Alliance of Outlaws (The Augment War Book 1), page 1
ALLIANCE OF OUTLAWS
©2023 BEN HALE
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CONTENTS
ALSO IN SERIES
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Epilogue
Thank you for reading Alliance of Outlaws
ABOUT BEN HALE
ALSO IN SERIES
Books by Ben Hale in the Timeline of The Augmented
Listed in relative chronological order
—The Augmented—
Empire of Ashes
Rise of Renegades
Galaxy of Titans
—The Augment War—
Alliance of Outlaws
Beacon of War
Throne of Ruin
—The Age of Oracles—
The Rogue Mage
The Lost Mage
The Battle Mage
—The Shattered Soul—
The Fragment of Water
The Fragment of Shadow
The Fragment of Light
The Fragment of Fire
The Fragment of Mind
The Fragment of Power
—The Master Thief—
Jack of Thieves
Thief in the Myst
The God Thief
—The Second Draeken War—
Elseerian
The Gathering
Seven Days
The List Unseen
—The Warsworn—
The Flesh of War
The Age of War
The Heart of War
—The White Mage Saga—
Assassin's Blade (Short story prequel)
The Last Oracle
The Sword of Elseerian
Descent Unto Dark
Impact of the Fallen
The Forge of Light
To my family and friends, who believed
and to my wife, who is perfect.
PROLOGUE
Captain Jent flopped into his seat on the bridge. “This better be good.”
“Trust me,” Lanin said. “I’ve never seen a derelict ship with this large of a profile.”
Jent struggled to contain his irritation. Lanin had golden eyes, marking him as a member of House Ruath’Is. He’d been exiled for theft and murder, and the krey had bounced from crew to crew until Jent had picked him up. He was just two thousand years old, which was young by krey standards, but Jent doubted Lanin would live past three. He was too excitable and impulsive to survive.
“The last time you called me up here for a wreck it was an asteroid.”
Lanin grinned. “In my defense, it was shaped just like a Cavron class cargo ship.”
Jent fixed his first officer with a cold look. No smile. No expression. Just his unnerving white eyes. He was from House Sent’Ith, one of the lowest ranked in the Empire. They owned a smattering of planets, all less hospitable than the bright worlds held by the upper ranks, and all rife with corruption. They’d given him nothing but scars, and he’d abandoned them as soon as he was old enough to pilot, slipping out with nothing but his clothes and a stolen starship. But he never stopped exploiting the color of his eyes.
Lanin shuddered and looked away. “I’ll double check the scan.”
“Drop us out of hyperlight and let’s take a look.” Jent settled back into his seat.
Jent’s ship, the Bleak Night, was a retrofitted Antox-class vessel. It was older than Jent, and its once-proud engine had been scrapped for a negative ion propulsion drive powered by twin gravity spheres. It was shaped like a squat box with the bridge built into the narrow point extending from one side.
The bridge itself had been stripped to leave rusted girders. The captain’s seat rested in the center, facing a pedestal that contained a viewing holo. A pilot’s chair in front. A communications panel to the right. Jent had slaved both cortexes to the comms panel, eliminating the need for a navigator or pilot. Less payroll, more profits.
“Dropping out of hyperlight now,” Lanin said.
The projection Gate appeared as a ring before them in space. The ship lurched as they slowed to sub-light, the gravity emitters whining in protest. He’d be lucky if one of them didn’t blow from the strain. They’d installed a set from their latest salvage, a midsize cargo cruiser that had been towed out to the Boneyard. He’d taken a dozen grav emitters to replace his own, but they were newer models, and the cortex on the Bleak Night kept struggling to make a full sync.
Most captains in the Scavengers gained a heightened sense of fondness for their ships, yet Jent thought the notion was stupid. Scavenger ships were flying buckets of rusted seracrete and leaking conduits that were almost as much junk as the derelicts they salvaged. Not that it mattered. Scrapping grav emitters, degraded crystalline cortexes, and holoprojectors didn’t pay well, especially with Gendrik always looking for a bigger slice of the profits. Jent hadn’t seen a big haul for millennia, and the constant looking for new scrap wore on his bones.
“Let’s see it,” Jent said with a sigh.
Lanin activated the vid, and a holo appeared above his nav panel. A ship resolved into clarity—or more accurately—half a ship. Usually, Jent and his crew of Scavengers hunted small vessels, the craft deemed worthless by the larger Scavenger crews. They were always killing each other for the bigger ships while Jent picked up the scraps of lost Ro-class fighters, discarded Enex-class ships, and the odd Roque- or Gerlon-class pleasure cruiser. In the Krey Empire, a starship was sized according to the number of letters in its class, with each letter roughly doubling in size from the previous class. Jent targeted anything smaller than six letters.
The Bleak Night approached the drifting vessel, which gradually filled the entire view, revealing its massive profile. Jent had started out as a pilot on a towing lug before moving up to the first officer and captain. It was reliable work, but the boredom of dragging ships from the Empire out to the Boneyard eventually got to him, so he’d hopped to a Scavenger ship and followed the lure of broken ships and the chance at finding that one massive score. The Krey Empire was over a million years old, and plenty of ships, orbital platforms, or other starbases had gone dark or been damaged.
The wreckage from the major battles such as the Dorgan Uprising or the Clave Insurrection had been picked clean, but Jent still searched for something others had missed. He hadn’t found much, so he’d towed back a load of seracrete to the Boneyard, enough to charge his gravity drive and resupply before another hunt. Throughout his time in the Scavenger clan, he’d found, worked on, stripped, or towed nearly every craft built over the last hundred thousand years.
As the wrecked vessel expanded to fill the entire forward window, three things were abundantly obvious: it was new, he’d
Jent licked his lips. “Talk to me.”
Lanin curved their flight along its length and brought up the exterior lights, the pools of white gliding over a hull. It was distorted, the thick seracrete plating resembling waves on an ocean, the hallmark of gravity distortions rippling through a ship. Probably a failed gravity drive releasing raw alpha waves.
Jent had seen it before. Hulls and bulkheads bent and twisted, decking warped and broken.
The ship came to an abrupt end. Lanin banked them inward, the lights sweeping upward to reveal a giant cross-section. Corridors, compartments, beams, and bulkheads, all sheered in half like a giant creature had bitten the ship in two.
“The entire bow is missing,” Lenin breathed.
Drawn from his seat, Jent approached the holo emitter and eyed the wreckage. Now that he could see the inside, it was clear the wreck was military. Probably at least nine letters.
A tingle seeped through Jent’s skin as he mentally calculated the value. The seracrete on the outer hull—military-grade and quad shielded—was worth a fortune.
“Scans are complete,” Lanin said. “Our cortex doesn’t recognize the class. How is that possible?”
Jent mentally added a few more zeros to his value estimate.
“It must be a ship from Arnon, the classified branch of the military-owned by the Emperor.”
Jent’s white eyes glowed with delight, and he licked his lips again. This was it, he could feel it. The score of a lifetime that would let him dump the Bleak Night and retire on a pleasure cruiser for the rest of his known life.
Jent pointed to a faint name on the hull. “Focus on that.”
The lazy spin of the ship had carried it outside the severed interior, gradually bringing the starboard hull back into view. White block letters scored deep into the seracrete plating.
“The Kildor,” Jent read.
“Looking up its registry now.” Lenin linked to the open vid network and searched for the ship by name. He frowned at the results. “I’m not getting anything.”
“Check the military database.”
“Already on it.”
Lenin shifted to the adjacent console. The military navigation node had been salvaged from a fleet vessel. The seller hadn’t known how to repair it, but Jent had purchased it and installed it into his bridge. He’d only spent a few years as an Imperial engineer, but it had paid off with interest.
Lanin whistled and leaned in to examine the holo. “Got it. House Bright’Lor designed the Kildor before it was completed at an unlisted shipyard.”
“How old is it?”
“Twenty-two years since it was commissioned.”
Jent sank back into his seat, feeling cold and hot at the same time. Military ships were considered the best wreck a Scavenger could find. They had better equipment, denser seracrete, and sometimes even weapons or gear. Yet a ship built in the last few centuries was usually already salvaged before the carcass was dropped by the Scavengers. It was apparent that this ship had not been found, meaning it contained every scrap of wealth it had had upon its partial destruction—trillions upon trillions of glint.
“How did it end up here?” Jent asked.
Lanin flipped through the holo, reading reports. “Looks like the Empire claimed there was a training accident, and one of their starships was damaged. The portion that’s unclassified said the ship was cut in half. They found the bow, but never located the stern.”
Jent’s lips twisted with triumph. It was clear why it had not been discovered. They were in deep space, weeks away from any planet or shipping lane, even at hyperlight. The only reason he’d found it was a misunderstanding with Gendrik at the Boneyard, forcing him to take the long route out of the system.
Lenin leaned in to view a blinking holo. “Wait, my scan shows that shields are still operational.”
“Military-grade emitters,” Jent said, already calculating the sale price.
Just a few would buy him a new ship. He eyed the bridge of the Bleak Night, with its exposed power conduits, grime coated floors, and rusted bulkheads, and was suddenly disgusted.
Lenin seemed confused.
“I don’t think so. Shields deteriorate over time, but these are at a hundred percent.”
Jent frowned. Operational shielding meant maintenance, and maintenance meant someone was alive. Someone who might disagree with Jent being the new owner.
“Scan for life signs.”
Lenin ran the scan and shook his head. “I can’t get through the shields. You think someone is alive in there?”
“Not for long,” Jent said with bared teeth.
Lenin laughed and turned back to the comms. “I’ll tell Bredge and his team to get ready.”
Jent headed to the hatch. “Keep an eye on things from here. I’m taking the lead on this one.”
“As you order.”
Jent exited the bridge and headed to the boxlike rear of the ship. The Antox-class ship had always been flying brick, but it was built to last, as evidenced by the fact that so many Scavengers favored the ugly vessel. It was little more than a cargo bay with a pointed nose sticking out one side.
Jent exited into the base of the cavernous space. Square and vaulted, it had a pile of twisted seracrete plates for resale and a handful of shipping crates. He’d sold most of his cargo at the Boneyard before his hasty departure and had hoped to unload the rest on Zeltium. Though he might jettison the lot for his first of many shipments from the Kildor. With any luck, he could mine it for decades without anyone learning its location.
When Jent entered the cargo bay, Bredge was already getting his team ready. A dakorian, the former soldier was ten feet of muscle, with a natural exoskeleton of bone extending into spokes along his shoulders, elbows, and legs. He’d been dishonorably discharged from the Imperial military at a young age and spent most of his life around the Boneyard. He had dozens of glow tattoos, most faded to black, but a vibrant snarling green snake was new on his arm.
“I told you to stay off the glow,” Jent said.
“And you told us we had three weeks before we got to Zelium.” Bredge sounded sullen. He always sounded sullen.
“I’m just glad we get to kill something,” Ava said.
Ava tapped her hammer so the weapon could be kinetically charged. She, too, had a recent glow tattoo, hers of a fanged demon wrapped around her left horn. Her head was fully shaved, and she had even more tattoos—and scars—than Bredge. She expertly twirled her hammer lance onto her back before sliding a seracrete knife into a sheath on her leg and a plasma pistol on her thigh. Bredge racked the slide of his Mark-XVII repeater, a long-obsolete weapon that fired tungsten rounds instead of an ion pulse.
“If you took that from my stock,” Jent growled. “I’m terminating your contracts.”
“We’re outcasts, not thieves,” Bredge said.
Ava tapped her tattoo and smirked. “I am.”
Jent glared at the hulking soldiers. With just his first load he could dump his crew and hire much better muscle. Then he spotted Risa, his human slave. The girl was scrubbing a wall nearby with an even dirtier rag. He put his boot on her side and kicked her to the floor.
“Get me my exo suit.”
She scurried away and returned with a Mark-XXV engineering exo, taken from a past salvage. He shouldered into the bulky suit and hoped there was a military exo onboard the Kildor. Risa tried to help him attach the breathing hose, but he shoved her away.
