by Chris Fox
“Shot away, sir,” Mr. Ezana said, in a thick accent. A moment later an explosion bloomed on the Tigris vessel, sending a cheer up from the crew. The starboard launch tube was obliterated by the gauss cannon, and the attack sent a spray of golden debris into space.
“Sir, they’re launching cables,” Juliard said.
“Evasive maneuvers, Emo,” Dryker called, leaning forward in his chair.
The Johnston fired its aft thrusters, juking left as three harpoons shot from the Tigris vessel. If even one landed, the Johnston was doomed.
Two went wide, but the third was aimed directly at their starboard side. Fortunately, the pair of turrets on that side of the ship were working overtime. They belched a volley of high velocity rounds, their twin streams of metal converging on the harpoon. It was knocked wide by the shots, and passed harmlessly underneath them.
“Best speed, Emo. Get us some room,” Dryker ordered.
The Johnston accelerated away from their opponents. The Tigris were going the opposite direction, which meant they had to bleed off their momentum before they could pursue. That bought at least a little time.
“The Tigris are coming about again,” Emo called.
“Juliard, plot me their intercept course. How long do we have?” Dryker asked, as calmly as he could manage.
“Three minutes to intercept, sir,” Juliard replied.
“Damn it,” Dryker cursed. The Tigris had been spacefaring when mankind still thought the world was flat. Their technology was just better. There was no way the Johnston could outrun them.
What should he do? Turn about and attack again? It might work, but it was unlikely. The Tigris adapted quickly, and Fizgig was by far and away their most cunning commander. She’d terrified humanity during the last war, and had single-handedly destroyed most of the 1st fleet. If he used the same tactic, she’d be ready.
“Full burn, Emo. Keep them at range as long as possible,” Dryker ordered.
That would give them a few minutes at least. He stared tensely at the view screen, which now showed the view from the rear of the ship. The Tigris vessel had already grown from a speck into a full-sized warship. They were closing, and fast.
Dryker leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. There were no good decisions here. He watched helplessly as the Tigris grew closer, then closer still.
“Why aren’t they firing darts at us?” Juliard asked in a quiet voice.
“Because firing would slow them down,” Dryker replied, still focused on the view screen. “Fizgig knows we can’t escape, so she’s going to run us down.”
“Captain, they’ll be in harpoon range in twenty seconds,” Emo called.
“Acknowledged,” Dryker said, considering. “Emo, evasive maneuvers the second they fire.”
Four seconds later the Tigris launched a volley of harpoons. This time the shots were wide of each other. There was one central shot that would definitely hit the Johnston, and three that would go wide if the Johnston held course. Moving in any direction would put them in the path of another harpoon. Clever.
Emo tilted the stick, and they moved out of the path of the incoming harpoon. Sure enough, that put them into the path of another harpoon. A loud boom echoed through the ship as the harpoon punched through the rear starboard wing. The ship lurched as its speed was reduced, and Dryker winced at the size of the Tigris vessel now directly behind them.
“Sir, we’ve lost atmosphere in parts of A, B, and C decks,” Juliard informed him.
“Lieutenant Ezana, if you can sever that cable there’s a bottle of brandy in it for you,” Dryker said, adrenaline making his voice waver.
“Aye, sir,” Ezana said, as the Tigris vessel loomed closer, reeling them in with the cable attached to the harpoon.
The turrets on the starboard side of the ship began to fire, converging on the cable holding them in place. They were answered by turrets on the Tigris vessel, which fired a steady stream of high velocity rounds into the Johnston. One of the starboard turrets exploded, but the other continued to fire at the cable.
“Captain,” Juliard called, “we’re receiving damage reports from all over the ship. We’re taking a beating, sir.”
“Have fire support teams move to that side of the ship. Seal all affected areas,” Dryker ordered, staring hard at the view screen. “Come on…come on.”
Then the remaining starboard turret finally did its job. The cable holding them in place took a direct hit, snapping away from the Johnston and rebounding off the Tigris vessel. The harpoon was still embedded in the Johnston, but fortunately it had missed their engines.
“Emo, get us to maximum speed. Use the planet to slingshot us,” Dryker barked, rising from his chair.
“Aye, sir,” Emo called. The Johnston pulled away from the Tigris, gaining a little distance.
“Sir,” Juliard called. “They’ll be on us again in forty-seven seconds.”
“Blast it,” Dryker snapped. There just wasn’t any way to escape. They were outclassed.
“Sir,” Juliard called, tentatively. “The Tigris have broken off their pursuit.”
“On screen,” he called. The view screen shifted to show the Tigris vessel, which was hovering above the planet. It wasn’t pursuing.
There was no way Fizgig would let him escape, not when he was so close. It just didn’t make any sense.
“Open a channel, Juliard,” Dryker ordered. The screen shifted to reveal the Tigris bridge. Fizgig glared at him with those terrible feline eyes, tail thrashing angrily.
“The void watches over you this day, Captain Dryker,” she snarled, looming closer to the screen. Her fangs flashed. “Tomorrow is another matter. Run, because I will hunt you.”
Then the communication was cut.
25
Escape
Hannan took another sip of water before speaking into the comm. “Do you have eyes on the enemy, Mills?”
“They’re sticking to the area around their shuttle,” Mills whispered back. “They aren’t making a move to attack. I don’t have a clear shot yet, but I’m maneuvering into position.”
“Keep us posted,” Hannan said. She picked up her rifle and used it to help her get to her feet. The drugs were beginning to wear off, and the exhaustion was getting heavier.
“Sarge,” Edwards called, a note of warning in his voice. He spun to face the corridor leading into the temple, and she did the same.
“Hold your fire,” the commander called, his voice unmistakable. “We’re coming out.”
“About time,” Hannan yelled back, lowering her rifle. She kept behind cover, darting a glance at the tunnel where the charred cats still lay. She’d never get the smell of burnt fur off her armor.
“Sit rep,” the commander said, dropping down into cover next to her. He was panting from exertion but, given how she felt, she couldn’t really chide him for it.
“Five hostiles down, five remaining. We can’t exit this place without taking fire,” Hannan said. “No casualties yet, but we’re pretty beat. Not sure it would be wise to launch a frontal assault.”
“Why haven’t they tried attacking again?” Lena asked.
Hannan assumed the question was rhetorical, but she answered anyway. “No idea, but I’m thankful they haven’t. We can’t repel them a second time.”
“Sarge?” Mills whispered over the comm.
“Go ahead, Mills,” she said, leaning against the block again. It was cool against the back of her head.
“The cats are pulling back. They’ve just boarded their shuttle, and it looks like they’re lifting off.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Hannan said, shaking her head. “They’ve got us dead to rights—and, even if they didn’t, the Claws never retreat.”
“Never,” Lena agreed. “Unless they’ve received new orders.”
The sound of a shuttle’s engines rumbling to life echoed through the dead city. A spray of gravel washed past the front of the tunnel, then the shuttle lifted skyward. The sound o
f its engines began to recede.
“Commander Nolan, this is Johnston actual,” Dryker’s voice crackled over the comm. “Please tell me you’ve got what we came for.”
“I’m not sure, sir,” the commander said. He scrubbed a hand through his beard and peered down at something that Lena was carrying—some sort of cube. “I think so.”
“Get your ass back to the ship. We’ll wait in low orbit for your shuttle. Johnston out,” Dryker said.
“You heard the man,” the commander replied. He rose to his feet again, and began moving up the corridor toward their shuttle. “Let’s get the hell off this rock before the Tigris change their mind.”
26
Fizgig
Fizgig was not pleased. She rose from the plush velvet cushions of her chair, her tail flicking back and forth behind her. It was a clear sign of her displeasure, and none of the other bridge officers met her gaze. They knew better than to risk her ire. She licked her paw, then used it to smooth an errant lock of fur on her neck. Grooming calmed her, and if ever she needed to be calm it was now.
“Are we really letting them go?” Khar asked, growling low in his throat to show what he thought of the notion.
“You heard the same communique I did, prideless,” she said, whirling on Khar. The burly male stood near the weapons panel, his mane askew from a noted lack of grooming. It was his responsibility to attack, and Fizgig knew his pride had been wounded when they’d pulled away from the human vessel.
“We had them,” Khar said, a low growl rumbling from his chest. His tail rose over his shoulder, a subtle insult. “One more pass, one more pursuit, and we’d have boarded them. The Johnston destroyed the Revelation. They wiped out scientists. There must be retribution. To do otherwise is pure cowardice.”
Fizgig pounced. Her claws slid from their sheaths, and she raked them across Khar’s face. He stumbled backwards, reaching for his pistol. She didn’t give him a chance. Fizgig balled her paw into a fist, then slammed it into Khar’s sensitive belly with all the force she could muster. Khar collapsed to the deck, mewling pitifully and trying to crawl away. Spots of blood dotted the patch of white fur on his nose.
“You are a fool, blinded by pride,” Fizgig said, seizing Khar by the scruff of his neck. She hauled him to his feet, meeting his gaze. “Our kits are in danger. The old and the young are being attacked. They are our priority. The humans will be dealt with—but when we receive word that our homes are being defiled we respond. Our honor does not matter. Only the lives of those in our pride matter.”
She dropped Khar and returned to the command chair. Fizgig forced herself to sit, though she allowed her tail to flick wildly. “Izzy, is the shuttle aboard?”
“It’s docking now, Mighty Fizgig,” the white-furred pilot replied, with a deferential nod.
“Get us to the Helios Gate. Make for the Panthrine system, as quickly as possible.” This command was the opposite of the one Fizgig wished to give, but her own words rang in her head. They had a responsibility.
“Yes, Mighty Fizgig,” Izzy said, her tail swishing eagerly. She tapped in a series of commands, and the Claw of Tigrana accelerated toward the sun.
Fizgig’s eyes automatically narrowed, though the view screen cut out nearly all of the sun’s incredible brilliance. They plunged into it, waves of flame washing over the sides of the ship. Then the vessel began to slow. Making their way through the photosphere was easy, but by the time they reached the sun’s core movement took incredible energy. It was the densest material in the known galaxy, and displacing that mass wasn’t easy.
Fortunately, energy was all around them. Every Helios capable-vessel could channel solar mass, and theirs was no exception. The Claw forged deeper into the star, finally reaching the artificial bubble at the center. The Helios Gate’s titanic structure dominated the darkness, its harnessed singularity hovering in the center.
“Take us through,” she ordered, flexing her claws. This part always made her nervous, though she couldn’t say why.
“Connection established,” Izzy said, the fur on her tail standing up until it resembled the odd trees humans used to celebrate their winter festival.
Their vessel plunged into the singularity, and there was a moment of weightlessness. Then they were elsewhere, outside another Helios Gate, in another star. That was impossible to tell just by looking, of course; the center of every star she’d been in appeared identical, and the Helios Gates themselves were indistinguishable.
“We’re pushing through the core now,” Izzy called from her communication station. Her white fur was painted orange by the sunlight dominating the view screen.
They pushed through the star’s mass, long minutes going by until they finally emerged into the corona. She waited until they’d cleared it before issuing orders.
“Play back the latest signals from Panthrine,” Fizgig commanded, digging her claws into the cushions.
“Yes, Mighty Fizgig,” Izzy answered.
“—under attack. Everyone is being taken. They’ve destroyed our warships, like they were kindling. If anyone is receiving this, get away from here. Save yourself.” The voice crackled over their communications system, echoing across the bridge.
Low growls came from several of the crew around her—herself included, she realized. “Get me a scan of the planet. Is anyone still fighting?”
“Scanning now,” Rowler said. The lean male was the only scientist aboard, and he was a mere acolyte. “These signals are six minutes old, but it doesn’t look like any units are still up. They’ve been wiped out, or taken.”
“Get us to that planet. Now,” Fizgig ordered. She resisted the urge to hiss at Izzy, knowing that her pilot would get them there as quickly as she could.
“Mighty Fizgig,” Izzy said, tapping a button on her console. The view screen shifted. “A vessel is rising from the planet. It’s clearing the atmosphere now.”
“What is that thing?” Fizgig asked, rising from her chair and approaching the view screen.
The vessel was larger than the Claw, nearly the full size of a Primo carrier. It was made from similar material—the unmistakable blue-black alloy of the first race— and had two long, curved wings that extended before the main body. The thing looked deadly.
“Can we get into position to intercept?” Fizgig demanded.
“Yes,” Izzy answered, tapping another series of commands. “They’ll have to pass by us to reach the sun.”
“Now these furless will find out how the Leonis Pride defends their territory,” Fizgig said. This time she did growl, low and deep in her throat.
Then something impossible happened. The strange ship shimmered, then faded. It disappeared entirely, leaving a patch of empty black space in its wake.
“Can we still detect it? Is it giving off any signals?” she demanded, rounding on Rowler.
“No, Mighty Fizgig,” Rowler said, apologetically. His tail drooped. “They’ve vanished from our sensors. They’re completely cloaked.”
Not even the Primo had full cloaking technology. What the hell were these things? Fizgig thought back to the Johnston, and to Captain Dryker’s words. Perhaps there was more to them than she’d first thought. Perhaps a new player had entered the game, but if that was the case it raised an interesting question. Why wasn’t Fleet Command more interested in finding out who or what these things were?
It didn’t matter. Like it or not, she’d been tasked with bringing the Johnston to justice. The humans had destroyed one of their vessels, and would need to pay in blood. After that, then she could learn more about this new enemy.
27
What Now?
Nolan was the last to enter the captain’s ready room. It was an offshoot of the CIC—just a big chrome table set into the floor, and six chairs. Two of those chairs were occupied, one by Captain Dryker and the other by Lena.
“Sit down, Commander,” the captain ordered, gesturing at the chair across from him. “Show me what you’ve got, and let’s hope it was wort
h pissing off the top commander in the Leonis Pride.”
Nolan slid into the chair, resting his arms on the table. He nodded to Lena, who produced the data cube they’d liberated. She set it on the table in front of the captain, who picked it up and examined it.
“What am I looking at?” Dryker asked, still studying the device.
“Lena?” Nolan said, knowing she was more qualified to explain.
“That’s a Primo data cube, Captain,” Lena began. She leaned closer, pointing at a rune on one of the faces. “These are archaic, and predate the Primo empire—well, the existing Primo Empire anyway. The technology is unmistakable, though.”
“What does that mean? How can this thing be useful?” the captain asked, eyeing Lena sharply.
“It’s a Virtual Intelligence, sir,” Nolan offered, knowing the captain was after tactical data. “This VI contains records of whatever this ancient empire is. Lena dates that empire from at least 26,000 years ago—and here’s the part you’ll be most interested in. The VI showed us a ship. The same ship we saw back on Mar Kona.”
“So, whatever these things are, they’ve existed a long time,” the captain said. He handed the cube back to Lena. “Is that all you recovered?”
“The only artifact, yes. But we have a name now,” Nolan said. “The VI called these things the Void Wraith.”
“Are you serious?” the captain asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow. Nolan suppressed a spike of anger.
“Quite serious, Captain,” Lena said, bristling. Her tail swished haughtily. “I realize how this must sound, but—”