Dominion Rising: 23 Brand New Science Fiction and Fantasy Novels

by White, Gwynn

  “I have prepared your vessel,” Ontri said, gesturing towards the controls. Skip and Maggie hadn't come to an agreement on who exactly “owned” the giant fighter at the front of their shared ship, or the even larger fighter-bomber at the back, the so-called Bridge. Those two vessels were what joined the rockets of Gemini Left and Right together, and the only thing that separated their two very different crew. Yet, while no agreement was made, Skip still considered the fighters under his jurisdiction, given he was in charge of the military side of affairs. He made sure Ontri knew that, and, unlike Maggie, Ontri didn't argue at all.

  4

  Punching Through

  The Offspring disembarked, unclamping from the rockets on either side. Its thrusters flared up, its engine thrummed, and its outer lights flickered on. And, because it was Skip on board, its weapon systems activated, immediately locking onto the space barge. It didn't require delicate aiming. It'd be hard to miss.

  “You're clear to go,” Larsman said over the comms. His was one of the few signals Skip was letting through.

  “Rolling out,” Skip replied.

  “You're taking Ontri?”

  “I'm not taking him. He's coming with me,” Skip said.

  “I am rather eager to go,” Ontri said enthusiastically. There was nothing like a good Emotion Approximation Chip.

  “But that leaves me in charge, right?” Larsman asked.

  “You've got the wheel,” Skip said. That wasn't quite what Larsman wanted to hear, but then Skip didn't want to say it. As far as he was concerned, he was in charge, whether he was on the ship or not. He could've been sipping tea back on Alpha Prime, and he'd still be in charge out here near the Edge, the little-known region at the rim of the Imperius Galaxy, the home of the Pan-Galactic Empire. Skip didn't mind Larsman having the wheel, but not the whole ship.

  Skip steered the Offspring towards the space barge. He could really appreciate its size now that he was on an even smaller vessel. By the time he was close, he couldn't see the end of it in either direction. It was like looking at space, if space was a block of metal.

  “Are those shields still up?” he asked Ontri.

  Ontri was plugged into the ship's computer, getting scanner results sent straight to his processor. One of his eyes flickered as it worked, almost like the robotic equivalent of a twitch. That was one of the things Skip liked about him. For someone, or some thing, so artificial, he had those little idiosyncrasies that made him real. He dismissed the technicians' appraisals that they were faults.

  “Yes,” Ontri said. “Their shields are at ninety-nine point nine nine seven six—”

  “Right, I've got it. Prepare the Shield Buster.”

  The Shield Buster was a specialised weapon designed for punching a small hole through an energy shield, enough to allow a small vessel with a boarding party through (which had earned it the alternative name of Boarder Buster). It was incredibly expensive to make, utilising some of the same fusion technology that powered the Infinite engines. The Gemini only carried two at a time, and had to go back to one of the Core Worlds to restock them. Skip was cautioned to use them wisely, but he didn't go in much for wisdom. He relied on his gut, and his gut used the same language Skip used. It said, “Fire!”

  “Primed and armed,” Ontri said.

  “Bombs away.”

  Ontri fired the missile, which was loaded under the cockpit. It had its own thrusters and navigational system, and several small auts that lived inside the shell, making small repairs to it as it slowly degenerated from lack of use. Those were sacrificial androids, much like a lot of the soldiers Skip led into battle. You couldn't get too sentimental. It was just the way of things, like the sky was up, like the universe didn't have any directions.

  The missile sped towards its target. Answering missiles came out of the space barge, but the auts inside fired smaller missile-destroyers out of tiny ports, ensuring it would reach its destination. It smacked the side of the energy shield with an amplified thud, followed by an electrical wobble as the entire fabric of the shield reacted to the impact. A small wave of energy spread out from the site across the entire shield, highlighting an encasing that would otherwise be difficult to see.

  “That'll do it,” Skip said.

  He pushed hard on the accelerators, sending the fighter through the tiny opening the Shield Buster caused. He knew it would take a few hours to repair the breach. That'd give him plenty of time inside.

  The tug of the magnetic hull of the space barge was strong, so strong that he barely needed to clamp into place once he landed on the surface. He used the clamps anyway, just in case the magnetism was turned off. It wouldn't have been the first time Skip was left plummeting. You learned quick in war. If you didn't, you died.

  “Cut us a door, please,” Skip asked.

  Ontri was already on it. He could almost predict Skip's commands. Skip didn't think it was that exceptional, given there were posters and holograms of him all across the galaxy, with his orders used as slogans. He wondered how many children had given a salute before shouting, “Bombs away!” It was amusing, and a little satisfying, to know that Alphan children were emulating his words now. How things had changed.

  “I suggest power armour,” Ontri said as he assembled his tools to cut through the space barge's hull.

  “Yeah, I've got it.”

  Skip headed to the armoury behind the cockpit. He pulled on the heavy boots, then the motorised metal trousers, with pistons inside to make them move. He donned the bulky chest armour, the great shoulder pads, the huge iron gauntlets. By the end of it, he looked like some kind of mutant with a huge body and a tiny head. This was the armour of the Pan-Galactic Marines, the so-called Heavies. This was as normal to Skip as his everyday clothes. In the Marines, you lived inside your armour. Often, you died in it too.

  He stomped out into the cockpit, then down to where Ontri was waiting. He had already cut a hole into the space barge and closed the door of the Offspring to block the way, just in case.

  “Safety first,” Ontri said, tapping one of his tools off Skip's helmet.

  “Now,” Skip said, placing his helmet on. It made a hiss as the pressure changed inside. “Time to find out what we've got sittin' out here on the Edge.”

  5

  One Heart Beating

  Skip stepped aboard the space barge. His armoured boot made a clang that echoed through the dark corridors ominously. He was never one for stealth, but his gut told him he might need it now. It told him he'd need that armour too.

  He sealed the hatch behind him, but didn't remove his helmet. His visor showed the air was breathable, but he didn't always trust technology. If there was one thing he had learned time and time again on the battlefield, it was not to lose your helmet. The renowned Admiral Mendan Ennas had learned that too, though a bit too late. That probably explained his madness.

  He jammed Maggie's incoming signals. No doubt she was berating him. He didn't need to hear her to know how it'd go. He'd heard it plenty of times before. He needed no distractions now. He needed to focus. That's how you got the kill.

  The corridor of the space barge was completely black, darker even than space. At least there were stars out there. Only the glow of the light in his visor illuminated the area around him, and that was faint. There was something about the darkness here that seemed different, like maybe it was staring back.

  He turned on the flashlight attached to his right arm and held it before him. The light showed what seemed like a never-ending hexagonal corridor, metal plated on all sides. The plating was the same throughout, so you weren't fully sure if you were standing on the floor or the ceiling. It was like being out in space. It was a little bit disorientating.

  Skip strolled through, moving his arm in a circle before him, getting that light into all the corners, burning away the darkness. He couldn't help but think of the tales his father used to tell him as a kid about the Umbra, those so-called creatures of shadow. He knew better now than to flinch at booge
ymen, but something about this shade set him on edge. Just as he burned away the darkness, something about the darkness burned away his courage.

  “Skip,” a voice said suddenly.

  He jumped inside the armoured suit. He was glad its weight didn't make it jump too. The sound would have echoed for days.

  “Stars, Maggie,” he grunted. “How did you through?”

  “You can't jam me forever, y'know.”

  “I can try.”

  “It's not good for you.”

  “So's a lotta things.”

  “I mean, it's not wise. You're all alone out there.”

  “If I'm alone, then I'm fine.”

  He waited for her to make some quip about him only needing himself to get into trouble. He was preparing his retort, which might have involved listing all the awards he'd won—by his lonesome, mind—and how really any apparent “trouble” he got into was just a demonstration of how to get out of it. Or something like that.

  “Don't be so certain about anything over there,” Maggie said finally. “I'm running several tests right now. I'll have the reports—”

  “Oh, enough of your reports.”

  He jammed the signal again. He used Admiral Ennas' technique for that. He was the one who taught him that the first call of action in a war should be to cut communications. Silence was as much a weapon as it was a shield. That's what worried him about the space barge. It was altogether silent.

  Part of him, a part he'd thought he'd killed off years ago with training, wanted to reopen communication with the Gemini. He had a channel ready for Ontri, but he had a feeling Maggie would be waiting for him on the other end of that as well. No doubt she was working frantically to get back in touch with him, to send him on some more reports. There were wars that were won and lost while people were writing reports. The only report he cared about was the one that said “Victory.”

  He continued through the ship, hammering his gauntleted fist against access pads beside the hexagonally-shaped doors (which also looked the same no matter which way was up). Most of the doors were sealed tight, and probably for good reason. If this ship really was full to the brim with nuclear waste, he hoped to the stars he couldn't get through so easily. Even his entry aboard the barge was a little too effortless, as if someone had let him in. He didn't like that. He'd rather fight his way aboard.

  There was a sound like scurrying feet behind him. He turned as fast as the heavy suit would allow, barely catching a glimpse of something darting into the shadow.

  It looked like he might get his fight after all.

  6

  First Contact

  Skip grabbed the blaster from his left hip. He aimed it down the corridor, into the darkness, at the darkness. He brought the torch light up slowly, knowing that as soon as he revealed whatever was hiding there, the battle would commence. It had to happen at the right moment. The right moment was when his finger hit the trigger.

  As soon as the light illuminated a hunched-over figure with broad shoulders and a gnarled head, he fired. It didn't matter who or what it was. Skip had been in too many wars to let sentiment slow him down.

  But the laser blast missed, leaving a charred mark on the wall instead. His aim was right, but the creature was quick. He only knew it was a creature by how it ran towards him, bounding down on all fours. It dived, right into the blast of a second bolt. Its snarl was ear-piercing. It curled into a ball as soon as its body hit the floor.

  Skip took a careful step forward, shining his torch on the creature, and keeping his blaster pointed there too. It was hard to tell what it was. It almost looked like a mutated rat, which hadn't just grown big, but had a grown a little human too. Skip was well used to hybrids at this stage. The galaxy was full of them. But he hadn't encountered, or even heard of, something like this.

  “You,” he said, kicking one of its paws. It curled up tighter. “What are you?” Skip added. “Are there more of you on board?”

  Skip had barely finished the sentence when he heard a flurry of feet behind him. He turned, slowed by his power suit, to see two more of the rat-men diving at him, claws slashing. They seemed to have had artificial blades added to their hands to enhance each stab and slash. They clanged with fury against the metal of Skip's suit.

  He stumbled backwards, his back striking the wall. As he lifted the blaster up, one of the rat-men knocked it from his hand. The other tried to break the glass on Skip's mask, driving the knife-like claws straight against the visor. Skip was glad it was reinforced, but their blades seemed to be reinforced too. Each strike left a little pocket in the glass, which obstructed Skip's vision.

  The creatures were so close, clinging to his body, that Skip had no room to use another weapon. He swung with his armoured fists, striking one of the creatures straight in the jaw. He could hear the crunch as metal met with bone. The creature fell backwards, then scurried off into the darkness, howling as it went. Skip didn't like that—not because he felt bad for the fiend, but because howling creatures tended to come back with more.

  The other rat-man disappeared from his vision for a moment, but he could hear its frantic steps. Skip turned to find it reaching for his fallen blaster. He threw himself at it, and it took all his strength to jump in that armour. The weight of it came down on the creature just as it pointed the blaster. He crushed it into the ground, hearing the snap of ribs and its muted, blood-clogged cry.

  Skip struggled to push himself up and get back to his feet. He remembered Admiral Mendan's frequent caution: Don't you damn fall over in that, unless it's right into your grave. It only took a few seconds to get back up, but it only took a few seconds to kill you too.

  Skip yanked the blaster from the rat-man's claw, putting it back into its holster. He pulled a bigger gun from his back: a plasma rifle. Then he turned back to where the other creature fled. He followed it into the darkness, expecting to see it curled up in the corner, licking its wounds or playing dead. He couldn't find it at all.

  He continued on, deeper and farther, until the shadow swallowed the dead and wounded rat-men behind him. He could still hear the faint moan of the first creature, until the overwhelming silence of the ship swallowed that too.

  He reached a barred door at the end. Beside it was a keypad with a blinking light. Skip tapped the side of his helmet, close to his left temple. A faded image of Ontri appeared in his visor, with one of the puck marks obscuring the robot's right eye.

  “What can I do for you, good sir?” Ontri asked in his usual over-polite way.

  “Get me a code for this, will ya?” Skip sent an image of the keypad over.

  “Acquiring.”

  “Acquire quicker, if you can.” Skip knew that some auts performed the same all the time, but Ontri could overclock himself. He'd burned out his circuits a few times before by doing it, but on most occasions he got better results in half the time. Skip had a feeling he needed every second he could get.

  “Acquired,” Ontri said.

  The code immediately appeared in his visor. Skip tried to delicately tip the numbers on the pad with his armoured index finger. The pad beeped a failure notice twice as he hit the wrong digits.

  “Do you require aid, Captain?” Ontri asked.

  “I require smaller bloody fingers,” Skip growled. He holstered the plasma rifle and pulled off his right gauntlet. He flexed his fingers, then bashed the code in swiftly. The door beeped and opened.

  Skip didn't realise that he'd gasped.

  “Do you require aid, Captain?” Ontri repeated.

  The visor wasn't big enough to see everything. There must have been hundreds of those creatures in the next room, many of them labouring over gigantic nuclear torpedoes. Many others were lined up near the door, some of them with claws, others with guns.

  Skip hammered his fist down on the keypad, shutting the door firmly.

  “I need an army,” he said.

  7

  On the Run

  Despite his natural bravado, Skip knew when to figh
t and when to run. There was a big difference between being brave and being suicidal. Some said Skip was a little bit of both. Others preferred to use the word “homicidal.”

  He ran, thundering back down the corridor, slowed by the weight of his armour. Sometimes soldiers didn't get a choice at all. With that armour, they couldn't run.

  He heard the door open behind him, but he couldn't glance back. Instead, he tapped his index and middle fingers of his right hand against his left wrist, where camouflage markings on the armour indicated some touch panels. A camera on the back of his helmet turned on, and his visor displayed the image of a dozen rat-men charging along behind him.

  He kept running, but now he moved his right fist in a circle beneath his left forearm, which triggered another piece of his armour: the shoulder-mounted gun. A hatch opened in the large shoulder pad, and a small turret rose from it. It swivelled around, automatically locking onto its first target.

  “Full auto,” Skip said with a pant. That was another thing about running. Sometimes the heaving and huffing made those voice commands hard to register. Like now.

  The gun sat idle, while the first bolts from the enemy came in, pinging off the armour, searing the walls.

  Skip gulped down his breath. “Full. Auto,” he repeated more forcefully, articulating the words better, pronouncing them more slowly.

  The turret kicked into action, firing a flurry of bolts at its first target before immediately moving on to the next. It didn't wait for the kill like a human might. It assumed it got it. There was no room for doubt with machines. It was what made Ontri such a valuable ally—and such a dangerous one.

  Skip didn't slow down. He leapt—so much as the armour would let him leap—over the fallen rat-man that had started this whole mess. He was still playing dead, but he would only be playing for so long. Skip wasn't even sure it was a he, but it helped. It was easier to kill men. And if they were rodents too? Well, that just made it damn simple.