Drysine Legacy (The Spiral Wars Book 2)

by Joel Shepherd

  “Wow,” someone breathed, breaking coms discipline for the first time. Trace thought this deserved it.

  “A few of those sublighters are pressurised,” Hausler observed. “That’s sard, some of these docking habitats are pressurised too. Doesn’t look like a natural part of the base. More like a recent addition.” He threw them into a slide, course correcting at 3-Gs as he followed Styx’s direction on his nav. The drone escort changed course with them, struggling to catch up with underpowered thrusters.

  “Those are recent additions,” Styx confirmed. “We did not build this with sard in mind.”

  Trace wondered what this was like for her. Whether she was old enough herself to remember this, she surely possessed memories from that time compiled by others, and transmitted digitally. Trace had often wondered at her own emotional reaction to seeing Sugauli again, were she to one day return. What would a drysine queen feel, to see this old grandeur once more? The still-living memory of a dead civilisation, from a time when her people had ruled the galaxy?

  “Look,” said Yun as she spotted something. “Flippers.” ‘Flipper’ was the Fleet Intel codename given to sard warrior gunships. These were clustered at docking gantries about the habitats, a bristle of engines and weapon pods about an armoured hull. The sard equivalent to Fleet marine shuttles, based on tavalai tech like most sard ships, and overwhelmingly deadly to a civilian shuttle like AT-7. “I count nine.”

  “You can be sure there’ll be a lot more,” Hausler said grimly, adjusting course toward one of those yawning hexagonal gaps in the superstructure. About them the steel city closed in, blocking out the thin glow from the distant star. Artificial lights bristled from within Tartarus, like many distant campfires in a haunted forest.

  “I calculate from Tartarus design and this sard dispersal that there could be more than ten thousand sard in the vicinity,” said Styx. “Sard are numerically predictable.”

  Trace could feel the jaws of the trap closing around her… if it was a trap. If most of the workers running Tartarus were reprogrammed drysine drones, then most of the sard here would be either warriors or combat-capable administrators whose fighting skills and equipment weren’t far behind.

  “Going to be quite a job getting out of here,” Jalawi murmured.

  “Styx,” said Trace. “How far in do you think the deepynine queen is?”

  “Deepynine command centre will be approximately central with an offset. Navigation through this structure will take approximately twenty-eight minutes. First guard change is commencing now.”

  “Guard change?”

  “I have new drones,” Yun announced. “Six marks, closing fast.” On her scan feed, Trace could see the new dots coming, and saw the existing six drysine drones decelerate and break off. “Looks like the honour guard just changed… I’m reading a different transmission from these ones, they’re bigger too.”

  “Deepynine warriors,” Styx said calmly. “It appears that reprogrammed drysines are allowed only limited access to Tartarus interior and command functions.”

  One of Ensign Yun’s exterior cameras zoomed on the approaching deepynines… and immediately Trace could see the family resemblance with the deepynine command unit her marines had killed on TK55. An extended carapace and head-shield up front, a menacing, three-eyed ‘face’ and an angular profusion of limbs, modular jets and weapons. Everything about them looked deadly, the way a new settler on a colonial world could just tell that some strange insect was poisonous and shouldn’t be touched. As though a million years of human evolution had conspired to imprint on the human brain that anything that looked like this, was death. And Trace wondered if hacksaws had cultivated this appearance for that purpose, or arrived at it by unhappy accident.

  “Styx,” asked Romki, “who is more capable in combat? Deepynine or drysine drones?”

  “Deepynine,” said Styx with surprising certainty. “Individually. But in manoeuvre, drysine tactics are more flexible and adaptive. All specifications and armaments being equal, one deepynine will beat one drysine six times out of ten, but a hundred drysines will beat a hundred deepynines by the same ratio.”

  “So the more numerous and successful you became,” Romki concluded, “the more the drysines won.”

  “Yes. I have a new course — Lieutenant Hausler, adjust accordingly.”

  “Whoa,” said Ensign Yun, “I’m getting a big coms spike from these guys.”

  “They are querying me,” said Styx. “Communications intensity has multiplied. They are… intrigued. No, fascinated.”

  It twisted Trace’s brain to think of a machine being fascinated. And yet, as the deepynines fell into close formation about AT-7, guiding her through the surrounding structure, it almost seemed as when Trace herself had arrived on many human stations, and been surrounded by crowds of civvies and children come to catch a glimpse of the legend. Deepynines from alo space would no doubt have wondered often if they’d left anyone behind, hiding as Styx herself had been hiding. And now, here was a queen, perhaps the first they’d found in thousands of years.

  “If they’re capable of being fascinated,” Sergeant Kono remarked, “then I bet they’re capable of being pissed when they find out the truth.”

  “I have expanded data access,” Styx announced. “I can see a long way now.”

  “You’ve accessed the Tartarus data net?” Romki asked.

  “Limited. I… hold a moment. Hold a moment.” That was disconcerting too, sounding like what a lower-tech AI might say when its processing became so intense it lost the ability to talk. Until now, Styx had been talking quite calmly despite all her complex transmissions with the deepynines — an indication perhaps of just what a peripheral function speech was for her. Bird calls, Captain Pram had said. “I have found someone.” She sounded nearly astonished. “A drone unit, of normal function. A drone not reprogrammed.”

  “Styx?” Trace asked. “Styx, what do you mean? I thought the deepynines had reprogrammed all the drysine drones?”

  “As did I. This one has been hiding. Pretending, from fear.”

  Fear. Again Trace’s brain struggled to accept that a drone could be scared. “He’s managed to avoid reprogramming? Styx, can you make contact?”

  “I do not wish to give him away. He is also now the last of my kind.”

  Across from her acceleration seat, Jalawi gave her a concerned look. Now was not a good time for the drysine queen to discover conflicting loyalties. “Styx, this may be your only chance to save him. If he stays here the deepynines will discover him eventually.”

  A thrust burst pushed them sideways as Hausler adjusted course through the maze. “He recognises me,” Styx said then. “He is… astonished. He is… hold a moment. Hold a moment.” Trace flipped quietly to the viewpoint of Lance Corporal Penn, and saw on his helmet cam Styx’s wide carry cage bolted to the deck between rows of seats. Penn’s seat was higher, in zero-G stacking, and with his Koshaim unracked he’d have a good shot through Styx’s head and into the decking, where no vital shuttle systems were located. Trace had gotten Hausler to check. “I have a manifest of Tartarus shipping. He has provided me access. Seven major vessels under construction. Fourteen completed new-generation warships in close protection, specification unknown. One hundred and thirteen sard assault gunships, accompanying eleven major sard warships.”

  Dear god, thought Trace. That was a fucking sard fleet, buried in here somewhere.

  “Three captured vessels. One tavalai, mostly destroyed, intercepted at a neighbouring system, name unknown. One human, intercepted at a far system, name Europa. One barabo, intercepted at…”

  “Wait!” Trace snapped, as even her calmly thudding heart nearly stopped. “Did you say Europa?”

  “Regelda Freightlines ship Europa, civilian freightliner. Thirty-one crew registered living and in captivity, Captain Aldon Houli registered deceased, passenger Calvin Debogande registered alive, passenger Elizabeth Chow registered alive…”

  “Styx,” Trace cut her
off, “get me a secure line back to Phoenix.”

  “I will have to disguise it as deepynine code, but the modulations may not look convincing. I do not recommend this course of…”

  “Do it now!”

  * * *

  For a moment Erik could not think or breathe, and simply sat locked in his command chair. This wasn’t fair. This wasn’t… and thoughts flashed to his family, and childhood times with Uncle Calvin and his kids, Erik’s cousins, and games, dogs and barbecues. Cousin Sarah’s dangerous virus and Uncle Calvin not leaving her bedside, so devoted to his kids, comforted now in his memory by Erik’s mother, a hand on her brother’s shoulder and assuring him that everything would be okay…

  Those memories did not belong out here. Those were his family, his home-life, that jumble of mundane complexity, loves and trials and relationships that were everything this life was not. In that life, Cousin Sarah had recovered and they’d celebrated with a ski-trip on her birthday, Sarah’s favourite thing with fireplaces and snow, and presents, food and songs…

  And now, her dad had been abducted by deepynines. It just wasn’t possible that those two worlds could collide like this. But here was Trace Thakur, perhaps the most reliable person he’d ever met on things that mattered, telling him exactly that.

  “Shit they must have followed them!” Shahaim breathed in horror. “From the Joma Station attack, the sard must have followed them and…”

  “Hello Styx,” Erik cut her off, because it really didn’t matter now. Suddenly the confusion vanished, replaced with hard certainty. If there was one thing in all the galaxy he had been fighting for, in all his military life, it was to stop his military and home lives from colliding. And that was what he’d do. “Your distraction. Will it be big?”

  “The possibilities of scale just increased.”

  “How have they increased?”

  “This friendly unit has encrypted communications with fellow drysines. I have access to the override programs. I can deprogram them.”

  “How many of them?”

  “Unknown. Perhaps some, perhaps most.”

  “To what effect?”

  “Localised civil war in Tartarus. My people can be freed.”

  In the chair to his front and left, Kaspowitz had turned his head to stare. ‘We’re going to give her an army?’ that stare asked. He said nothing, but Erik knew.

  “Styx, likely outcome of localised civil war?”

  “Mutual mass casualties. Unsupported, drysines will cease effective resistance in under fifty human minutes. Supported, victory is possible, if unlikely.”

  “Styx, we are going to send in another shuttle once you start the war. Its objective will be the rescue of human and other alien crew from those captured vessels. Phoenix will operate as a base of support for all rebelling drysine drones.”

  “LC,” Trace retorted, “this plan will endanger our primary mission to confirm the existence of a deepynine queen…”

  “No it won’t, she will expose herself in any fight we start.”

  “LC as marine commander in the field, I will not…”

  “You’re in a spacer shuttle Major, and this is not your command. You will obey orders or I will have you replaced.” His words held no temper, just the certainty of what it would take to make her shut up. “Lieutenant Jersey, please report.”

  “Hello LC, this is Jersey, PH-3 is ready and waiting.”

  “Hello LC, this is Crozier, Delta Platoon is go.”

  Jersey and Crozier were a pair, Delta Platoon standing by in PH-3. Trace’s concerns with Crozier’s state of mind occurred to him… but she was the standby roster, and for this job only one platoon was going to fit.

  “Lieutenant, PH-3 and PH-4 will depart on combat approach when I give the signal. Your objective is rescue, humans first, anyone else who can fit in second. PH-3 will take Delta Platoon, PH-4 will fly empty for prisoner recovery. We will try to get you an escort.”

  “PH-3 copies, an escort would be real interesting.”

  “PH-4 copy,” Tif echoed. “Good fun yes?” Erik wondered what the kuhsi word was for ‘bravado.’

  “Phoenix,” said Styx, “my drysines will provide both shuttles with escort. I have a fix on the prisoners’ location now, I will feed it to you.”

  33

  Trace flipped her visor view to widescreen as AT-7 entered a cavernous bay. Four major warships were under construction here, in an interior space so large it made the huge ship bays on TK55 look like closets. Each ship was woven into a tight embrace of gantries and grapples, a cluster of interlocking steel skeleton so tangled it was hard to see where the Tartarus began and the warships ended.

  About the ships were a small storm of construction vessels, tugs and drones. Upon the ships themselves swarmed hacksaw drones, like ants devouring the dead carcasses of larger animals, only these were not devouring, but building. The construction zone flashed with blue and yellow welding glow, dancing spot-fires that showered orange sparks into the vacuum. Hausler adjusted course to avoid haulers pulling hull segments across the void, and the deepynine escort flexed their formation without breaking it. Ahead of them, the construction cavern went on forever.

  “Styx, can you get control of some of these ships?” Trace asked. She could see Jalawi’s face across from her, viewing the same view that she did, grim and increasingly certain that this would be his last mission.

  “They are drysine command, but a different coding to my drones. I cannot do it myself, but some of the higher-ranked drones may find it possible.”

  “What about the ships in the vicinity of Phoenix?” If they started a fight here, the picket ships would immediately fire on Phoenix once they realised the situation.

  “The firebases are all drysine. I can gain control and fire upon the picket vessels. The surprise should incapacitate many, and the rest shall be too occupied with that threat to be concerned of Phoenix.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many ships in Tartarus? Get me a map.”

  And with that her visor flashed again, and she zoomed fully into tacnet. It gave her a 3D display of the entire Tartarus sphere, alive with more activity than she could possibly track. But here, blinking for convenience, were seven locally-constructed warships, all docked within various inner cavities.

  “Gaining access to those ships will be the first priority,” said Trace. Her heart was thudding in spite of all her habitual calm, and she focused her breathing, slow and deep. “We need to keep them busy and divert their attention. They’ll want to protect their base, so big warships inside their perimeter will do that.”

  “Agreed. I have no firm number of drysine drones, I cannot contact them all. I estimate between three and four thousand.”

  Trace licked her dry lips. She could not deny her nerves now, nor her fear. She’d never commanded anything a fraction as big. A glance at her visor counter showed T-minus-42.

  “If we don’t do it soon Makimakala’s going to run through here and blast Tartarus with us still inside,” Jalawi growled.

  “We have to get closer,” said Trace. “Styx, can you confirm the queen is at the central core?”

  “No, but it is the traditional location for command. Major, most of my drones are workers, though a small number have weapons. I estimate no more than ten percent, for rapid defence.”

  “Can we get more? You guys have modular configuration, the drones that attacked Joma Station were armed. Where are those weapons?”

  “I am scanning. Here, directly ahead, a reconfiguration point. There are others, all will be guarded.” And Trace saw on her tacnet a large structure at the end of the shipbuilding cavern, highlighting now as she zoomed on it. Interior structures appeared, maze-like.

  “Unarmed drones attacking that could get slaughtered if the defenders are well set. Everything depends on getting enough drones armed to make a difference, we can’t launch a rebellion without weapons.”

  “Well we’re going to be
there on our present course in one minute,” Hausler told her. “Phoenix is still a long way out to launch a rescue shuttle, they’ll have to boost up to get here quick.”

  “Can they do it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we’re out of time. Styx, do it now. Don’t message Phoenix, they’ll figure it out when the shooting starts.”

  “Yes. Commencing.” Trace took several more breaths to slow her thumping heart. Just before it started was always the worst, like the anticipation of jumping into ice cold water. Once you were in, the body and mind adjusted. On tacnet, nothing changed. Trace wondered how she’d be able to command something this scale once it started. And realised that of course, she couldn’t. Styx might manage it. If it worked.

  “I’m getting new scan activations from our escort,” Yun said with alarm. “It looks like they’re querying.”

  “They have registered something wrong. My signal is propagating. Do not break formation or they will destroy us.”

  Trace saw Jalawi looking at her. AT-7 had no guns save for its marines, and the marines had to stay hidden. Emerging to shoot at the deepynines would get AT-7 shredded before they could hit anything.

  “Styx?” Trace heard Romki press. “Progress?”

  “Localised. We must not flinch. Patience.”

  “Shit,” muttered Hausler, as one of the drones swung sideways on its course, full-frontal with all weapons. Trace could see underside launchers, and twin rotary cannon on its ‘shoulders’. In zero-G, hacksaw drones were like flying tanks, only smaller and more mobile.

  “As soon as we’re clear we dock with the armoury ahead,” Trace told Hausler.

  “Copy. Thirty seconds.” The end of the cavern drew closer, visible now within the shadow of massive steel walls. Wedged between several gantries was a huge, dark spheroid, cocoon-like and ominous. Trace could see entry portals — hacksaws needed no airlocks — hexagonal openings into the maze.