Star Crusades Nexus: Book 09 - The Black Rift

by Michael G. Thomas

  “We have constructed many biomechanical creatures to fight for us, even created new minds to serve us inside bodies similar to our own. There has not been a new Ghost Warrior in millennia, though. We cannot trust even our own creations inside our realm. We were torn apart by our own kin, so how could we ever trust a single soul outside of those remaining?”

  Spartan shrugged. He had no idea what to say.

  “Those that were trapped outside of our realm were given the final plan; to sow destruction, doubt, and war in the half-century before our coming. They were to weaken and damage our foes in preparation for the coming of the comet. They have done well, Spartan, better than we could have imagined.”

  The machine held out its arms, and a projected image of many stars appeared.

  “When we opened the Great Seal, we received word from our remaining kin. The old enemys’ worlds lie in ruins, their fleets scattered, and the other races fight among themselves.”

  The stars moved until a new cluster at the end of a long tunnel appeared.

  “Your own worlds, Spartan. They have avoided our grasp, even through our best efforts to assist. But with your help, we will change that.”

  Spartan nodded in agreement.

  “You need me to help defeat the Alliance?”

  The machine shook its body.

  “No, you will help us craft this species as our servants. Your flesh is easily molded and repaired. Humanity will provide the resources we require for our rebirth throughout the stars.”

  A clanking sound off into the distance caught his eye. He looked at the movement, and then spotted a number of chains lifting a vast metallic structure, much like a pierced gateway. As it lifted, a large number of Thegns approached. These were as different as they were similar to those he had seen before. Each was the size of a man and armored in the same fleshly outer layer as the others. Their faces were featureless, save for a single eye right in the middle of their foreheads. In their arms, they carried reflective blades. They seemed to catch and bend the light as they moved, almost making the blades invisible to the eye.

  “Who are these?”

  The machine extended its arm and pointed at them.

  “They are for your test.”

  The machine then looked off to the right where others had been brought in by machines of much the same design. Spartan could see a variety of alien races, and like him, they were all unarmored and unarmed. A shape fell from the ceiling beneath the statue of Echidna and crashed to the floor. The container split open to reveal a cache of blades, spears, and all other kinds of weapons. The machine lifted its arms above its head.

  “You have sixty seconds to prepare. Those that pass the test will stand at the head of our legions. You will rain fire on a thousand worlds and bring our race into the light!”

  With that simple command, the hundred or so Thegns spread out from the gated entrance and formed up in a massed formation of nearly thirty wide. They raised their blades and then waited. Some made noises, but not one moved from the formation.

  “What about…”

  He stopped his question at the mid-point upon seeing the machines withdrawing back to a series of barricades. Metal shutters came down behind them, and then Spartan realized where he was.

  After all of this, years of training, combat and war, where do I end up? In a goddamned arena!

  Spartan looked to his right and spotted a T’Kari warrior rushing to the center of the hall. A few of the others were doing the same, but at least two were waiting and watching.

  Wait a second; is this all a trick?

  He looked up to the sides of the arena where the bright light made it almost impossible to see. He was convinced he could see hundreds of machines watching, but his eyes could just as easily been deceiving him.

  Screw this. Trick or not, if I’m going to die it will be with a blade in my hands.

  He took a few paces and then noticed the other two doing the same. In seconds, all eight of them were sprinting from different points to the center. The T’Kari reached the scattered weapons first and quickly grabbed the longest, and most substantial looking rifle. Spartan kept moving and found himself amongst a handful of dull iron blades. He ignored them and moved on to where the T’Kari was loading in a magazine. It spoke to him in its alien tongue, and to Spartan’s surprise, he understood every word.

  “Arm yourself.”

  Spartan bent down and picked up a simple looking double-barreled weapon, only slightly longer than a large pistol. It was relatively light and attached to a bandolier. He cast the leather like material over his shoulder and pulled out the weapon. There was a trigger and a lever. He pointed it away and pulled the lever. The back of the barrels popped open to reveal two smoothbore chambers.

  “Great, I find the short-ass shotgun.”

  Three more of the aliens were now there and rummaging through the gear. Each ignored the others until they were suitably equipped. None of the firearms seemed particularly advanced, and Spartan noticed one weapon in particular was being ignored. It was a long rod, perhaps two meters long and tipped with a razor sharp point. He bent down and grabbed it. Though it was long and didn’t flex at all, it still felt no more than two kilograms in weight.

  “Not bad.”

  An alien of a race he’d not seen before looked at him and laughed. It looked much like the Khreenk, but smaller and closer in height to a human teenager.

  “What’s so funny?” Spartan asked.

  “A spear? Against them?”

  It pointed off to the line of Thegns. The Byotai saw the weapon and went to pick up something that looked more like a medieval maul. The other six concentrated on collecting the most advanced looking firearms they could find. Even as they continued to rummage about, a loud horn sounded.

  “The test begins,” said an unseen voice.

  Spartan spotted one other item and quickly grabbed it, pushing the weapon into the utility belt around his waist. He hadn’t even noticed his semi-armored pants until now. They were skin tight, gray, and moved like a second skin.

  Interesting.

  “What is that?” asked the Byotai.

  Spartan pulled the weapon from the belt and held it up with his left hand.

  “Looks similar to the ancient Indian Katar, don’t you think?”

  The Byotai laughed in answer.

  “It’s a type of metal punch-dagger. I’ve never used one, but they are popular as pieces of art on my worlds. It’s a push dagger with this unusual H-shaped handgrip.”

  He held out his hand with his fingers, grasping the grip and the blade extending above his knuckles.

  “A curious idea,” said the alien.

  As one, the first of Thegns advanced. Spartan did a quick count and confirmed that it was indeed thirty warriors. They set off at a walking pace, and then increased to a jog. Each of the others took aim with whatever ranged weapons they’d found. Only Spartan bothered to look at them, rather than the Thegns. He moved amongst them and didn’t even bother to pull out the weapon he’d taken. A modest volley of fire killed perhaps five or six. Then they were out of ammunition and moving back to keep away from the advancing warriors.

  “To me!” Spartan called out.

  The Byotai threw away the five-shot repeating rifle he’d been using, lifted his mace like a club, and moved to Spartan’s flank.

  “On my world we avoid this kind of fighting. Have you done this before?”

  Spartan grinned.

  “Once or twice.”

  “I will fight alongside you. The only way we can help the Ghost Warriors of the machines to achieve paradise is to work as one. What do you propose?”

  Spartan edged closer to the alien.

  “These Thegns are powerful and tough, but look at them. What do you see?”

  Both looked out at the remaining twenty twenty-four Thegns. They were scattered now and approaching in a loose grouping. Some ran, others jogged, and a few even walked straight at them.

  “I do not un
derstand,” said the Byotai.

  Spartan was surprised at his lack of understanding.

  “They brought you here for a reason. Who are you?”

  “I am Vilusk, commander of the homeworld militant order. I commanded fifty ships and our flagship.”

  “And you don’t know about this kind of fighting?”

  The creature swung his mace over his head.

  “Oh, I know about fighting, but out there in Space, not in here. Skirmishing is not part of that. I have commanded fleets for more than two generations. I am an expert in three-dimensional maneuvers and advanced weaponry.”

  He looked to his mace and laughed.

  “How can I help in their victory if I am given just this?”

  The Thegns were just seconds away now, and the others had spread out in a wide arc ready to fight them. Clearly, the others distrusted each other as much as the Thegns and were ensuring they could fight without being interrupted. The Helion and T’Kari had adopted similar stances, with the weapons lifted high and their bodies poised in a fighting stance. A few more gunshots tore into them, and two more fell.

  “That’s it. Now it’s all hand-to-hand.”

  The lack of firearms was clearly designed to limit the amount of damage they would be able to do from afar. Spartan also suspected this might have just as much to do with keeping his new masters safe, as it did to the horde of Thegns. Spartan braced himself and positioned his spear with the head lowered and almost touching the ground.

  “Point it at them,” said Vilusk.

  Spartan laughed and shook his head.

  “No way. The point is the first thing they will try and grab or beat aside. Keep it out of their way, leave them open, and drive to the openings as you find them.”

  Vilusk seemed a little confused and looked to those coming at them. Spartan smiled to himself and watched the enemy carefully. The use of the spear was something he’d learned back in his time as a pit fighter on Prometheus. The memories of that time were faint, and the harder he tried to remember the more the memories seemed to fade.

  What’s going on with my memories?

  As he waited, he noticed that Vilusk was looking away from him. He threw a quick glance at the large alien.

  “Hey, Vilusk! These Thegns are advancing as individuals. If we fight together, we will multiply our effectiveness. One on one, and we will lose.”

  The alien nodded quickly and moved to just a meter from Spartan.

  “Yes, I understand. Ship combat is no different.”

  He pointed to the space around them with his maul.

  “If ten attack five, but the five use their superior training, to fight with larger numbers against smaller groups using distance and timing. Well, they will always have the advantage.”

  “Exactly,” said Spartan, “We have a law back home called Lanchester’s Law. It means we square the number of combatant to work out a ratio.”

  Vilusk was no fool and quickly added the numbers in his head.

  “Yes. Even with just one different, just five against four would actually give a ratio of twenty-five to sixteen. We call this the third law of numbers in our naval academy.”

  “Well, it is a universal truth,” said Spartan, “so we need to make sure the odds are in our favor in every encounter.”

  The first five Thegns ran at the group, one attacking at a time. The Helion and T’Kari engaged their own foes in a furious and reasonably balanced fight. Spartan had time to watch the first few blows before the first one reached Vilusk.

  They are faster and better trained than the Thegns we’ve seen before. They’ve been preparing a long time for this.

  The Thegn ran up to Vilusk and began a complex series of whirring strikes. Vilusk beat them off but like the T’Kari, he was being hard pressed. Spartan waited until they were both fully committed and then moved close to Vilusk’s left flank. Before the Thegn knew what had happened the spear tip embedded in its throat. It twisted about and howled at Spartan.

  “Now!”

  Vilusk stepped in close, right between the Thegn’s two blades and brought the maul down onto its head. The alien’s muscles were tough, but force of the weapon was so hard it smashed its way down to the thing’s shoulder blades. It tipped over backward, already dead.

  “That’s how we bring them down.”

  Two more Thegns rushed toward them, one for Spartan and the other heading to the Byotai.

  “Step back!” Spartan said.

  Vilusk moved, and that brought his own foe directly alongside Spartan who struck it across the back of the head with the staff of the spear. The warrior stumbled, and Vilusk finished it off. The second Thegn was now onto Spartan and pushed him hard. The blades whirred and took chunks out of the spear before it snapped in two.

  “Crap!”

  Spartan reached down for the double-barreled pistol and pulled the trigger. Both barrels discharged and punched orange holes through the thing’s chest. It staggered and then collapsed to the ground. The other six aliens continued their individual fights, and in less than ten seconds all of the Thegns were dead. Spartan bent down to the fallen warriors and pulled the curved blades from the hands of the first.

  “What are you doing?” Vilusk asked.

  Spartan rose to his feet and threw one of the weapons to his new ally. Vilusk caught the blade and swung it a little clumsily in his right hand. Spartan clenched the Katar loosely in his left and began to practice a rapid series of cuts with the Thegn’s curved blade. It moved quickly and made a gentle hissing sound. Finally, he stopped and found the T’Kari and Helion were also there watching him.

  “What?” Spartan asked.

  The T’Kari looked at him and then the Byotai. Then Spartan spotted the cuts to the alien’s left arm and leg. It was the same for the Helion.

  “These warriors are better than the old models.”

  The sound of scores of feet caught all of their attention. The wall of Thegns advanced, but this time it was every single one of them. They all lifted their blades high and yelled in unison. The Helion moved to one of the many fallen warriors and took both of the blades. With a flick of his wrist, he cast the second to his T’Kari friend. Both looked incredibly similar, though like Spartan and the Byotai they also wore the gray armored pants and chest armor. Spartan pointed his punch dagger at the approaching Thegns.

  “Now, space apart and watch your flanks. One moves, the other protects and looks for openings. No heroes, or we lose this fight.”

  They raised their blades and waited in the position Spartan had called, each standing in complete silence and looking at the great horde of warriors. The Thegns let out another howl, and then the first dozen swamped the defenders. Two of the aliens off to the right vanished under a mound of attackers. Spartan shook his head and then focused his attention on his own problems.

  “Kill them!” Vilusk yelled.

  He swung his blade out in front and caught a Thegn in the throat. It stumbled and fell forward so that two more tripped over the dying warrior. As they floundered, the T’Kari slashed at them and finished them off.

  “Three down,” said Spartan.

  More moved around their flanks, and Spartan was forced to beat off multiple attacks with his stolen blade. Another came in at his left, but he displaced it with the punch dagger. The Thegns pushed in and struck the Helion so hard that he stumbled and fell onto his back. Through the gap came two more Thegns, but Vilusk stepped out in front of the fallen Helion and held them off long enough for the other to stab and hack at them.

  “Keep them busy!” Vilusk said.

  The Thegns presented an impenetrable wall of sharp blades. As each of the defenders cut or stabbed, a group of those with mirrored weapons would beat them back. Then for no apparent reason, three of them moved apart and created a channel in the center of the horde. Standing amongst them, and spinning two blades over her head, was a tall woman. At first Spartan thought she was human, but she was taller, slightly thinner, and her skin as pale as
alabaster. Her eyes were a piercing black, the exact opposite of her skin, as was her long hair that ran down past her shoulder to the middle of her back.

  “Attack!” she hissed.

  Vilusk looked to Spartan who gave him the nod. Both of them pushed ahead, and the other two did the same. One by one, they pushed into the breach where the alien female continued to whir about almost like the blades of some ancient helicopter. Heads and limbs flew in all directions until just thirteen Thegns remained. One rushed Spartan and smashed the hilt of its sword like weapon into his face. The strike was hard, and for a second Spartan was completely disorientated. He spun about and then found the weapon arcing about and coming down to his head.

  Defend!

  He brought up his right arm and parried with his own sword in the nick of time. The blades ran down each other until the thick part near the hilts pushed together. Sparks ran down the blades as the material screamed like fingernails on a blackboard.

  “Now you’re mine!”

  The warrior took a step back, but it was too little, too late. With an uppercut motion, Spartan stabbed the punch dagger up into its ribs. One strike, two strikes, and then with the third he stabbed it hard into the throat. The Katar was a deadly weapon at this distance and easily punched through the armor, flesh, and bone. He yanked out the weapon and foul looking goo pumped from the wound. It dropped to the floor while Spartan remained on his feet.

  “Who’s next?”

  Three more Thegns stepped out to block his path, and Spartan simply shook his head and laughed. At the same time, he flicked the Katar so that the congealed blood splattered against their armor. He had no idea if that would annoy or upset them, but it felt like the right thing to do. A loud horn sounded, and the warriors withdrew immediately. Even the nearest that had already lifted its weapon to strike decided to back off. They moved back, each watching the small band of defenders, as they abandoned their dead and dying comrades in pitiful clumps about the floor.

  “What now?” asked Vilusk.

  All five of them move closer together to form a tight circle. They kept their weapons ready, ever watchful of the Thegns coming back in with their final assault. Then Spartan remembered the weapon. He pulled the lever, snapped out the rounds, and took two more from the bandolier. With a click it snapped back together, and he thrust it back, loaded and ready for the fight. Lights flickered in the distance, and then the machine appeared. It was only one, though Spartan did recognize the model. It was smaller than the rest of the warriors, but still a substantial machine. He estimated it was about half a meter taller than Vanguard armor, but unlike the tech used by the Alliance, this was clearly a fast, agile combat robot of sorts.