by Chris Fox
Fizgig nodded stoically. She tossed her plasma rifle to Khar, then unbuckled the bracelet from her wrist. She’d have preferred to use the plasma blade, but Mow had the right to set the terms. He’d quite wisely chosen equal footing, as he’d have had no chance against Void Wraith tech.
Claw-to-claw was another matter. Mow was larger than Fizgig, though she was undoubtedly faster. He’d taught her much of what she knew about fighting, and their styles were still quite similar. This would be the most challenging fight of her career, with the most riding on it. So Fizgig cleared her mind, and focused on the battle.
Mow closed until he stood a bare three feet away. His breath was fetid, his gaze fevered. Fizgig’s revulsion was palatable, and she resisted the urge to retreat a step. That would be taken as a sign of weakness, and she couldn’t afford that.
“A challenge has been issued and accepted,” the golden-furred male boomed. He raised both paws, one over Fizgig, and the other Mow. “When my paws descend, battle will be joined. Fight well and with cunning.” The warrior stepped back, lowering his paws with a flourish.
Fizgig lunged, launching a swipe at Mow’s throat. Speed was her only ally, after all.
Mow shocked her, moving with explosive speed. He seized her wrist with an expression of disdain. He held her for a moment, then twisted her arm with a painful crack. Fizgig howled in agony as the bone broke the skin. Mow still held her, twisting just enough to prevent her attempts to free herself. He was far stronger than any Tigris had a right to be.
“You are weak, Fizgig,” Mow said. “You always we—”
Fizgig went berserk. All the pain, all the frustration. All the humiliation, and the sadness. She channeled it all, whipping both legs up and wrapping them around Mow’s neck. He tried to step back, but since he was holding her aloft he merely carried her with him.
Fizgig tightened her legs, putting immense pressure on Mow’s windpipe. He released her arm, digging his claws into her leg. They dug deep, carving into the muscle as he slashed at her. She ignored the pain, swiping upward with her good hand. It caught Mow in the face, and her pinky claw pierced his right eye with a terrible pop. Mow screeched, tumbling to the deck with Fizgig atop him.
She tried to scramble backwards, knowing her injuries were crippling. Mow wouldn’t let her. He seized the scruff of her neck with a paw, yanking her back. Mow leapt atop her, using his superior weight and strength. She struggled, but her right leg refused to obey her. The muscles in her thigh must have been shredded by Mow’s attack. Her right arm was a shattered mass. She squirmed, but Mow held her, seemingly without effort. All she was able to manage was twisting to look him in the eye.
That eye made her blink. Green, viscous fluid leaked from the socket. Nor was she the only one who saw it. Mutters went up around the room, mutters about Mow being some sort of monster. Mow glanced around the room with his good eye, as if daring someone to say something.
In that instant Fizgig saw her chance. She lunged upwards, using her good arm to push herself up. Her fangs closed around Mow’s throat, and she bit down with all her strength. Hot, disgusting fluid filled her mouth. It wasn’t blood—or it wasn’t only blood. Whatever was mixed in was the foulest thing Fizgig had ever tasted, and she longed to spit it out. Instead, she bit down harder.
Mow’s paws shot to her shoulder, and he pushed down with all his might. He was so strong, monstrously so. Unfortunately for him, Fizgig had him in a death grip. When he forced her head down, it ripped Fizgig away from his neck, tearing out his throat in the process. Mow stumbled back from her, clutching his ruined neck with both hands.
He looked around the deck for support, finding none. Every Tigris averted their gaze, until Mow sagged to his knees. Fizgig used that to give her strength. She pulled herself to her feet, standing on her uninjured leg. Only leaning against the bulkhead prevented her from falling.
“I do not know what you’ve become, Mow, but you are no longer Tigris,” Fizgig said, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the deck. She turned to the golden-furred warrior who’d adjudicated the fight. “You are his first?”
“Yes, Mighty Fizgig,” the male said, nodding deferentially.
“Broadcast the fight to the Tigris fleet,” she ordered, limping to the captain’s chair. She sat heavily, not even looking when Mow’s body toppled to the deck. A pool of green spread out from his body, proof of whatever physical change the Void Wraith had wrought.
“Connection established, Mighty Fizgig. They are receiving the vid of the fight now,” the male said. She should learn his name, but she was too weary, and in too much pain. It would be weeks, perhaps months, before she recovered from this fight. If she ever did.
“Give me an open channel as soon as the footage has played,” Fizgig ordered, aware that her words were beginning to slur. She battled past the pain, trying to remain conscious.
“Done,” the male said.
“Tigris of the Leonis Pride,” she said. “As you can see, I have bested Mow. As you can also see from his unclean blood, Mow has been corrupted by the Void Wraith. It is they who have forced us to war, they who have burned Tigrana.” She paused for a moment as the pain became too great to continue. Sheer will drew forth the next few words. “Cease combat. Fall back to join my fleet, or be branded traitors and hunted down.”
68
Um, Eww
The Bridge of Chu’s flagship was nearly deserted, at least compared to an older ship like the UFC Johnston. A handful of officers cowered behind blocky stations, clearly trying to avoid Nolan’s attention. He doubted they’d be a problem, but it was better not to take chances.
“Hannan, get someone on those techs,” Nolan ordered, prowling across the deck toward a raised platform that butted against the rear wall.
A single chair sat atop that platform, aimed at the largest view screen Nolan had ever seen on a human vessel. Currently, that screen showed the battle raging in the system behind them. Curls of white-hot flame drifted past, evidence of how close they were to the star’s corona.
“This place creeps me the hell out. These people look like war refugees. They’d wet themselves if we said boo,” Hannan said, stepping up to join Nolan. Her rifle was still at her shoulder, barrel still trained on the techs.
Annie had settled into a crouch behind one of the largest remaining pieces of the barricade. Delta picked a path through the wreckage, his rifle cradled absently in his left hand. He stopped a few feet behind Nolan, his emotionless eyes scanning the room.
“Ahh,” a wheezy voice called, as the chair on the platform swiveled to face them. “You must be Commander Nolan. Mendez has told me quite a lot about you. Did you know that he was your greatest supporter? He wanted to give you a ship. Mendez knew something was up, that someone was infiltrating the admiralty. He was convinced you’d be able to sniff out the traitors.”
Chu’s skin was translucent, a stark contrast to the dark red veins covering most of his skin. Nolan had no idea what they were, but he was positive it had something to do with the larva. The same larva that was growing inside Kathryn.
“Your guards are dead,” Nolan said, raising his rifle as he approached. “Give us the chip transmitter, and surrender yourself into our custody. We have Void Wraith facilities. We can treat this. You don’t have to die.”
“Don’t have to die?” Chu said, laughing uproariously. It sputtered off into coughing, and a thick stream of green and black blood ran from the corner of Chu’s mouth. “I’m already dead, you fool. Sacrificed on the altar of the masters. I give birth to the future.”
His body began to writhe, then to tremble violently.
“Fall back to the barricade!” Nolan roared, backpedaling. He kept his eyes on Chu’s body, his rifle aimed at the man’s face.
Delta raised his rifle and fired a blob of blue-white plasma that disintegrated Chu’s head. Nolan was about to chastise him, but held his tongue when the body continued to writhe. If anything, that writhing became more violent. Nolan risked a glance ba
ck. Hannan and Annie had taken cover, but Delta hadn’t moved.
Nolan was about to grab him by the shoulder when a tendril of ropy ligament shot from Chu’s body, a mass of thinner tendrils at one end grasping like fingers. The tendril shot directly for Delta’s face. Nolan lowered the rifle with his left hand, even as his right hand shot up. He flicked his wrist to ignite the plasma blade, slashing at the tendril just before it grabbed Delta. The blade sent of a spray of greenish blood as it lopped the end off the tendril.
Delta backpedaled, firing wildly at the admiral’s corpse. More tendrils shot out, and Nolan narrowly avoided one aimed at his leg. He turned and sprinted, careful to keep out of Hannan’s firing arc as she and Annie opened fire.
“That thing is growing fast,” Hannan said, as Nolan dove into cover next to her. “What the hell do we do?”
Nolan looked up to see the ropy tendrils covering the entire platform. Thick membranes flowed between them, growing into leathery walls. It was all happening with alarming speed.
“My God,” Nolan muttered. “I think that thing is a cocoon.”
69
Chrysalis
Nolan added his fire to the rest of the squad’s, disintegrating tendrils as the cocoon tried to spread. The tendrils were getting longer, and he watched in horror as they shot into the navigation area. The hapless crew techs were unprepared, struggling to flee as the tendrils wrapped around their legs. They were dragged back toward the cocoon with supernatural speed.
“Don’t let it get those techs,” Nolan barked, pivoting and firing his rifle. He severed the closest cable, and the tech tumbled to the deck. Three more tendrils shot out, latching around the man.
The rest of the squad pivoted as well, adding their fire to his. There were just too many tendrils. For every one they severed, two more emerged. Nolan knew the strategy wasn’t working. That cocoon was feeding, and he didn’t want to see what it would do with that much biomass. His gut tightened, but he gave the order anyway.
“Kill the technicians,” Nolan yelled, shifting to fire at the man he’d been trying to save. Two shots vaporized most of his body, but the tendrils greedily snapped up the remains, dragging them back into the main mass.
The rest of the squad dealt with the remaining bridge crew, each paying their own emotional price. Then they shifted their fire back to the main body. Its growth had slowed, but it had managed to erect some kind of thick, fleshy membrane. Their shots pierced it, but the membrane grew back as quickly as it was destroyed.
“Sir, how the hell do we kill this thing?” Hannan yelled, still firing.
“Not sure yet,” Nolan yelled back. “Keep firing while I figure it out.”
Nolan mind began deciphering the problem. This was analysis, the thing he most excelled at. How did this life form work? How did they kill it? Presumably the thing had a brain of some kind, a vulnerable structure that commanded the body. But where would that be located? He considered Kathryn’s scans. The larva gestated around the tailbone, working its way up the spine, until it dominated the entire central nervous system.
He wasn’t positive, but it seemed likely that if any part of this thing was the brain, it would be the place where the larva gestated.
“Okay,” Nolan yelled to the squad. He rose from cover, advancing on the cocoon. “Form up on me.”
“You want us to get closer to that thing?” Hannan yelled. “You’re nuts, sir.”
“I’m with Hannan,” Annie said. “There any reason we can’t just flee and blow us the ship?”
“Yeah,” Nolan said. “We need the transmitter, so we can free every officer in the fleet. Leaving without that isn’t an option. We’re going to attack the body in a coordinated assault. Annie and Hannan, keep the tendrils at bay. Delta, carve a path inside the thing. We need to reach Chu’s body. When we do, I’m going to try to kill it.”
Delta nodded, moving to point and slowly advancing on the creature. Their withering barrage of fire kept the tendrils at bay, though Nolan had to dodge more than one that got a little too close. They pressed forward, inching their way closer as Delta used his rifle to create a hole in the membrane. He kept firing, widening the hole even as the creature struggled to close it. Nolan added his fire to Delta’s, ensuring that they outpaced the regeneration.
Then they finally passed inside the thing, ducking through the membrane, and into a jungle of tendrils. They snaked from floor to ceiling and wall to wall, a fleshy latticework. Nolan ignited his plasma blade, and joined Delta in cutting a path.
“Over there,” Delta said, pointing through the mass of tendrils. “Chu’s body.”
“Hannan, Annie, stay back and use your rifles. Destroy anything moving in our direction,” Nolan said, creeping after Delta. They slashed their way across the last few feet, and had almost reached the corpse when a dozen tendrils all leapt at Delta. Plasma fire caught a few of them, but the rest wrapped around the big man, pulling him tight. One wrapped around his throat, cutting off the panicked scream.
Time slowed as Nolan’s gaze alternated between Delta and Chu. The admiral’s body was just a few feet away.
“Do it,” Delta choked out.
Nolan nodded, darting toward Chu. He jerked his arm back, then plunged the plasma blade into Chu’s lower spine. He did it over and over, quick motions that tore and cooked the surrounding tissue.
A high pitched squeal on the edge of hearing knocked Nolan to his knees, but he shook it off and kept stabbing. The keening wail grew weaker, then finally ceased. Nolan kept stabbing. The tendrils all around him went limp. Nolan turned off his blade and pulled out his sidearm. He held it ready to fire as he explored Chu’s pockets. It was grisly, but Nolan forced himself to keep searching until he found a small black box.
The tendrils were still silent. Nolan leaned back, vaporizing Chu with three precise shots, then turned to see Hannan helping Delta free of the tendrils.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Nolan said.
70
Aftermath
Dryker’s hands were clenched into fists as he watched the battle unfolding. Casualties had been enormously high on both sides, and only a few dozen ships outside his fleet were still fighting. Most of the 11th had been destroyed, and the Leonis had paid a high price for it.
“Admiral,” Celendra said, blinking. “Fizgig has just defeated the Leonis commander. As I understand it, she is now in command.”
Dryker watched as the remaining Tigris vessels disengaged from the 11th. They limped their way back to the tiny Tigris fleet Fizgig had arrived with. Even after every vessel had made it back to Fizgig, there were still only three dozen. Thirty-six, out of over a hundred that had arrived.
The few 11th fleet vessels that were able to limped to Dryker’s side, joining his own tiny fleet. He did a quick scan, counting seventy-one vessels. That meant that outside of the 14th, only about thirty ships had survived.
“Shall we intervene with Chu’s vessel?” Celendra asked, gesturing at a pair of blue diamonds at the very edge of the sun’s corona.
“I’m sure Nolan has it well in hand, but we’ll take the First Light to assist. Give me fleetwide, open frequency,” Dryker ordered.
Celendra nodded a moment later, wiping at a bead of green liquid leaking from her eye. The Primo version of a cold, maybe? Celendra had seemed increasingly unwell over the last few days.
“This is Admiral Dryker, and I’m addressing everyone who can hear this. Humans. Tigris. Primo. Everyone has a stake in what happened here today,” Dryker said. “The Void Wraith won a great victory. They’ve severely damaged our military—all three militaries. But we’ve won a victory too. They didn’t wipe us out, and those who survive are ready to fight back. To fight back as a united group.
“I invite the Tigris commander and all fleet captains to join us aboard the First Light,” Dryker continued. “We’ll schedule the meeting for tomorrow at noon. In the meantime, tend to your wounded, and bury your dead. Today we mourn. Tomorrow we go to war.”
Dryker nodded at Celendra and she severed the connection.
71
Unexpected Complications
The Eye observed many things, floating in the darkness near the life-giving star that was ever-so-slowly being pulled into the supermassive black hole at the center of the Milky Way. A thousand thousand vessels dotted this galaxy, each linked to the Eye through one of the larvae that would one day become true Gorthians.
Two vessels in particular had captivated the Eye’s attention, both witnessing unexpected events. Such events were rare, though they’d been increasingly common since entity Nolan had become involved.
The Eye watched as its progeny was nearly born from the body of vessel Chu, then slain by entity Nolan. It watched as vessel Celendra spoke to Dryker, discussing the battle that had devastated their fleets. More of those fleets survived than should have, and the fact that entity Dryker was unifying all three races into a single cohesive fighting force was troubling.
Troubling…and intriguing. The Eye had learned much, watching entity Dryker through vessel Celendra’s eyes. Entity Dryker was bold, cunning, and decisive. He demonstrated everything that made his species ideal servants.
The Tigris were powerful, aggressive warriors. They made excellent troops, perhaps even more so than the Primo. They had the added benefit of comparatively rapid reproduction, making them more ideal slaves than the Primo. Yet humanity eclipsed them both. They bred quickly, were highly aggressive, yet also demonstrated the ability to consider problems differently.
They were unpredictable, intelligent, and tenacious. They’d made perfect slaves, particularly as officers and commanders. Initial reports indicated there were over seventy billion of them, a sizable contingent if they could all be harvested. Add in the Tigris, and this harvest might be the best in history. The masters would be pleased.