Endless Night (The Guild Wars Book 3) Read online

  She started to warn her people, “Beware…”

  Then the overhead exploded, and dark shapes dropped like bombs from the sky, lashing out with wicked blades as they fell.

  “Beware! Goka!”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Thirteen

  CIC, Pride in Destruction

  “Missiles primed and ready,” reported the TacCon. “Firing solutions opening in fifteen seconds.”

  Hashgesh slithered in anticipation, all three eye stalks focused on the holo-image of the Midnight Sun. The destruction of the ship that had tormented Lieutenant General Pelwatho for over a year was now imminent. And it was he who would claim the honor of the victory.

  “Commodore, we’re facing heavy assault on Decks 14 through 17,” reported Colonel Changwah. Hashgesh supposed the Zuul was doing his job, but the enemy’s attempt at boarding was a distraction of little importance now. “My troopers are being overcome by combined arms operations. Goltar, Tortantulas, and the Humans in their accursed mech suits. It’s too much.”

  “Keep them occupied,” said Hashgesh. “And stop them damaging my ship. They will surrender soon enough when their mothership is destroyed. Out.”

  The commodore tried to put the Zuul commander’s concerns from his mind so he could enjoy his victory without distraction. The trail of devastation the boarders had already dealt out would cost a lot of credits to put right. The death benefits he was liable to pay Victory Scent were building, too. Assaults on his operation’s profitability were utterly unacceptable. He keyed in a channel to Major Zhiflwt.

  “How close are your reserves to the invaders?”

  “Right on top of them, Commodore. Some are already engaged.”

  “Very good. Kill them all.”

  “Our pleasure. Consider them exterminated. Zhiflwt out.”

  The Goka-Bakulu translation matrix was so well developed that malice oozed out of the comm channel and stank up Hashgesh’s station.

  Interesting.

  Colonel Changwah said he’d first heard of the Goltar in ancient clan poems recited during his coming-of-age hunting expeditions but had never realized this mythical mercenary race was real. Hashgesh had never heard of them at all, and the newly released GalNet information on the species was sparse, grudging, and probably false, although surprisingly it claimed that all these years, there had always been a single Goltar representative at the guild headquarters on Capital Planet.

  When he’d asked Major Zhiflwt what he knew about this mysterious race, the Goka’s reaction was evasive in its detail but rich with loathing for the Goltar. Something had transpired between the two races long ago, and it had never been forgotten.

  He shook himself inside his shell. There would be plenty of time to quiz the Goka major after the Goltar on his ship had been slaughtered.

  On the cusp of ordering the flotilla to launch an armada of missiles against the target, Hashgesh hesitated, and took the time to take care of details on his flagship. After all, the honor of eradicating the Midnighters was important, but so, too, was getting paid.

  “Gunnery, hold fire on the missiles. SigCon, ready the flotilla to execute two simultaneous commands upon my mark. They are to boost acceleration to twelve Gs and immediately fire a combat spread of missiles. All tubes.”

  Hashgesh brought up the security monitors and observed his Goka marines dropping into action against the boarders. He waited for the critical moment to switch the gentle six G acceleration into an unrelenting pressure that would threaten to pull him from his shell.

  That level of thrust would be painful, but could be endured for extended periods by Bakulu, unlike those fleshbag weakling races such as Zuul, Humans, and…Veetanho. He snaked an eyestalk around the back of his station to get a good look at his Veetanho liaison officer. Commander Tizhomho lay groaning in her station. Hashgesh relished the prospect of upping those groans to screams of utter agony.

  With any luck, within a short time, Hashgesh would not only be enjoying the honor of victory and the resulting flow of credits, but the furry, goggle-eyed bitch who’d ridden his shell ever since taking this contract would be crushed to death.

  This day was proving most excellent.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Fourteen

  Pride in Destruction, 5/3 boarding point

  “CASPers, get to your feet. Back to back,” shouted Sun as the vicious alien fighters dropped from the overhead, a few using their wings to arrest their fall, but most not bothering.

  Her people knew the drill and were already pushing themselves upright against the ferocious gees and buddying up.

  Goka were like space armadillos crossed with cockroaches. Their shells were so tough they were impervious to beam weapons and could even operate in vacuum for short periods without the need for a suit. They were tough, tenacious, and savage.

  One landed on top of her canopy. Her Tri-V showed it firmly attached, with limbs pulled tight under its shell and yet somehow managing to find a secure hold on every nook, cranny, and surface detail of her CASPer hull. With its knife arm, it pried into every crack and seal, seeking weak points to tear into and stab down at the pilot inside, or drill them new holes with a laser pistol.

  To civilians, it sounded ridiculous that an alien bug could take on the metal might of a CASPer and win, but Goka were efficient killers. In recent months, she had lost more pilots to Goka knives than anything else.

  Whimpering in fear, she pushed her arms up against the relentless Gs. Her CASPer responded to her haptic instructions, lifting its huge arms in an attempt to brush the horrible thing off her. She couldn’t get a grip, though. CASPer fingers were too clumsy, and poorly positioned, the Goka shell too perfectly smooth, and its grip too tight.

  Two more of them scurried up her legs and started hacking at the back of her knee joints.

  She screamed. During the Raknar job, she had stoically held her cool during an attack by a Tortantula army, but there was something different about Goka that got right under her skin.

  Fucking bugs.

  “Turnaround!” she yelled.

  “On it,” Turnaround answered. “Stand still.”

  Sun put a lid on her roiling Goka terror. She still couldn’t dislodge the alien trying to stab through the top of her canopy. A caution light warned her that one of the servos in her left knee had failed, sliced through by a Goka blade. She left the pair trying to hamstring her to Turnaround and did something useful instead.

  While the surrendered Zuul looked on, Goka continued to drop onto the Goltar in the passageway. She activated her MAC targeting system and positioned the red targeting reticle over a dark shape falling from the overhead. She made a punching gesture with her right fist. The magnetic accelerator cannon mounted on her right arm blasted the Goka out of sight, but its shell deflected most of the round’s force.

  Damned bug would probably just pick itself up and start stabbing again.

  Behind, she saw Turnaround wielding her sword arm like an axe, chopping the Goka away from the back of her legs. They fell to the deck and sprang right back onto Sun’s legs.

  At least their attack been interrupted. Sun used the respite to pick off another Goka as it fell from the overhead. This time, the targeting system refused to engage.

  Damned high-G boarding action.

  It was no use, her heart couldn’t pump enough blood to her head, and her haptic controls and pinplants were failing as a result.

  “Plan B,” she muttered to herself. “Brute force and ignorance.”

  She set her MAC to full-manual mode while she still could and blasted away at the overhead, setting off a channel of sparks, carapace chips, and sprays of blue Goka blood.

  A black serrated blade punched down through the top of her CASPer and into her cockpit. Sun stared at the tip quivering just an inch in front of her eyes.

  “Major, keep still,” urged Mishkan-Ijk.

  “I second that, ma’am,” said Turnaround. She fired a burst of MAC rounds at the Goka behind S
un’s knees.

  Tri-V suit status warnings flared amber and red as leg servos failed. Damage was accumulating to the lower legs as Turnaround’s fire ricocheted off Goka shells. But the Goka had been smashed. She felt blue gore enter her CASPer and soak her legs.

  She checked the status readouts for the other CASPers in her squad. They were showing minor damage or none at all.

  The Goka had probably singled her out as the commander and so the highest priority target.

  “At least that’s something,” she whispered, as the Goka on top of her withdrew its blade and readied to stab down again.

  If this was one G, she would be ducking and diving like a boxer to make herself a difficult target, but at six Gs, even holding her head up straight was becoming a near impossible task.

  Stand still, the team had told her.

  She trusted her team. At this point, she had very little choice. Sun closed her eyes and waited to die. But the killing strike from above didn’t come, because Mishkan-Ijk had climbed up her CASPer and was wrestling with the Goka.

  The alien bug lopped off the tip of one tentacle and stabbed another, but Mishkan-Ijk had four of the Goltar bone pistols in play and was firing them into joints and cracks in the Goka’s shell, trying to blast open weak points just as the Goka were doing with the CASPers.

  “See how you like it, bedbug.”

  The Goka twisted a knife as the bug tore it out of the lieutenant’s limb, but the Goltar was fast and shot off its knife hand.

  Blue blood dripped down Sun’s CASPer, and when Mishkan-Ijk followed up with round after round fired into the hole the knife arm had emerged from, it took only a few seconds before those rounds breached the shell.

  The Goka’s insides exploded back out the hole, smearing her CASPer in blueberry jam. Its empty shell fell to the deck minus several of its limbs, which were still gripping Sun’s canopy.

  Swaying inside her haptic suit from lack of oxygen to the brain, Sun used the last of her strength to check the battle space. It was a Goltar versus Goka wrestling match with knives and laser pistols on one side, and bone pistols on the other. It looked as if the Goltar had the upper hand.

  “Thank you, Lieutenant,” she told the Goltar commander.

  “We know the Goka of old,” he told her. “Once, we fought in mechs much as you do, but they were not enough and the Goka destroyed our first home world. Our pistols were designed to break their charge. Please tell your CASPers to get down before you start passing out.”

  He was right, of course. CASPers were no use if the pilots inside were unconscious and being crushed to death.

  With Mishkan-Ijk walking back into the melee with the stiff upright gait, she threw her arms forward to topple down to the deck.

  As she dropped, the universe shifted.

  The relentless crushing grip of six Gs suddenly became far worse, an unremitting vise that threatened to pop bones and melt her organs.

  Even Mishkan-Ijk felt it, his limbs splaying out like a peeled banana.

  Sun’s CASPer hit the deck hard, denting the floor panel and slamming her head against the inside of her canopy.

  The pain was intense, but only joined the universe of agonies as the intense acceleration crushed the life from her. She felt both shoulder joints pop out. Her neck felt like it would snap at any moment. Blood streamed from her nose, her eyes.

  The inside of her CASPer was a sea of critical warnings. Then the sea washed away to be replaced with a single overriding message.

  Warning! Effective gravity 12.1G. This personal assault system is not rated for extreme acceleration. Please exit the vehicle and enter an acceleration pod rated for these conditions. Thank you.

  No matter how much Sun wanted to curse the jerk of a Binnig system tech who’d written those words, at twelve Gs, even that was impossible.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Fifteen

  CIC, Midnight Sun

  Hundreds of missiles fanned out with a thousand-G thrust. Then their engines cut out and they coasted at a velocity that would overtake Midnight Sun in less than a minute.

  “Cautious little snail, aren’t you, Hashgesh? Began to think you wouldn’t take the bait.”

  A rare moment of disharmony cut between Captain Blue and her ship.

  Midnight Sun wanted to race still faster, or to turn and swat the impudent missiles from the black. The former tactic would crush her crew to death. The latter was far beyond even Midnight Sun’s ability, but neither mattered much to the ship. It had drifted, abandoned and forgotten for countless millennia. It wanted a chance to test its muscles.

  “Not this time,” warned Blue. “We’ll get our chance, just be patient. Entropy! There was a young Human gentleman called Jamie who had the cheek to call me unhinged. He should take you out on a date next time, see what the haggis sniffer makes of you.”

  She felt the ship’s frustration burn deep within her soul. When plugged in, she was the ship in ways she didn’t fully understand and could no longer deny. What she was also coming to understand was that it worked both ways. Not only was she the ship, but the ship was her. It didn’t express itself in words—well, maybe it did; it was difficult to identify the voices in her head sometimes—but Blue knew that it was severely pissed.

  “Shush, dear. We nearly judged it to perfection, but we’ve come in a little fast and are overshooting.”

  They’d arrived at Waypoint Gamma.

  Blue cut engines and allowed herself a wonderful moment of zero G in which she imagined her Human form reflating from a squashed pancake to that of a devilishly beautiful young woman. Then she reignited the plasma torch, though this time directing her exhaust to Port-5 at 1G of thrust. In other words, she lightly applied the brakes.

  The pursuing swarm of missiles would register the maneuver and make minor re-calculations to the intercept portion of their flight programs, where they would reignite engines and close the final few klicks at maximum speed. On a Human scale, the missiles were coming in so fast it seemed the maneuver would make little difference to the ship’s imminent destruction.

  Except a short distance earlier, Midnight Sun had passed through an area of space lush with radiation. Her Human senses had registered the zone as hot and humid, strange though that would seem to others of her race to describe an area of space. But Blue no longer thought of space as a vacuum. Instead it felt like regions of very low matter density. For her, the fuzziness in the area sloughed away and revealed itself as the Goltar interdiction fleet. She suspected the snails in the pursuing flotilla hadn’t yet found the Goltar vessels, wrapped as they were in vast clouds of dandelion seed head-fakery.

  Scores of high-power laser batteries lanced the missile swarm, rapidly shifting from one target to another. The missiles reignited engines, spiraling randomly to evade destruction. They rolled their bodies, deliberately varying their rotational velocity in unpredictable ways to limit the time they presented the same surface to the lasers.

  The destruction of missiles slowed, but the Goltar fleet had already saved Midnight Sun. The guild flotilla’s missile spread had been fired at extreme range, and their delta-vee budget had no allowance for such extreme maneuvering.

  The Goltar ships continued firing anyway. They had a point to make. So, too, did Midnight Sun. It fired its modest offensive laser batteries at a few of the nearest missiles.

  Blue was happy to let it blow off steam with its long-range fire. She waited until the Goltar carrier began pouring thousands upon thousands of drones into the battle space, and then she hailed Commodore Hashgesh.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Sixteen

  Deck 14, Pride in Destruction

  Jex woke, fighting for breath. Choking.

  He couldn’t breathe.

  “I don’t need to,” he whispered.

  He blinked and noted the warning in his CASPer informing him that it wasn’t liable for pilots operating the suit at 12G.

  12G! That was pretty spicy.

  C’mon, Obad
iah. Stop panicking like a kid crabbing on the breakwater who’s knocked over his catch bucket.

  He stood up. Very carefully.

  Despite the warning, so long as he kept his movements slow and was very careful not to overbalance, his CASPer could operate in this extreme heavy gravity environment. He walked up the passageway where an unidentified savior had left him in safety.

  The feet of his CASPer thumped down crushing blows that dented the decking.

  And that gave him an idea.

  The other CASPers were on the ground, the vitals of their pilots showing they were winking out of consciousness one by one. Even Betty’s legs were splayed.

  But Jex was made of sterner stuff. Inside his body were auxiliary hearts, reinforced internal organs, specialized high-G nanite hardening, and a little internal rebreather tech adapted from the prototypes developed by the North Sea oil industry. It was ironic he’d passed out earlier. His augmentations only cut in with the really serious Gs. Thanks to his uncle’s idea that his least favorite nephew would enjoy a lucrative career in Ipswich Speedway, Jex had so much machinery inside him, he was worth a small fortune as scrap.

  “All right then,” he declared through his external speakers as he turned the corner. “Here comes the fucking Suffolk cyborg. What’s been going on—Oh, looks like you had a bit of a do while I was out.”

  The overhead was on fire—those parts that hadn’t already collapsed onto the deck atop the heap of Goka and Zuul bodies. The pollywiggles were slithering over the ground like the heads from squidgy mops, but they were still fighting a slow-motion melee with the Goka marines, who were dragging themselves along the deck with knives out and laser pistols trying to squeeze blasts past Goltar laser shields.

  “Space roaches,” Jex declared. “Only one way to deal with bugs: squash ’em.”