by Chris Fox
“I have not asked you to divulge secrets, either technological or tactical.” The empress gave a soft laugh, and many of the attendants echoed it. None of the black robes were among those who laughed. “I do not seek to cause you to betray your people, but I can see that you quite naturally assume otherwise. Very well, enough of my questions. I assure you they were merely curiosity, but it was rude of me to pry. Allow me to make amends. I will allow you to stand among my attendants, watching as I dispense justice and heart gifts to those worthy. Nothing will be asked of you. You may watch me speak to my fleet leaders, and if you wish, you may even attack me, though I would not recommend doing so.”
“Why? This risk makes no sense. What if I escape?” Khar demanded, unexpected anger bubbling up. His emotions were more muted now that he had a synthetic body, but his brain and his nervous system were still very much Tigris.
“You raise an excellent point. Give me your word you will not attempt to run until the days of bok’sha are over. Do that, and you may observe everything during that time. If, at the end of it, you wish to return to your people with this knowledge, I will allow it. Is this a fair arrangement?”
Khar looked for the hidden hook. He knew it was there, but try as he might, he couldn’t see it. The kind of intel she was offering could not be passed up, and every last commander in the fleet would take it if given the chance. Would she kill him before the 9th day? Find some way to brainwash him?
Khar had no idea what her plan ultimately was, but he resolved to be ready when the blow fell.
“It is agreeable.” Khar extended a hand.
The empress eyed it curiously, then her eyes widened in understanding. She shook his hand. “Then stay, Khar of Pride Leonis. Stay and learn.” The empress trailed off, facing away from Khar.
He shifted to see what had caught her attention, noting a large transport disk. Half a dozen black-robed figures stepped off, surrounding a taller Ganog with milky eyes.
Khar moved to stand behind the other attendants, watching as the black-robes approached. Pulses of light flowed continuously from the cables attached to their temples into the strange books they all seemed to carry. Computer of some sort, Khar guessed.
“Empress,” the lead black-robe muttered. He inclined his head slightly. Many of the attendants whispered, as they had when Khar had shown the empress disrespect.
“Utfa, your presence is always welcome.” Zakanna smiled warmly at the black-robe, though that smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Have you come to advise me?”
“I have, Empress.” Utfa finally bowed, though not very deeply. When he rose, he fixed her with those milky eyes. “I have had a dream, Empress—one I do not think should be dismissed lightly. I dreamed that the Coalition was mobilizing for war, and that if we did not move swiftly our fleet would be wiped out.”
Zakanna blinked, licking her lips before speaking. “Are you suggesting we deploy the fleet now?”
“I am, Empress. Send the dreadnoughts, immediately. Please, do it now or we will pay a furious price,” Utfa said. He sounded desperate, and if it was an act it was a clever one. Khar’s sensors could detect his vital signs, but he didn’t have enough data to detect whether a Ganog was lying.
“Surely the assault can wait a few days. Repairs on the Vkash fleet are not yet complete,” Zakanna protested. “We are far more likely to lose a battle if our ships are still damaged before it begins.”
“Empress, I must insist—” Utfa began.
“You must do nothing,” Zakanna snapped. Her eyes flashed, and fiery red rippled through her fur. Whispers passed through the crowd. “I have grown to depend on you, Utfa, and in a way, it is my fault that you have overstepped your place. I have allowed too much latitude.” Her eyes narrowed.
“Are you certain you wish to ignore my wisdom, Empress?” Utfa asked, his breathy voice just above a whisper. The threat hung in the air between them, and Khar caught a flash of fear in Zakanna’s gaze.
She froze, seemingly unable to summon words. Finally, she spoke in a quiet voice. “I will begin the preparations.”
28
Mobilization
Takkar flared his lower nostrils, drinking deeply of the recycled air as he stepped out onto his balcony. Standing here filled him with power and confidence. From here, he’d orchestrated the destruction of a dozen worlds, and the conquest of three dozen others.
Yet today, it failed to inspire him. Partly that was because of the recent events, but mostly it was because of the view above. His fleet was assembling, moving slowly away from the cylindrical berths where techsmiths had swarmed, working their will on damaged turrets and fractured armor.
He should be grateful that the empress had tended to his fleet at all, yet anger still smoldered in his chest. She’d restored all five of the main cannons, the gleaming barrels a brighter white than the rest of the ship around it. She’d restored many of the turrets, perhaps fifty percent per vessel.
The worst of the gashes had been closed, including the one the enemy fighters had used to enter his flagship. Yet the scars remained. Half the turrets were too damaged to fire. The hull was battered and pitted, with some sections weaker than others.
Almost, Takkar opened a channel to the empress. Almost, he asked her why she did not wait another ten-day, or ideally why she did not wait three. Yet he did not. It could be construed as greed rather than prudence, and he knew he balanced on the tip of a spire. One sudden gust of wind and he’d be knocked into the abyss.
He knew that launching the attack prematurely was a mistake. This Fizgig was simply too canny a leader, and had already had several ten-days to prepare for his coming. He wasn’t naive enough to assume they’d find this factory world undefended. She would be there, waiting.
His only hope lay in springing the trap, and somehow overcoming her. That was going to be damnably difficult with still-damaged ships.
“Clan Leader, I have been assigned to guide you.” A raspy voice came from behind.
Takkar turned, his fur reddening as he faced the speaker. It was one of those cursed black-robes, a skinny male with sunken eyes.
“To guide me?” Takkar asked. He walked toward the seeker. “My techsmith hasn’t arrived. I take it you are the cause of this?”
“That is correct, Fleet Leader. I took the liberty—”
Takkar stopped listening. He lunged at the black-robe, seizing him by the cable that connected his temple to the arcanotome. Takkar took three running steps, and heaved the black robe over the side of his island. The fool screeched his shock, arms windmilling and robes flapping as he fell. He made it all the way down to the fourteenth island, where Takkar’s elites were dining. The black robe smashed to the ground near one of their tables, every bone shattered. After a moment the warriors began to laugh.
Takkar smiled, too, his fur lightening. He tapped a button on the backside of his gauntlet, waiting patiently for the long seconds it took a techsmith to arrive.
“You summoned me, Clan Leader?” the Saurian asked, stepping reluctantly from her disk.
“I did. You will attend me, as you usually do. If a black-robe seeks to take your place, have my warriors tear them apart. A few more deaths and I imagine they’ll get the message.”
“Of course, Clan Leader.” The Saurian gave a low, correct bow. “Clan Leader, a message request was received three minutes ago, and has not been addressed.”
“Who is it?” Takkar demanded. He wasn’t terribly popular since his defeat, and requests for audiences were vanishingly rare.
“Ro’kan, of the Azi clan.” She finally straightened. “Shall I open a connection?”
“Do it.” Takkar turned to face the holo unit built into the pedestal near the center of his island. It saw little use, as he preferred face-to-face meetings, but warping a man he’d never met onto his island without first asking permission would likely earn him an enemy. He had too many of those as it was, and Ro’kan had cause enough to hate him. No need to fuel that.
The holo unit hummed to life, displaying a lifelike representation of Ro’kan’s island. Unlike Takkar, Ro’kan was surrounded by a cloud of attendants. It was one of the most obvious signs of inexperience. That many voices caused confusion when a Fleet Leader most needed clarity.
“What do you wish of me, Ro’kan?” Takkar asked. His eyes narrowed when he spotted several black-robes standing behind the Azi clan leader. He counted quickly, realizing they outnumbered the warriors. Takkar’s fur blackened.
“The empress has commanded that I am to fight in the vanguard when we assault the Coalition. I wanted to ensure that you were aware of this directive.” There was a note of hesitation in Ro’kan’s voice.
Yes, definitely new, this one. T’kon would never have made such a mistake.
“The empress has asked that I consider placing you in the vanguard,” Takkar allowed. He exposed his teeth, glaring at Ro’kan. “I only allow true warriors into my vanguard.”
“Are you questioning my honor, Takkar?” Ro’kan snarled, though not all the fear had left his eyes.
“I count seven black-robes behind you. You court the seekers like a child seeking his mother’s breast. No true warrior would allow them to pollute his command island, certainly not during a battle.” Takkar took a step closer to the holo unit, leaning toward the image of Ro’kan. “Have them removed from my sight. If you wish to curry favor with them, that is your own path to ruin. But if you wish to join me in battle, to fight at the head of this mighty fleet, then I had best not see a seeker on your command island again.”
Ro’kan looked deeply troubled, and one of the black-robes stepped from the back ranks to whisper in his ear. He nodded, then turned back to Takkar. “Of course, Fleet Leader. You will not see them again.”
Takkar severed the connection, frowning. The seekers were growing alarmingly in strength, and their influence over both the Azi and the Yog was deeply troubling.
29
Preparation
Fizgig used a paw to push the icon representing the Tigris orbital defense platform. The nudge moved it next to the top of the space elevator, where the factory itself loomed like a giant mushroom. That factory could produce hundreds of Void Wraith an hour, day after day, year after year. Provided one were willing to feed it both raw materials and a steady supply of sentient beings, of course.
The continent below glowed with a spiderweb of lights, the trams leading to mining operations crisscrossing the continent. There were thousands of deresium deposits, meaning they could make a near endless supply of troops and ships.
“Admiral, the 4th Fleet just arrived,” Juliard called from her console. Fizgig nodded absently, filing the fact away. The 4th was the last of the fleets to be outfitted, and its arrival was bittersweet. It strengthened their numbers, but it also meant that no further reinforcements would be arriving. Not before the Ganog did, anyway.
“Have we had any word from Nolan?” Fizgig demanded. She kept her attention on the hologram, dragging a series of dreadnoughts from the palette of enemy ships. How many would they bring? A dozen? More?
“Uhh, I haven’t checked in the last hour, sir. It’s been hectic dealing with the fleet captains.” Neither the slip nor the apology were typical for her. They underscored the intensity of the stress everyone had been under for the last several weeks.
“I will tend to it,” Fizgig said. She fished her comm from her belt, scanning her messages. Fizgig tapped the message from Nolan, purring softly as she scanned the contents, then keyed in her priority channel and requested the president’s office.
“This is Secretary Watts. How may I help you?” asked a dark-skinned human.
“Where is Dryker, human?” Fizgig demanded, leaning closer to the holo.
“Uh, I’ll tell him you’d like to speak to him, Admiral.” The human quickly vanished, and Fizgig heard retreating footsteps. A few moments later Dryker ambled into view. He wore a dark, tailored suit, with one of the slender neck ropes the humans seemed to enjoy.
“Hello, Fizgig. It’s been a hell of a day.” Dryker said. He withdrew a flask from his jacket, taking a pull. “Has the payload been delivered?”
“Indeed. The payload has been delivered. There was more news.” Fizgig licked her wrist, grooming behind her ear.
“You’re going to make me ask for it, aren’t you?” Dryker asked, replacing the flask in his breast pocket.
“Yes.”
“Okay, what’s this extra news, Fizgig?” Dryker asked, rolling his eyes.
“Khar is alive, and on the enemy’s capital world.” Fizgig didn’t suppress the purring.
Dryker’s bearded face split in a broad grin. “Is Nolan close enough to extract him?”
“The report doesn’t say, but you know Nolan as well as I. He will not leave Khar behind, if there is any way to retrieve him.”
“Wonderful. Keep me posted.” Smiling Dryker vanished, replaced by The President. “I’m told the 4th arrived. That means you have all the forces you’re going to get. I won’t ask you to share it, but tell me you have a plan to beat these bastards.”
“I do indeed, Dryker,” Fizgig allowed. “I have had ample time to study them, and we are not starved for ammunition as we were in the last battle. When Takkar comes for me, I will be ready. We may not destroy them all, but they will leave here bloodied. What of your…political problems?”
“It’s very simple, Fizgig. If you beat the Ganog, and we reveal the ruse, the waters will calm. If we mess up, they’ll use this to hang me. You’ll end up having to deal with a far less cooperative president.” Dryker gave the tale matter of factly, giving an uncharacteristic shrug at the end. “So don’t mess this up, and everything is fine. No pressure or anything.”
“Yes, ‘no pressure.’” Fizgig’s tail thrashed behind her. “I will do all I can, Dryker. Just keep the jackals from your throat until I deliver you a victory.”
30
Imperalis
“Mmm, Captain.” Aluki’s voice echoed through the cargo bay. “We’ve broken atmosphere and are making for the capital. They haven’t challenged us, and it looks like we should be able to land safely.”
Nolan looked up from the rivet he’d been tightening on the booster mech’s right foot. “Acknowledged. Let me know when we’re on the ground.”
He squeezed the drill one more time, satisfied that the bolt was as tight as he could get it. The booster mech had taken a beating, and he was working on the left leg, while Annie focused on the right.
“You got that thing tighter than Bock’s fist around a credit. Come on, we’ve done a good job. Admire our handiwork, Nolan.” Annie gestured proudly at the mech, and Nolan had to admit to a little pride. The leg boosters had been repaired, a bank of bent missile pods was now straight, and they’d replaced the armor on the right shoulder.
T’kon and Hannan ducked through the hatch, both in full environmental armor, both armed with every weapon they owned.
“They’re really going to let us walk around dressed like that?” Nolan asked, blinking.
T’kon laughed. “Captain, you still believe our culture resembles yours in some way. Here, might is all that matters. If you express a viewpoint someone disagrees with, they may decide to kill you. If you wish to avoid that fate, you kill them.”
“It sounds like chaos.” Lena said, scrunching her feline nose in distaste.
“It sounds like my kind of city,” Hannan shot back. “I can’t wait to see this place. Finally, a city where we don’t get busted back to private for putting morons in their place.”
“Figures that you’d fit in here,” Nuchik said, eyeing Hannan balefully as she strode into the cargo bay.
“Says the girl who violated orders to pop a lizard like a grape. I think you’ll fit in fine here too,” Hannan taunted.
The exchange lacked the usual heat, though. It felt more like a ritual they were both obligated to perform. Nolan hoped so, anyway. He needed that pair working together.
“So here’s the deal,”
Nolan explained. Everyone focused on him. “This is T’kon’s show. He’s got a few friends here, and we’re just backup. We’re going to help him find whatever info he can about Khar. T’kon calls the shots. If he tells you to do something strange, do it. We clear?”
There was a chorus of nods. Nolan clapped T’kon on the shoulder. “All yours.”
“Thank you, Captain.” T’kon turned to face them. His posture straightened, and his fur settled into a neutral grey. “Finding your companion will be easy enough. The games we observed back on Azi were from the royal spire. Somehow, your friend battled in the royal games. These games are designed to kill, and kill quickly. Yet if your friend somehow lives, those who tend the games will know. I have friends there, and am hoping one will tell us what we need to know.”
“Assuming he is there, how do we extract him?” Nolan asked. “I’m guessing the Royal Spire is heavily fortified, right?”
“A direct frontal assault would normally be impossible—however, I was in a battle recently where a ship punched through the defenses of a full spire, disgorged angry death, and carried me to safety.” T’kon’s fur took on a faint, purplish tint. He gave a wide grin.
Nuchik started to laugh. The sound was a little terrifying at first, simply because Nolan had never heard it before. “You want to punch a hole in their palace, so we can take Khar right out of the middle of a televised sporting event? Captain, I know we don’t see eye to eye on many things, but I have to say…I have never been so happy I requested an assignment.”
“If you’re happy about the prospect of kicking a hole in a hornet’s nest, then pissing inside, well, you’re probably in the right outfit, sister.” Annie elbowed Nuchik in the side, and Nuchik smiled. Annie turned to Nolan. “This plan sounds stupid enough that they might not expect it.”