Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
EPILOGUE
THE BLACK RIFT
STAR CRUSADES NEXUS, BOOK 9
By Michael G. Thomas
Part of the STAR CRUSADES series
First Edition
Copyright © 2014 Michael G. Thomas
Published by Swordworks Books
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
PROLOGUE
The Interstellar Network has always been something of a misnomer. It reality it was neither just an interstellar system, nor even a network. After the discovery of the Anomaly that joined Alpha and Proxima Centauri, it became clear that the theory of the Einstein–Rosen Bridge could be turned into a reality. A generation later the truth of the Anomaly would be uncovered, as would the principle of using the bridge to connect stars together. This long-range network led to the exploration of the Orion Nebula. A lesser-known fact was that with the invention of the technology, an entire transport and communication network could be created between moons and planets. By the time of the Biomech War there were Rifts connecting planets, moons, and stars in more than a hundred locations.
A Concise Guide to Interstellar Travel
Kha’Dri, Taxxu, Uncharted Space
The cocoon opened up, its long metal tendrils pulling apart to reveal the machine within. It was large, pale in color, and smooth to the point of translucence. The space around the cocoon was bathed in a pale blue light that barely penetrated the mist floating around the shapes. The machine creaked from an eternity of stillness, limbs and plates groaning under the pressures of movement. Finally, it pulled itself out and in front of the waiting group of smaller Biomech warriors. It looked at them, as a tiger would look at its prey.
“You have woken me, why?”
Three of the small machines moved close and then knelt before it. The mist was still thick, but the other cocoons were now visible throughout the vast enclosure. One of the machines made a gesture with both arms. A dull grinding sound announced the movement of the walls around them. One by one, the dark walls fell away, and behind them was nothing but the blackness of space. The thick, transparent material gave the impression of glass, but from this angle it was impossible to detect. The great machine watched a planet off to the right. It was a dead, black husk of a world.
“Answer me.”
The nearest Biomech beckoned in the other direction. The machine hissed as it looked at the shapes to its left. It began to speak and then stopped. The imagery of the Great Seal, partially active and surrounded by ships intrigued him.
“The rebels have been located, and the Great Seal has been breached. We are ready to awaken the ancestors. You will lead our return.”
“And the enemy? Has the plan been successful? Are they smashed, weak, and terrified?”
The machine took a step back with its body low.
“They are scattered, weak, and their remaining warriors are fighting our lost kin.”
The machines fell silent for almost a minute. The larger of them watched the Rift and its broken, swirling colors with fascination. Hundreds of ships waited nearby.
“Show me.”
Shapes flickered and holographic models of planets and star systems flashed by. None stayed for more than a few seconds. Finally, the imagery stopped to show a single world.
“This is a new world, the capital of the race that defeated our efforts to split them. Who are they?”
“The humans. They are a violent but resourceful race. Their greatest warriors fought in a rebellion that defeated our Exiles’ efforts.”
The images appeared again and flickered past views of battles, spacecraft, and even people. Finally, it stopped to show a single human. His form was muscled and scarred. He was in a prison cell and in the process of escaping.
“This one? He is the one that brought them victory?”
The smaller Biomech lowered its form again.
“Yes. The Exiles captured many leaders of the ancient races. We have taken prisoners from the Byotai, Helions, and the…”
“No,” said the machine in a firm tone that oozed venom, “This one can rally them, can inspire courage and imagination. Where is he?”
The Biomech made a clattering sound from in its chest and then rose to its full form.
“He is here, along with the other prisoners. We have completed the indoctrination started by the Exiles. He is ready to fight alongside our soldiers.”
The ancient machine moved away from the cocoon. At first it was slow but quickly gained confidence. It twisted and flexed, getting used to its body for the first time in centuries.
“Our army, is it ready?”
“Yes. The factories finished production a long time ago.”
It pointed to shapes nearby. They were black, still, and dormant.
“Eighty million of our manufactured warriors. We used all remaining biological material to create them. They are the last and the greatest of their kind. Each is the match for ten Thegns. They sleep and wait for their orders.”
“And the Defeated?”
The machine shuddered at the name.
“The Ghost Warriors wait to redeem themselves.”
The machine looked back to the images of the humans. Pages of information flashed by on each side. Finally, it looked to the smaller Biomechs.
“Fear will weaken our enemies, and they fear nothing more than the darkest parts of themselves.”
It pointed to the image of the man.
“Use the prisoners, use all of them. Let the enemy feel true fear.”
“And the human?”
“He has been tested. His skills are…unexpected. In our simulations he has matched or bettered our own commanders.”
“That is not surprising, not to me. You failed last time, why would you expect to perform better this time?” said the ancient machine.
The smaller Biomech said nothing and remained low and silent.
“I want this human to lead your Ghost Warriors.”
He said those words with an icy bitterness.
“You will sow terror, and behind them we will follow with our entire might.”
> The imagery changed to show the hundreds of dormant vessels orbiting the current position. They were almost impossible to see, their forms only showing as they blocked out the view of distant stars.
“So, do the indoctrinated know of our legions?”
“No,” answered the shorter Biomech, “The Despoilers are ready with their legions on board just as ordered, and the Defeated wait with the last of their ships and warriors. We saw no need to tell the indoctrinated of our true strength.”
“Good. This is their chance for redemption. Send the signal; it is time to prepare for arrival.”
The machine stretched its limbs and then looked about at the other cocoons. There were dozens of them.
“What of my brothers, the last of the great ones? Have they been woken before today?”
“No. They wait as ordered. We woke just you, the youngest of the Ancients.”
Those words seemed to bite deeply. Of only six remaining, he was certainly the youngest, as well as the one with least seniority. The machine looked to the cocoons of its older kin. They were clearer now, as most of the mist had faded. There were only six and one lay empty, covered in dust.
“Good. Let them sleep. They cannot be woken from their long rest until we can guarantee them a new life.”
It looked back to the vastness of space and to the crackling energy at the collapsed Rift.
“I am awake, and I can never return to the long sleep. This is our one chance to return our light to the galaxy.”
The machine twisted to face the cocoons.
“We shall awaken them all once Helios burns, not a moment earlier.”
CHAPTER ONE
The banishment of the Biomechs is one of the greatest events in the history of the Helions. Songs and stories had been extended and embellished so many times that the final struggle turned into something akin to averting the Apocalypse. With the Black Rift finally opened, even if just for a matter of hours, everything changed. What lay so many thousands of light years away? Were the old worlds of The Twelve now teeming with half biological and half mechanical life? Or would their planets be barren, stripped out husks, now populated by corpses and tombs? There were few in the Orion Nebula that truly wanted to find out, with the overwhelming majority wanting to keep the Spacebridge closed. What did the Biomechs want, and why were they so intent on the destruction of every populated planet they now encountered?
Evolution of the Biomechs
Prometheus Seven Outpost, Prometheus Sector
Prometheus was a unique place in the Alliance. Its fiery world was inhospitable to life, yet over the generations multiple structures and engineering sites had been built directly into its surface. Only since the Interstellar Network had been activated had the location started to settle. In the past, its dangerous world and the surrounding storms could cut a ship in half, making it best avoided. Location, environment, and difficulty to navigate had made Prometheus the most popular place to find criminals, pirates, and illegal traders in everything from narcotics to slaves. Today, Prometheus was a changed place, perhaps the most important location in the Alliance.
There was more to this sector than just the planet. In orbit around the burning red world was the massive Prometheus Seven space station. Like the planet, the station was one of those places that always seemed to be in the middle of great events. It had played a vital part in the Uprising, as well as being the source of so many Spacebridges. Though built long ago as a massive trading platform and habitation base, it had changed use over the years. Few could have imagined it would have been used to conduct arms fairs, acting as a floating hotel, and more recently, the control-system for the local Rifts leading back to Terra Nova; as well as the massive long-range Rift to T'Karan space and beyond. What had been constructed as a civilian trade station had now transformed, as had the entire Prometheus sector. The days of piracy, organized crime, and secret gangs were long gone; replaced by science, industry, and interstellar politics.
The station controlled the most important piece of real estate in the Alliance, the single long-range Rift built by man. Its position and capabilities meant the Prometheus Seven Outpost now controlled access to the Orion Nebula and the Alliance territories far off on the other side of the galaxy. All of this was possible because of its position alongside the Rift entrance, and being the single massive power supply that opened and maintained the bridge.
"Come on, people, I need data. Who are they?" Colonel Pierce asked.
He lifted himself up from his seat and shook his head angrily. Tensions were high in the Alliance, but today was different; made clear by what he had just seen outside. Something much more serious was going on than simple trade or exploration. Deep inside the station waited thousands of personnel, monitoring their stations and watching the multiple screens. At the same time, the low level sirens played their song in every nook and cranny of the monstrous facility.
"And for God's sake shut the damned sirens off. I am well aware that a fleet of unknown Alliance ships has just arrived right on our doorstep."
Two-dozen blue flashes marked the engines of three squadrons of fighters that had just launched. It was too little, too late, but none of them had expected this kind of hostile action, certainly not this soon.
"Colonel, none of the ships are on the official registry. The names are all from decommissioned vessels."
“Sir, they are charging their capacitors.”
The Colonel raised an eyebrow at this news. Most ships constructed now were equipped with rapid firing coilguns for air defense, and particle beam weapons for their primary guns. These capacitors matched the configuration of weapons used decades earlier.
Railguns, this is some old tech.
“Very well. Open the gun ports and get us some air cover. Nobody threatens my station.”
Little appeared to change, but on one of the screens he could see green lights activating as each of the station's many gun ports opened to reveal their weapons. He had never given this order before, and normally there would be at least two warships guarding the Rift.
Is it accident or design that these guys arrived just as our escort left?
Colonel Pierce rubbed his chin while looking at the imagery. He didn’t believe in chance, and his current predicament was far from enviable. The station was large and well protected against incursions by pirates and the like. A concerted assault by the flotilla waiting nearby could be deadly and result in the deaths of hundreds of people. The six ships circled the station warily, like big cats circling a wounded beast. No two were alike, with each of them coming from different parts of the Alliance. The average age was forty-three years, yet each had made the journey between planets without an issue.
Of the six, only one seemed particularly equipped for offensive operations. The ship was flagged as ANS Amazonia, but the station computer identified its silhouette and signature as a private security transport. He could only assume it had been reequipped as a military cutter. The largest vessel was a former Marine Corps assault transport, the same kind of craft that had taken entire regiments of marines into action in the past. Her name had long been forgotten to all but her crew, but the new name that ran down her flank was ANS Terra. The ship was constructed of a number of rotating sections of various sizes, and each of the rings housed multiple batteries of railguns. It was hardly the grand fleet that was currently engaged in massive fleet actions in the Helion System, but it was still six ships commanded by a man keen to prove himself.
“I need information. Their transmissions keep saying they are Alliance, but you’re telling me they are not on the computer?”
He looked back at the mainscreen and pointed at the antiquated assault transport.
“Zoom in on that one.”
The display shuddered from the optical lenses altering focus and angle until the ship came into view. The first thing that was clear to the Colonel was the coloring and markings. Each of the ships was different, but the red stripes of the Alliance designated them all
as friendly. Without the mark, they might have just as easily been traders or pirates. He was looking for more than that, though.
“The paintwork is standard gray. The font is right, but where are the escorts? Why no more recent ships?”
The question was more to himself than to his officers. As he watched, he noticed a series of hatches opening up along the ship, and his stomach groaned in anticipation.
“Colonel, they’re opening their gun ports.”
Colonel Pierce shook his head angrily.
“Get our birds into position, and send out a mayday. This is getting out of hand.”
He then looked toward where the pulsing Rift was normally positioned. Right now it was down, for fears the enemy might try and use it to sneak forces between star systems.
I need help.
“Get the Rift open, and send the prerecorded emergency transmission to the Admiral Jarvis Naval Station. Churchill needs to hear of this, and fast.”
* * *
ANS Terra, Prometheus
The military ships changed their erratic courses and drew themselves up into a static column. In this new position, each ship was able to place its entire flank alongside the station at a fixed distance of just eleven kilometers. Although this increased their target area, it also allowed each of them to target the maximum number of weapons. One by one, the guns and missile systems locked onto their targets and waited for orders. A pair of shells flew past the nose of ANS Terra at a distance of no more than a hundred meters and vanished off into the darkness. It was clearly a warning shot, followed up by squadrons of fighters screaming in and out of the ships' formations in an intimidating pattern.
"Get me a videostream with their captain, right now!" demanded Captain Jerome.
The young man was fresh from the Naval Academy on Terra Nova. His accent was sharp and crisp, and easily betrayed his wealthy upbringing on the capital world. He was short, thin, and pale faced, but his expression was of utmost calm and control. The effect on the crew following the gunnery was electric. As soon as the weapons had been detected, the mood had shifted from excitement to anger.
Star Crusades Nexus: Book 09 - The Black Rift Page 1