by Chris Fox
“Acknowledged,” Nolan said, spinning slowly in place as he scanned for anything matching the description.
“Over here, Captain,” Edwards called, waving his gigantic arms. He stepped onto a slightly raised pad, roughly twenty feet across.
Nolan trotted over to join him, with Annie, Hannan, and Delta following. They stepped gingerly onto the pad, clustering around Edwards at the center. Nolan was about to ask what to do next when the platform…vibrated. That was the only way he could explain it. Every molecule of his body shook in the most jarring manner possible, and when the sensation stopped he was elsewhere.
They stood atop an identical pad, but this one was housed in some sort of golden temple. Nolan could see light from outside, so he sprinted for the doorway, conscious of how precious time was.
“Five minutes, twenty-two seconds remaining,” he said, striding from the tunnel onto a broad thoroughfare. He scanned the city, trying to orient himself. “There. At three o’clock. That’s our target. Double time, people. Edwards, don’t wait for the rest of us.”
Edwards took off running, his robotic legs pumping as he accelerated up to something like forty miles per hour. The others fell into a fast run, clustered around Nolan. He blinked away sweat, conscious of his quick, shallow breaths. This place was already taking a toll, and his shield was only going to get weaker.
They continued deeper into the city, threading around pyramids, obelisks, and temples. Nolan kept one eye on his watch, redoubling his pace as the seconds counted down. They’d be at the point of no return soon, which would mean turning back or dying.
“Edwards, what have you got for me?” Nolan asked, panting as he ran.
“Uh, I’ve reached what I think is the library. Should I go inside?” Edwards replied.
“Yes,” Nolan said, the word clipped. “Get in there and head all the way to the back. You’re looking for a giant cube. If you find it, I want you to grab it and bring it back to us. He skidded to a halt, checking his watch.
“Sir, we’re out of time,” Hannan said, eyeing him with concern. “We need to get back to the ship before our belts run out of juice.”
“Damn it,” Nolan snarled, skidding to a halt as the Alpha disappeared into the distance. “All right, everyone except Edwards fall back. It’s up to you, big guy.”
6
Edwards
Edwards stared up at the pyramid for about three seconds, totally overwhelmed by its sheer size, then bent back to his task. The captain had given him an order, and if he failed to execute it they’d be screwed. They needed the intel in this giant cube. He didn’t know why, or what it was. Neither mattered. They needed the intel in the giant cube.
Edwards charged a pair of double doors, shoulder-checking the one on the right. Unfortunately, the doors opened just as easily as the ones above. There was no resistance, and Edwards tumbled into a slide that carried him a good forty feet along the smooth golden floor. He scrambled to his feet, thankful the squad hadn’t been around to see that.
He’d stumbled into a room that looked remarkably similar to the floating library where they’d captured Kathryn and picked up Atrea. The statues were probably different, though Edwards couldn’t be sure. This one had about a dozen levels rising in rings above the first level. A tactical nightmare, Hannan had called it, but that library fight had been his favorite scrap to date.
Edwards mentally grinned, sprinting forward and leaping over a shelf full of data cubes. He just barely cleared it, rolling back into a sprint on the other side. At first this body had been challenging to move around in, but now? He was really getting the hang of it.
He charged through the library toward the back wall, pausing at a pair of double doors with a giant symbol on them. He pushed gently on the door, but it didn’t budge. Edwards threw his weight into it, straining as hard as his metallic body could manage. Nothing.
“Captain, I think I’ve found it,” Edwards said, “but I can’t get the door open. I haven’t tried blowing it up yet.” This wasn’t his kind of thing, so he turned to the experts. They did most of the thinking, and he was fine with that. He had a role, one he loved filling. A Marine didn’t have to be smart to be useful.
“If that seems like the only way, then use whatever means necessary to get through that door,” the captain replied.
Edwards grinned, dropping back half a dozen paces. Then he warmed up the plasma cannons underslung on each arm. He aimed both at the right door, and started firing. Hunks of molten metal exploded outward, more than one splashing off his armor. Edwards kept firing. He continued the barrage for a good thirty seconds; the barrels of both weapons were white with heat when he finally stopped.
“I’m in, Captain,” Edwards said, moving up to the hole he’d punched in the door. It was about eight feet wide, and six feet tall. Edwards crouched next to the hole, peering inside. “Looks like a big floating cube. Can I just yank it out of there?”
“That’s affirmative,” the captain replied, panting heavily. “We’re almost back to the ship. Yank that thing loose and get topside, ASAP. Your shields are going to run out, too.”
“Yes, sir,” Edwards said, leaning his torso into the room. He wrapped both hands around the cube, then tugged. The cube resisted, but inched forward in his direction. “Oh, so it’s like that, is it?”
Edwards planted a foot against the edge of the hole, then tugged as hard as he could. The cube resisted, and he strained against it.
There was a pop, and he fell onto his back, the cube clutched to his chest. “All right!” He rolled to his feet, carrying the cube like a linebacker. Then he ran for his life.
Thankfully, he never got tired or slowed down anymore; he pushed himself at top speed, barrelling up the path, vaulting the occasional statue to save a little time when making a turn. Graphs played along his vision, showing him how dire the situation was.
His armor’s external temperature had reached three hundred degrees celsius. Not enough to melt it, apparently, but enough that the automated systems were definitely concerned. That wasn’t a good sign.
Edwards continued his mad dash, skidding into a slide when he reached the temple. He came to his feet atop the platform, the cube still tucked safely under one arm.
“Edwards, status report,” the captain said. He was no longer panting, which probably meant he’d made it back to the ship.
There was a brief feeling of weightlessness, then Edwards was standing on the platform at the top of the city. The change in altitude immediately spiked the temperature of his armor, up to the three-fifty range. Jesus.
“Sir, I’ve just reached the top of the platform. I can be back in under sixty,” Edwards said, already moving. He sprinted back the way they’d come, eating up the ground at nearly fifty miles per hour.
Several seconds later, he emerged from the library. The harvester hovered protectively above. His armor had reached four hundred degrees, and several warning messages were crying for his attention in the corner of his HUD. He ignored them, charging the last few dozen yards.
Edwards leapt into the hangar bay, rolling to his feet with the cube still cradled protectively. Damn if he hadn’t pulled it off.
7
Reunited
Nolan couldn’t help but smile as he stepped through the blue metal airlock into an identical airlock. It was the first time he’d docked with another harvester, and he still couldn’t believe Fizgig had pulled it off.
The three Tigris who waited to meet them comprised nearly every cat that Nolan considered a friend; only Khar was missing. Izzy, her snowy fur singed in a few places, gave him a warm smile and a small wave. Lena hurried past Nolan to embrace Atrea, and the two immediately fell into a whispered conversation.
The third figure was the one he’d come to see, the one who was even more a mentor to him than Dryker or Mendez. “Welcome, Nolan,” Fizgig said, arms folded, feline face emotionless. Her tail was held evenly behind her, just as neutral. She was favoring her right leg. “Have you con
tinued your training in my absence?”
“Every day,” Nolan said, embracing her in a tight hug. She bore it stoically until he released her. “It looks like we were both successful. How many harvesters did you capture?”
“All six,” Fizgig said, her tail raising with pride. “We took casualties, but the number of converted Judicators outnumber them. This was a victory in every way conceivable, and I see no reason the tactic couldn’t be used again.”
“How did Khar fare?” Nolan asked, with a twinge of nervousness.
“He took the second prize,” Fizgig said, giving a low purr. She gestured up the hallway, toward a mechanics bay identical to the one where Nolan and Fizgig had trained during their trip back to the Helios Gate. “Mighty Khar now commands a harvester, as do four other mighty Tigris. Our force grows in strength, though we both know it will only delay the inevitable.”
They started into the mechanics bay, heading for a corner where several long couches had been set up. Each was piled with cushions, a common Tigris custom as Nolan understood it. Fizgig sat first, then Lena and Izzy. Nolan dropped onto the edge of one of the couches, but kept his back straight. He hated the way he sank into these things.
Hannan sat next to Nolan, across from Izzy. Nolan had debated coming alone, but Hannan had been adamant that doing so was the dumbest thing she’d ever heard. She’d suggested bringing the full squad, and his compromise was bringing her along as bodyguard—not that having a bodyguard would matter if the Tigris were hostile for some reason.
“What of your own task, Nolan?” Fizgig asked, licking the fur on the back of her wrist and using it to groom her neck.
Nolan looked around carefully before answering. They were alone, at least that he could see. “Atrea is working on deciphering the cube, and seems convinced it’s the genuine article. We’ve got the entire database from the second Primo era, which we’re hoping will tell us more about the Forge, and about this Birthplace.”
“Tell me no more of it,” Fizgig said, waving a paw at Nolan. “The less you share, the better. We have no way of knowing who is compromised, and it is safest to assume there is a spy at every meeting.”
Her pragmatism wasn’t new, and Nolan was beginning to share it. “Agreed. Especially given that the Void Wraith showed up here within minutes of our arrival. You know what that means.”
“Yes,” Fizgig said, licking her chops. “It means that your instincts were right. There is a spy in our midst, penetrating our highest councils. It could even be Dryker, or Celendra.”
“If it’s either, then we are seriously screwed,” Hannan said, speaking for the first time.
“We are ‘seriously screwed’ regardless,” Fizgig said. “I will do what I can to ferret out this traitor, but you have more important work—the only work that might give us victory.” She shifted on her couch, facing Lena. “Holy one, your place is with Nolan. You began the journey with him, and he will need you to complete it.”
“I agree,” Lena said, rising imperiously. The golden furred scientist gave Nolan a warm smile. “I’ve missed traveling with you, and I’m eager to see what Atrea has discovered.”
“Mighty Fizgig,” Izzy said, surprising Nolan. She rarely spoke in meetings. Or at all, unless it was to Hannan. “I believe I should go with Nolan as well, if for no other reason than to protect Lena.”
Fizgig turned slowly to Izzy, giving her an unreadable look. “I am proud of you, little sister. You are learning to assert yourself. Continue on this path, and you will be a fine leader one day. Go with Nolan, and do whatever it takes to ensure his success.”
“We’re happy to have you back, Izzy,” Hannan said, rising to extend a hand. Izzy took it, and the pair shared a smile.
Fizgig rose as well, and Nolan caught a tightening of her face as she did. Was her leg paining her that much? If so, she was hiding it well. The lapse had only lasted for an instant.
“I guess we’ll be on our way,” Nolan said, offering Fizgig his hand. She took it, giving him a firm handshake.
“Goddess watch over you, Nolan.” Fizgig released his hand.
8
Meetings
Dryker accepted the handful of pills from Juliard, tossing them into his mouth. She handed him a glass of water, and he downed that, too. Tension headaches were a fact of life now, the consequence of too little sleep and too much stress. He handed the empty glass back to her and turned to the cluster of Primo assembling in the room.
There were seven of them: five scientists, Celendra, and one of the other Primo voices, their equivalent of captain. They wore formal attire, and grouped themselves around the far side of the circular table. It underscored their unity and the stark divide between them and the other races. Primo believed themselves first in all things, not just age.
He heard booted feet echoing up the corridor from the First Light’s aft airlock. Fizgig was first to emerge, unarmed except for the telltale blue bracelets that would allow her to use her plasma blades. Khar came after, his right arm encased in a red cast. His face was grim, quite different from the jovial grins Dryker had come to know.
The rest of the Tigris were a motley crew, no two the same height or with the same fur. Each looked deadly in their own way, though. All six moved to sit at the table opposite the Primo. Maybe it was just him, but the move seemed a little adversarial. There was certainly no love lost between the Tigris and the Primo, but he’d expected more hostility toward humanity—especially after what had happened on Tigrana.
“Welcome,” Dryker said, striding into the room. He sat between the Primo and Tigris; Juliard moved to sit next to him. He regretted not bringing more captains, but he hadn’t intended this to be a full war council. Ideally, it would have only included Fizgig, Celendra, and himself.
Dryker knew there was precisely zero chance of that, however. Celendra always had a retinue with her now.
“I’ve asked you here to establish a broad course of action for all of our races,” he said. “We need to coordinate our war efforts in a way that’s never been done before. To that end, we’ll start by sharing current news, then we’ll establish a strategy. Celendra, why don’t you begin?”
Khar stiffened at that, clearly annoyed that the Primo were first. Again. But it was necessary, if Dryker wanted to hold this fragile little alliance together.
“Very well,” Celendra said. She rested her hands on the table, facing the most elaborately dressed of the scientists. “Kakenda, explain your findings with the Judicators.”
The scientist puffed up like a rooster, rising to her feet. “Of course, my friend. Penetrating their cloaking was the most practical use of our talents, but once that was accomplished we were free to pursue something that may ultimately have more value. We have mastered the Void Wraith process used to create Judicators. This allows us to understand them, and I believe we finally know why the Void Wraith use them. They are the perfect fusion of organic and synthetic. They allow one to create a soldier who will live for centuries, whose injuries can be instantly repaired. Because these troops have organic minds, their thinking is non-linear. They are unpredictable in a way no robot has ever been.”
“Can you mass-produce them?” Fizgig demanded, leaning forward to rest her stare on the scientist.
Dryker had been under the weight of that stare before, and didn’t envy the Primo.
“Yes, but to do so would be…unthinkable,” the scientist said, recoiling a half-step. All the Primo looked uncomfortable at the question.
“Out of the question,” Celendra snapped, meeting Fizgig’s stare. “We will not turn ourselves into the very thing we are fighting.”
“Why not?” Fizgig replied, blinking. Her tail swished lazily behind her.
Silence fell. The Primo looked at each other, as if unable to grasp the question. Celendra took long moments to compose herself, then finally spoke. “I find the fact that you would even ask the question utterly terrifying. Admiral Dryker, tell her this is madness.”
“Is it?”
Dryker said, slamming his palms down on the table as he shot to his feet. “Or is it pragmatism? We don’t have the troops to fight back, and if we lose, our species go extinct. All of us, even the Primo. Best case scenario, a few pockets survive and slowly rebuild…until the next Eradication. We don’t have the luxury of moral boundaries. We need to win.
“You put me in charge of this coalition, and I haven’t abused that. This time I am putting my foot down,” he continued, moderating his tone. “We have to use the tools at our disposal. Wounded or retired personnel should be given the choice. If they want to continue to fight as Judicators, then we’re going to let them. We use this technology.”
Celendra’s face went flat, and she turned to confer in whispers with the other Primo. They spoke for long moments, and the Tigris grew more agitated as time passed.
Finally Fizgig rose to her feet. “I’ve had enough of this,” Fizgig said, her voice colder than any vacuum. “Let me tell you what will happen, Celendra. My people will use the six harvesters we just captured to create Judicators. We do not need you to build anything, or to be involved in any way. Dryker says that any injured or infirm soldier may volunteer for the conversion, and we will respect that. Not just because he wills it, but because it is good sense. One of Dryker’s own men became a Judicator.”
Fizgig was silent a moment, studying the Primo coldly.
“Your kind are not warriors. You’ve never known real war,” she growled in a low voice. Rising and stalking to the far side of the table, she loomed over the Primo, who recoiled into their chairs. “I am a warrior. As a warrior, I understand the power these Judicators possess. Nolan’s companion, the Mighty Edwards, is worth a hundred Primo—no, more. If I had a dozen like him, I could take an armada of Void Wraith. And that is exactly what I plan to do. You may remain here, cowering and bickering. If you have need of me, Dryker, you have but to ask.”