by Chris Fox
“—is well placed, apparently. Nice work, Edwards,” Nolan said, rolling to his feet with grin. He walked over to Fizgig, offering her a hand. Her fur stood on end, like she’d put her tail in a light socket.
Edwards lumbered closer, the massive Alpha stepping daintily between crates.
“Your confidence,” Fizgig said again, as if he hadn’t spoken, “borders on arrogance. I am disappointed, Nolan.” Her tail swished back and forth, expressing her agitation.
“We won,” Nolan said, resting the barrel of his rifle against his shoulder. “Isn’t that what counts?”
“Did you?” Fizgig said, a low growl coming from deep in her chest. It was damned unnerving, and Nolan had to resist taking a step backward. “You led a single enemy squad into a trap, and while you successfully executed the trap, you sacrificed your life to do it. If this was war—a real war—what would your troops do now? You are dead. Would Hannan take over? Is she capable of leading your forces?”
“I’m just a squad leader, not a captain,” Hannan said, rolling her shoulder experimentally as she approached. “Damn, that shot I took from Izzy earlier really stings.”
Izzy had crept back up the landing, though she looked more than a little worse for wear. Her white fur had puffed out from the plasma shot, and she looked more comical than lethal. Nolan tried not to laugh. Despite Fizgig dressing him down, he was proud of his victory.
“Maybe you’re right, but this was just a scenario. Not a real battle. In a real battle I shouldn’t be commanding a squad anyway. That’s Hannan’s turf,” Nolan protested, meeting Fizgig’s feline gaze.
“There you are wrong,” Fizgig said, showing an ample supply of fangs. “A commander commands. It does not matter if she is commanding infantry, or a starship. You must be adaptable, and you cannot sacrifice yourself for short-term goals.”
“I haven’t been trained for that,” Nolan said, sighing. “We’re not Tigris, Fizgig. I’m not a bad shot, but I’ll never be able to fight like Hannan.”
“Never?” Fizgig asked, her gaze smoldering. She took a pace closer to Nolan. “You are intelligent, determined, and a fast learner. You can learn to fight. You must learn to fight. Do you know why we so easily overcame humanity during the Eight-Year War, Nolan?”
“Because you had superior technology,” Nolan replied immediately. It was the line often given by UFC command.
“No,” Fizgig snapped. “We won because we adapted. We won because we are willing to learn new technology.” She ignited the plasma blade on her wrist, raising it to show Nolan. “I had never even seen one of these until a few days ago, yet already I am proficient in its use. Why have you not picked one up?”
Nolan was silent for a long moment. Her words struck him like a physical blow. “You’re right. Clearly I’m operating from the conventions I was trained under. I’m limiting myself.”
“I’m glad you can see reason,” Fizgig said. Her tail stopped swishing, and she smiled.
“We have—” Nolan checked his chronometer; his resolve firmed. “—eighty-one days before we reach a Helios Gate. Starting today, I want you to train me for an hour a day with one of those plasma blades. We’ll spend another two hours drilling squad tactics, like today. Afternoons will be tactical theory.”
“What of me, Captain?” Lena said, creeping cautiously over the stairs. “I’d like to be included in this combat training, yet I must also have time for my studies. We possess both the Primo VI and the one commandeered from the Void Wraith.”
“Your top priority should be data parsing those,” Nolan said, using his forearm to wipe sweat from his forehead. “It would be good to get you combat experience, but the things you discover could determine whether or not we win this war with the Void Wraith. They’ve got a three-month head start on us. I need you to balance that.”
“Yes, mighty Nolan,” she said, nodding deferentially. It was new, at least from her. The haughtiness was still there, but it was tempered by respect now.
The next few months were going to be hellish, and Nolan knew it. Not the training—that, he looked forward to—but the wondering. What were the Void Wraith up to?
1
81 Days Later
The last three months had been hellish. Dryker gripped the curved railing, peering out the First Light’s transparent dome. The Primo carrier provided a gorgeous view: an ever-growing fleet of massive warships orbiting a beautiful blue world. It was also mind-numbingly boring, because he’d seen the same view for the past eighty-one days, ever since they’d been rescued by the Primo.
“Another three carriers arrived during the night,” Khar growled, joining him at the railing. The Tigris was back in fighting form, though he had several new scars from their last encounter with the Void Wraith. The most notable was a twelve-inch patch of white fur across his chest. Khar’s tail lashed back and forth, and his eyes narrowed as he stared out at the fleet. His mane added to his height, and he towered over Dryker.
“I’ll have Juliard catalogue them,” Dryker said, listlessly. Juliard’s arm had healed, and she’d thrown herself into data management. That meant reviewing both the data core he’d taken from the Johnston just before she’d blown up, and everything they’d learned during their months with the Primo. The latter was, regrettably, scarce. The Primo were tight-lipped, and Dryker still had little idea what was happening between the Tigris and humanity.
“I do not understand how gathering such data will be useful,” Khar rumbled, resting his elbows on the railing as he studied the Primo home world. “If the Primo continue to imprison us, how will we tell anyone? How will we stop the war that has erupted between our peoples?”
Dryker clenched a fist, turning away from the Primo fleet. “We won’t. But what else can we do? They’re not going to release us until they’re ready, and knowing the Primo we could die of old age first.”
Cloth swished as Celendra, the Primo commander, approached. She was shorter than the imposing escorts that flanked her, though still taller than Dryker. Celendra walked with the odd reverse gait of her people—Primo legs bent in the opposite direction from a human’s. Her skin was the color of seafoam, and her eyes were pools of deep red. She wore shimmering white garments, quite unlike most of the other Primo they’d met.
She slowed as she approached, her lantern eyes fixed on Dryker.
“You seem perturbed, Captain,” Celendra said in a monotone characteristic of her species. “What has upset you this time?”
“This time?” Dryker said, suppressing the fire that bubbled up in his belly. “It’s the same problem, Celendra. You’ve kept us here as ‘guests’ while our respective races go to war. Human and Tigris are wiping each other out, and Khar and I might be able to stop that if you’d let us return. You’ve seen the evidence I’m carrying.”
“You lesser races are so impatient,” Celendra said, shaking her head sadly. She leaned on her staff, staring through the dome at the Primo fleet. “The last of us will arrive soon. We are so few now. Once they are here, we will begin the conclave. Your evidence will be central to our decision, and we need you here to deliver that. That must take precedence.”
“What of our people?” Khar growled, his feline eyes narrowing to slits. “Do you care nothing for them? The war with the Void Wraith affects us all, and my people burn while you sit here in orbit doing nothing.”
“Take care with your accusations, Tigris,” Celendra said, somehow conveying menace with her flat tone. “As I’ve told you both repeatedly, we are not ‘doing nothing.’ It takes time to gather a conclave. If you are truly correct about the Void Wraith controlling the leadership of both your peoples, then the situation must be approached carefully. Our only advantage is surprise, and if we reveal our knowledge too soon our enemies will counter any moves we make.”
“We may have already revealed that knowledge,” Dryker countered. He took a step closer to the Primo, staring up fixedly at the taller alien. The Primo’s skin glistened under the soft light. “I’ve wa
rned you that your own race has likely been infiltrated as well. I even brought the first piece of proof. How else do you explain the attack on your own library by Primo forces?”
“I have no explanation as of yet, and it is possible we’ve been infiltrated,” Celendra answered. Her words were clipped, and if Dryker hadn’t known better he’d have said the Primo was furious.
“If your forces have been infiltrated, then the Void Wraith know about this conclave. You’ve got to realize that,” Dryker said, trying one last time to appeal to the Primo’s reason. “The Claw of Tigrana has been prepared. Let Khar and me go back to our people. We can try to stop this war. You have to know, the more allies we can gather, the better the chance we’ll survive this.”
“The conclave is nearly ready,” Celendra said. She leaned closer to Dryker. “I have endured your tantrums, and humored your constant questions. I have been tolerant. That ends today. Do not ask me for your release again, or it may never come.”
“Fine, don’t release us. But at least move the conclave. Or do it over Quantum,” Dryker pleaded, gesturing at the fleet orbiting the planet. “Can’t you see that gathering your forces in one location is dangerous?”
Celendra didn’t reply. She spun on her heel, stalking away. Dryker and Khar looked at each other, and all Dryker could do was sigh.
2
The Eye
Delta had grown used to being ignored. It was an odd adjustment, because one didn’t typically ignore combat-hardened officers—especially ones as tall and heavily muscled as he was. Add in his cybernetic arms, and he was generally the most threatening thing in any room.
Yet neither of the two people seated at the Sparhawk’s mess table seemed aware of his existence. Both were fixed on the holoprojector built into the center of the table. It projected a clean, high-definition image of their most illustrious ally, Admiral Mendez.
“Why have you contacted me, Reid?” Mendez leaned forward, spearing the pale-skinned doctor with his gaze. He puffed from a cigar burned down to one stubby end, a bit of ash tumbling from the tip.
“The Eye has arrived,” Reid said, his pockmarked face splitting into a truly ghastly grin. “You know what that means, don’t you?”
The admiral was silent, staring hard at Reid.
Delta glanced at the other figure at the table, Kathryn Mendez. Her curly hair had been gathered into a severe ponytail, and her face was an emotionless mask. Such a change from when he’d first encountered her and Nolan. Delta leaned back against the wall, folding his metal arms together, and faded comfortably into the background.
The motion drew the admiral’s attention. The older man sized Delta up in a single glance, then looked back to Reid. “I know what it means. I know that you stand higher than me, but I also know that my role is pivotal. I started the war between the humans and the Tigris, and it’s my work that’s causing that war to be so costly to both sides.”
The words were defensive, and Reid’s smile broadened. Delta had seen similar exchanges. Each time the admiral lost ground. Delta didn’t know what the battle signified, or what they worked for. At least he’d pieced out that it was a what and not a who.
“Of course, Admiral,” Reid said, wearing his smugness like a scarf. “I wasn’t intending to disparage your excellent work, just reminding you that my own work is far more important. I will be journeying to meet the Eye, and I’ll likely return with new orders. In the meantime, do you have any word about Nolan’s return?”
“None,” Mendez said, setting the remains of his cigar in a purple ashtray. The hologram was intricate enough to show a tiny streamer of smoke still rising from the ashes. “We’re fairly certain he survived the explosion, but that’s all. Kathryn, have any of the drops you’ve set up been triggered?”
The admiral’s hologram turned to Kathryn, who straightened under the attention. She licked her lips before speaking. “No. I’m fairly certain he’d contact me if he was able to, which suggests he hasn’t reached a Gate yet. Depending on where he ended up, it could be years before he reaches one.”
“Let’s hope so,” Mendez said, steepling his fingers. “He’s proven entirely too disruptive. If he resurfaces, dealing with him should be our top priority.”
Delta noted the shift in language. Before, the admiral would have said will be our top priority.
“If he resurfaces, I do not want him killed,” Reid commanded. He brushed his stringy hair from his face, adjusting his glasses. “He would make an excellent host, and having him support our version of events would add fuel to the fire between the Tigris and the humans. Nolan must be implanted.”
Delta shuddered. He loathed the chip in his brain, the one that controlled his actions and had even stripped his name from him. But at least it hadn’t rewritten his DNA the way the larvae had Reid’s, Kathryn’s, and even the admiral’s. Delta had no idea what the creatures did, but Reid looked a damned sight worse than he had when he and Delta had first met. Delta had a feeling the larvae weren’t too good for the long-term health of the host.
“I don’t like it,” the admiral said, scowling. “He should be eliminated, ideally from both range and stealth. Nolan is smart, and he’s entirely too resourceful. If we have the shot, we should take it.”
“Leave Nolan to me,” Reid said, giving another skeletal grin. “Or rather, leave him to your daughter. We have the perfect bait, Mendez, and I will use it.”
3
Home Again
Nolan ducked low, touching the deck with his knee. Fizgig’s plasma blade hummed through the space his neck had just occupied, and for a split second she was overextended. He jabbed upwards with his own plasma blade, the wrist-mounted weapon humming as it plunged into Fizgig’s belly. Elation surged through him. Three months of hard work was paying off.
The elation was short-lived. Fizgig recovered, one furred paw grabbing his wrist, while the other rammed her plasma blade into his forehead. A familiar shock shot through his entire body, and he collapsed limply to the deck, twitching like a fish. His muscles refused to obey him, and blinding pain jetted down the right side of his body.
“Jeezzus,” Nolan slurred, panting in quick little breaths. He shook his head to clear it, then clawed back to his feet, blinking away spots as the odd sensation faded. He was sweating profusely now. “I can’t imagine these weapons at full strength.”
It was hard to believe the lowest setting could be so powerful, but it did make them ideal for training. As Fizgig had pointed out early in their sparring, the shock taught students to fear the blade without making it lethal. Add to that the fact that they could be run continuously for several days without recharging, and when not in use could be worn decoratively, and you had a near-perfect weapon.
Almost as if to punctuate his final thought, Fizgig lifted her blade; it winked out, leaving nothing but a blue metallic ring around her wrist. It was covered in tiny golden circuitry, somehow managing to be both beautiful and intimidating. “They are indeed impressive,” she said.
“And perfect for ramming into my face, apparently,” Nolan said, rubbing his forehead. He extinguished his own blade. “At least I landed a blow that time.”
“Yes,” Fizgig replied, blinking. Her irises narrowed to slits. “I must admit I’m impressed with your progress. You’ve become competent at hand-to-hand, though you still have much to learn. Give me another year, and your name will strike fear amongst your enemies. As it is, you are no longer a danger to yourself. Now you must become a danger to others.”
“Thanks,” Nolan said, sardonically. He moved to the side of the makeshift sparring ring, picking up the piece of greasy fabric he’d been using as a towel. The Void Wraith ship was incredibly powerful, but it hadn’t been designed with human comfort in mind. They’d had to improvise almost everything they needed to survive. “Shall we head up to the bridge for the strategy meeting?”
“I will meet you there,” Fizgig said, licking the fur on her palm and using it to bathe the patch of white fur under her c
hin. “I’d like to finish grooming first.”
Nolan nodded, turning from Fizgig and making his way toward the bridge. In the months they’d been here, he’d come to know their stolen harvester-class ship well, though it still felt like there were an infinite number of things to learn. He passed through the Judicator assembly room, which had thankfully gone silent when he’d ordered Ship to turn it off.
That left them with those Judicators who’d survived their taking of the harvester, a little over two dozen robotic minions. Unlike Edwards, they seemed completely emotionless. Each responded to commands, but they seemed incapable of independent thought beyond following the orders they’d been given.
Nolan trotted up the last stairwell, pleased to note that he wasn’t winded from either the sparring match or the trek here. He was in much better physical shape now. They all were. Fizgig had been right, as usual.
Most of the others were already there when he arrived. Hannan lounged against the bridge’s far wall, chatting quietly with Izzy. Oddly, the two had struck up quite a friendship during their journey. Or maybe not so oddly. They were both soldiers fighting on the front lines of the same war, after all.
Edwards hunched in a corner, not too far from them. His robotic blue face swiveled to face Nolan, those lantern eyes sizing him up. “Good morning, Commander. Uh, I mean Captain.”
The voice was one hundred percent Edwards, which never failed to make Nolan smile. It was so odd hearing a plain-talking Marine’s voice coming out of that massive robotic machine. The Alpha Judicators were a walking arsenal. A wall of blue death. Having Edwards inhabit one was going to be a wonderful ace in the hole when they reentered the war.