The Battle of the Void (The Ember War Saga Book 6)

by Richard Fox

  ****

  Stacey hated stages. Hated being stared at by the Breitenfeld’s entire crew as they filed onto the flight deck and fell into muster. Yet there she was. Standing with the ship’s senior officers in a loose huddle around Valdar as he spoke quietly.

  Malal, his face and body as human as Stacey had ever seen, waited next to her, impassive. An ammo dolly with a pair of quadrium rounds sat on the far side of the stage.

  She looked out the open bay doors where the wrecked Crucible and Malal’s vault filled the space beyond. She didn’t care to have only an energy field between her and hard vacuum, but it was Valdar’s call.

  “We have everyone, XO?” he asked Commander Ericcson.

  “Aye-aye, Skipper. Last sweep has everyone here…except for the prisoner,” the XO said.

  “It doesn’t need to hear this. Bosun,” Valdar said, pointing to a sailor at the forward edge of the stage, “sound attention.”

  The bosun brought a whistle to his lips and blew a long note. Conversation from the crew shut off instantly. Hundreds of heels clicked together. Valdar activated a microphone clipped to his uniform.

  “Breitenfeld,” Valdar’s voice boomed across the flight deck. He clasped his hands behind his back and surveyed his crew. “Our mission was a success. Again, your efforts have won the day.”

  A “hoo-yah” cheer came from the sailors.

  “The Breit took a hit,” Valdar said, “a bad hit. She’ll get us home, but not as fast as we’d like.”

  From the audience, Stacey heard a single “shit.” She could have sworn it was Standish.

  Malal walked across the stage and laid a hand on the quadrium rounds.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen.” Valdar pointed to Malal. “Our technical advisor—”

  A flash of light stung Stacey’s eyes. She rubbed her face and saw Captain Valdar frozen in place. The rest of the crew was equally still.

  Malal stepped back from the empty ammo dolly. The fingers on one hand glowed blue.

  “I was to wait for some grand signal?” Malal said. “I’ve not time for such nonsense. The tachyon inversion field will keep them in perfect stasis until I release them. Not the same trick your grandfather used to sidestep the Xaros invasion, but the same principle.”

  Stacey tried to touch Utrecht’s face as static electricity snapped at her fingertip.

  “Why am I free?” she asked.

  “Valdar wants me to repair his ship, get you all back to Earth in a timely fashion. I can do this. What happens next is my concern.” Malal strode toward Stacey. She backed up to the edge of the stage and fumbled with the pouch holding the control bracelet.

  Malal grabbed her by the wrist and the front of her uniform. He lifted her into the air and stepped off the side of the stage. Stacey fought against his grip as he carried her toward the open bay doors.

  “What’re you doing?” She kicked him in his rock-hard stomach and yelped in pain.

  “I find your species inconsistent,” Malal said. “I might get a more pliant warden if I eliminate you now.”

  Stacey’s eyes went wide as Malal pressed her against the force field separating her from the void.

  “No! Stop! The Qa’Resh will cancel the deal if I die!”

  “‘The tachyon inversion didn’t work on her altered biology,’” Malal said. “‘She grew depressed, suicidal, as the years went on. Tragic, as humans would say. Not that her death had any effect on me.’” Stacey felt the force field give way as Malal pressed harder. “They will believe that.”

  Stacey struggled, but it was useless.

  “Malal! Don’t! I promise you’ll get what you want. The Qa’Resh will believe that you’ve honored your end of the deal. I can tell them what you’ve done for us. No one else can!”

  Malal leaned close to Stacey.

  “They will betray me. Won’t they?”

  “No! They always keep their word. They went behind Bastion to try and save the Earth, promised me a way to save humanity. They always keep their word!”

  Stacey fell to the deck, her wrist throbbing with pain from Malal’s grip.

  Malal offered a hand.

  “I had my doubts. Humans cannot maintain deception while under duress. I needed to be sure that you and the Qa’Resh would keep your end of the bargain. As far as you know, you will,” he said.

  “You’re a son of a bitch,” Stacey said. “I’ll tell them about this. All of it.”

  “Naturally. I’m going to send you back to Bastion with all the good news once I build a conduit. Can’t have the Qa’Resh destroying the gateway to my apotheosis just because they think we’ve failed.”

  “How? We don’t have a probe to connect to Bastion.”

  “I have you, and I have a tool. Come with me.”

  ****

  Torni stared at the photo of her body, so focused on the picture that she didn’t realize Malal and Stacey were just outside her cell until Stacey cleared her throat.

  Torni set the picture aside.

  “Tell me,” Malal said, “do you still feel the immolation directive?”

  “It’s there.” Torni held out a hand. The surface of a finger burned away like lit paper. It returned to normal a moment later. “Gnawing at the back of my mind.”

  “I didn’t have time for a more elegant solution to the Xaros walker. The effect on you was collateral damage. You will learn to keep the directive in check or you will disintegrate like any other badly damaged drone,” Malal said.

  “Aren’t you a ray of sunshine? What are you two doing here? Where is everyone else?” Torni asked.

  “They’re in stasis,” Stacey said. “You’re going to be out here for a while, until the jump engine is repaired and charged. I will go back to Bastion as soon as possible.”

  “How?” Torni asked. “We don’t have a Crucible for you to zip back and forth.”

  “The conduit goes through the Qa’Resh probes, not the Crucible. My biology has been…altered…to make the trip and carry large amounts of data in my DNA. We need you to build a new conduit so I can go back to Bastion with what we’ve learned,” Stacey said.

  “I escaped the Xaros with little more than my memories, not a tool box,” Torni said.

  “You are a prisoner of ignorance.” Malal waved a hand across the cell and the energy field vanished with a pop of ozone. The cell door flung open. “Don’t let your shape fool you. You are no longer human. You are a Xaros drone, albeit one with the potential to be much more useful. Come with me. We have work to do and you have much to learn.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Brannock stretched a thick metal wire from a spool on his belt to a handrail welded against the bulkhead. He snapped a D-ring onto the handrail, locked the spool and gave the line two quick tugs.

  He yanked on Derringer’s taut safety line and grunted approval. The corporal did the same for Indigo, and the line unraveled off the spool.

  “Indigo, you have to lock it.” Brannock took Indigo’s giant thumb and tried to press it into the tiny recess on the spool.

  “Button small,” Indigo said.

  “Or your fingers are too damn big. These obviously aren’t made for doughboys.” Brannock fixed the line and gave Indigo a pat on the chest. “Your line goes lose and you’ll fly down the hallway before it stops you. Probably crush me and Derringer in the process.”

  “Bad,” Indigo said.

  “Yes, bad. Now that we’re locked in, sure hope you both have plenty of ammo.” Brannock tapped the full magazine in his gauss rifle.

  A young sailor ran down the passageway adjacent to where the Marines stood guard. With a briefcase in one hand and a scrap of paper in the other, she skidded to a halt, comparing the door label leading to a storage bay to what she had on her paper. She crumpled the paper in frustration.

  “I hate this ship,” she said.

  “Don’t let the boss hear you say that,” Derringer said.

  The sailor whirled around and pointed a finger at Derringer. The name
STEPHENS was on her vac suit.

  “You! Yes, you Marine, who probably knows his way around this damn place. Where can I find storage bay Echo 2-9? I’ve been around this deck three different—what the hell happened to him?” The sailor backpedaled into the bulkhead.

  “I think Corporal Brannock was just born looking like that,” Derringer said.

  “No! That!” She waved a hand at Indigo.

  “He’s a doughboy,” Brannock said, launching into the umpteenth explanation of Indigo’s presence, “bio construct used to fight the Xaros. He’ll be nice to you if you’re nice to him, and not an alien.”

  “Enemies?” Indigo raised his rifle and looked up and down the passageway.

  “Not yet, big guy. Stand down.” Brannock pushed Indigo’s muzzle to the deck.

  “What do you need in that storage bay?” Derringer asked.

  “I’m supposed to be on the terminal guidance team,” she said, holding up the briefcase. “I was supposed to be there ten minutes ago but this ship isn’t laid out like the America for some reason and I can’t…do you know where it is or not?”

  Brannock pointed to a double door across from him.

  “Oh, thank God.” Stephens pounded on the doors. They opened to a room full of jury-rigged equipment and acceleration chairs bolted to the deck. Banks of monitors filled the room.

  “Stephens? Did you take the scenic route? Get your ass in here!” shouted a petty officer.

  “Good luck,” Brannock said as she went inside.

  “She was cute,” Derringer said.

  “What did I tell you about focus?”

  “What’s there to focus on? Gunney said we’re internal security for the mission. Don’t let the Xaros in that room and hold on when—”

  Red lights pulsed up and down the passageway.

  “Now hear this! Now hear this! All hands brace for acceleration!” came over the public address system and the IR bead in Brannock’s ear.

  He locked his boots to the deck and grabbed the handrail. Part of him hoped the rest of this mission went like the fight with the Toth, with him deep in the hull and with nothing to do.

  Fat chance of that, he thought.

  ****

  A column of light passed through the empty red armor floating in Abaddon’s control room. The armor plates glowed as the General took corporeal form and glided through the tiered workstations surrounding the central plinth.

  The workstations came to life with information. The human fleet broke formation and accelerated toward his great ship. Most of it, the support ships carrying large amounts of quadrium, turned about and fled as best their engines could manage. A scan wave told him nothing new.

  That the humans had an inordinate amount of quadrium was vexing. The material blocked his sensors and the weaponized effects were proving tiresome. The humans’ solar system could only produce so much, yet this force had been most cavalier with using it.

  They’re using the omnium reactor. Wise, but futile. Even with the energy-resistant armor, the humans on Earth stood no chance once he arrived in force. The General decided to revisit the captive intelligence after he dealt with the human fleet once and for all. There were only so many humans left after they re-took their home world, and he was about to finish off the majority of their surviving fleet.

  But their presence in deep space…something didn’t fit. Most species would flee from a creation as vast and terrible as this. This assault must have been out of desperation, or ego. He’d swatted many annoying last stands from scoured species before. This would be another such exercise.

  A human supply ship accompanying their fleet, the only one that hadn’t fled from the battle, accelerated ahead of the other vessels and launched an object off the rail system mounted onto the prow.

  It was too slow for one of their munitions. The trajectory took it above the propulsion ring. The earlier damage to the ring was not yet repaired, and the next batch of drones replicating within his arsenal were incomplete.

  His body flared with anger as the humans forced a decision from him. They’d proven too adept, too resourceful, to ignore. He would deal with this annoyance once and for all; the delay of his mission to Earth would be irrelevant. The humans had no more ships, no more crews, to stop him once he reached their planet.

  The drone net over his arsenal was released. He felt the slight deceleration as the inversion field dissipated.

  This would be the last time the humans interfered with his sacred task to cleanse the galaxy of their pollution.

  ****

  A twinkling star shot out from the Abdiel, the only graviton mine still on board the ship. The rest of its complement was spread out through the fleet.

  Makarov, strapped into her acceleration chair, watched the mine through the bridge’s screens. Her fingers tapped furiously against the armrests until she caught herself and balled her hands into fists. If she showed the slightest bit of worry, her crew would catch the emotion and it would metastasize into dread.

  “Drone net is breaking formation,” Kidson said.

  “How many?”

  “All of them, Admiral.”

  A screen attached to her armrest came to life. Drones broke from their bonds and flew toward the speeding graviton mine.

  “We may have to buy us some room to maneuver. Get a volley of q-shells ready,” Makarov said.

  “The firing solution will be next to impossible when—” Kidson stopped when Makarov held up a hand.

  “The whole fleet depends on it. You’re tossing out a hand grenade, not trying to thread a needle,” she said.

  Kidson barked orders to his team.

  “Two minutes to detonation, Admiral,” Captain Randall said.

  Makarov opened a fleet wide channel. “All ships, this is Makarov. Almost two centuries ago, a great battle was fought near the island of Midway. The Americans crippled the Japanese Imperial Navy and turned the tide of that terrible war and changed the course of history. What we do here today…will save our people. They may not know what we accomplished, or how we did it, but when a child watches the sunrise over the ocean a thousand generations from now, he will have you to thank for it.

  “There will be no retreat. No surrender. We will fight on to victory.”

  Makarov closed the channel.

  “Payload drop in thirty seconds,” Calum said.

  “As you will. Delacroix better have got the math right or we’re about to launch the most useless offensive in military history,” Makarov said. She tightened her restraints.

  ****

  Every ship in the Eighth Fleet opened their garbage bays and dumped tons of refuse in their wake—the shredded remnants of dead-lined void craft, burnt-out sections of bulkheads, every scrap of garbage the ships accumulated since they weighed anchor and traveled through the Crucible.

  Several dozen specially modified graviton mines floated in the debris field tumbling toward Abaddon, all unpowered and just as innocuous as the rest of the garbage.

  With no atmosphere to slow them down, the mines kept their forward momentum.

  The graviton mine shot ahead of the fleet, activated, creating a dense point of gravity with the force of a small black hole. Space warped around the mine as it burned through its quadrium and antimatter fuel.

  The mine’s field gripped Eighth Fleet and snapped every ship toward the upper edge of Abaddon like a slingshot. The ships’ maneuver thrusters flared to life, turning their engine blocks toward their direction of travel. The fleet crossed Abaddon’s propulsion rings like they were flying in reverse.

  The graviton mine pulled the trash dumped by the fleet toward it and burned away before it could mangle the garbage in the crushing grip of its event horizon. The debris, now moving even faster thanks to the mine’s pull, passed through where the mine used to be and spread through space. Most of the garbage, and all the camouflaged mines, would pass through Abaddon’s propulsion rings.

  With the fleet now pounding the drone swarm with q-shells and
stabbing at the propulsion rings with lance munitions, Makarov’s plan hinged on the Xaros not caring about their garbage.

  ****

  Brannock felt the rumble of firing rail batteries through the soles of his boots.

  “All hands, prepare for deceleration!” came over the IR.

  He locked his rifle to his armor and gripped the rail with both hands.

  “I thought we just did that,” Derringer said.

  “You think I became a Marine because I’m good at physics? Stop trying to make sense of everything and just hold on.” Brannock activated the mag locks in his gloves.

  The ship whiplashed beneath him as every engine flared to life. Brannock slammed against his hold, the pseudo-muscles in his suit pulling tight against his arms and chest as his momentum and the ship’s went in opposite directions.

  “Ah, crap!” Derringer’s hands came loose and his upper body flew back. The safety line at his waist snapped tight. Derringer almost bent over backwards and Brannock would have been a lot angrier if the younger Marine didn’t look so ridiculous with his arms flailing around.

  The line holding Derringer stretched under the strain. One of the entwined graphene reinforced steel wires snapped.

  The rest of the line broke a split second later. Derringer’s mag linings held him just long enough for him to issue a panicked scream then they gave way. Derringer flew through the air, heading for a very sudden and painful stop against the bulkhead down the passageway.

  Indigo’s hand snapped out like a striking scorpion and grabbed Derringer’s ankle. The doughboy held Derringer in midair. Brannock felt the pull against his grip lessen as the ship slowed down.

  “I take back everything I ever said about Ibarra and the doughboys,” Derringer said. “Just don’t let go.”

  “Let go,” Indigo said.

  “No! Hold on! Hold on!” Derringer lowered to the deck like a kite on a dying breeze. Indigo kept his grip.

  The deck shimmied for a brief moment, then a second quake rocked the ship.

  “Don’t tell me we’re doing that again,” Derringer said.