Conflagration 1: Burning Suns

by Lisa Wylie

  “I’ve got nothing to say,” Orden choked out.

  Keera held out her hand. “The knife, if you please, Captain.” Jennifer placed the weapon in her grip, and she laid the razor-sharp edge of the blade against the hybrid’s throat. “Bravado isn’t going to save you,” she advised him, keeping the same calm, friendly tone. “I know you have the information I want, and the only way to save yourself from a messy and humiliating situation is to share it with me.” Very carefully, she scraped the edge of the knife down his throat, the edge rasping against his skin as it pared off some of his sparse, ratty stubble.

  “If you kill me…”

  “I didn’t say anything about killing you,” Keera interrupted pleasantly, using the knife to slit Orden’s shirt open. “Not immediately, at least. I was thinking of castrating you. It might not kill you, if you were somehow able to summon the concentration to answer me before you bled to death. I’m assured that it’s an excruciating way to die. But even if you were to survive, well,” Keera trailed the knife tip down his chest and abdomen to his navel, “imagine your life without your favourite body part. And imagine how it’ll feel when everyone on Hel learns—and they will—that you got your cock cut off by a girl. Somehow I don’t think they’ll be calling you Snake-Eyes after that.”

  Orden bucked against her hold, but Keera had braced herself for it and tightened the choke. “Ah ah,” she chided. “Hold still. You don’t want my hand to slip, do you? Captain, get his trousers off.”

  “Ugh, really?” Jennifer protested, but she moved to obey. “Sorry, Orden. Nothing personal, but I learned a while ago not to cross my friend here.”

  As Jennifer popped the button at his waistband, Orden’s courage snapped. “All right!” he gasped. “All right! I’ll tell you. His name is Octavius Gullane. He’s an arms dealer, the ancient collectibles are just a sidelight.”

  “And where can we find him?” Keera asked.

  “Omega Chronos. He has an estate on Chronos Four.” Orden sneered. “You’ll never get near him.”

  “You don’t need to worry about that,” Keera rebuked, fighting down the surge of satisfaction the confession had evoked. “But thank you for your concern and your cooperation.”

  “Fuck you, bitch,” the hybrid snarled.

  “Not tonight. One last thing, Orden, before we go,” Keera said softly.

  “What?”

  “I’m watching you. Try anything in retribution against the good Captain or warn Gullane, and I’ll be back. There’s no security protocol you can devise that will keep me out. So do the smart thing and pretend this never happened, all right?”

  She pressed the loaded hypodermic ring to Orden’s neck, injecting a second shot of sedative, and the hybrid slumped back into unconsciousness. Hefting the knife, she pressed it against his belly just hard enough to nick the skin, then drove the blade through the plastic of the seat and pulled him down so that the sharp edge rested against his crotch. “That should be a suitable aide memoire. We’re done. Shall we take a walk?”

  Jennifer was staring at her, and she snapped her fingers in the human’s face. “Jennifer? You there?”

  Jennifer nodded slowly. “Wow. Remind me to make more of an effort not to piss you off. You really are quite scary.”

  Keera shrugged deprecatingly as they let themselves out. “Your imagination is your own worst enemy, if you permit it to be. It’s just a question of finding the right triggers.”

  “You enjoyed that,” Jennifer accused with a grin.

  “Maybe a little,” Keera admitted awkwardly. It had felt good to get the play right. “Shan’Chael’s right about him, by the way. He’d sell his own mother for a fast credit.”

  “A quick buck,” Jennifer corrected absently. “I know, but since I don’t see him offering me any more work, the quality of my social circle is already on the rise. Soon you’ll be taking me to all those swanky New Lagos cocktail bars you frequent.” She shot Keera a curious look. “Would you really have cut his dick off?”

  ‘I wouldn’t have had to,” Keera deflected, blushing. “He was never going to take that risk for someone he owes nothing except professional courtesy.”

  “Shit. You really would have,” Jennifer asserted. “That’s pretty cold, Keera.”

  “Says the woman who choked a man to death with her bare hands.” As Jennifer shrugged equably, Keera gave her a sidelong glance. “So, next stop Omega Chronos?”

  “Seems that way. Come on, we should lie low for a while to dodge any fallout. Let’s head home and celebrate a successful mission with those miniatures I boosted from your shuttle.”

  “Classy,” Keera chuckled. “Lead on, Captain.”

  KOHATH

  Korxonthos, Neutral Space

  Kiith Kohath.

  The voice of the Synergy shattered the reflective silence of Kohath’s mind.

  Kohath set down his study of recent engagements by the Corrupted in the outlying regions of the sectors of the galaxy claimed by the Terrans. “You have need of me?”

  Forgive the intrusion, but you are urgently required to attend to defensive command.

  “Acknowledged.”

  Kohath opened his cortical link to the Korxonthos mainframe—habit had made a hermit of him in regard of staying constantly connected—and began walking. Even though his physical presence was not actually required, it was his preference to be in proximity to the command centre in case of unforeseen circumstances. As the connection linked up, however, the information that downloaded to his awareness wiped any thought of habit and custom from his mind.

  Korxonthos was under attack. The Corrupted had launched a direct assault on their former brethren.

  We are require your expertise, the Synergy whispered. Will you assume overall command of our defences?

  I am the Synergy’s to command, he responded. Speech was an indulgent luxury in an all-cyborg environment. Nanoseconds after the thought had formed, a cascade of information began to stream through his processors as the tactical datastream came online, projecting a heads-up display at the left of his field of vision. Fleet disposition, troop deployment, defence system statuses, and direct communications interfaces to each unit commander, a wealth of situational data, all at his neural fingertips.

  Kohath felt an odd surge of positive feedback as he reached his destination. He had forgotten, over decades and centuries spent in close collaboration with the other races of the galaxy, how harmonious and fluid the process of commanding cyborg forces was. Invigorated by both the reminder and the improved performance of his freshly overhauled systems, he turned his focus to his work, seeking to observe and quantify the nature of the attack.

  He quickly located the enemy force: twenty battle cruisers, heavily armoured and heavily armed, advancing on an intercept course for the dockyards in a tight formation. Far too small a number to hope to adequately engage the Synergy’s defences.

  A raid, then. But to what purpose?

  The enemy ships had dropped out of FTL perilously close to the minimum safe deceleration distance and divided into four squadrons, the lead one applying braking thrust with such intensity that the ships could not possibly be crewed by organic-based animates. The second and third squadrons decelerated far more gently, but the fourth made no attempt to brake, bearing down on the orbital platform ringing Korxonthos at flank speed.

  Their intention was all too clear.

  The enemy intend to ram the dockyards.

  Collision alerts began to wail over the emergency communications bandwidths as the Synergy tried to evacuate the targeted area, but the speed of the approach rendered the attempt futile. Kohath dismissed the data stream from his active feeds as the cruisers struck, ignoring the diversion. The suicide squadron, its hand played, was no longer of tactical concern—the greater threat would arise from the squadrons that were still inbound. Computing their trajectory, he pinpointed the likely target, a commercial sector of the docks where the defence systems had been rendered powerless by the impact of t
he kamikaze strike. Several newly arrived transports hung helplessly from their docking cradles, suspended in space mid-berthing and terribly vulnerable to the enemy cruisers.

  I believe we are about to be boarded, he advised the Legislature even as he directed covering fire for the transports from the orbital defences in the adjacent sectors. Those transports must be brought into dock and secured against attack. Open bay doors are a significant vulnerability.

  We will attend to it, the Legislature confirmed.

  Kohath transmitted the target coordinates to the animate commanding the ground defences in that zone. Direct your forces to stand by to repel boarders. Keep them contained if you can.

  At your command, the animate acknowledged. Be advised that I may not command sufficient resource to hold them.

  Understood. Kohath switched channels. Praetorius, are you receiving the battle telemetry?

  I am, Kiith Kohath, the gladiator replied. As chance would have it, I am in physical proximity to the target zone. I am gathering reinforcements to supplement the division already deployed.

  A flash notification in Kohath’s heads-up display confirmed the release of boarding pods from the two inbound cruiser squadrons, as he had anticipated. The lead squadron was loitering just out of range of the static defences. So far, the Corrupted were employing classic cyborg tactics: create a diversion, strike hard and fast in the ensuing confusion, using ranged support to coordinate tactical movement and—of course—transmit intelligence back to a command vessel.

  Kohath directed his focus momentarily to the environmental scans. The command vessel would be further out, likely beyond the effective sensor range of Korxonthos. He was about to order a battlegroup out conduct a more thorough sweep when an incoming distress signal was flagged for his attention. An inbound personnel transport had encountered a hostile vessel with a cyborg dreadnought silhouette as it decelerated from FTL, was now being pursued by a flight of Corrupted raiders.

  Transport two-seven-nine-seven-seven, report, Kohath requested as he completed his original order to the closest battlegroup to come about and retrace the transport’s route in the hope of flushing out the command vessel.

  Status critical. Shields are draining rapidly, fourteen percent and falling, engines are exceeding safe maximum thrust and we are about to cross the deceleration threshold. Transmitting coordinates for enemy dreadnought with this communication. The enemy raiders are gaining. They…

  Whatever else they were was lost in a crackle of static as the vessel’s transponder glyph vanished from Kohath’s HUD. Unfortunate, but inevitable. Erring on the side of prudence, Kohath directed a second battlecruiser group out to support their fellows, ordered two dreadnoughts to take up positions close to the deceleration threshold along the original attack trajectory, and then checked back on the situation at the dockyards.

  Show me the invasion attempt in sector four seven six, he requested of the Synergy. His personal ocular implant feed shut down and suddenly he was floating above the combat zone, courtesy of a visual feed from an Acarid-based animate usually tasked with overhead systems maintenance. It was an excellent vantage point, and could see numerous gaps in the cordon the sector commander was striving to throw around the combat zone. Why are there so many openings in our lines?

  Immolation units, his subordinate responded tersely. We are taking steady losses. Your orders?

  Reinforcements are arriving. Hold them as best you can. Any area that opens to space should be locked down and vented.

  May I be of assistance, Kiith Kohath?

  The new voice was unfamiliar, but the identity tag made Kohath smile. Greetings, Dolos. A timely intervention. Where are you?

  I have just disembarked from one of the transports trapped in the cradles. We were in the process of docking when the attack commenced. I expect to reach the engagement zone in ninety seconds.

  Excellent. Any assistance you can render to reduce the enemy’s command and control would be appreciated. Additionally, while I am confident of our ability to repel this assault, it would be of considerable value to discern the enemy’s intent in making such a superficially foolhardy offensive. Can you infiltrate their systems and attempt to acquire such data?

  At your command.

  Reinforcements incoming, Kiith Kohath, Praetorius reported. I will ensure Dolos is adequately supported in her task.

  Excellent. Deploy your troops to close those gaps. Attrition will begin to take its toll upon the enemy shortly.

  Praetorius was as good as his word, rapidly providing support and shoring up the cordon. Kohath shut off the feed from the maintenance animate, re-engaging his own visual systems, and returned his attention to the external battle. The two squadrons of cruisers that had deployed the boarders were arrayed in a defensive starburst formation, using the orbital ring as cover to occlude most approaches. The Corrupted support squadron had been engaged by two groups of defending battlecruisers, and two of the enemy vessels had already been destroyed. Further out, the battle groups Kohath had dispatched to intercept the Corrupted’s command vessel were steaming at half-speed, methodically tracing back along the doomed transport’s flight path. Exposing the command vessel would provoke a retreat. The Corrupted would know precisely where the gain to loss ratio for the assault would become unacceptable, and the quickest way to end the engagement was to reach that ratio.

  Kiith Kohath. Dolos’ transmission carried urgency markers. The Corrupted are deploying armada nanites in the shipyards along channels alpha and delta in sector four-seven-seven.

  I see it. It seems our corrupted brethren are not above common thievery.

  Surely the attempted theft of battlecruisers is somewhat uncommon? I… Dolos’ transmission cut off, and Kohath could not re-establish the connection.

  Praetorius?

  Yes?

  You are near to Dolos’ position, are you not?

  I am. Do you wish me to locate her?

  If you would. Her communications ceased unexpectedly.

  I am on my way.

  Contact, the commander of the lead battle group reported, redirecting Kohath’s attention. One Corrupted dreadnought, unescorted, at the coordinates indicated by two-seven-nine-seven-seven. Deploying raider flights to intercept.

  Kohath nodded in satisfaction. The retreat would begin in a moment, he was certain. Calling up an inventory log, he saw that the shipyards affected by the armada nanites contained nothing but empty cargo transports. The command and control AIs would resist the nanites’ attempts to override their control, but ultimately they would be overwritten. Kohath took note of the transponder identities, and relayed the information as targeting data to the command AI of the Synergy’s flagship, the titan Koios.

  Awaiting your order, strategos, Koios acknowledged.

  I have located Dolos, Praetorius reported. She experienced an infiltration attempt and isolated herself from the mainframe. She will reconnect when she is satisfied she has cleared her systems. Additionally, we have the boarding party fully contained. They are disengaging.

  Let them go, Kohath instructed. We will deal with them in open space to avoid further casualties on our side.

  At your command.

  The retreat was orderly and swift, the Corrupted pulling back to their newly acquired transports and launching in less than three minutes. Their surviving battlecruisers pulled into a close formation around the transports to escort them clear. The support squadron had been completely destroyed, and the Synergy’s battlegroups were closing in, sensing an imminent victory.

  Hold position, Kohath ordered them. I do not wish our forces to suffer further damage.

  Are you certain? one of the commanders queried.

  Quite certain, Kohath confirmed, noting the report on his HUD that stated the Corrupted’s command dreadnought had retreated to FTL. Do not engage them, and keep your shields raised.

  The Corrupted ships raced through the loose blockade, too focused on achieving their escape to risk engagement with the no
w-passive defenders. Too focused to pay attention to the wider environment. Too focused to notice the power signature emanating from the titan on the far side of Korxonthos’ superstructure.

  Now, Koios, Kohath commanded.

  The titan, homed in on the transponders of its former allies, launched a full broadside of anti-ship missiles. Accelerating and already locked into their FTL jump trajectory, there was no way for the Corrupted vessels to evade the salvo, and Kohath watched dispassionately as the battle ended with the tightly bunched glyphs representing the enemy vessels winking out.

  Excellent, the Legislature approved. Thank you for your assistance, Kiith Kohath. We will inventory the damage and casualties. You may wish to attend to your colleagues. An avatar can be brought online if you require it.

  I require it, Kohath confirmed. He disliked using avatars, but his position in the heart of the Korxonthos control centre meant it would take hours to transfer his physical form to meet with Praetorius and Dolos, and he wanted to get a direct sensory input of the aftermath of the combat.

  The transition was jarring—he hadn’t used an avatar in well over a century, and the sudden switch to a new platform carried a ghostly sense of dislocation. Closing his eyes, he ran a quick diagnostic. Everything seemed to be optimised, so he spared the sensation no further thought, opening his eyes and walking across the debris-strewn deck to where Praetorius stood talking with the far shorter, human-based Dolos.

  “I do not fully comprehend their objectives,” Praetorius was saying. “Superficially it appears to be little more than a waste of resources.”

  “It looks to have been principally a foraging expedition,” Dolos noted. “We have suffered a significant loss of hardware in sections where we suffered hull breaches. What a recent human acquaintance of mine would term a smash and grab job.”

  “Hardware and data.” Praetorius looked down at her. “Your memory data was not the only hack enacted.”

  “You were hacked?” Kohath enquired.

  “It was opportunism,” Dolos replied. “Random chance. I had the misfortune to intercept one of their infiltration units in my attempt to access their network. He took advantage of my attention being focused on my objective.” She shrugged. “I was able to ascertain little, unfortunately. The animates deployed in the boarding pods were little more than drones, simply programmed to cause the greatest amount of damage possible and harvest as much data or material as was practicable.”