The Complete Void Wraith Saga

by Chris Fox

  He met Dryker’s gaze, and Dryker gave him a crooked smile. The admiral mouthed the words. “Glad it’s not me this time.”

  The clapping continued until Nolan took his chair, the empty one right next to the president. Gregg was a handsome woman, despite her age. She rose as Nolan sat, gathering the room’s attention without needing to say a word. Even the Tigris quieted, turning their attention to her.

  “I’d like to welcome all of you to the most historic conference in our galactic history,” the President began. She rested a hand on Nolan’s shoulder. “Thanks to this man’s courage and determination, we have finally killed the Gorthian Eye. We have awoken the Ancient Primo.”

  The President used her free hand to gesture at Manda and her companions, who were clustered around Atrea’s much larger form.

  “For the first time in centuries, the Tigris have united into a single pride,” the President continued, nodding toward Fizgig and her delegation. Khar’s huge metallic backside sat atop a specially made chair to her right, while Izzy sat in a more normal-sized chair on the other.

  The President dropped her hands, turning to Dryker and Kathryn.

  “We have even recovered those we’d thought lost, those claimed by our enemy. The cost of our victory was high, but we paid it willingly, so that those who survived could continue to fight.”

  Last, she gestured at Nolan.

  “I give you the man behind it all, Captain Nolan.”

  The room exploded into applause, and the president raised a hand for silence. It was several moments in coming, with Khar the last to subside.

  Nolan rose to his feet, licking his lips. Public speaking had never been his thing, and he hadn’t had time to prepare a speech. So he spoke the facts as he knew them, as if reporting to Dryker and Dryker alone.

  “I think I’m supposed to talk about victory, or about sacrifice. I’m supposed to make the war we’ve fought okay, to somehow let us reconcile the billions of deaths that happened on our watch.” Nolan shook his head. “I won’t do that. I won’t cheapen the battles we fought. Instead, I’d like to talk about going forward. I have no doubt that we will rebuild. There are dozens of uninhabited worlds rich with wealth. It’s all there for the taking. That means, for the next generation, there’s no need to fight. Every survivor is rich, at least materially. If we follow that line of thinking, it would lead to a much more peaceful galaxy. After what we’ve been through, I know that’s tempting.”

  Nolan paused to make sure everyone was paying attention. They were, even Khar.

  “We cannot allow that to happen. That’s what the Primo did, after the second Eradication. They wanted to put the war behind them, and in the process their descendants forgot why being prepared for war was necessary.”

  Nolan paused for a long moment, considering revealing his big idea. This was as good a place as any. “The Judicators were created for a reason, the fleets of harvesters clearly intended for a war. Either an intergalactic war, or a war in a corner of the Milky Way that we haven’t yet discovered. That’s a war we are completely ignorant of, and if we expect to have a future, then we need to find out what that war is, and what role we play in it. If the Gorthians are fighting someone, that someone might make a powerful ally.”

  There was total silence for three long heartbeats, and then Dryker rose to his feet. He cleared his throat, hands balled into fists at his sides. “Nolan is right. During my time connected to the larva, I sensed many things. In the end, in the very instant it died, I believe it pulled every memory from me it could. Those memories were broadcast by the larva to the Eye. Why do that, if you’re about to die? The Eye transmitted that data to something else, something it reported to—a bigger Eye, maybe, or something worse. It’s still out there, and we can’t leave it to our children to deal with.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Manda said. “Now that the Eye is dead we can take the offensive for the first time.” Her hoverchair floated several feet higher. “The Primo will send the Forge to find these answers. We will take a crew, and investigate.”

  “We need time to mourn our dead, but after that I will lead a contingent of Tigris,” Fizgig said, pausing to lick the fur on her wrist. She groomed her neck as she spoke, shooting a sly look Izzy’s way. “Mighty Izzy will make a fine leader in my absence.”

  “This seems a rash decision,” the president said, rising and attempting a diplomatic smile. “We’re hear to discuss the treaty—”

  “Respectfully, a treaty is meaningless if another Eradication begins,” Atrea snapped, nothing respectful in her tone. “It will not help our descendants, if the Gorthians someday return.” She took a deep breath. “That said, we don’t have to sort all this out today. I’m going to bed. The rest of you should table all this stuffy talk until tomorrow, and spend the rest of the evening celebrating the fact that we’re still alive. The Eradication is over.”

  So they did. The president adjourned the meeting, and Nolan moved over to join Kathryn and Dryker.

  “You know,” he said, smiling down at her. “Before this all started we had a date set up.”

  “I’m free this evening,” she said, giving him a wink.

  “Admiral, will you excuse us?” Nolan asked.

  “Yes,” Dryker replied, clapping them both on the shoulder. He gave the broadest smile Nolan had ever seen. “I believe I will.”

  Behind the Lines

  Book 4

  Prologue

  Takkar hopped from his command disk, waving it away as he swept into the stasis chamber. He glanced at the trio of Saurian slaveguards, each giving a cringing bow, and clenched his lower nostrils shut to blot out the stench of their fear. They hurried from the chamber, leaving Takkar alone, save for a single grey-robed techsmith and the prisoner. That prisoner hovered near the center of the room, suspended by the translucent red bonds around her wrists and ankles.

  Her pale skin had almost no fur, though a mane of black hair grew from her head. Takkar was moderately surprised by her defiant glare, something he’d not seen from an enemy in a long time. Where was the cowering, the pleading?

  “Techsmith,” Takkar bellowed, scowling at the door.

  The green-scaled Saurian scurried forward, clutching her arcanotome to her chest. Purple circuitry covered the dark surface, sending pulses of data up the cord leading to her temple.

  The sight of it sickened Takkar, and he loathed the need for such servants. He turned back to the prisoner, studying the strange, pale-skinned creature. It had two arms and two legs, like a Ganog or Saurian—yet it had no fur or scales, and its hide had proven extremely fragile. Even a casual fall would shatter its bones.

  “This human,” he said. “What language does it speak? Can we communicate with it?”

  “The creature is capable of communication, Clan Leader,” the techsmith murmured. She shrank into her robes when Takkar shifted a disapproving eye in her direction. “This species has quite cleverly modified one of their own genes using a viral agent. It allows anyone infected to understand the speech of any other infected creature, by attaching a biotranslation unit to the language centers of the brain.”

  “Are you suggesting we’ve been infected by an alien virus?” Takkar’s voice was deadly quiet, and his fur darkened to black.

  She cringed, backing away slowly. “The techsmiths have deemed the virus safe, Clan Leader. It is an airborne pathogen, but it only modifies a single specific gene. We have both been exposed, as has every other techsmith who initially examined the subject.”

  Takkar flared his lower nostrils, and his fur returned to a rich scarlet. “How long since the initial exposure?”

  “Seventeen hours, Clan Leader. The physiological changes were completed within the first hour. Krekon probed her, and he believes the virus is harmless.” The techsmith’s retreat was finally halted by the wall of the stasis chamber. She huddled there, waiting for judgement.

  “So she can understand what we’re saying,” Takkar said. He studied the prisoner, fin
ding comprehension in those defiant eyes. “Yes, she definitely knows what we’re saying. She’s studying us. That implies a certain amount of intelligence. Did her species design the fleet we destroyed, or did they scavenge it from another species? It seemed more advanced than I’d expect from such a simple creature.”

  “We believe her species constructed the vessels.” Tangy fear wafted from the techsmith as Takkar folded furry arms large enough to snap her neck. “They seem to have no distinction between castes. Their techsmiths travel with their soldiers, and their leadership caste seems comprised entirely of soldiers who were elevated into the position.”

  “You know I can understand you,” the human said. Her voice was a higher tenor than Takkar had expected, even given her diminutive size. “If you want to know about our culture, why not just ask? Why attack us without provocation? We’d done nothing to you, yet you brutally assaulted our fleet.”

  The techsmith sucked in a breath, her fiery eyes widening, then quickly narrowing again. “You have addressed the clan leader of the Vkash, ka’tok. If you speak again—”

  “Silence.” Takkar waved a hand, and the techsmith’s jaw clicked shut. He leaned closer to the human. “It’s that simple then, with your species? I tell you why we attacked, and you answer my questions?”

  “I have nothing to hide, and I don’t understand our technology well enough to tell you anything I shouldn’t.” Determination thickened in the human’s gaze. “You can torture me, or you can tell me what I want to know, and deal with a far more cooperative subject.”

  “Very well.” Takkar gave her a toothy smile, leaning closer. “If you answer my questions, I will answer yours. Given that your position is rather dubious, why don’t you allow me to ask my questions first?”

  The human hesitated. She studied Takkar for long moments, her lips pursed. “All right.”

  Takkar repeated his earlier question, this time directing it to the human. “Did your species design the fleet we destroyed?”

  “Yes, my species helped design our weapons and ships.”

  “Helped?” Takkar asked, his interest growing. “There was another species aboard your vessel, and your communications archives make mention of a third. What is your relationship to these races? What can you tell me about them?”

  “They’re our allies, part of the Coalition of United Races,” the human explained. “The larger aliens are called the Tigris. They’re some of our fiercest warriors and best scientists. The smaller race is the Primo. Their science is the most advanced, but we’ve been catching up quickly with their help.”

  “The Primo.” Takkar tasted the words. “In your language, that means ‘the first’—these Primo are the oldest race?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yet all of you share equally in this…Coalition?” Takkar asked.

  “Our leader is of my species,” the woman explained. “President Dryker will only serve for two more years, though, then it’s possible we may elect a Tigris or Primo to replace him.” Her posture had relaxed, suggesting her fear had ebbed.

  Interesting. This seemed a trusting species.

  “I’m not sure I understand,” Takkar said. “This Dryker will simply relinquish power, and someone else will take his place?” He turned back to the techsmith, who quivered meekly in his shadow. “Have we ever seen anything like this before?”

  “Yes, Clan Leader,” the techsmith replied quickly. “The Whalorians exhibited just such a government when we conquered them seventeen centuries ago. It’s part of the reason their resistance was so ineffectual. They were paralyzed by weak leadership.”

  If that characterization bothered the human, she didn’t show it. She merely stared impassively at Takkar.

  Takkar considered his next question carefully. How much would this human reveal? “Why have you entered this sector? It is the property of the Ganog Imperium, and one of our most far-flung provinces. Do you seek to invade?”

  “We’re explorers,” she explained with an exasperated sigh. “We came here searching for the Gorthians—a race of planet-sized eyes that reproduce through a slug-like parasite. They attacked our sector of the galaxy, wiping out many of our people. After we defeated them, all three races banded together and vowed to hunt them down. We want to make sure the Gorthians never hurt anyone again.”

  “Ahh, now that is a sentiment my species can understand.” Takkar smiled broadly. “You seek vengeance for their attacks—is that it?”

  “Exactly.”

  Takkar gave a rumbling laugh. “You’ve done as I asked. Now I will honor our accord. What do you wish to know, human?”

  “Why did you attack us?” she asked.

  “Because the Ganog are conquerers, and you have yet to be subjugated. My clan will plunder your worlds for labor-slaves and techsmiths. If you have weapons, we will take them. If you have wealth, we will seize it. Have you another question?” Takkar licked his lips, inhaling deeply of the woman’s earthy scent. His stomachs rumbled.

  The woman licked her lips as well, evidently gathering her thoughts. “Do you recognize the Gorthians?”

  “Possibly. A monstrous eye is mentioned in our earliest myths. It is one of the Nameless Ones, from our most ancient legends.”

  “It isn’t a myth. I can promise you that. This thing devoured billions of people before we burned it to a crisp.” The woman stood as straight as her bonds would allow. “We don’t have to fight. We have a common foe. Help us find the Gorthians, and we’ll help you kill them.”

  “You misunderstand, human. I said I recognized them, not that I considered them enemies. Our seekers are quite clear on that point: to oppose the Nameless Ones is to die. All we can do is seek to avoid their terrible gaze. Even were that not so, my people are conquerers. We will add your might to our own. If the day comes when we must oppose a Nameless One, your world will already be dust.” Takkar clicked his tongue, and the techsmith shot to her feet. He turned to her. “Have Krekon conduct a final interrogation. After he’s taken all he can from her mind, have her prepared for tonight’s feast.”

  The Saurian eyed the prisoner critically. “Forgive me, Clan Leader, but she does not possess very much meat. Shall I have some of the others prepared as well?”

  “Do that.” Takkar turned an appraising eye back on the prisoner. “You said that their soldiers have some sort of transponder?” he asked, a plan taking shape.

  “Indeed, Clan Leader. They are utilizing some sort of quantum entanglement to transmit data. The transponders are capable of broadcasting a location, but we’ve blocked the signal.”

  “Have the transponders moved to the local coliseum, then remove the quantum dampeners. Move the planetstriders into position, and assemble the mounds.” He met the human’s defiant gaze, and he smiled. “This…Coalition will come for their people, and when they do, we will be waiting. One of those ships will have star charts—and after we have them we can begin conquest in earnest.”

  1

  Ganog 7

  “Exiting the sun’s corona, Captain.” Kay’s warm holographic voice emanated from the speakers on either side of his sleek leather chair. Nolan nodded absently, rising to his feet. He leaned closer to the viewport above the consoles.

  Pillars of superheated nuclear material towered over their tiny vessel, bathing them in hellish fury. The sleek corvette threaded a path between them, dodging a collapsing solar tendril as the Helios Drive used the sun’s own gravitational force to fuel their escape. Beyond the sun lay an unfamiliar solar system, at the far edge of ancient Primo space. It was as far from Earth as any human had ever been.

  “Kay, are you picking up the transponders?” Nolan grabbed his helmet from its place on the copilot’s chair, then turned and ducked through the hatch. The Peregrine was an amazing ship, but most of the engineers had been two feet tall. They didn’t understand the concept of headroom, and the ship was even more claustrophobic than the Johnston had been.

  “Yes, Captain.” Kay’s voice followed him from the wal
l speakers as he squeezed down the narrow corridor. “The beacon is broadcasting from the fourth planet in the system. It’s currently at 87% strength, but the degradation is within expected tolerances given the transponder’s battery life.”

  “What about the rest of the fleet?”

  “We were the second ship to exit the corona. Four more ships have already emerged, including the Mendez.”

  Nolan caught sight of the capital ship emerging from the star. The A-shaped vessel was part carrier, part battleship, bristling with particle cannons and banks of gauss turrets. The Mendez represented the pinnacle of the new Coalition, a fusion of technologies from all three races. The ships emerging around it were older, refitted from humanity’s fleets.

  He ducked through the hatch, leaving the view behind as he trotted up the corridor. He could hear Annie’s booming laugh, joined a moment later by Edwards’s. Nolan smiled, ducking through another hatch, this time into the ship’s cargo bay. This room was what made the ship special, and the reason why the rest of the ship was so cramped. Every spare centimeter had been allocated here. The high-ceilinged room had been divided into four bays, each holding a ten-meter-tall death machine wired into a complex harness.

  All four mechs were the heavier Linebacker class, their stocky limbs covered in thick plates of tritanium armor. Each held a particle cannon in its left hand, and had a plasma emitter strapped to the right wrist—though neither of those represented the true threat. Twelve missile tubes were also hidden throughout the back, shoulders, and hips—the piranha-class missiles were a gift from the Primo, and packed more punch than anything humanity had previously possessed.

  Spindly mechanical arms extended from the stalls, darting around each mech to refill ammunition or oil hydraulics. A thick hose connected to the chest of each mech, refilling the coolant necessary to prevent the fusion drives from going critical.