Ixan Legacy Box Set

by Scott Bartlett

  “Let’s press the advantage,” Ayam ground out, refusing to let their victory distract him. “If we transition back in now, we’ll be right in the middle of the enemy fighters. Let’s pop back in, take some out, and pop out again. We’re the only ones on this battlespace with subspace capabilities now, people. If we don’t squeeze that for everything it’s worth, we’re idiots.”

  “Yes, sir,” came the reply, from his twelve remaining pilots.

  “Let’s go now.” They transitioned back into realspace, chose their targets, and fired.

  Chapter 47

  Filled With Fire

  Captain Zora Sawyer watched the tactical display in disbelief as eleven IGF ships crossed the Larkspur System toward Thessaly, advancing on the colony’s orbital defense platforms.

  They used to be IGF ships, anyway. She’d read the reports about the Sapient Brother commandeering them.

  But their presence in Larkspur, while disconcerting, wasn’t the most surprising thing about their actions. It was the fact that they were moving toward a heavily defended Union core world as though they could reasonably expect to endanger it.

  That wasn’t very likely. Zora commanded the Zeus, a destroyer and the flagship of a ten-strong battle group of warships with fully stocked arsenals. Ten wasn’t as much as eleven, but when you added in Thessaly’s full complement of orbital defense platforms, as well as the top-tier fighter pilots that made up its planetary defense group…

  …the Brotherhood didn’t stand a chance.

  “They’re decelerating, ma’am,” her sensor operator said as the approaching battle group crossed the halfway point between the Larkspur-Shadbush darkgate and Thessaly. “At that rate, they’ll come to rest just within range of this defense platform.” He marked the one he meant on the tactical display.

  Zora nodded, still pondering what the Brotherhood could possibly hope to accomplish. That they’d been able to commandeer eleven IGF warships was shocking; something she never would have predicted happening in today’s society. But even their overgrown battle group was no match for the might of the IU.

  “Coms, tell the other captains to move their ships up the planet and distribute them along the equator.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Despite her confidence, Zora recognized that eleven warships did pose a threat to a defense platform, if it wasn’t properly supported. Should the Brotherhood launch an all-out assault on one, she wanted the other defenders to be ready to assist. This is no time to suffer a hole getting blasted in Thessaly’s defense. It would take months to replace an orbital defense platform, and who knew when the next Progenitor attack might be? Larkspur had been one of the seventeen systems whose sensor web had recently detected the telltale anomalous readings, though so far it had remained untouched. Other systems hadn’t been so lucky.

  At last, the Brotherhood arrived at the destination her sensor operator had predicted. They immediately began throwing missiles at the defense platform.

  Zora nodded. “Coms, tell the rest of our battle group to move up to support. Tactical, use Banshees to pick off what missiles we can, and send the defense platform operators your targeting data, so that we don’t aim at the same ones.”

  Both officers she’d given orders to answered in the affirmative, and Zora monitored the tactical display as the besieged orbital platform defended itself.

  Eleven ships did indeed pose a threat, but even so, she wasn’t overly worried. Since defense platforms had no need for locomotion, all the mass that would otherwise have been devoted to engines, fuel, and supplies was devoted to a massive arsenal instead. It would take time for the Brotherhood to overwhelm that arsenal—time they didn’t have, as nine IGF ships converged on their position and began lobbing missiles of their own at the Brotherhood’s stolen ships.

  Seeing that, Zora actually began to feel glad that the Brotherhood had decided to attack Thessaly. The thought that she might be responsible for putting an end to them was doing a lot for her mood, and when the Brotherhood ships started pulling away from the concentrated attack, she knew what to do.

  “Coms, order the other captains to give chase, in battle spread formation. The enemy ships are in disarray. We can start targeting them down, one by one.” If she could neutralize the entire battle group, or even secure their surrender, then this would be a productive day indeed.

  She watched the nine other IGF ships move in for the kill, crossing the tactical display like lions stalking prey.

  Then her Coms officer turned toward her, the color draining from his face. “Ma’am,” he whispered.

  “Yes, Ensign? What is it?”

  “An orbital defense platform on the other side of the planet is under attack. They’re relaying their sensor feed to us in real-time.”

  Eyes locked on the Coms officer’s face, Zora spoke slowly: “Patch the visual through to the main display.”

  As she watched the defense platform’s feed, it felt like an iron fist had gripped her stomach and squeezed.

  Five Progenitor destroyers had appeared underneath the platform, and four of their carriers were suspended above it. All nine ships were unloading on the unsupported platform, their savage robots pouring across space by the hundreds.

  “Temperature readings show superheating in three places along the bottom surface of the platform,” her sensor operator said. “It’s—”

  Before he could finish, fire filled the visual feed, which went dark.

  Chapter 48

  Act as Turrets

  Jake burst from Flight Deck Omicron’s airlock, finding his first target by feel more than data from any sensor. Or maybe the alien mech merely wove the sensor data into a tapestry of emotion.

  It didn’t matter. Intention sprang from his body like an arrow, and he pointed two cannons that way, firing. Twin energy bursts leapt into space, headed toward nothing. But seconds later, an enemy Python occupied their path, and it exploded.

  One down.

  Oneiri surged from the airlock behind him, forming up.

  “Don’t stray far from the ship,” he told them over a team-wide channel. “The fighters we faced back in Steele almost did us in, and there were only eight of them. Today, we face hundreds. Be ready to fall back on my command. Let’s go!”

  Oneiri surged into space, rockets streaming forth in all directions. Two more Pythons went down, and with that, the enemy Air Group began to take notice of them. A squadron changed course, screaming toward them through the void in a wall formation.

  “Disperse,” Jake barked. “Let’s not offer them a cluster of targets.”

  Oneiri spread out, neutralizing the initial wave of Sidewinders the Pythons sent at them.

  Kinetic impactors were next, but even the MIMAS sensors were sophisticated enough to zoom in on each Python and track where its gun was pointing. Jake’s mech dream used scarlet to paint shifting lines of fire across space, and he maneuvered laterally to avoid them all. The others did the same.

  The problems started when the Pythons split their formation, half of them braking to stay ahead of the mechs while the other eight screamed past to get behind them. Suddenly, Oneiri was boxed in, caught in the crossfire of sixteen pilots gunning for them hard.

  Now is the moment, Jake’s mech whispered to him, as it so often did since the day he’d claimed it, back on Bronson’s destroyer. Merge with me, or you and your friends will be lost in this storm.

  For a moment, the mech’s whispers rang like truth in Jake’s ears, and he reached toward it like a drowning man reaches for passing driftwood.

  Then, he clamped down hard on himself. No. If I do that, we’ll all be lost anyway.

  “Follow me,” he yelled over the team-wide instead, rocketing up to escape the canyon of death the Python squadron had created.

  The others responded immediately, though the dream washed out Marco’s mech, all in red. The MIMAS was taking heavy fire, and it couldn’t handle any more.

  Jake’s world narrowed, until it consisted only o
f the three starfighters shooting at Marco’s mech. Time slowed as he fired once, twice, three times—a trio of energy blasts, all following completely different vectors.

  Three Pythons were consumed in fire.

  “Cover Marco!” he screamed as time resumed its normal flow. Oneiri banded together at the top of the Pythons’ canyon, picking off the starfighters one by one, until the remaining seven fled, covering their own retreat with impactors that sailed past Oneiri, toward the supercarrier. Two more Pythons went down before they escaped.

  “The starfighters’ agility trumps ours in space,” Jake said. “Back to the airlock, everyone. We’ll remain on the hull around it and act as turrets. We’re going to keep the outer airlock door open—be ready to duck inside it the moment you’re taking heavy fire.”

  Oneiri arranged themselves as he’d instructed. “Not you, Spirit. Your MIMAS is toast if it takes any more hits.”

  The MIMAS’ head swung toward him. “But Jake, I—”

  “I was giving an order, not opening a line of dialog. Go inside and get repaired. We don’t know how soon it’ll be till we need you again.”

  Without another word, Marco went inside the airlock, closing the outer door long enough for it to pressurize and admit him.

  Jake selected his next target and fired. Another Python went down, which satisfied him. Revenge was a harmonious song, sung to him by the alien mech.

  Chapter 49

  Something Has to Give

  “The enemy subspace squadron still hasn’t emerged back into realspace?” Husher asked in disbelief.

  “It hasn’t, sir,” Winterton said. “Unless they experienced some unknown malfunction, it seems likely Commander Ayam and his squadron managed to neutralize every enemy subspace fighter.”

  “Hmm.” That would have been nice to know. Although, he wasn’t about to chastise Ayam for failing to share the information with the CIC. The Winger had been quite busy since reentering the battlespace, taking out enemy fighters by the dozen with near impunity. The CAG made use of the ability to flit in and out of subspace like he’d been doing so for his entire career, instead of just a few weeks. And now, the Vesta’s subspace squadron was nearing a Quatro warship, which was scrambling to respond, filling empty space with kinetic impactors—no doubt trying to anticipate where the fighters would reappear.

  So far, the missile cruisers in Husher’s carrier group had only managed to take out one of the five Quatro warships. The other four were still in play, along with both capital starships’ battle groups, and the Eos herself.

  “Take heed, Captain,” Ek said. “the Promedon prepares to reenter the fray.”

  Husher returned his gaze to the tactical display, grimacing. The wounded capital starship did seem to be rallying. It was edging around the battlespace, no doubt to fire on the Vesta from a distance and add to the mounting pressure being applied to her.

  As if on cue, Winterton said, “The Promedon is scrambling her own Air Group, Captain.”

  “Acknowledged,” Husher said, trying not to wince. Even with all the enemy fighters Ayam’s squadron had managed to take out, the Vesta’s Pythons would still be heavily outnumbered.

  He monitored the tactical display as Ayam and his subspace fighters closed with the Quatro’s ship, vanishing whenever threatened by its ordnance and reappearing in unexpected locations. Husher knew that doing so would require abrupt reversals of vector—meaning intense G forces bearing down on the pilots’ bodies. They have to be getting fatigued. Yet, they showed no sign of slowing.

  The subspace fighters appeared again, speeding along a vector the Quatro captain clearly hadn’t anticipated. They executed an alpha strike—and the enemy ship blew up.

  Husher’s fist clenched in victory, and some of his other officers looked grimly satisfied, but no one cheered. The Quatro ship’s destruction was too insignificant in the face of how many warships were still attacking the Vesta.

  Our subspace squadron can’t destroy all those ships in time. Even if they could, the demanding maneuvers required of the pilots had to be exhausting them. Soon, they would start getting sloppy, start making mistakes, and when that happened, Husher doubted even their subspace capability would save them.

  With the damaged capital starship and her Air Group reentering the fray, it was difficult to see how he could win, as things stood.

  Husher’s entire battle group was now using secondary lasers to supplement point defense, their capacitors draining steadily. Even the missile cruisers, who’d originally been focused mainly on offense, were now devoting most of their missile fire to preventing enemy rockets from making it to their hulls. The same went for the Vesta’s Air Group—they remained near the warships’ point defense systems, doing everything they could to take down incoming missiles and enemy fighters. But with the second enemy Air Group approaching, anyone could see it wouldn’t be enough.

  Something has to give.

  Then, something did—but not in the way Husher had hoped. The Eos’ laser lanced across space, striking the missile cruiser on the Vesta’s port side square on her prow.

  The cruiser maneuvered laterally to escape the beam, but two enemy fighter squadrons swept in, pincering the warship.

  Two clean alpha strikes, and the Hero exploded.

  A coldness spread through Husher’s chest as he contemplated the very real possibility that everything he’d worked for could fall apart, today. Whether it was the Progenitors slaughtering everyone in the galaxy or the Interstellar Union growing increasingly tyrannical—it didn’t really matter, did it? Either outcome would mean Husher had failed.

  Come on, Fesky…where are you?

  Chapter 50

  Exploit Viciously

  “How much longer?” Fesky squawked at her Nav officer.

  “It’s difficult to say, Captain,” Chief Devar said. “I don’t recognize this route.”

  Fesky felt her feathers stiffening at that, and she attempted to calm herself by breathing deeply. “It didn’t take this long when we mapped the Roundleaf System for entry points. I thought the AI was supposed to optimize for the quickest path through the universes.”

  “It is, ma’am. I think that may be the problem. We left our own universe at a different point from our original departure point, when we first mapped Roundleaf. That meant we entered a different universe, or maybe a different region of the same universe. Either way, the computer thought it saw a way to shorten our journey, but I think it calculated wrong.”

  “What? How can it be wrong?” Fesky realized she was shrieking, and she focused on her breathing again.

  “Ochrim’s theory of how the universes are spatially related may have some kinks that need ironing out. It could be that timing plays a part—I’m just guessing, here. Either way, once the computer finds a path it recognizes, it should get back on track.”

  Clacking her beak, Fesky fell silent, her chest tight with worry over what the Vesta might be facing right now. She checked the mission time and saw that they were now officially overdue to arrive in Roundleaf to back up the Vesta and her battle group. Damn it!

  She turned to her sensor operator. “Get me a visual of some of the universes we’re passing through.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the Winger said, bending over his console.

  At least you have something to do. As they flitted through the dimensions along preset routes they’d fed to the computer, Fesky and her small crew had very little to occupy themselves with.

  “I’ve just sent a collection of snapshots to your console, ma’am.”

  “Very good,” Fesky snapped, downloading the images from the console to her Oculenses.

  She’d had Ochrim modify Spire’s visual sensors so that they took a still image of every universe the ship passed through. The Ixan had been willing enough to do it, since it gave him more data for his research.

  Shuffling through a few of the images taken of various universes, she compared them with her memory of those they’d passed through during their in
itial scouting mission. Her Nav officer was right, it seemed—she didn’t recognize any of them.

  A universe filled with a greater density of stars than she’d ever seen or heard about. Then, another with barely any. A dimension made up of red-tinged nothingness—probably, they’d appeared in the middle of an interstellar cloud.

  “Ma’am, we’re back on track!” the Nav officer said. “The computer seems to have found a route it’s familiar with from our recon run. We should appear in Roundleaf in ten minutes.”

  “Excellent.” Hopefully, the engagement hadn’t shifted far from where Husher had expected it to occur. Otherwise, Spire would pop back into their native universe too far out of place to help.

  Although emulating the Progenitors’ interdimensional travel was a huge step forward, it wasn’t hard to tell that Spire’s quantum engine wasn’t capable of traversing the dimensions with anywhere near the speed the Progenitor ships managed. The enemy flitted in and out of a battlespace in a matter of moments, whereas Fesky and her crew had been underway for the better part of an hour. Even accounting for the detour their computer had taken, the disparity was substantial.

  “Tactical, double check that our missile barrage is prepped and ready.”

  “Already on it, ma’am.”

  Fesky nodded. The process of loading missiles into tubes was mostly automated, but it did require some oversight to make sure everything ran smoothly and efficiently. As such, Tactical had a small backshop just below the CIC.

  She turned to her sensor operator, Yvan. “The moment we reenter Roundleaf, feed me all sensor data. I want as complete a picture of the engagement as possible, as quickly as you can give me it.”

  “Aye, ma’am.”

  Nav spoke up on the heels of her sensor operator: “Captain, we’ve just arrived!”

  Feathers stiff, Yvan bent over his console, no doubt compiling all relevant sensor data as fast as he could. Then, with a flicking motion across the top of his console, he sent Fesky what he’d put together.