Beyond the Gates of Antares, page 19
There was an arrogance, a self-assuredness, in her voice that angered him. But she had him, he knew. No matter how difficult life was for the Rylish Clan these days, nothing compared to the impending doom of Ryza and his exiled brothers. Doom? A bit melodramatic, indeed, but not far from the truth. Their last engagement with the Senatex had cost them a third of their strength. Another fight like that and, well, he wouldn’t be standing here staring down a Guild Mother. He’d be dead.
Ryza stared into Qin-Rylish’s dark, forceful eyes. He did not care about his own well-being. He could die today, and his exile would not have been a fruitless time. He had learned a lot about life, about the nature of the universe, in having to strike out on his own, to find his own way through the morass of Antares gateways, without the constant need to please the clan or its Guild Mother. There was a certain pleasurable hedonism in exile that he had grown to love. Exile was his life now, and he did not care about losing that life. But what about the lives of his brothers? As their captain, their Rock Father, they had given him authority to speak for them, but he could not choose exile and death for them all. He could not be so arrogant, so selfish. He had to give them a chance to live and to excel. They deserved that much at least.
Hersh Ryza sighed. “It is an offer that I must discuss with my brothers, you understand. What is the catch?”
Qin-Rylish’s strong, expressive face pinched as if she had eaten something sour. “Pardon?”
“Come now, Guild Mother. Share with me some of that honesty you professed but a moment ago. You did not summon me here to simply invite me and my brothers back from exile. There is a condition attached to your gracious offer. What is it?”
The Guild Mother stared for several minutes, then allowed herself a smile. “You are smart, Captain Hersh Ryza. And correct. There is a condition, and it is this. To rejoin our clan and have the blight of exile removed from your names, there is a mission that you must undertake. And allow me further honesty, my good captain. This mission is dangerous... very dangerous.”
***
“I reiterate, Captain,” Political Advisor Barome Ashute said, his voice raised in agitation. “She is leading us into a trap.”
Barome Ashute’s hide was the traditional Boromite slate grey, but he had personally inked his skin black so that the bony nodules running along the length of his spine stood out like flat, battered teeth. With a dull blade, he had scraped off the Rylish dragon head from his chest. It now looked like a dull red scar of paint with a line of fire through its heart. He had taken their exile harder than most.
“You say that about everything, Barome,” Ryza said, using the first name because they were friends. “If I said I was going for a drink, you’d warn against the wetness of the water.”
“Mock me all you will, but the Guild Mother is not to be trusted, and you know that. She exiled us once already. This is a ploy to finish what she started.”
Ryza found it hard to remember anymore why he and his brothers had been exiled in the first place. The details were fuzzy, but his entire battalion had been on operations under the employ of the Senetex against the Concord. For some reason, their commander chose to switch sides at the height of the battle, and for a few short moments, Boromite fought Boromite. Ryza, then only a simple soldier in the ranks, remembered vaguely gaining a foothold in a town once controlled by the Rylish clan. It was all a daze. He had just been following orders, but when Qin-Rylish learned of his battalion’s treachery, she exiled them all, including those like Barome Ashute who had pleaded that when he saw the deception taking hold, he had thrown down his weapon and walked away. That did not matter to the Guild Mother: they were all guilty in her eyes, all equally deserving of their punishment. Barome’s hatred for the Guild Mother was deep.
“It’s a mission,” Ryza said, refocusing his thoughts on the matter at hand, “like hundreds of missions that we have gone on before. If the Algoryn had approached us personally, you would not be arguing against it.”
“But they did not approach us,” Barome said. “They are working through the Guild Mother, and as your political advisor, I strongly recommend reconsidering your decision.”
Ryza nodded. “Thank you, Barome. But the decision is made. I’ve taken the measure of our brothers, and they are in favor of the try. And at the end, if we succeed, you may decide not to rejoin the clan. That is your right, and I will honor that decision. But we are going forward.” Ryza moved so that the three dimensional display of the Algoryn world of Ephra floated at chest level among a sparkling display of stars and dust. “Now, do you wish to know the mission in full?”
Barome sighed, the muscles in his face pulling back in agitation. Despite his inked skin, his pallor brightened. He fidgeted in place, and Ryza could see that his advisor wanted to argue some more. But he held his tongue, settled beside the stellar display, and said, “As you wish, Captain.”
Ryza cleared his throat and began. “The Du’rel Optimate Moch of the Algoryn Prosperate has hired the Rylish clan to investigate a missing Algoryn fleet that entered this gate...” Ryza punched a few buttons near the display, and a thick red pulsing sphere appeared near Ephra. “...and has not returned. Naturally, this is of great concern since this is the second gate to open in the system, which is a rare phenomenon, and one not to be taken lightly. That is where we come in. We have been asked by the Guild Mother to enter the gate and determine the fate of said fleet.”
Barome shrugged. “Why doesn’t the Guild Mother simply order her own fleet into the gate? She has ample Rylish assets at her disposal without involving us.”
Ryza nodded. “Indeed, but this is our way of re-establishing our loyalty to her and to the clan. She also believes that our ship, a light, sleek model with strong counter-measures, will provide a smaller footprint than anything that she can muster.”
“So we are expendable,” Barome said in a huff, allowing his frustration to show. “We go in, and we may never come out.”
Ryza nodded. “Yes, that is possible.”
“Why didn’t the Du’rel send in an explorer probe first? That’s protocol on all newly appearing gates.”
“They did,” Ryza said. “Three, in fact, when the first two did not return. The third reported all clear, so they sent in the fleet for further exploration. It’s not been heard from since.”
Barome grunted. “Sounds like the Algoryn were duped.” He rubbed his face, which was growing whiter by the minute. He seemed physically ill by the data. “So what did the Algoryn give–or promise–our exalted Guild Mother for our blood and sweat?”
Ryza punched a few more buttons on the display and Ephra was replaced with a long, healthy belt of rocks and dust surrounding a bright sun. “The Rylish Clan will gain exclusive mining rights to their Bu’tyk Asteroid Belt. It is a boon for our clan and will ensure our prosperity for millennia.”
The thought of it made Ryza’s face flush. He tried containing his excitement. It was unseemly for an exiled captain to be so in favor of reunion. He didn’t need to be obstinate like Barome, but he sure as hell needed to show some decorum. The mission was dangerous, and a part of him even agreed with Barome. It could be a trap, and it probably was. They might enter this mysterious gate and never return. But then, would they be any worse off than they were now?
Ryza paid Barome the courtesy of waiting for a response, without speaking, without trying to influence the old man any further.
Finally, Barome said, with more sincerity than Ryza had ever heard his advisor use, “It’s a suicide mission, Captain.”
Ryza shook his head, laid his hand on Barome’s massive shoulder. “No, it is a leap of faith, and I’m asking you to leap with me.”
Barome looked at the display, ran his finger through the speck of light given off by the asteroid belt. He nodded. “Okay, Hersh. If you think it is that important, then I will help see it through. When do we start?”
***
The Du’rel provided them with the appropriate resonant signal, and the target gate they approached received it and responded in kind, pulling the Proudly Exiled into its trans-dimensional tunnel. Hersh Ryza hated this moment: the initial entry into a gate. His stomach always turned, his head felt light. He could be in a daze for minutes, even hours, depending upon the manner in which the tunnel drew them in. And how long they would travel through it depended upon the gate itself. There was no maneuver, no course correction to be taken while in flight through a trans-dimensional tunnel. It could be minutes, hours, days, weeks, even months before they reached the exit. Ryza put in his mouth guard to keep from biting off his own tongue during entry, sat back comfortably in his impact seat, buckled in, and closed his eyes.
Three days later, they emerged.
“Scan the area, standard protocol,” he said to helm.
“Yes, Captain.”
The system they had entered was not unique or unusual. It contained a standard G-type star with five planets, a small asteroid belt between the fourth and fifth planet, and two smaller proto-planets on the perimeter, locked in each other’s orbit. What was unique was the swirl of ship wreckage that dipped deep into the asteroid belt.
“The Guild Mother’s Mercy!” Ryza heard the muffled prayer over comm.
“Be still, now,” he said, the prayer on the tip of his own tongue, but he did not speak it. “Move us in closer, helm. Get us to ten kiloyan of the epicenter.”
Ryza opened the view window on the starboard side of his cabin to get a better look at the wreckage hanging in space. Algoryn ships, definitely. Scores of battered pieces floating cold in space, encircling the debris of the asteroid belt, mingling with the rocks as if they too were mere space detritus. There were no exposed interiors popping and flashing with electrical systems shorting out in vacuum, so it was clear that whatever had done such damage had done it quite a while ago. Everything was cold, solid, and dead. Was it the missing Algoryn fleet? There was no evidence against that, and the system that they had entered was uncharted as far as the scan was concerned, so there was no real possibility of it being anything but that missing fleet.
“Whoever did this,” Ryza said, “the devastation was total.”
Nearing the epicenter of the debris field, Ryza began to pick out hull remains of other ships. He zoomed the view screen in closer to try and pick out the white and red markings on the shattered hulls. The markings came in crystal clear, and they were not Algoryn symbols.
“Ghar, sir,” helm said.
He recognized them immediately.
The shattered Algoryn and Ghar hulls were locked in a cold, frozen dance. It was clear from the disposition of the wreckage that the Algoryn had been on the attack, many of its prows sticking deep into punctured Ghar ships. It was almost as if the Algoryn were purposefully sacrificing themselves to take out this errant Ghar fleet, which seemed to have been comprised primarily of destroyers, cruisers… and was that the hull of a battleship? It was hard to tell from this distance, and intervening wreckage was making it difficult to ascertain the full Ghar complement. But whatever the case, the fighting had been close-in and desperate.
“Well,” he said over comm, so that everyone listening in could hear, “we know now what happened to the Algoryn fleet. I see no reason to stay any longer. Helm, turn us around and—”
“Sir, we’re picking up a distress beacon beyond the debris field,” helm said. “About three hundred kiloyan beyond. It’s weak, but consistent.”
Damn! He could already sense annoyance from Barome. He hadn’t said anything during their debris field sweep, but he was listening, and Ryza could feel the temperature of the room plummet.
“Okay, helm,” he said, quietly, “take us around the field. Slowly, with stealth and counter-measures at full throttle. Shielding as well.”
“Yes, Captain.”
The Boromite were not known for their space fleet prowess. Their infamy had been shaped by their skills on battlefields planetside, but the Proudly Exiled had been commandeered early in their history and refitted over the years with many improvements that made her nearly invisible to common scanning technology. Helm could move it through the wreckage with such skill that, if anyone were scanning for life signs, they would interpret the ship’s footprint as nothing more than fast floating debris. It was an advantage that had not been missed by the Guild Mother. That was why she had sent them on this mission. But their duties had concluded, hadn’t they? They had only been tasked with discovering the fate of the Algoryn fleet, and they had done that. Nothing more. So why was he pushing the mission further with more investigation? He didn’t know for sure, but perhaps the answers lay in the weak distress signal.
They emerged from the debris field to discover a line of wreckage swirling down into the ionosphere of the fourth planet. To Ryza, the swirl resembled the mass transfer stream between a red giant and a white dwarf. Both Algoryn and Ghar wreckage formed the stream. The signal was emanating from the planet’s surface.
“Can you determine the ownership of the distress beacon?” he asked helm.
There was a pause, then, “Yes, Captain. It’s Algoryn.”
“Sir, we do not know if there is anyone alive on that planet.” Barome’s voice, and opinion, came through loud and clear. “Could be an empty escape shuttle damaged and sending out pings randomly.”
Ryza nodded, though no one was there to see it. “It could be. It could also be survivors.”
“Ghar could be down there as well,” Barome said, “judging from the wreckage swirl.”
“You are not afraid of the Ghar, are you, Barome?” Ryza’s battle advisor, Plaxyn Mosh, said indignantly.
“Much less than you are,” Barome replied, his voice lowering, “judging from our last encounter with them.”
“Gentlemen,” Ryza cut in, before tempers flared any further, “enough! If there are survivors, they need to be found, because it isn’t enough to know that the Algoryn fleet was destroyed, much to my regret. We need to know the nature of their engagement with the Ghar. We need to know everything.”
He looked toward the swirl of wreckage once more, listened again to the distress beacon. Barome was correct. There was no way of knowing what lay on the planet. But that did not matter.
Ryza darkened his window, turned off his view screen and said, “Get a force ready, Mosh, and leave a spot for me. We’re going down.”
***
The surface of this planet was not unlike any number of planets Ryza had visited and fought on over the past one hundred years. Mixed density foliage, hills, rivers, long stretches of golden grass veldts, deserts, jungles, swamps, and mountains. An ample ocean divided the two main continents, and tiny ice caps lay far away at the poles. It had a slightly higher oxygen level than he preferred, and thus he expected to experience higher growth rates in the forest and jungle regions; the amount of desert and grassland surprised him. But he suspected that the actual oxygen level had been declining over the past several millennia as surface changes continued. They were setting down on a planet in physical transition. That was fine with him. Oxygen levels were higher than normal, indeed, but well within a Boromite’s ability to handle.
What concerned him the most was the Algoryn wreck that scarred the landing site. A massive destroyer had cut a swath four miles long, leaving behind it a chasm that would now forever be part of the planet’s surface. A wreck that size was troubling. What was even more troubling was the smaller, though equally deadly, Ghar assault pod that lay in scorched ruin nearby.
“There could be hundreds of survivors,” Plaxyn Mosh said as they swept forward twenty-five strong, fully kitted out in reflective armor, plasma carbines at the ready, with shield and spotter drones in forward deployment.
“Thousands,” Ryza replied, and if that were true, there could be no rescue mission. Well, not for every Algoryn survivor. Their small assault craft was only capable of holding a handful beyond its normal capacity. Getting thousands of survivors off-planet would take a long, long time, and besides, the Proudly Exiled did not have that kind of cabin space. Hell, they didn’t even have enough space to stack survivors into corridors.
“Over there,” Plaxyn said, pointing his carbine toward a line of trees that edged the sea of light-green grass that lay all around them at waist level. It had been trampled flat in the direction Plaxyn pointed, a long winding path toward the tree line.
“Could be a herd of grazers,” Ryza said.
“Unlikely,” Plaxyn replied, “given the pattern. Recommend following.”
Ryza nodded and the unit shifted toward the path.
Three troopers and a shield drone were left behind to scour the wreckage, to search for wounded, with strict instructions to report surviving Algoryn, and to kill all surviving Ghar.
“Keep it low and tight,” Ryza said, crouching as they quickened the pace. Along the way, dead Algoryn troopers could be seen moldering in the thick grass, their reflexive armor ripped open, their carbines and mag guns broken and tossed aside. The local fauna munched on the remains of one, and a Boromite trooper kicked the rat-like beast for fun. It screeched and scurried away, seemingly unharmed.
“A fighting withdrawal?” Ryza asked Plaxyn.
The tall, thick Boromite commander shook his head. “No, they were moving toward the fight. The kill pattern is consistent with an assault.” He stopped quickly, held up his arm, crouched in the grass. Everyone stopped and knelt as directed. Even the drones dropped below the grass top. “And now we know for sure who they are fighting.”
At Plaxyn’s feet lay the battered, charred remains of a Ghar Outcast Trooper, partially trampled into the soft ground. It still held a lugger, its trigger finger black, stiff, and pressing down tightly.
“At least it went down fighting,” Ryza said, poking at the remains with his carbine. “The first assault occurred here, no doubt. But how long did the Algoryn push forward, I wonder? And where are they now?”
