by Chris Fox
Fizgig grinned, quickening her pace. She moved up an alleyway, then scaled a building, her claws gaining purchase on the rough stone. She kept climbing until she reached the top and finally had a good view of the city. Carnifex’s throne sat atop a hill, the temple slightly higher than the building she’d climbed. There he sat, calmly, as any good leader would. His composure hadn’t slipped, but she’d not really expected it to. He was too canny for that.
Behind her, Fizgig heard more explosions, and she glanced down to see dozens of hovertanks approaching. Several sniper teams moved across rooftops, all seeking to pin down Khar or his companions. But the Alphas were simply too fast, even leaping over small buildings where needed. They used the city itself as cover, supplementing the strategy with stealth. The distraction seemed total, and if Carnifex had any idea she was no longer with Khar the disposition of his forces didn’t show it.
She climbed slowly down, picking a path across a wide square, toward the hill leading to Carnifex. The place was empty, the civilians having already fled indoors. The soldiers had either fallen back to protect their leader or massed around the Alphas. That left the path completely clear, and Fizgig calmly walked up the hill, pausing for a sip of water before reaching the summit.
Once there, she could see inside the temple, an open-air affair any Tigris would appreciate. Too ornate, but at least it afforded a view of the stars. Carnifex had risen from his throne, and was speaking to an advisor—a warlord of some sort, in all likeliness.
Fizgig crept forward, picking a cautious path into the temple. It was packed with warriors, but most were distracted. They held comms showing the cameras in some of the tanks, watching as her forces tore apart their companions. It consumed their attention, making the approach easy.
“Jaguara,” one of them roared, thrusting a fist into the air. The cry was taken up, and ice filled Fizgig’s bowels. She glanced at one of the comms, and saw two tanks rumble up to the downed body of a Judicator.
Several moments later a deafening explosion shook the temple, and Fizgig smiled grimly. The Jaguara had just learned about the Void Wraith’s destructive capabilities. Even in death they were lethal.
She continued through the temple, picking her way past statues and columns. It took another few minutes, but she finally reached the main room where Carnifex stood. She could hear him now, and his advisors.
“End this,” he hissed, slashing at the air with his claws. “She’s making fools of us.”
“We can’t simply end it,” the black-furred warlord shot back, clearly irritated. “They’ve destroyed forty-three hovertanks in seven minutes. There is a real chance they could wipe out the entire garrison, and we’ve only downed one of them.”
Fizgig glided forward, as silent as she’d ever been. Fifteen feet. She circled wide, extending her right arm to the side. Ten feet. She ghosted behind Carnifex, leaning up a bit as she thrust. Her plasma blade erupted from her wrist, and she lay the crackling weapon against Carnifex’s throat.
“If I wished you dead, you would be dead, Mighty Carnifex,” Fizgig said, loud enough for every advisor to hear. She was still cloaked, and saw no reason to change that. Not just yet. “Do I have your word that my men are safe for the duration of our parlay? If so, I will order them not to destroy the rest of your garrison. Otherwise, I fear your warlord is right. You’re running out of tanks.”
“Very well,” Carnifex snarled. He gestured at his warlord, moving slowly so as not to provoke her. “Call off the tanks. Pull back the snipers.”
“Mighty Khar,” Fizgig said into the comm, smiling at the knowledge that Carnifex could hear her. “Spare the rest of the Jaguara. Fall back to the ship. Carnifex has agreed to see reason.”
13
No
Fizgig sat carefully atop the stone bench across from the throne. The day’s exertions had taken a toll, though she was proud of her achievement. Carnifex had worn a perpetual glower since she’d taken him unawares, something she’d stake her life on never having happened before. She licked the back of her paw, smoothing a patch of fur on her other arm with a touch more smugness than she probably should have.
“Let’s get on with this,” Carnifex growled. His entire body was coiled like a spring, perched atop his throne. Gathered around him were a dozen of the fiercest Jaguara, their coats a mixture of flat black or the spotted pattern Carnifex bore. “I have summoned my warlords. We will hear your words about these Void Wraith, as promised. Then you will depart this world, and never return.”
“As you wish, Mighty Carnifex,” Fizgig said, smugness vanishing. Diplomacy was required. She couldn’t afford to be childish, not with so much at stake. “You’ve seen what a handful of Alpha Judicators accomplished. They shredded a battalion of tanks, and they did it with ease. You saw how easily I came upon you unawares, using this.”
Fizgig rose from her feet, unbuckling her stealth belt. This next part was difficult, but the benefits outweighed the cost. Fizgig walked slowly to Carnifex, offering him the belt. He looked askance at her, then took the belt.
“Consider it a gift,” Fizgig said. “Each time you use it, I want you to realize that the advantage it provides is something the Void Wraith all use. Their harvesters—the ship I arrived in—can also cloak. Their line troops can cloak. They use plasma weaponry the equal of any Primo. The worst part? They can be mass-produced by kidnapping our citizens. Every world, everywhere, is in danger. The Void Wraith have begun the Eradication, and the Primo have already fallen. We are next. They will turn us all into slaves, Judicators who will in turn make more of our people into mindless soldiers.”
“Your toys are impressive, that much is true,” Carnifex said, his attention on the belt. He stroked it lovingly. “The fact that the enemy possess them is frightening, yet I noticed that you did arrive in one of their vessels. Some of your Tigris have willingly become these Judicators. This says to me that they can be fought, and beaten. Is this not so?”
Fizgig walked proudly back to her bench, sitting slowly as she gathered her words. This must be approached carefully, and even then had little chance of success. The Jaguara were proud, more so even than the Leonis.
“It is possible to win skirmishes,” Fizgig said, then sighed. “The problem is that we cannot win a war of attrition. Every day the Void Wraith make more ships, and more troops. We cannot replace lost warriors, and the longer we fight this war the weaker we become. Our only hope is mobility. We must pick the time and place of our battles.”
“You’re talking about hit-and-run tactics,” Carnifex said, shaking his head slowly. “Harassing your enemy can make their victory more costly, but it will never win a war. It’s a stalling tactic. Are you telling me you have come here to ask our help, and you have no plan for victory?”
“Let me give you the alternative,” Fizgig said, knowing a strong response was her only hope. She ignited the plasma blade on her wrist, holding it aloft for all to see. “The day will come soon when the Void Wraith darken your skies. They will come in vast numbers, in hundreds of ships like the one I arrived in. When that day came for the Primo, their entire home world was lost. Their great libraries were shattered. Tigrana has already burned, and that merely from being manipulated by the Void Wraith. Do you think you will fare better than the Primo or the rest of the Tigris?”
That had an impact. Many of the warlords looked askance at each other. Carnifex was obviously aware of it, but Fizgig spoke again before he could react.
“What I offer is no certain victory. I offer knowledge, and power. I can share the Void Wraith technology with any Jaguara willing to ally with us,” Fizgig said, her voice ringing across the temple grounds. “Together, we may be able to preserve our species. But if you stay here, locked in the past, then nothing of the Jaguara will survive.”
Fizgig sat back and waited. Carnifex continued to watch his warlords for several moments before finally turning to her. “Your gift is accepted, little Fizgig. Now get off my world before I have you executed.”<
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Fizgig rose with a respectful nod, turning on her heel and prowling back down the temple steps. She noticed that warlord and soldier alike gave her a wide berth. She’d failed here, but the thoughtful looks on the faces of many gave her hope. Perhaps the Jaguara would come to their senses before it was too late.
14
Come to Me
The harvester that Admiral Mendez had taken as his flagship was far more efficient, far more lethal than anything he’d flown before. Now that he’d been exposed to the human government, there was no more need to use crude human technology. Technology he definitely missed. The only other occupants on his vessel were Judicators, incapable of speech. Only his infrequent conversations with the larva broke the solitude of the past few weeks.
Mendez withdrew a cigar from his breast pocket. He ran it under his nose, savoring the scent of fresh tobacco. Then he placed the cigar between his fingers, drawing comfort from the familiar ritual. It was an island of sanity in the midst of incomprehensible chaos. It was all that kept him from bolting from the bridge, a gibbering wreck.
He’d dealt with his own mortality for decades. The idea that he might die held no more fear. The idea that he was transforming into something else, that whatever unholy union had been created between him and this larva—well, that was another story. He could feel it taking over, more each day. He might have a month left. Less, probably.
“Show me Tigris space,” Mendez commanded. The ship instantly changed the display to show a cluster of nearly a hundred star systems, most bordering the same portion of space that humanity had claimed.
Tigrana, and the other worlds the Void Wraith had already harvested, were blue. Immediate targets were red, the shade fading to orange based on priority. Mendez studied the brightest red dot, the planet Jaguara. He’d marked it as their primary target, and for a damned good reason. During the wars with the Tigris, humanity had learned that the Jaguara were a force to be reckoned with.
Their methods were nearly as terrifying as the Void Wraith. They broke prisoners, until those prisoners joined the Jaguara as slaves. Many officers had betrayed the UFC after they’d been tortured and brainwashed.
More than that, the Jaguara were cunning. They hid, prowling systems until they could attack with overwhelming force. Their strikes were swift and brutal, and their enemies never had a chance to fight back. If they were allowed to mobilize their fleet, they’d help the rest of the Tigris become an effective resistance.
“That must not happen,” the larva said, its voice thrumming through Mendez’s mind.
“I realize that,” he muttered back, knowing an answer wasn’t really necessary. He sighed. “Ship, order the 1st through 10th Fleets to mobilize. They’ll cluster in the Rovald system, then move on Jaguara once all have arrived. Not a single vessel escapes. I don’t want word of their destruction to spread just yet.”
Mendez clutched at his chest, trying desperately to suck in oxygen. He slumped over the arm of the chair, the cigar tumbling from limp fingers. He was trembling, and had broken out in a cold sweat thick enough to soak his uniform. Finally a breath came, and he sighed in relief.
“Entity Mendez,” the Eye rumbled through their connection, “your transformation nears. Like entity Reid, much of your consciousness will be preserved. A birthing place has been prepared. Come to me.”
Mendez’s hand moved of its own accord, typing coordinates into his personal comm. The ship would fly to the system where he knew the Eye was waiting. The excruciating pain had faded, but he knew it would return. He began drawing up orders for the various Void Wraith fleets, setting plans in motion that would continue while he prepared for his transformation.
15
Hubris
Carnifex watched the footage again, tail flicking in agitation. Were he the brute many claimed, he might have smashed the holoscreen. He might have railed and made threats. He’d have blustered, and boasted that he would kill Fizgig. Carnifex did none of that. The single flick of his tail was the only surrender, the only concession to his rage.
“The data we were given is accurate? You can detect their cloaking signatures?” he rumbled, shifting an eye to the white-robed scientist lurking in the corner of the room. Her fur was spotted, as his was. Otherwise she’d never have been allowed to serve in the Temple.
“Yes, Mighty Carnifex,” the scientist said, genuflecting. He shifted his attention back to the holo, watching cloaked figures slice through a full battalion of tanks with alarming ease. From the ground, the scientist spoke, her words oily and no doubt filled with deceit. All scientists were like that. “We’ve used the single Judicator she left for testing. Our sensors cannot pinpoint an exact location, but we can triangulate a rough position.”
“So we’ll know there are assassins, but we still cannot fight them.” Carnifex hated excuses. He hated groveling. He waved his hand dismissively, knowing that if he allowed the scientist to stay he’d have to deal with both. The scientist rose quickly, backing away with several bows. Then she fled, the scent of fear strong in her wake.
Carnifex turned back to the recording to study it again. He worried that he’d made the wrong decision, yet he’d had no choice in the matter. Jaguara custom was clear: they would accept no outside help, bow to no coalition. They stood alone, as they always had. Yet, if Fizgig was right, it was only a matter of time before the Void Wraith arrived. Were Carnifex a canny enemy, he’d strike the Jaguara immediately. So just how canny were the Void Wraith?
“Mighty Carnifex,” a soldier called, trotting into the room. He carried an assault rifle, his armor scored and dented from combat. Maxris, one of the few Carnifex truly trusted. “I dared not risk word over the comm. They’ve come. We detected their drive signatures leaving the Gate nine minutes ago. They will be on us within the hour. What is your will?”
“You did well in coming directly to me. How many signatures, Maxris?” Carnifex stood resolutely, already planning his escape.
“At least a thousand, Mighty Carnifex. They will overwhelm our defenses in minutes,” Maxris replied, proud ears drooping. “Even with the mongrel’s fleet, we would not be able to stand against them.”
“Spread the word, quietly. Choose our best captains, and have them launch immediately. We’ll flee deeper into the system, and circle around the Gate.”
“What of our people, Mighty Carnifex?” Maxris asked, his voice tight with pain.
“You know the answer as well as I,” Carnifex rumbled, turning back to the holo. He thumbed it off, then picked up his rifle. “Our world is doomed. We should have begun the evacuation when the mongrel warned us.”
“Then what will we do?” Maxris straightened, the hope in his voice unmistakable.
“We will fight, my friend. If we survive, we will find the mongrel, and she will help us avenge our people.”
16
The Torava System
Reid blinked rapidly, trying to clear the fog that seemed to overlay his vision. He had limited success, squinting through dirty glasses at the remains of the Torava system. The sole planet orbiting the white star had not fared well. It had broken into three enormous pieces, all hovering within a few thousand miles of each other. Surrounding the planetary fragments was a truly impressive cloud of debris, asteroids of every size careening off each other.
He had no idea what catastrophe had destroyed the world, or why the debris hadn’t been swallowed by the sun.
The voice spoke directly into his mind again. “Irrelevant to your current task. Make for the largest fragment. There you will find our forces, already entrenched.”
“Master,” Reid said, hesitantly. He didn’t want to offend. The master could quite literally unmake him. “If I understand correctly, we are here seeking the Birthplace. If the Birthplace exists, why was it not found during the last Eradication, or the one before? What is different this time around?”
“Your question is relevant,” the voice said. “Have no fear of reprisal. During the first Eradication, the exact
location of the Birthplace was carefully guarded by our enemies. The original Primo constructed a genetic safeguard, one that we were unable to circumvent. We fared no better during the second Eradication. The Primo’s descendants remembered nothing of substance about the Birthplace, so we did not squander resources attempting to locate it. Yet entity Nolan has proven an unpredictable variable. If he believes the Birthplace can be reached, then we work to ensure that either he is wrong, or that we reach it first.
“During the last Eradication,” the voice continued, “we destroyed much of this world, but it still possesses a master core. You will find that core, and secure it. You will prevent Nolan from retrieving it, at all costs.”
Reid watched as they threaded through the asteroids ringing the world. They descended into what remained of the atmosphere, a filmy haze clinging to the largest planetoid fragment. As they approached, Reid spotted a dozen harvesters, arrayed in a defensive formation.
The Sparhawk passed them without comment, winging through the clouds and down to the surface. It was rocky, barren, and apparently lifeless. Whatever this world had once been, it was rubble now.
“Em, make for those ruins,” Reid ordered, his voice raspy even in his own ears.
In the distance he spotted half a dozen harvesters parked around a pyramid. Hundreds of Judicators stood in neat, orderly ranks. They covered every approach to the pyramid, where the master core presumably lay.
“Master,” he murmured, trying to be bold. “I am too weak to explore the structure. What should I do?”
“Be at ease,” the voice replied. “The next stage of your metamorphosis begins. Soon, you will be complete. You will know what to do.”