m seeing new activity. Those ships are all in the atmosphere now, and they’re up to something.”

  “Show me.”

  Tactical placed her holo into the central battle map control station, and expanded the image.

  “Here. This one gives the clearest view.”

  Thande leaned closer, peering at the dark shape. It nestled in the clouds of Meccrace Prime as if it were a vast parasite clinging to its host.

  “What am I looking for?”

  “Wait a moment. It happens at interval—“

  “Oh! I saw. Can you replay that?”

  “One moment… there.”

  Thande watched the holo playing back the footage frame by frame. Below the bulk of the dreadship’s main hull, from amongst the sweeping, tapered protuberances on its stern, something had fallen away and accelerated towards the ground. The image was blurred, and partially hidden by cloud, but she got the impression of a long, slender shape, as dark as the craft it had parted from.

  “What in the worlds was that?”

  “Could be a landing craft of some sort,” said Tactical. “Or a weapon.”

  “Ma’am,” said COMOP. “When you’re ready, Command is on the line.”

  “The situation just changed; I can’t talk to them now. Just send them everything we’ve recorded and ask for assistance. Any and all available fleets.”

  “Captain, I don’t really have the authority to demand—“

  “You send them these sensor records, COMOP, and I guarantee you we’ll be knee-deep in reinforcements within the hour.”

  “If you say so, Ma’am.”

  “Tactical, get me a structural analysis on those ships. I want to know what their weak points are.”

  “I’ve been trying, Captain. The only components that the holos and I agree on are the engines, and the point defences. Everything else is up for debate.”

  “We don’t have time for a debate. Give
me a strategy.”

  “Captain,” COMOP said. “Fleet acknowledge receipt of our data. They’re mustering a task force now.”

  “Oh ye of little faith,” Thande said. “Any thoughts, Tactical?”

  “Those engines around the main hull of the vessel look like they’re holding the ship in the atmosphere. They also give the appearance of running at capacity. Knock out a few of those, the whole damned thing might de-orbit.”

  “Excellent. COMOP, I want you to find me a target that isn’t right over a populated area.”

  “Stand by… looks like most of them are aloft near to cities and major towns. Even if they drop straight down, there’ll be collateral damage. It’s a highly urbanised world, I’m afraid.”

  “Pick the ship with the smallest populations around it, and tell the local towns to evacuate.”

  “We’ll have no way of knowing if they’ve got the message, much less acted on it.”

  “There’s a ship the size of a mountain dropping things on them. I’d like to think they’ve got the message already.”

  • • •

  “He’s moved,” Throam said. “Looking for another way in. Keep an eye out.”

  “Understood,” said Caden. Throam sounded weary over the link, but Caden knew he had a lot left to give. Rendir Throam always did.

  “Gonna check the roof access points,” said the counterpart.

  “Listen, Throam,” said Caden. “I don’t want to leave you on your own like this.”

  “Forget it. You’ve got your mission; I’ve got mine.”

  Caden looked at Bel-Ures, hurrying along the corridor with Eilentes just ahead of him. He wondered how much the woman’s knowledge was really worth, in units of Throam.

  Probably less than one.

  “I didn’t mean… I don’t want to leave you to face him on your own, yeah, but I meant if we have to part ways, I don’t want it to be on these terms.”

  There was a long silence, and Caden began to wonder if the channel had dropped out.

  “Kind of busy at the moment,” said Throam.

  “I know. But if this is going to be our last conversation—“

  “Don’t be stupid. I’m going to mangle him.”

  “He’s killed pretty much everyone else he has gone after, Ren.”

  There was another silence.

  “Thought you said I was reliable?”

  Caden smiled to himself. “I did. I meant it.”

  “Well stop worrying then.”

  “But I said some things—“

  “And I deserved them. Concentrate on getting her out of here.”

  Throam closed the channel at his end.

  Caden realised when the conversation was over that he was lagging behind, and hurried to catch up with the others, bounding down the stairs two at a time. He reached the landing, where Eilentes waited with Bel-Ures and the Eyes and Ears officer, and hunkered down next to them.

  “One more floor,” said the officer. “Then we can leave by the level two entrance and go directly to the ground-side landing pads.”

  “Can you get us a ride?”

  “There are usually shuttles and transports waiting in the bays. We travel to the other planets in the system regularly.”

  “Good. As soon as we’re aboard, we’ll need to place a comms call to the nearest MAGA installation. This attack cannot go unanswered. The building needs to be secured.”

  “I hear that,” said the officer.

  “Ready?” Eilentes asked.

  “Ready,” said Caden.

  Bel-Ures nodded gravely.

  “Let’s move.”

  Eilentes set off, taking the lead this time, and Caden brought up the rear. They moved swiftly and quietly down the stairs, and the officer pointed the way to Eilentes.

  It was not long before they reached the exterior doors, and Caden motioned for Eilentes to take up a position on one side. He took the other. When the doors opened, nothing happened.

  Caden peered out, scrutinising the compound that occupied the high ground at the rear of the building. More than a hundred metres away, a safe distance from the building, he could see the blink of beacons around the perimeter of a landing pad.

  “Looks okay,” he said.

  “I’m not seeing any movement,” said Eilentes. “Not much cover though.”

  “You want to hang back and wait for us to reach the shuttle bays?”

  “Be my pleasure,” she said. She hefted Ambrast, as if impatient to set him loose.

  “Doctor,” said Caden. “We’re going to stay at a steady run until we reach the shuttle bays. Are you going to be able to do that?”

  “I will manage,” she said. “Not that it would appear I have much choice.”

  “That will do.”

  Caden took one last look around the compound, searching for likely ambush points, then stepped through the doors. After a few paces, he motioned for Bel-Ures and the officer to follow him, and set off at a run.

  They were almost at the shuttle bays when the first splinter broke the ground behind them.

  • • •

  Throam hurried along one of the many identical corridors, hoping it was the right one.

  After checking the rooftop, he had decided that Castigon had found another way in. There was no sign of the man anywhere, and only a single body and the smouldering debris from the Disputer shuttle remained as evidence that he had ever been there.

  There were only a few ways to get into the building from the roof, Throam had worked out, and most of them would cause some kind of tell-tale damage.

  Sure enough, looking over the roof edge to the level below, he had seen that the next floor down was bigger than the rooftop he had been standing on. There was a walkway below; a setback which formed a balcony garden for the top floor.

  At one end of the balcony garden, a glass door had been forced.

  He had entered carefully by the same means, moved silently through the conference room beyond, and found himself in one of the building’s many identical corridors. Now, expecting that Castigon would anticipate and intercept Caden’s escape route, he headed back towards the core of the building.

  It turned out to be a sound prediction. He spotted Castigon ducking through a doorway, apparently unaware that he was being stalked, and decided to try to get ahead of him.

  Throam sprinted down the corridor, more confident now with the layout of the building, and skidded to a near-halt at the next junction. He barrelled around the corner, sprinted again, then came to a juddering stop.

  If he knew where he was going, Castigon would come through the next doorway to reach the stairwell.

  Throam lay in wait, pressed up against the wall, his pistol gripped tightly in front of his chest.

  After what seemed like an eternity, but which he told himself was probably a matter of minutes, the doors hissed open.

  Maber Castigon was just metres away.

  Throam raised his pistol and pointed it at the space in front of the doorway, ready for a chest shot.

  Something skittered into the hallway, and by the time Throam realised what it was, thick, brown smoke was everywhere.

  He hurled himself blindly to the opposite wall, emptying the clip as he went. Somewhere in the smoke, Castigon was firing back and also missing with every shot.

  Throam’s pistol gave a hollow clunk, and he ejected the empty magazine, grabbing another from a hip pouch. The empty dropped from the grip, fell, landed on the ground with a sharp clatter.

  Something big thumped against him, and he found himself carried backwards by Castigon’s full body weight. He pivoted, grabbed at the other man, and threw him to the side.

  He heard Castigon hit the ground, the grunting noise he made as he landed, and the sound of a weapon sliding across the floor. His own pistol and the fresh clip had been knocked from his hands by the impact, falling into the impenetrable smoke.

  Throam gave Castigon no chance to recover his weapon. Still blinded, he leapt towards the n
oise and reached down. His fingers found clothing, movement, and he started punching.

  A hard knee was suddenly in his face, and his head jerked back, pain shooting through his cheekbone. He grabbed for the leg, found his grip, and yanked it towards him.

  Throam was beginning to get a feel for Castigon’s position, and slammed a fist down hard, right where he expected Castigon’s guts to be.

  He heard a fast, pained exhalation, and Castigon’s body folded up around him. Arms reached up to grab back at him, and suddenly Castigon was holding on to Throam’s rear armour plate, his legs underneath the counterpart and his chest pinning an arm.

  Throam felt a thudding against his armour, heard the sharp jab of a dagger being struck against the plates. Then suddenly a tight pinching sensation, and a pain shooting up his side. He knew what it felt like to be stabbed.

  He reached around with his free arm, grabbed the back of Castigon’s neck, and pulled his head back hard. His left arm freed, he smashed the back of his elbow against the murderer’s face.

  “That’s for Ider,” he said at last.

  Castigon said nothing, but grabbed at Throam’s arm with both of his hands. He was strong, but nowhere near strong enough to do anything of use with the arm.

  Throam pushed weight down through his shoulder and strained his triceps, pressing Castigon’s head and shoulders to the floor, stealing the space that he needed to strike back effectively. He brought back his right hand and punched Castigon square in the face.

  “That’s for Molcomb.”

  He heard Castigon blow blood from his mouth and laugh.

  “You’re gonna have to do better than that, slave.”

  “Shut the fuck up. You don’t get to speak to me. Ever.”

  Throam punched him again, then again. He could feel the fight leaving Castigon, heard his head bounce off the floor each time his big fist connected. Castigon’s face was becoming slippery and sticky.

  Without warning, the pain in his side burst into a white hot spear, the sensation shooting into his chest and along his right arm. Castigon had grabbed the dagger he had left in Throam’s side, and pulled down on it.