Infliction (Mech Wars Book 4)

by Scott Bartlett

  “What? What do you mean, multiple alien species?”

  “Over the last twenty years, several species of the Milky Way have integrated to an unprecedented degree. They’ve established a shared government as well as a shared military. Anyone who’s able to subvert or corrupt that government, as Darkstream once did, would be the beneficiary of untold wealth and power.”

  Bronson scratched his cheek, creating a rasping sound. “What else has changed in the Milky Way?”

  “Many things. You’ll be surprised at the number of changes, almost all of them to our mutual advantage. The Darkstream board still lives, and so do you, Bronson. We have promised you will continue to rise, and now we can promise you revenge, too. Wouldn’t you like some revenge for what those in the Milky Way did to you?”

  Bronson squinted. “How do you know about that?”

  “It’s immaterial. You must answer now, Bronson. Do you accept my offer?”

  “How do I know I won’t just get arrested when I return to that galaxy? How can you assure me that I won’t?”

  “I said that you’ll need some faith, did I not?”

  After a long pause, Bronson said, “Okay. I’m in.”

  “Good. We will keep in contact.” With that, the Progenitor returned to its enclosure, and the panel slid across of its own volition.

  That was another first.

  With that, Bronson left his office for the short walk to the CIC. He began barking orders the moment he arrived. “I need a wormhole opened right away, at a location we can viably defend for as long as it takes the civilian ships to pass through it. Tactical, collaborate with Nav to come up with the coordinates you judge will best accomplish that objective and then send them to the helm.”

  “Yes, sir,” the Tactical and Nav officers said in unison.

  “Coms, relay this message to the other battle group captains: they no longer have to worry about conservation of ordnance. Convey that I don’t want them to have any Banshees left by the time we’re on the other side of that wormhole, and instruct them to use whatever charge they have in their capacitors so that their lasers can supplement point defense systems in keeping the Ravagers at bay. This isn’t about destroying enemy warships, necessarily, though that’s certainly an acceptable outcome. Our main goal is to get every last one of our ships through that wormhole in one piece.”

  “The wormhole is open, sir,” the helmsman reported.

  “Excellent. Instruct the civilian captains to begin the exodus, and pass along the order for the entire battle group to form up in a rough half-sphere around the open end of the wormhole, with the other destroyers at the sphere’s poles and us directly in front of it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  That done, Bronson used his implant to send Price a private transmission.

  Price studied him through narrowed eyes. “Yes, Bronson?”

  “The wormhole’s open, as requested. I’m arranging my warships to defend it now, and to defend the civilian ships passing through.”

  “They’re not your warships, actually, Bronson. They’re ours, now. Price out.”

  Bronson’s nails bit into his palms, and his knuckles went white. But he stayed silent, and he bided his time. Just as he always had.

  Chapter 49

  That Was His Prayer

  Roach wandered the Core of Valhalla Station, lost in memory. Buildings, green spaces, landmarks—almost everything reminded him of something that had happened here, or something that he’d made happen.

  He passed the space elevator, charred and blasted open, though the smoke of battle had long since cleared.

  This is it for me. I’m finished.

  He felt no anger about the realization, toward Price or anyone else. He didn’t feel angry at himself, who he knew deserved it most of all.

  Instead, Roach felt deadened.

  He might have left the station completely, gone in any direction he wanted—for a time. But the robots clearly had the taste of blood in their steel maws, and they would find him in the end. He was sure of that.

  So he continued to wander, and eventually he heard a distant skittering, as though a thousand giant beetles approached across the great plaza.

  At last, they drew into view: Ravagers, Gatherers, a few Amblers, and even more shapeshifting mechs—mirror images of himself.

  They would tear him apart, so thoroughly that not even the alien mech would be able to resurrect him.

  At least, that was his prayer.

  Epilogue

  No Matter What

  “What do you see?” Jake asked the destroyer’s sensor operator. The Melvin was the first ship through the wormhole, and moments after transitioning, the sensor operator’s face had gone white.

  “It’s…gone.”

  “What’s gone?” In the chaos of battle, Bronson hadn’t told them where in the Milky Way he was opening the darkgate, and Jake hadn’t asked. He’d been too busy watching the aged warships’ desperate defense, wondering whether he would need to get in his mech to go outside and join the fight.

  “We’re in the Sol System. I can see Mars, Venus, and we’re right next to Earth…they’re all there, but there are supposed to be multiple colonies in the system, too. Those are all gone.”

  Jake’s neck tensed, and he stared at the sensor data the officer was putting up on the viewscreen.

  “I thought we won the war against the Ixa,” Ash said from where she sat strapped into an observation chair, a couple over from Jake’s. Her voice came out hoarse—she was still recovering from Roach’s brutal attack outside Vanguard, but she’d wanted to be outside her mech for this, awake. Still, she’d grown quite thin, and her skin had acquired a frightful pallor. She needs rest. She probably hasn’t eaten since before the fighting on Valhalla.

  “Ma’am, we’re getting a transmission request,” the coms officer said to the captain.

  “Put it through.”

  A man with a white-speckled beard appeared on the screen, squinting at them. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Captain Vanessa Harding, Darkstream military. Who are you?”

  “Darkstream,” the man repeated, his voice full of wonder. “You…you’re back?”

  “Some of us. Would you please identify yourself?”

  “I’m Aden Shy, a project manager for the Earth Terraforming Initiative. No one’s supposed to be in this system—not until the terraforming process is finished, which won’t be for another couple centuries. And you’re definitely not supposed to use a wormhole to get here, or anywhere, for that matter. The law is pretty clear on the use of dark tech. As a government employee, I’m afraid it’s my duty to report you.”

  “That was the first instance of dark tech the company has used in twenty years,” Captain Harding said, neglecting to mention the Majorana-infused decks included in everything Darkstream had put in space. “We had a pretty good reason for opening a wormhole. We were attacked by a species that wiped out most of our population. We’re the only survivors, as far as we know. That same species, who identified themselves as the Progenitors, claimed that they unleashed the Ixa on humanity, and now they plan to come for our species themselves.”

  Shy opened his mouth, then closed it again. Finally, he said, “This is well above my pay grade. I can send a message to my next higher-up, but from the sounds of it, you’ll want the very highest levels of government.”

  “That would be ideal,” Harding said. “What happened to the colonies of the Sol System, Mr. Shy?”

  “Why, the Ixa wiped them out. Along with a lot of other systems. Wow.” Shy gave his head a slight shake. “You have a lot of catching up to do, don’t you?”

  “It would seem so. How long will we have to wait before you hear from your superior?”

  “Hard to say. The way things are these days, with the amount of bureaucracy we have, things can take a while. Having so many different species all wrapped up in the same government doesn’t help matters too much. That said, this seems pretty important. I bet they
’ll want to send someone to speak to you right away.” Shy cleared his throat. “What happened to you people, out there?”

  “That’s almost certainly going to be classified,” Jake cut in. He unstrapped himself from his seat and made his way to between the Captain’s chair and the CIC’s main screen. “I’m Seaman Jake Price, and I command a team of heavy assault mechs. We’ve encountered multiple enemies outside the galaxy who are powerful enough that deploying mechs against them is likely our only chance of victory. We have the technology to build mechs, and we’re going to need a lot more of them, but we’re willing to share the schematics. We even have an unused mech we’re willing to give you. Tell your superior to pass that up the chain.”

  Should get their attention.

  Jake turned to find Ash smiling at him, looking satisfied. He nodded at her, returning the smile.

  He had no idea what would come next, and the intel they had to share with the rest of humanity on the Progenitors was limited at best. But he did know that Oneiri Team was back, and no matter what confronted humanity next, they would be there to help stop it, together.

  Thank you for reading!

  Sign up for the mailing list and read Onslaught for free, the prequel to Mech Wars.

  Onslaught is exclusive to mailing list subscribers - only you get to read it. It reveals a shocking secret from Chief Roach’s past, when Darkstream first conquered Eresos with the help of Tessa Notaras.

  You’ll also be the first to know when Capital Starship is released - that’s the next book in the Mech Wars universe.

  Dedication

  To my sister, Danielle.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to Rex Bain, Bruce A. Brandt, and Jeff Rudolph for offering insightful editorial input and helping to make this book as strong as it could be.

  Thank you to Tom Edwards for creating such stunning cover art.

  Thank you to my family - your support means everything.

  Thank you to Cecily, my heart.

  Thank you to the people who read my stories, write reviews, and help spread the word. I couldn’t do this without you.

  Supercarrier tells the story of the wars that led to Darkstream’s exit from the Milky Way Galaxy, and it’s Book 1 of the Ixan Prophecies Trilogy. Two sample chapters from Supercarrier follow.

  If you’d prefer to just get Supercarrier now, click here.

  Chapter 1

  Providence

  “Providence, this is Gadfly. Requesting permission for landing. I have Captain Vin Husher aboard.”

  “It’s First Lieutenant, now,” Husher said, but the freighter captain had already taken his thumb away from the transponder. The man reddened at his mistake, but to correct it would prove even more embarrassing, for everyone.

  “Gadfly, this is Providence. You are cleared for landing on Flight Deck E.”

  They watched as the supercarrier grew bigger on the viewscreen—even larger and more beat-up than it looked in the news vids. Still, the sight made his skin tingle. No one could deny the ship’s majesty, or its quiet dignity, with massive primary flight decks spread out like wings. Or its menace. The Providence bristled with artillery.

  Command kept the old juggernaut out of sight as much as possible, but the public demanded to be kept updated on Captain Keyes’s doings. Just knowing he was out there, completing missions without reliance on dark tech, made people feel safer.

  Having recovered somewhat from his cringeworthy flub, the freighter captain attempted to make amends. “It’s been an honor having you aboard, First Lieutenant Husher.”

  Husher suppressed a bitter chuckle. The freighter captain had barely spoken during the journey into the Bastion Sector, and only once since they’d entered the Larkspur System, to tell his passenger they’d arrived. But silence was better than other types of treatment Husher’s name had earned him in the past.

  “It’s been a pleasure traveling aboard the Gadfly,” he said. “I’m sorry you were commandeered for the purpose of transporting me. I hope the Fleet’s compensating you for your time.”

  “They compensated me,” the freighter captain said. “Some.”

  Not nearly enough to make up for lost profits, I’m sure, Husher thought to himself.

  Flight Deck E sat empty, and no one came out to direct their landing, apparently confident that it would be pretty hard to screw up. A strip of dim lights offered a half-hearted suggestion of where to touch down, and the freighter captain took it, executing a much gentler landing than Husher would have expected.

  By that time, Husher had already donned a pressurized suit and was waiting near the airlock, where he’d clipped himself to the bulkhead in case the freighter’s landing had been closer to his expectations. The captain reappeared just as Husher finished entering the temporary security code he’d been given to open the airlock.

  “I wanted you to know…I was a boy when your father took the fight to the Ixa. He was my hero, back then. I-I don’t believe what they say about him. I don’t think he was a traitor.”

  “I do,” Husher said, punching the button to open the airlock. He stepped inside and turned to lock eyes with the captain as the bulkhead came back together. The hiss of departing atmosphere began.

  A row of inactive Condor fighters caught his eye as he walked through the void of Flight Deck E. The Ocharium nanites in his suit and his cells attracted the captured Majorana fermions in the deck, keeping him firmly anchored and simulating one G. For a moment, he wondered whether floating away might not be a better fate than getting consigned to this ship. According to research he’d conducted aboard the Gadfly, only two of the Providence’s eight flight decks saw very much action. I’ve been consigned to a museum, not a battleship, Husher thought.

  He stepped out of the flight deck’s airlock to find a woman dressed in full fatigues waiting for him on the other side. He chuckled. “Expecting a battle, Sergeant?”

  “Actually, yes.” She was having trouble hiding her disdain for him, and her eyes narrowed as they lingered on his facial hair. “In the Bastion Sector, there’s always a battle on the horizon. You’ll learn that soon enough. In the meantime, I’m here to take you to the captain.”

  “Lead on, then, Sergeant Caine,” he said, reading from her nametag.

  For all the ship’s size, the corridors that networked the Providence were incredibly cramped. Atmosphere was expensive, after all, mainly due to the cost of hauling it up from a livable planet’s gravity well. Dark tech had enabled many things, but it hadn’t been much of a boon to life support systems. So the parts of the ship where the crew lived and worked were kept as small as possible.

  “First Lieutenant Husher reporting for duty,” he said once he was inside the Captain’s office. The room was sparsely decorated—a photo here, a certificate there. Husher snapped off a salute.

  “At ease. And close the hatch.”

  Husher did so, turning to stand with his feet spread apart and his hands folded behind him. He was not invited to sit. Instead, Keyes took a moment to study him.

  “A beard,” the captain said.

  “Yes, sir. I grew it during my voyage on the Gadfly. Do you like it?”

  “It looks fine. It’s also against Fleet regulations. I want it shaved.”

  “But you’re no stranger to skirting Fleet regs, sir. At least, if your reputation is any indication.”

  Keyes fixed him with his famous impassive stare—the one he always wore in the news vids. It was bracketed by bushy eyebrows. “I’m also no stranger to having my orders carried out efficiently and without question. That goes for battle ops and it goes for how my crew present themselves—to each other, to their allies, and to the enemy. Shave the beard.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Your arrival comes as something of a surprise. Fleet Command chose to notify me a mere five hours ago, despite that you’ve been on your way to the Larkspur System for days. Reading between the lines, I take it your reassignment to the Providence is meant as an additional discip
linary measure, on top of your demotion. Is that how you see it too, Lieutenant? Speak freely, please. I would know your mind.”

  No problem. “Well, considering the Providence is understaffed, underfunded, basically on its last legs—”

  “My ship is not on its last legs.” Suddenly, Keyes’s stare was anything but impassive, and sweat gleamed on his dark skin. The captain’s broad shoulders rose and fell with deepening breaths.

  “You asked me to speak freely.”

  “And now I’m inviting you to stop. Given your sudden arrival, I have to quickly figure out where you’ll fit in. For now, I’m sending you planetside under the command of Sergeant Sera Caine, who you just met.”

  “Planetside?” I just got here.

  “Correct. Thessaly, to be specific.”

  “But I’m a Condor pilot.” Not to mention a ship captain, before I was demoted.

  “Your files say you have some skill in diplomacy.”

  “Xenodiplomacy. I minored in xenodiplomacy. Thessaly is a human colony.”

  “Nevertheless. Those skills may come in handy. And it can’t hurt to get some on-the-ground combat experience.”

  “Combat experience?”

  “Do you plan to parrot what I say a lot, Lieutenant? Yes. Combat experience. Sergeant Caine is leading a strike against a band of radicals who have been attacking Ocharium mining operations in the Caspar region. You’re to accompany her. Are we clear?”