The Complete Void Wraith Saga

by Chris Fox

  He looked so old, so tired. So different from the stalwart warrior she’d first met.

  But was she any different? Tired and old, the pair of them.

  “I can say the same, Dryker. Whatever happens, this is the end for me. I look forward to that day, when we can set the burdens down and rest.” Fizgig gritted her teeth, rising from her cushions. “But that day is not today. I will report the outcome of the summit. Be well, Dryker.”

  “Be well, old friend,” Dryker said, raising his glass to her. The holo went dark.

  4

  The Summit

  The transport disk zoomed toward a large island near the center of Takkar’s dreadnought. It brought back memories of fleeing for his life, and Khar found it more than a little odd to be returning as an ally.

  He hopped from the transport disk, landing next to Zakanna. The empress—if that title was accurate any longer—wore her usual simple gi, the white fabric contrasting nicely with her purple fur. She walked purposefully toward the three-story spire, and Khar kept pace.

  “Why did you choose to hold the summit here?” Khar rumbled. “You could have made everyone come to you.” His scanners detected nothing out of the ordinary, but he kept alert regardless. There’d been too many nasty surprises recently, and his trust was gone.

  “That’s precisely why I came,” Zakanna explained. “As Empress, I would have summoned them. But I am Empress no longer. At best, I am Clan Leader, the same as T’kon or Takkar. We are equals, and I want to show them that.” The words were imbued with her usual passion and fervor. She took ruling seriously—something Khar admired about her.

  “A wise course. Takkar, at least, is a proud man. Perhaps this will make him more likely to work with us.” Khar disliked Takkar. Takkar was a fine tactical commander, but too sure of himself—much as Khar had been before meeting Fizgig. That was probably exactly what Takkar needed: a tutor like her to teach him humility.

  They entered the spire. Khar noted that they seemed to be the last to arrive. Takkar stood on one side of the command dais, with a single Saurian techsmith behind him. T’kon stood on the opposite side, as far from Takkar as he could get. He had also brought a techsmith, and a grey-furred Ganog that Khar thought must be his wife.

  Khar moved to stand next to the last person. “Mighty Fizgig.” He snapped his hand over his heart and gave a respectful bow.

  Zakanna followed a moment later, also bowing to Fizgig.

  Fizgig eyed him critically. “Khar. Your fur is a disgrace. Do not think you may stop bathing merely because your body is synthetic.” Fizgig turned toward the empress, giving the suggestion of a bow. “Welcome, Zakanna.”

  Khar found himself licking his wrist, then grooming the fur on the back of his neck very self-consciously. It was out of character for Fizgig to point out something like that publicly, but she always had a reason for the actions she took. Khar glanced at Zakanna, then back at Fizgig.

  He was being tested. Fizgig wanted to see if she could make him uncomfortable in front of Zakanna, and she’d succeeded. He’d just betrayed his affection for the displaced monarch.

  At least he was conscious of the game now, even if he wasn’t yet at her level. He gave Fizgig an affectionate smile. “I’ve missed you, venerable one.”

  “Venerable?” Fizgig’s tail slashed behind her.

  Khar laughed. Fizgig’s tail settled into a languid swish. “I’ve heard impressive tales of the battle at Atreas.”

  Across the dais, Takkar scowled, his fur darkening. “Before you share any ‘tales’, I’d remind you that I’m standing right here.” He snorted, eyes flaring as his lower nostrils opened. “We may be allies—briefly—but if you make a mockery of me or my clan, I will—”

  “You’ll do nothing,” Zakanna snapped, leaping atop the dais. She stabbed a finger down at Takkar. “Your pride is a burden we cannot afford—not now. Not with the survival of our race at stake. There will be no posturing. Today, we come together. Yesterday is debris in the void. Let it go, Takkar.”

  “You are no longer my ruler, Zakanna,” Takkar growled, but his fur softened back to brown. “Yet even I can admit the sense in what you’re saying.” He looked back to Khar. “Forgive my blustering. My pride stings after the twin defeats at Ganog 7 and Atreas. You must understand—I have never lost, and in my time as Clan Leader have delivered more worlds to the Vkash clan than anyone in living memory.”

  Zakanna walked quietly back to Khar and Fizgig, hopping down from the dais. She turned back to Takkar. “I lost Imperalis, a world that has belonged to my family for six millennia.”

  Fizgig made an amused sound, drawing a baleful stare from Zakanna.

  “Neither of you understands the scale of the loss we are about to face,” Fizgig said. “Three species were savaged by the Void Wraith—seven in ten are dead. My people lost nearly everything.” She blinked at Takkar. “The road here is salted with the blood of the fallen. Our people have all suffered. That suffering was not without purpose. It taught me—taught the Coalition—that working with former enemies can sometimes be the only route to survival. Yet such a route isn’t easy to walk. You attacked my people without provocation, Takkar. Every instinct urges me to tear out your throat.”

  “Tear out my throat?” Takkar threw his head back and laughed. “You are an old woman—a tiny old woman. I do not fear tiny old women, not even in my lesser form.”

  Khar took three steps back, away from Fizgig. He waited for her to kill Takkar, but her only reaction was the same languid tail swishing. Takkar continued to laugh.

  Fury boiled inside Khar. “If you do not cease that braying, I will tear out your tongue, Ganog.” Khar ignited the plasma blade on his wrist. “I do not know why Fizgig allows you to continue to draw breath—but if she will not defend her honor, I will.”

  “Khar!” Fizgig snapped. The word cracked into him like a physical blow. “This is not the way.”

  Khar stared hard at Takkar, ready to end him—but Fizgig was right.

  Khar extinguished his blade, though he offered no apology. He folded his arms, staring a challenge at Takkar. Let the brute come. Khar didn’t need a mech to deal with him.

  “I am the person with the least standing at this table.” T’kon’s rumbled words drew everyone’s attention. His fur was orange-brown, and his mouth turned down in a frown. His wife wore a matching expression. “We spoke of mistakes. I cost my clan everything—something I have yet to atone for. We speak of working with enemies. No one hates Takkar more than I do. No one has greater cause to claim his life.” His eyes met Khar’s. “If I can ignore the needs of my honor, then you can certainly do the same. Takkar will seek to bait you. Do not let him. We all share the same goal, and if working with people we detest is the most difficult trial we face, we are fortunate indeed.”

  There were nods of approval all around.

  Khar grudgingly added his. “Your words have merit. We do not need to like each other. We merely need to come together toward a common cause.”

  “If we are to proceed with that cause,” Zakanna said, “we need a fleet leader.”

  Khar looked to Fizgig, but she said nothing. Nor did Zakanna, despite either being a viable choice.

  “I possess the strongest fleet, and have the most experience,” Takkar pointed out, breaking the silence.

  Khar couldn’t let the latter statement stand. “If anyone is placed in charge, it should be Mighty Fizgig. She’s embarrassed you twice, Takkar. Surely you recognize that she is the superior commander.” He pointed it out not to embarrass Takkar—though if that happened, he could live with it—but to defend Fizgig.

  “I could not accept the role, even if it were offered,” Fizgig said. She folded her arms, her tail swishing its agitation. “I spoke with President Dryker just before this meeting. I am here in an advisory capacity only.”

  “That makes Takkar the logical choice,” T’kon said. His fur rippled red-brown, and his wife gawked as if she were meeting him for the first time. “I
know, my words surprise you all. I do not wish to entrust my people’s fate to a brute, but I see little choice. We need a leader, one who has led entire fleets into battle. Takkar is that, if nothing else. The Azi will follow Takkar, if Takkar is willing to accept Fizgig as an advisor—an advisor he will actually listen to.”

  “Takkar, are you willing to agree to that condition?” Zakanna asked.

  “Very well, she may stay aboard my vessel and advise me on my deployments. I give my word that I will listen to her counsel, and implement anything that will give us a better chance of survival. In the end, though, I am in charge. I will do what I see fit. Before you make me fleet leader, be certain you can live with that.” Takkar folded his arms and stared defiantly in Khar’s direction.

  “I can.” Zakanna folded her arms. “We’ve already heard from T’kon. Fizgig, will you serve Takkar in an advisory capacity?”

  5

  Fleet Leader

  Takkar hated dealing with these fools, but one did not always get to choose ones allies. He studied Fizgig as she considered Zakanna’s question. Such strange aliens, these Tigris. They possessed fur, at least, but the tail was an oddity.

  Yet in that strange body lurked the cunning and intelligence that had so successfully overcome him. Twice.

  Zakanna folded her arms. “We’ve already heard from T’kon. Fizgig, will you serve Takkar in an advisory capacity?”

  “As you wish.” Fizgig’s tail had stopped moving entirely, and her gaze was fixed on Takkar. “It’s just as well. President Dryker only procured a single ship, and even that was difficult. The Demetrius went with Nolan on his mission to Nyar, leaving me without a vessel. I am happy to serve Takkar in an advisory capacity.”

  “You possess no fleet to contribute to this war?” Takkar demanded, feeling his fur darken.

  “That’s correct.”

  “And also irrelevant,” Zakanna said, addressing the group. “We work with what we have. Fizgig has agreed to serve Takkar, and Takkar has agreed to our terms. We have a fleet leader. Now, we can take the next step.”

  Takkar found himself increasingly impressed with the young empress. She wasn’t nearly the flighty Adept she projected herself to be. There were undiscovered depths there—meaning she was probably a good deal more dangerous than he’d originally assumed.

  “Very well,” Takkar said, “then let us begin by assessing the situation and coming up with a plan.” He stared around the table, meeting every pair of eyes. “We all know how dire our predicament, but only one part of it matters: Imperalis. No other battle is of consequence. Without Imperalis, we cannot repair or adequately resupply. If we are to have any hope of victory, we must wrest back the capital regardless of the cost. That world is held by the Kthul, backed by these Void Wraith. I understand the former, but not the latter. How can we overcome the Void Wraith? We must bypass them to reach the beacon. And, if I understand correctly, it is with that beacon that they are controlled.”

  “You understand correctly,” Fizgig said. “The Void Wraith are cybernetic lifeforms. The nervous system and brain of a living entity are inserted into an artificial body, not unlike Khar’s. All Void Wraith are designed with a central kill switch and a universal override. The Gorthians—what you call the Nameless Ones—designed the Void Wraith well. Yet in this instance that weakness greatly benefits us. Retake this beacon, and we can unleash the Void Wraith upon the Kthul.”

  “Utfa will have many defenses in place,” Zakanna cautioned. She shook her head slowly. “At the very least, he has the orbital cannon used to cripple the Nyar fleet. Our fleet cannot survive that kind of firepower.”

  “The Omega Judicators are truly devastating in their own right,” Khar added. “Their firepower added to the cannon will destroy any fleet in orbit long before they can ground enough troops to take the spire.”

  “How do your people know so much about these…Omegas?” It seemed awfully convenient that they had shown up with all the answers just as the answers were needed.

  “Our people captured many harvesters during the war with the Void Wraith,” Khar explained. The impudence in that one’s gaze nearly drove Takkar to violence, allies or no. “They contained cores, some dating back to the original Primo empire. One of those cores contained the schematics for the Void Wraith that were used in the original Eradication, over fifty thousand years ago. Those included the plans for Omegas, though at that time none had been built.”

  “So why not build one now?” T’kon asked.

  Fizgig shook her head sadly. “We have the schematics used to create them, but the manufacturing facilities needed to create an Omega would require a generation to build. The Omega itself would take even longer. The ones they are using must have taken a century or more to construct.”

  “Which brings us back to where we started,” Zakanna added, seizing control of the conversation once more. “We must find a way to destroy the beacon, but orbital bombardment will fail. The Omegas will see to that. If orbital bombardment isn’t possible, what do we do?”

  “So, Mighty Fizgig, how would you solve this problem? Advise me.” Takkar did not bother to hide his scorn. She’d won twice, but in both cases there were extenuating circumstances. Had the empress allowed him to fully repair his fleet, Atreas would have been an altogether different battle.

  “For now, we can do little.” Fizgig folded her arms and watched him with those slitted, green eyes. “We need more information on the beacon, and knowledge of the defenders guarding Imperalis.”

  T’kon spoke up. “We cannot afford to delay our assault. We have no way to repair, and our opponent does. The Kthul are no doubt already searching for us. There’s every likelihood that a techsmith on one of our vessels has already transmitted our location.” He shook his head. “I do not wish to rush into combat, but time works against us.”

  “The Kthul do not perceive us as the gravest threat,” Fizgig countered. “When the Gorthians were finally ready to reveal themselves, they attacked the greatest threat swiftly and without mercy. That threat is the Nyar Clan. The Gorthians know it. They will come for the Nyar home world, and they will eradicate it. This is why I have dispatched Nolan—to prepare the Nyar. We have at least a little while before the Kthul can turn their attention to us, and we should spend that time wisely. I have never been to your capital, and so cannot comment on breaching its defenses. So I turn to your expertise, Takkar. How would you suggest we defeat them?”

  Takkar’s fur became a wan yellow, his frustration at his own incompetence showing. “I do not know.”

  6

  Rebuffed

  The disk zoomed to a halt, depositing Nolan and Yulo at one of the highest rings in the spire. Nolan tensed as he and the Adept approached the black-armored Ganog with the long spear over his shoulder. He rose to attention as they approached, and Nolan forced himself to relax.

  “I am Nolan of the Coalition, slayer of Krekon,” he intoned, as Yulo had instructed him. “I petition for entry to the spire.”

  “Your petition is refused,” the Ganog warrior snarled, without hesitation. He loomed over Nolan, but Nolan refused to back down. The Ganog seemed amused. “Now scurry away, before you make me angry enough to squash you. Rodent.”

  Nolan ignited his plasma blade, and shifted into a combat stance. “You’re welcome to try.” He was fairly certain that he could kill the Ganog before he shifted into his great form. The time it took to do that would make his opponent vulnerable. Right now, they were on more or less equal terms.

  “Please, reconsider,” Yulo said, stepping smoothly in front of Nolan. “All we wish is a brief audience, and you have my word that the matter is of the gravest importance.”

  “I will not reconsider—not even for you, old man.” The warrior glared down at Nolan contemptuously. “You are fortunate the master is with you, or I’d crush you to jelly. Now begone from my sight.”

  Nolan looked to Yulo, raising an eyebrow. Yulo shook his head. Nolan reluctantly extinguished his plasma blade,
then turned on his heel and stalked back toward the transport disk they’d arrived on.

  Yulo joined him a moment later.

  “Why didn’t you let me challenge him?” Nolan asked, staring at the defiant guard as the disk whizzed into the air. It dropped quickly, moving toward the depths of the spire.

  “Because it wouldn’t have resolved anything.” Yulo eyed Nolan sidelong. “If you had bested him he would have taken us to his superior, whom you’d also need to challenge. How many challenges are you prepared for?”

  “Point taken.” Nolan steadied himself as the disk zoomed past another island. They were nearing the level where they’d boarded. “There has to be a better way.”

  “And there is.” Yulo hopped from the disk, landing in a crouch on the spire’s deck.

  Nolan leapt off, landing next to him.

  “If you wish to gain audience,” Yulo said, “you must find someone who can grant it. Someone who will take you directly to the clan leader.”

  “I don’t know any Nyar.” Nolan stalked back through the golden sigils, into the too-bright sunlight. His sunglasses automatically darkened, affording a better view of the spectacular array of ships docked around the spire. None were as impressive as the Demetrius. The battleship was still docked, its Theta cannons bristling on all sides, in between the smaller particle cannons. A truly massive Theta cannon was slung under the ship’s belly, where the gauss cannon had been aboard the UFC Johnston.

  Three fighter ports lined each side, sheltered under stubby wings that were nothing but masses of dense tritanium. She was a true warship, able to go toe-to-toe with a Primo carrier—and maybe even a Ganog dreadnought.