Paladin (The Vigilante Chronicles Book 4)

by Natalie Grey

  He went back to his work with a bit more speed this time. Best to get as much done as possible in case they needed to withdraw for a while. If he could get enough devices onto the core, he could control the process remotely. He and Evgen worked in near-silence, passing tools back and forth, murmuring voltage readings and any code techniques necessary.

  He was so close to cracking this AI. He could almost taste it. He started to smile.

  It had become very quiet.

  “Hand me that.” He pointed to one of the electrified clamps in Evgen’s bag. Evgen handed it over, and Tulass began to charge it. So, so close.

  It was exceptionally quiet. In fact, Tulass couldn’t hear any of the groups. Then the screaming started.

  “Out,” the officer in charge ordered. He grabbed Tulass and shoved him down the hall. The clamp went flying, clattering away with the controller, and Tulass dove after them, only to have the officer wrench him back.

  “I need those!” Tulass pleaded. They were so close, but if the AI had time to regroup—

  “You need to get out!” The officer pulled Evgen past him. “Run. We don’t need you in the way if this goes wrong. You’ll just turn into hostages. You want that?”

  Tulass knew exactly what that meant. He’d be sacrificed out of hand. Well, that was a nice thank you for his years of service in the Yennai Corporation, and not something he’d soon forget.

  He needed that control device, though. He might survive a hostage situation, but he wouldn’t survive if he failed Koel Yennai. As the soldier turned back, Tulass ducked into the fray again to grab his controller. A bullet zoomed overhead; he wasn’t sure from which side. He yelped and scrambled away, running after Evgen as fast as he could.

  They rounded a corner at a full sprint and hurtled toward the airlock tube. They were halfway there when Evgen looked down a side corridor and screamed at the top of his lungs. He skidded into a turn so fast he hit the wall and took off, Tulass followed him without a thought. A wide, curving corridor led to what must be the bridge, and Tulass barely made it under the door as Evgen punched the controls to close it.

  “You could have killed me!” Tulass accused.

  “I saw it,” Evgen stammered. He backed all the way to the far side of the room. “You’d have done the same if you saw it. Its eyes were glowing bright red, Tulass.”

  “You’re insane,” Tulass muttered. He settled down on the floor with the controller. “Go sit over there if you’re going to wet your pants. I don’t want to smell it.”

  All he cared about was obtaining the data. He could just tell how close he was.

  He’d crack this AI like an egg. Koel had been very clear—the data and programs in the AI were useful, but the AI itself was far too dangerous to leave intact. Tulass was to extract everything he could from it and then destroy it.

  He slid a slim device into the controller and primed the sequence. One button push was all it would take.

  They all fell in the end.

  Barnabas had awoken with a raging headache and raw eyes. His throat was dry, and his clothes seemed to fit oddly. He rolled onto his back and frowned.

  Where the hell was he?

  A clank caught his attention. He saw Jeltor pull one mechanical hand away from an airlock door. Several lock-pick-like devices retracted into the hand, and Jeltor looked at Barnabas.

  “You’re awake. Are you all right? I don’t have any medical supplies, but if you need any particular procedures…”

  “I’m fine.” Barnabas sat up with a groan. “Mostly fine,” he amended. “Where are we?”

  “One of the smaller airlocks on the Shinigami—which is still under attack and captive, so get your act together.”

  Everything came back in a rush, and Barnabas launched himself to his feet so fast he nearly toppled. He stumbled a bit and made for the door. “Let me out.”

  “We don’t know what’s out there,” Jeltor argued.

  “And without Shinigami, we aren’t going to. We’ll have to take our chances.” Barnabas checked his weapons and nodded to Jeltor. “You don’t have to stay. You’ve sacrificed enough for us. If you want to go back to your fleet—”

  “You’re under attack,” Jeltor replied. “And you’re my ally. You saved my life. I’m helping.”

  “Thank you.” Barnabas smiled. He eased the door open and found an empty hallway. “We’re good,” he murmured to Jeltor. “You go left. That’s aft. I’ll go right. They’re almost certainly at the AI core, but I can turn off some of their access from the bridge. That’s the first priority. You see if you can find Tafa and Gar, and keep them safe.”

  “I will,” Jeltor promised.

  Barnabas moved silently in the familiar corridors. He had never been in that airlock, but he had otherwise made it a point to become familiar with the ship. He had an idea of where Tafa and Gar might be hiding and hoped they would have the sense to stay put.

  He smelled the first patrol before they came into view. Alien bodies, the synthetic fibers of various armor plating, and carbon on weapons.

  He sank into a crouch to wait.

  They rounded the corner in a group. Barnabas, concealed in the shadows, let the first one pass and judged that there were four more behind him.

  The first one, eyes still fixed on the corridor ahead, had swung his gaze without ever seeing Barnabas. He called a faint all-clear, and the rest of the group followed.

  Barnabas let them pass before he stood and twisted the neck of the last soldier. He lowered the body as gently as he could, drew his knife, and cut the throat of the next one.

  No guns. He couldn’t afford the noise.

  There was a call from another group, and the leader of this group answered. Barnabas smirked. The officer hadn’t even glanced back to verify everything was well.

  The third soldier gasped as he fell, and the final two turned sharply at the noise.

  He could not let them call for help. Barnabas launched toward them, teeth lengthening. His knife took the one on the right, and he grabbed the one on the left and dragged him close, teeth clamping over his throat. There was a faint gurgle, then silence.

  From the aft of the ship screams started, and shouts sounded nearby. Either Gar and Tafa had engaged, or Jeltor had. Hopefully, those shouts weren’t them. Barnabas had to focus on Shinigami. Of all of them, she was working alone, and she had the most stacked against her.

  There was a shout behind him, and Barnabas’ turned. Ten soldiers stood there, guns drawn.

  He charged them, and as he ran, he swung his head to check the side corridors. He couldn’t afford to be taken by surprise—not without Shinigami online to help him. He saw only one figure, unarmed, who screamed and took off down the main corridor that led to the bridge.

  You really shouldn’t go there. Barnabas’ lips curved. It won’t be good for your health.

  First he would take out these clowns, then he would go to the bridge. Whoever that was, they had better hope they were gone by then.

  “Sir, our engineering team reports that they are locked on the bridge,” the admiral reported. “Apparently, there is a still a force on the Shinigami. Soldiers are engaging.”

  “And the AI?” Koel demanded.

  “They say they’re close to done, sir. They’ll begin the destruct sequence in a few moments.”

  Barnabas was covered in blood by the time he finished with the group of ten. He preferred finesse and cleanliness in his battles. Sniping enemies from afar was the best way to do things.

  He never seemed to get to do that, though. He had torn one of the soldiers in half and used the body to bludgeon the rest before going after them with teeth, knives, and his Jean Dukes.

  They were going to need to deep-clean the ship when this was over.

  He couldn’t think about that now. He needed to get to the bridge. He started running before the last body even hit the ground, and he upped his speed to smash his way through the bridge doors. He hoped whoever was in there hadn’t figured out how to d
rop the blast doors.

  Thankfully, they hadn’t. Barnabas crashed through with a shriek of metal and plastic, only to see a Torcellan and a Yofu look up in horror from their work on a control panel.

  “The destruct sequence!” the Yofu screamed, and the Torcellan dove for a device lying on the floor.

  Pure fury shot through him. “Oh, hell no!”

  He saw the answer in front of him as he ran. He grabbed the stone chess board he’d had commissioned and swung it as hard as he could.

  The Torcellan’s head exploded in a mist of red, and the Yofu screamed. Barnabas smashed the chess board down on the control device and ground it to dust, pulled out his Jean Dukes, and shot the Yofu in the head.

  He fell, a device of his own dropping from nerveless fingers.

  There was a pause as Barnabas sank to his knees, gasping for air. He was too late. They’d gotten to Shinigami and—

  The lights flickered on.

  “So that chess board was good for something,” Shinigami’s voice said.

  Barnabas started laughing. He leaned his head on the floor for a moment and struggled to control his voice.

  “You’re alive.”

  There was a pause. Shinigami’s avatar tried to smile, but she looked worried.

  “They tried to get into my data banks, although that never would have happened. ADAM made it so they never could. They could have gotten me out of the ship, but as to seeing into my mind—”

  “You’re alive,” Barnabas repeated. He stood up and shook his head. “I thought I was too late.”

  “Not quite.” She did smile at that. “And if you want some more good news, Tafa and Gar just took out the last set of soldiers. Speaking of which, the battle is starting, so…hold on.”

  “Hold on for what?” Barnabas asked. “Just patch them through to—”

  The ship lurched, and he was thrown from his feet as the Shinigami tore itself loose from the struts and dove.

  “Sorry.” Shinigami’s avatar looked down at him. “Should have been more specific.”

  “Ow.”

  “Yes, yes. Now get up. We have a battle to fight.”

  16

  “Ma’am, high command wants—”

  “I don’t give a damn what they want!” On the bridge of the JCS Drethjar, Commander Jeqwar waited as two other Jotun paused in the process of disassembling her powersuit. “Keep going,” she snapped at them. “Plug me into this damned ship and let’s go.”

  “Ma’am.” The communications officer clanked over from their desk. “Commander Howauc is still unaccounted for. High command is worried that if we begin firing we’ll hit him.”

  “Have they lost their damned minds?” Jeqwar bobbed in the liquid inside her suit, waiting as the two aides transferred the suit’s internal tank into the command chair. She gave a small sigh as the ship’s information transferred to her.

  It was a rare Jotun who could control a whole ship. The officer corps of the Jotun Navy was chosen from this elite group, and there were plenty of stories of those who had burned out during training—gone mad and been shuffled off to live quiet lives in small colonies.

  But for those who could manage the flow of data, there was nothing like being in command of a ship. Jeqwar felt her body flex as the ship moved slightly, turrets swung into position, missile tubes loaded, and interference signals were at the ready.

  She looked at the communications officer. She was calmer now that she was in control of the ship, but she was also unequivocal about the truth of the matter.

  “We have the element of surprise. This is our one chance to take the Yennai Corporation fleet unawares. Commander Howauc knew that and willingly went into danger on the Avaris. Should he die in this engagement I will regret it, but all of us knew that was a possibility. To die in defense of your people is a good death. Tell that to the high command.”

  “Y-yes, ma’am.” The communications officer returned to his desk and transmitted the message.

  A few moments later, the check-ins began. Officers were strapped into their ships and systems came online in a flicker Commander Jeqwar saw lighting up an internal map.

  “All destroyers armed,” their admiral relayed. “First ranks, advance.” Unlike the others, he commanded the details of the fight while a second commander controlled the carrier they were on. There were three ships in the battle with a backup admiral on board, and all the officers had trained extensively on what to do if all three were incapacitated.

  Even though the Jotuns had never been in a sustained, long-term engagement, they had prepared for this. They were ready.

  Now the first ranks of destroyers surged in unison, making for the forward ranks of the Yennai fleet. Yennai destroyers positioned to meet them, spreading into a two-row formation to divide the Jotuns’ attention. The Yennai ships knew that the Jotuns were after the Avaris, and they weren’t about to allow them through unchallenged.

  “Second ranks, uncloak and advance,” the admiral ordered.

  Jeqwar waited. She was part of the third wave. She watched as the second set of destroyers split and mirrored the Yennai formation. They fired, forcing the Yennai to choose between engaging which allowed the first set of destroyers through or dividing their attention between the two which increased the odds that they would be crippled by two lines of enemy fire.

  “Third ranks advance,” the admiral ordered.

  The Drethjar slid forward silently, still cloaked. The fleet that the Yennai ships had sensed was not even close to the whole fleet they had present. Only enough ships had arrived uncloaked so that the Yennai officers would not be suspicious—but countless ships remained cloaked and were ready to advance to point-blank range before they fired.

  “Carriers, arm missiles and release fighters.”

  The fighters shot out into the black and banked around to accelerate in formation, well-spaced around the destroyers the Yennai ships could detect with their scanners. In the launch tubes of the Drethjar and the other cloaked destroyers, the second set of fighters readied themselves.

  “First rank of carriers advance.”

  This was the wave of two cloaked carriers. They followed the cloaked destroyers, visible in a different color on the internal map Jeqwar referenced. She hurtled through the darkness with the solar wind licking her hull, and she felt the loss of each fighter as it winked out on the scanners. They were engaging now, and many were lost.

  That was the role of their fighters, but it was not easy to see—particularly because every officer in charge of the large ships had started out in a fighter. One had to start with the smallest ships and work their way up. Some never advanced beyond that stage. Others like Jeqwar made it to larger ships before they hit their limits.

  The admirals were the best of them. Each one of the five was a living legend, able to command the entire fleet for a short time as reinforcements were called into individual ships, or in a case that demanded absolutely perfect unison, on a formation.

  “They have a ship advancing!” The warning came from a scout ship that flew high and cloaked above the plane of battle. “A large destroyer. It’s coming down on heading 225, making directly for the Jotuna.”

  The admiral’s ship. A tremor of fear shuddered through Jeqwar. If the Yennai fleet also had cloaking this good, what ships did they have coming that the Jotuns could not see?

  And how were they going to stop this destroyer?

  “Drethjar and Uqwar, peel off and fire on this destroyer,” the admiral ordered. “All other destroyers stay in formation.”

  Jeqwar banked as sharply as she dared and heard the surprised yells from her crew. She hadn’t had the time to warn them, and she still didn’t. They would get the orders through the secondary communication channels.

  She primed every missile she had and fired as soon as she was clear of the cloaked destroyers. Missiles streaked into the darkness, some sizzling with EMP bursts, others ready to blow on impact. Still others carried various diseases and gasses ready to inca
pacitate crews. She had already fired her second set of missiles before the first impacted.

  And she watched as every single one of them bounced harmlessly off the hull of the Yennai destroyer. YCS Ilia was painted across the hull in crimson lettering. The paint looked new.

  Jeqwar’s world narrowed to a single fact: she could not let that destroyer reach the Jotuna.

  “We crush the ship,” she relayed to the Uqwar. “There’s no other way to stop it. My missiles are doing nothing.”

  Commander Frewaj, the Uqwar’s officer, had been through training with Commander Jeqwar. She did not even hesitate. “We crush the ship,” she agreed. “Accelerate on heading 205b, flip ninety, and aim for the landing bays.”

  “Received. Pleasure serving with you.”

  “And you.”

  Jeqwar cleared her mind and pushed the ship to its limits, launching all her fighters into the black. They would survive, at least, and for the rest of the crew, this was a good death. She meant what she’d said to the officer earlier. Jeltor had known what he was doing when he came here, and so did she. This fleet would terrorize her people if she did not take them down.

  In sacrifice lay freedom. She swung the ship hard and prepared to accelerate—

  “I don’t want to interrupt,” said a female human voice, “but before you crash into this behemoth, let me just try something.”

  A burst of missiles materialized out of nowhere and the YCS Ilia spun off course, jerking up while the missiles tore at its belly. There was a whoop of victory, and another set of missiles appeared.

  “Gotcha, bitch!” As the ship spun out of control above the Jotun fleet, the female voice added, “Pity he brought her back like this just to die again, but maybe he’ll learn his lesson this time.”

  Jeqwar, who had accepted her own death, found that she was trembling. For a moment, she could not remember any words at all.

  “Er, to whom am I speaking?”