Ixan Legacy Box Set

by Scott Bartlett

  She brushed past him and headed deeper into the park, leaving Jake staring after her, feeling thoroughly baffled.

  Chapter 22

  Willing to Share the Galaxy

  “The Gok ships seem to have registered our presence, Captain,” Winterton said. “They’re distributing themselves along a wide arc between us and their homeworld.”

  “The formation looks defensive,” Tremaine put in. “No sign of their usual aggression as of yet.”

  Sounds like progress to me. Even so… “Stay on alert, everyone. Nav, take us close enough to their formation for real-time communication, but no closer.” The Gok had stationed almost three dozen of their warships in this, their home system. While Husher was confident he would win an engagement if it arose, that wouldn’t happen without heavy losses, and it wouldn’t serve anything. He wanted the option to back out if things soured.

  “Sir, a transmission request is coming in from a destroyer near the center of their formation,” Ensign Fry said.

  “Put it on the main display, and let everyone have Oculens access.”

  “Aye.”

  A Gok appeared on the screen, all forest-green muscle. Its rounded, bald head featured a forehead ridge that overshadowed small, onyx eyes, which were studying Husher intently.

  “Have no business here,” the alien said, its voice like gravel being ground together.

  “On the contrary,” Husher said. “Can I ask who I’m speaking with?”

  “Am Fulm, Admiral of Gok Star Navy. State reason for coming here.”

  Well, I’m talking to the right person. He’d heard of Fulm—he was one of the Gok’s few surviving officers from the Gok Wars. Husher knew next to nothing about the individuals that comprised the Gok navy, so he’d had no idea Fulm had risen so far.

  He paused to gather his thoughts, in spite of how pointless this mission felt to him. He felt as optimistic about the chances of Gok joining the fight against the Progenitors as he was about the IU coming to its senses any time soon.

  But I have to try. “I’m Captain Vin Husher. I’ve come on behalf of President Chiba of the Interstellar Union. I’m here to propose an alliance.”

  “Alliance,” Admiral Fulm said, as though tasting the word and finding it foul.

  “Yes. We understand your government has distanced itself from the ships that fought us in the Concord System, and we’re prepared to let bygones be bygones. We’re also well aware of your long history of working with the Progenitors—or at least with their creations, the Ixa. But we’ve come to you all the same. To be honest, we’re desperate, and we think you should be too.”

  “Why Gok desperate?” Fulm asked, his expression broadening with what Husher guessed was an analog for disbelief.

  “Your species and mine have a lot of animosity between us. You think humans are untrustworthy, manipulative. And in some cases, you’re right. We captured a Progenitor agent who infiltrated my ship and tried to kill one of us. She’s a human, Admiral Fulm. The Progenitors are just another version of humanity, from another universe. Humans have been manipulating your species for over forty years, using you as unwitting weapons of war. They were taken over by an alternate version of Darkstream.”

  Fulm’s forehead ridge descended. “If humans treacherous, why should Gok trust you?”

  “Because I’m not here to represent humanity. At least, not only humanity. The Progenitors are carrying out the agenda of a company that has exterminated all other beings in their universe. But the IU is a democratic coalition of species. We keep each other in check, and we balance out each other’s weaknesses.” Somewhat, Husher added, though only to himself. “The IU was designed to enable partnerships like the one I’m proposing. If we remain enemies, there’s a near-certainty that the Progenitors will wipe us out. They don’t want to share this universe with anyone. But if we unite, we could survive.”

  Fulm fell silent for a time, continuing to study Husher while his massive shoulders rose and fell. At last, he said, “Many Gok wish now to break cycle of war, which is starting again. New leader, Benth, has called for change, and many Gok agree, though even still, talk of the real problem is scarce.”

  “What’s the real problem?”

  “Virophage, which Ixa created to make Gok more violent.”

  Husher nodded. A cure for the virophage had been found during the Second Galactic War, and Keyes had attempted to distribute it to the Gok, but only a minority had accepted. They’d seemed to like the way they were, then.

  “I believe what I’m proposing could serve as a solution, in the short-term, anyway,” Husher said. “You just told me that the cycle of war is ramping up again. Does that mean the drive to make war is taking hold once more?”

  “Yes,” Fulm said.

  “Join us in war, then. That way, you can satisfy your lust for combat and still be around afterward to figure yourselves out. The Progenitors want this universe for themselves, and if we fight each other, we’ll effectively be handing it to them. But the IU will always be willing to share the galaxy with Gok.”

  Fulm raised a massive fist toward Husher. “Fulm does not speak for Gok. But will take your words to them. Time is needed for that.”

  “Time isn’t something we have a lot of. You need to make your decision quickly. It shouldn’t be hard. The right choice seems clear.”

  “Husher does not understand Gok,” Fulm said. “Need time.”

  “We’ll wait twenty hours,” Husher said. “No more.” Winterton inhaled sharply, and Husher looked at him. “What?”

  “Twenty Progenitor ships have appeared behind our battle group,” he said, his gaze lifting to meet Husher’s. “The Vesta’s getting hit with three particle beams at once—severe superheating all along our stern!”

  Husher winced. “Nav, evasive maneuvers now!”

  Chapter 23

  Close-In Alpha Strike

  Even before Husher finished giving the order to begin evasive maneuvers, the Vesta had already begun shifting laterally.

  It seems we’ll get to field test lucid tech sooner rather than later.

  So far, Husher was impressed. Plugged into the Vesta’s sensors, Noni’s response time easily exceeded his expectations, even after Quinn’s exuberant sales pitch.

  “The superheating has subsided, Captain,” Winterton said, his voice awash with relief. “We’ve escaped the beam.”

  “Very good. Excellent work, Chief Noni.”

  Thanks to the CIC crew’s Oculenses, Noni appeared to be sitting at the Nav station. But in reality, the Tumbran was asleep in her bunk, under the influence of a sedative and wearing headgear that lent structure to her dreams, shaping them into a completely immersive simulation in which she was the Vesta, just as MIMAS pilots became their mechs inside lucid. But she could also communicate with the CIC crew, using her Oculens avatar.

  “Ravagers streaming across the battlespace, sir,” Winterton said.

  “Acknowledged. Coms, tell Ayam to scramble Pythons and put them on missile defense for now.” He returned his gaze to the sensor operator. “What’s the posture of the Gok fleet?”

  “They’re showing no sign of joining the battle.”

  “Well, at least they haven’t turned on us,” Husher muttered.

  “I’m picking up on encrypted coms traffic,” Fry said. “It’s likely the Progenitors are trying to get the Gok to do exactly that.”

  Husher found himself gripping the command seat’s armrests as he tried to work out how to prevent that from happening. “What the Gok understand best is strength. We need to find a way to start knocking down Progenitor ships, fast, so that we look like the dominant side. Any ideas, Tremaine?”

  The Tactical officer exhaled, and to Husher it sounded like a frustrated sigh. “It’s difficult to commit to any offensive maneuver when their ships can just pop out of existence, forcing us to waste any missiles we fire at them. I’d recommend assigning our subspace squadron to offense, but other than that, I’m stumped.”

  “Y
ou’re right,” Husher said, turning over the Tactical officer’s words in his mind. “Coms, let’s implement Tremaine’s suggestion to redirect Ayam’s subspace fighters. And Tremaine, I want you to prep six missile barrages, twenty missiles each, with every barrage consisting of ten Banshees, five Hydras, and Five Gorgons. Have them loaded in tubes distributed all around the Vesta, so that we’re ready to respond to any Progenitor ships who vanish and then reappear in our immediate vicinity.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Relay the following to our Quatro warship, Coms: I want them to leave missile defense to the other ships and start sending everything they have at the enemy. We’ll have our Pythons do what they can to escort the missiles in, taking down any Ravagers that threaten them.”

  “Brilliant,” Tremaine said. “The Quatro’s missile salvage function should mean their rockets won’t be wasted if the enemy ships decide to disappear.”

  Husher nodded. “We have a lot of work to do when it comes to efficiently coordinating our efforts with our new allies.” Husher was just as responsible for that neglect as anyone else, he realized. He’d let his distrust of the Quatro draw his focus away from where it needed to be: on how best to work together to defeat a relentless foe.

  “Sir, five of the Progenitor ships have vanished from the battlespace: two destroyers and three carriers.”

  “Here’s our chance,” Husher said. “Tremaine, are the missile barrages ready?”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Excellent. Standby to fire on my mark.”

  He watched the tactical display as the enemy ships reappeared all around them, just as expected.

  Switching to an overlay that showed him the distribution of missiles in the Vesta’s launch tubes, Husher saw the two destroyers were lined up perfectly, and close enough that they likely wouldn’t be able to react in time.

  “Fire five of the six barrages at once, Tremaine.”

  “Firing missiles.”

  Banshees, Hydras, and Gorgons streamed from the Vesta in all directions. The carriers were already deploying Ravagers, and since they weren’t lined up like the destroyers, they seemed likely to back away and neutralize the missiles targeting them in time.

  The destroyers weren’t so lucky. They barely had time to activate their particle beams before the Vesta’s rockets flashed across the battlespace and into their hulls, obliterating both ships within seconds.

  As usual during battles with the Progenitors, no one inside the CIC cheered. Every minor victory happened in the face of a broader, looming threat. Right now, there were still eighteen Progenitor ships to deal with.

  As though to underscore that point, Winterton said, “The three carriers have recovered, sir. They’re directing Ravagers at us again.”

  Husher nodded. “Put tertiary laser projectors in point defense mode, Tactical. Coms, tell Major Gamble to expect company.” The marine commander would already be patrolling the Vesta’s outer corridors, but a little extra heads-up wouldn’t hurt. “Send out a call for six Python squadrons to tighten up around us while we figure out a way to neutralize the carriers.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The Ravager cloud is denser than we’ve seen, Captain,” Winterton said. “Some may get through our defenses before the Pythons get here.”

  “Acknowledged. Send the locations of any breaches to Coms for forwarding to Major Gamble.”

  The tide of robot-missiles washed across space, its front inching closer and closer to the supercarrier. At last, a robot made it through the point defense systems, even supplemented as they were by lasers. It latched onto the hull and burrowed inside.

  A terrible shrieking arose at the Nav station. When Husher looked, Noni’s avatar was flickering in and out of the overlay, spasming where it sat.

  She slumped from her chair to the ground, her small body rocking in the throes of a violent seizure.

  A single second of shock—that was all Husher allowed himself. Then, he turned to Fry. “Get the secondary Nav officer into the CIC at once. Contact Doctor Bancroft and tell her to check on Noni in her quarters.”

  “Aye, sir,” Fry said.

  Damn it. I never should have agreed to allow Darkstream tech on my ship.

  Never again. He’d have lucid purged from his systems, never to return to the Vesta. He didn’t care if the entire IGF adopted it and made it work. He would never leave himself or his officers this vulnerable again.

  “More Ravagers are getting in,” Winterton said. “Five breaches so far. Six,” he added, consulting his console.

  But the Python squadrons were arriving now, and they weaved between the cloud of Ravagers, shooting them down along the way. The six squadrons came together to form a protective blanket around their base ship.

  A seventh squadron of fighters appeared behind one of the Progenitor carriers, executing a close-in alpha strike that tore up the ship’s backside. In desperation, the carrier ceased its attack on the Vesta to direct Ravagers toward the subspace fighters, but they vanished.

  “Hit that carrier with our primary, Tremaine,” Husher said.

  “Aye, sir. Firing laser.” As always, Tremaine had followed Husher’s standing orders to never be without multiple firing solutions at the ready.

  The Progenitor hull began to warp, and the subspace fighters appeared off her stern, having sharply altered their trajectory. They added their fire to the Vesta’s, and the carrier exploded.

  Husher’s com beeped, and he answered it.

  “Sorry, Captain,” Ayam said. “I know I wasn’t specifically ordered to do that, but you did tell us to go on the offense.”

  “No apology necessary,” Husher said, chuckling. “Good work, Commander.”

  He noticed movement on the other side of the tactical display. The Gok ships were approaching, and they passed into missile range just as he noticed them. A flood of tiny icons crossed the battlespace.

  “Is that for us or the Progenitors?” Husher asked, eyeing Winterton.

  “It’s hard to say, sir. With the two remaining carriers this close to us, it’s difficult to tell who they’re for. And the Gok seem to have chosen a firing solution that deliberately makes their targeting ambiguous.”

  “I picked up on more encrypted traffic less than a minute ago, sir,” Fry said. “That may have been the Progenitors ordering the Gok to fire on us.”

  Husher’s jaw tensed. “Tremaine, prepare a defensive Banshee barrage. Call two more squadrons back to us, Fry, for increased missile defense. How’s our capacitor charge?”

  “Twenty percent, Captain.”

  “Very good. Continue to supplement point defense with tertiaries.”

  The entire CIC seemed to hold its breath as the missiles surged across the battlespace. The fact that the Progenitors didn’t seem concerned didn’t do much to ease the tension.

  But at the last possible moment, the missile barrage split, altering its course to target both carriers.

  Rockets slammed into hulls, and the Progenitor vessels went up in flames promptly swallowed by the void.

  That did bring cheering to Husher’s CIC, and it did him good to hear it.

  The Gok fleet continued to move forward, Slags pouring out of their carriers to scream toward enemy ships.

  But the Progenitors had had enough. Their remaining fifteen warships vanished from the Gok home system.

  Chapter 24

  You Killed Him

  “How close is the Interstellar Union to achieving interdimensional travel for capital starships?” Husher asked Fesky as he positioned a pair of slip-joint pliers around her left index talon. The pliers were large enough that he had to hold a handle in each hand.

  Fesky’s stomach roared with the insatiable hunger given her by the methamphetamine withdrawal—hunger which the meager rations Husher force fed her came nowhere close to satisfying.

  She tried to answer, but her speech came out garbled, incomprehensible. Ever since Husher had ceased the massive doses of meth he’d injected her
with, the Cavern had taken on a dreamlike quality, punctuated by spikes in pain that were all too real.

  “What’s that?” Husher said, leaning closer, though not so close she could bite him with her beak, which she’d tried to do before. His scar drew her eye, even though she could tell it bothered him when she stared at it. “Are you ready to start talking?” he asked.

  “Burn in hell,” Fesky managed to rasp.

  “Ah.” Husher slammed the plier handles together with her talon jammed deep in their jaws. Her index talon fell to the floor, and Fesky shrieked and shrieked.

  “I need to know Ochrim’s ideas for expanding the quantum engine,” Husher said calmly. “I need his theories on how the multiverse works. I need everything.”

  Through the pain and the fatigue and the hunger, Fesky’s head flopped to one side, and she saw Husher standing several meters to her right—not her torturer, but Husher, her captain of seventeen years, and her friend of even longer.

  “Vin,” she whispered.

  “I’m right here,” he said, backhanding her across the face. “Pay no attention to your hallucinations. Pay attention to me.”

  Still holding the pliers, he circled the table to where Fesky’s other arm was strapped down. He positioned the jaws around her other index talon. “Care to tell me anything about your captain’s progress toward interdimensional travel?”

  Fesky clenched her beak and remained silent. For the past several days, she’d been attempting to use mindfulness meditation to contend with the torture, which she’d picked up from Ochrim but never really used.

  She used it now.

  “Any pain can be withstood,” Ochrim said from the side of the chair opposite her torturer. “Any pain can be endured. Focus on it. Contemplate it. Catalog its quality.”

  The plier jaws closed, and fresh agony exploded, somehow worse than before. Fesky raged against her restraints, though they held her fast, and she shrieked again.