Forged by Battle (WarVerse Book 1)

by Patrick J. Loller

  "How the hell have we not found anything?" he snarled, the words barely audible.

  McKinley stood stock-still across from his deck, his eyes focused on a spot just above the captain's head, his hands at his sides.

  "Relax, Chris." Johnston waved a hand at his XO. "You are the only bloody officer on this ship I can trust. Don't lose your spine on me now."

  The XO followed orders by putting his hands behind his back and moving his right foot so he was standing at parade rest. Johnston knew this was the best he was going to get out. McKinley took the failure to find anything as a personal one, and it would take more than an order from Johnston to assuage that sense of pride.

  "Everyone has been accounted for. We did the muster twice, and had the ship's AI check on every personnel AMI unit. Doctor Kerrigan has positive ID on every one of her patients as well as Lieutenant Barkhorn, who was wounded fighting the fire."

  "Barkhorn is on the fire suppression team?" Johnston raised an eyebrow.

  McKinley shook his head, "Negative, he was in the corridor and assisted the team. He was burned by a… uh... backblast."

  "I never know whether to give that man a medal or an arse chewing." Johnston sighed.

  McKinley's lip twitched, the equivalent of an explosive laugh from the statue of a man.

  "He does seem to put himself in dangerous situations, sir."

  "Is he still flight-ready?" Every member of his crew was important to Johnston, but he found himself growing found of the young pilot and the strange quirks that brought him across his desk.

  "Doctor Kerrigan has had to threaten sedation several times to keep him from doing just that, sir. Though she assures me he will be ready before we are out of warp."

  "Well, definitely a medal, then." Johnston shook his head. "Did we discover the source of the fire?"

  "Negative, sir. There was no break in any of the life support lines, and the engineers who went through the damage found no battle damage. They are stumped, sir."

  "This stinks of magic," Johnston growled. "Double the watch, place guards on all sensitive areas, and make sure no one goes anywhere alone. If we have an infiltrator on board..." He did not need to describe how easy it would be to destroy their ship while they were underway.

  "I'll make sure it gets done."

  "I believe you will, Chris. Dismissed."

  His XO snapped to attention and exited the chamber, leaving him alone with his thoughts. The headache had wormed its way back into the usual spot, and he looked through his desk for the injector. He would rather fight against impossible odds with a terrestrial enemy than square off against magic he couldn't understand. Going toe-to-toe with another ship was easy; thinking of the thousand ways unknown magic could destroy his ship was another matter.

  Johnston leaned back in his uncomfortable chair and thought about how to proceed. Vincent Barkhorn was really starting to come across his desk more than he would have liked. With a ship full of pilots and sailors, he really shouldn't have been seeing the same name time and time again. The Yank was more his father than he knew. Chase had been the thorn in more commanders’ sides than Johnston could remember.

  No one on board knew how important all the Chimera pilots were, not even Belford. The Inferno was much more than the first interspecies warship. It was the testing ground for the most experimental and dangerous research humanity had ever undertaken. Project Rebirth might win them the war—at the expense of their humanity. Already, Johnston was responsible for the Condemned, and he had never agreed with that practice.

  In the dim light of his cabin, he wondered how history would remember him.

  Chapter 33

  Rodrom

  "What..." Rodrom began, but a scream of pain killed the words on his lips.

  "This cannot be," Lorelei said again. It was not fear, but awe that colored her voice. "You are ironblood—your blood is too harsh for the root."

  Rodrom was unable to respond as a roar escaped him and he twisted back against the nest. Lorelei quickly bounced off her feet to come to him, placing her warm hands around his face. She pulled his gaze towards her, and just for a moment, Rodrom was distracted by bright green eyes streaked with gold.

  "Look at me, DerekRodrom," she commanded, but the fear inside Rodrom surged when he realized she was no longer speaking English. The musical sounds of her language fell on his ears, and his mind understood. "You have shown the trees you are a true healer, and despite the iron, it has taken root within you." Her musical language was far faster than English, and Rodrom understood each word, though he knew not how. The pain had traveled from his spine to his hands and his head was crescendoing into a symphony of pain.

  "The weaver's root is truly painful. Each of us has experienced it. It will pass soon, and you will understand my people as I have come to see yours," Lorelei cried, her hand tightening on Rodrom's cheek, her fingers burning hot against his cold flesh, her gaze unwavering as she stared into his darting eyes.

  "Root...weavers?" Rodrom choked out.

  "Grown from the life trees of the fallen, the weaveroot is planting itself within you, and will unlock your potential!" Lorelei's eyes were wide, her excitement evident.

  Rodrom could scarcely believe what she was saying. "You planted a tree in my back?" he screamed, though his voice lacked any volume, as he could not draw enough air to shout.

  "Calm yourself, DerekRodrom. It will not sprout as the tree. The pollen from the Life Trees has taken root within you. When the weaveroot takes hold it will change you. Already you understand my voice; soon you will be able to understand the songs of all living things. You will hear the weave."

  Rodrom was too terrified to speak, the pain arching through him and replacing his spine with lightning. He jerked as he imagined the branches of the weaveroot plowing through him, carving paths to his bones as it burrowed along muscle tissue, wrapping around nerve endings and breaking through their sheaths. The pain that lanced down his back and through his arms and legs was excruciating, and left him numb. The pain moved out as a wave, the numbness in its wake, until finally Rodrom thrashed a last time and fell still, his head and shoulders now supported in Lorelei's lap. She cupped both her hands around his face.

  Rodrom took a shuttering breath, his heart pounding in his temples as the blood coursed through him fast enough to rattle his eardrums. The deep thrum of each double beat began to slow as he concentrated on it. Then, to Rodrom's confusion, the sound was overlaid with a strange new noise—almost like a stringed instrument, but without a melody. He opened his eyes to find Lorelei's gaze turned upon him. As he tried to reason out the noise’s existence, more sounds joined the first. The intermittent but steady deep bellow of a horn, the tinkling of small bells that lost form as more and more caught his attention. Each new sound fit perfectly with the others, and Rodrom shook his head, afraid of what the weaveroot had done to his mind, and why he could hear music that wasn't there.

  "You hear it, don't you?" Lorelei asked.

  "Why do I hear music?" Rodrom asked, noticing that the beat quickened as he spoke.

  "It is the song of your spirit, the beat in your chest, the rush of your blood. It is the song that every living creature, every plant has, and the weaveroot allows you to hear it, and with practice you may change it as well. You are hearing the Weave."

  Rodrom's fear waned as irrational excitement took hold. The pain was nearly gone now. "This is how you access your powers?"

  "The weaveroot allows us to sing to the trees to help shape them into more practical things, and allows us to repair the songs of those who are wounded, yes, but it allows us so much more."

  "Can you show me?" Rodrom asked, curiosity overpowering him.

  "Of course."

  Chapter 34

  Vincent

  The burns were not as bad as they could have been, but that did not stop the corpsman and the doctor from giving Vincent an earful. The one female doctor could be a real ice queen. He hadn’t intended to get burned, he just knew his p
ilots were in trouble and he had done the only sensible thing. The medical staff adamantly disagreed. They were too preoccupied by the effect to care about the cause. They didn't see his act as necessary, but moronic, and they were more than happy to tell him that.

  Once he had learned he would not be permanently disfigured, he had attempted to leave, which the staff found less than charming. It took more than a few threats and a visit from his pilots to confine him to the recovery room. They had come pretty close to strapping him to the hospital bed. In the end, he stayed, but only because they promised he would be released back to his unit by the end of the day.

  Ele took up one of the beds on the wall alongside his, but she had yet to wake from her own injuries. Vincent couldn't help but feel responsible for what had happened to her. He was, after all, the one who had brought her aboard the ship. Not that he could have left her down on the planet below. He was also the one who had ordered his men to take her back to medical. If he had taken her himself and weathered Belford’s annoyance, then maybe she would not have been injured in the fire.

  Those circuitous thoughts were quick to turn to other sources of guilt; his father's and Derek’s faces loomed in his mind. Two more failures to save the people he cared about. He had been there when his father had died, unable to do anything to stop it. Derek had been light-years, and maybe even realities away when he was captured.

  Vincent couldn't bring himself to imagine Derek as anything more than a prisoner of war. Surely he had the skills to stay alive when his facility was taken by the elves.

  Can’t they see I’m fine? Vincent needed to get back to his fighter. He needed to finish repairs, install the atmospheric armor package, and prepare all of his troops for the upcoming mission.

  Most of his pilots had already come by to ensure he was recovering, and he had passed on what needed to be said for them to begin preparations. Tanker had found an excuse to stay away, no doubt still angry about his additional duties, and Tesla and Forge had already been in medical when Vincent arrived. Only his own wingmates, Zombie and the Duchess, had not been by yet.

  Both would be busy managing the squadron’s affairs while Vincent lay useless on the crisp white sheets of his prison. He was able to do some of the planning he needed with his AMI and the datapad his pilots brought him, but it was slow going, and he would get far more done if he were on the hangar deck in person.

  His thoughts were interrupted when Rover barked beside him. Much to the medical staff’s ire, the robot had adamantly refused to be removed. Vincent could have ordered it to go, but he enjoyed seeing his captors annoyed. He followed the direction of the bot's gaze to a disembodied head floating just outside the curtains that separated the room.

  "Go to the light..." Zombie was doing a very bad impression of a ghostly voice.

  "Your hologram stopped at the neck," Vincent muttered.

  A look of disappointment crossed the pilots face. "Damn holocammies never work right."

  Rover barked again.

  "They work just fine." Vincent gestured to the dog.

  Zombie stepped inside the room, and the Duchess came around the sheets to follow him. While he sat on the edge of Vincent’s cot, the Psykin chose to remain standing.

  Zombie was one of the youngest pilots to join the Chimera program, but he had more than proven himself capable. He had a mop of dark hair barely contained by a military cut, bright green eyes, and a constant smirk that was always hiding some inappropriate comment.

  The Duchess, on the other hand, was serious, and a strong counterpoint to the younger pilot’s bravado. She had the deep blue skintone of her people, a two-pronged horn growing from her forehead that swept back over her skull, and a thin line of a mouth that she barely moved. She rarely spoke, but Vincent knew she was not always as serious as she seemed at first glance.

  Today, however, she looked positively stoic. She had none of the swagger all his pilots expressed, and her body language was rigid and tense.

  "You alright, Duchess?" he asked.

  She stared at him.

  "Don't mind her, bossman, she's just got a stick up her alien butt because she's been picking up the slack while you've been napping."

  The Duchess glared down at Zombie, and Vincent grew concerned that maybe the mantel of command was too much for her. If anything happened to him—a real possibility when dogfighting in the black—she would be the next in line to take command. He had always thought she would take to it, and had enjoyed the idea of Belford having an alien as one of his wing commanders.

  she repeated.

  "I appreciate you guys stopping by, but they will be releasing me in a few hours and I can get back to work then."

  "Won't have much to do by then, boss. Forge and Tesla already got your fighter up and running, and we're almost done with the atmospheric package refit. We're running them all through the paces now." He let out a boisterous laugh. "Man you should have seen the look on those mechanics’ faces when we fired up the turbines and scattered all their tools. Priceless."

  "You're already finished with repairs and refit?"

  "Trained by the best, sir." Zombie gave a mock salute. "Maybe you can meet him yourself one day."

  Duchess asked.

  "Yeah, of course, just don't push yourselves too hard."

  They offered well wishes and left Vincent alone to think about how angry the Duchess had seemed. Something was definitely going on with her. She was one of the most structured pilots on the entire ship—she had to be, in order to prove to all the humans that she could cut it. But this was a whole new level. Vincent needed to get out of the sickbay and back to his fighter deck as soon as possible.

  Chapter 35

  The Exile

  The Exile could sense the Shadow as it moved through the ship in the guise of the other Psykin. It could access all the memories and the appearance of the departed, and therefore appeared to have no difficulty convincing the humans all was well. No small part of her wished to reveal its deception. She had never seen the Shadow exert so much control for so long before. It was growing stronger by the day, and eventually she might not be able to control it at all. It was never supposed to have been that way. The dagger and its summon were a means to an end—a weapon against the enemy from beyond the portals. If it extracted itself from her control, then she had only created more of the very thing she had trained to fight. That she had been exiled for.

  It would be so easy to convince the humans in charge of its deception. She could go to the captain of the vessel. Show him the memories that would condemn both her and the Shadow. Destroy it before it came to power. If it weren't for Project Rebirth.

  She did not need to find the Condemned to continue her search. The project the humans had hidden so deep, was on the very ship she found herself trapped on. Details on the project were as scarce as the trail it left. The important thing though, was that it’s completion would lead to human augmentation. A way for the frail men and women of the fleet to stand up against the monsters they were at war with. If she ensured the project was a success, it could be the push that was so sorely needed. It would mean everything Exile had sacrificed was worth it in the end.

  She had chased the trail all over space. She had heard nothing for months, and was unable to glean even the smallest clue to the project’s whereabouts, or its progress. Until she saw the ports on the back of the other's neck. Two metallic spots on the center of the spine, one on top of the other. She never would have noticed them if it weren't for the Shadow's deception. The humans had never displayed that sort of cybernetics before. They had the AMI units, of course, but those were grown inside the brain with specific nanotechnology. The ports could only mean one thing.

  The ship’s computer systems were easy to crack—a few pushes with her Web to gain the necessary passwords, and she was in. The pilot she had fo
ught was code-named the Duchess, and was part of an experimental fighter wing called Chimera. That was as far as she had gotten before the encryption became too difficult to crack. She needed someone close to the project, and luckily, that person was lying in a bed inside the medical bay.

  She snuck into the maintenance shafts that ran along the entirety of the ship, including near enough to the medical wing for her Web to reach him. The Exile lay in the dust-filled access way, her body pressed against wires and conduits as she reached out for the wounded's mind.

  The mental anguish of those lying in medical berths was thick. So many languishing in the void of illness. The Exile found it sickening. She could feel the wounds they had sustained, and all, save one, would recover completely. But she did not care, not when she had been scared and thrown aside like garbage. Forced to flee, and float alone through the vacuum.

  She was tempted to lash out, to send nightmare visions to those too weak to deserve their unaltered flesh, but she held back. She needed information, and already she had come to close to being discovered. Better to bide her time than lose it over anger. Emotions kill swifter than blades.

  She focused past those AMIs, looking for the lieutenant who would have the passcodes she needed. It should have been a simple effort to separate his mind from the others’, but something was off. The Web was muddled, filled with confusing and disjointed images.

  She jerked inside the confines of the access way, her mind full of fire. Anger that overwhelmed her own rolled off someone inside the medical bay. That someone was not human. The Exile reached for her blade, but as her fingers brushed the hilt, she remembered. She could not give it more power.

  The presence was so strong, and pressed such poignant visions into her mind that her blood seemed to be boiling in her veins. She pushed through, focusing away from that screaming mind. She just needed to find the lieutenant so she could get the codes and leave. Whatever creature was causing her all this mental anguish would have to wait.