Dryker's Folly: Book 1 in Void Wraith Origins Read online

  “We’ve no time to loot,” Leorak snapped. He glared down at her, as if in challenge. “Come. We must find the others.”

  “If there are any others,” Furk muttered.

  “As you wish, Claw Leader.” Fizgig snatched one of the exploding metal balls from the woman’s belt, then hurried after her claw. She slung the strap of her new rifle over her shoulder, then tucked three of the metal boxes and the exploding ball into her pouch.

  “Silence,” Leorak hissed.

  Fizgig froze, not even her tail moving. She cocked her ears, straining to assess the many competing sounds drifting up the narrow corridor. Distant human voices. The jingle of their strange black armor. Then the heavy staccato of their weapons drowned out everything else. The sharp smell filled the corridor again, overpowering anything else she might have picked out.

  A Tigris warrior roared in defiance, then another.

  Fizgig started up the corridor without thinking, and was surprised to feel a clawed hand settle over her shoulder.

  “No.” Leorak glared down at her. “There are too many. If we join the fray they will slay us too. We hide, and wait for other claws who are able to make it to the rendezvous undetected.”

  Fizgig’s tail slashed the air behind her murderously. “You would allow our pride mates to die? If we assist, we might overpower the defenders. We can use their tech against them.”

  “Am I not claw leader?” Leorak snarled. He shoved her back a step, and Fizgig caught herself against the wall. She resisted the urge to tear out his throat. He might be larger, but she was quicker. Leorak’s attention turned to the rest of the claw. “Get into hiding. We lie in wait.” He paused and met Fizgig’s gaze. “Unless you wish to challenge?”

  “No, Claw Leader.” She dropped her gaze instinctively, then reconsidered her decision. She forced herself to look back up. Leorak’s gaze waited. “I will not challenge, but I will name you coward. After the day is done, if your honor demands it, then I will be happy to defend my words with my claws.”

  “If we live that long,” Furk muttered. The dour warrior flexed his flaws, though his agitation seemed undirected.

  Leorak’s eyes flashed and a low growl came from his chest as he studied her. “When we reach safety there will be a reckoning.”

  Fizgig knew this was the part where she was supposed to show her belly, but she couldn’t make herself play the obedient soldier to a warrior she didn’t respect.

  She turned on her heel and stalked down the corridor. Fizgig retraced her steps until she found the room with the terminals where Leorak had lain in wait during their ambush. She slipped inside, and settled into the shadows in one corner of the room. The others followed, and all avoided looking at each other as they settled in to wait.

  The noisy rifles sounded less and less frequently. There were a few more death cries, and then the weapons stopped entirely. The combat was over, and their fellow pride mates were dead.

  She met Leorak’s gaze, and to her surprise he dropped it. She cocked her head and studied him. This was the first mission she’d followed him into, but the rest of the claw had spoken highly of him. Of course, everyone who’d done so was now dead, which suggested their faith had been misplaced. And, if that was the case, should she do something? She was fairly certain she could challenge and win, but that would further weaken their claw.

  Footsteps sounded in the neighboring corridor. Fizgig slowed her breathing even further, and settled into the comfortable stillness all Tigris grew up practicing. She waited as the human warriors approached, and as they continued on their way. There were eight sets of boots. They seemed to operate in groups of four, so two full claws.

  Their footsteps disappeared into the distance, and she relaxed a hair. Long moments passed before Leorak spoke, and by that time the agitation had leaked into her tail. It flicked back and forth, refusing to be silenced.

  Leorak seemed to notice her agitation, and cleared his throat. “Enough time has passed. We will prowl to the rendezvous point, and see if any others were wise enough to avoid the humans’ strength.” The claw leader rose and crept from the room, and Fizgig noted that he didn’t meet her gaze, or Furk’s.

  She followed Leorak up the corridor, her heart thundering as they picked through the wreckage. Spent metal shells lay everywhere, discarded by the human weapons when they fired. She could already see how their projectiles worked, or thought she did anyway.

  The bodies of several Tigris had been left where they’d died, but there were no fallen humans. It was possible none had died, but the blood stains dotting the corridor put that lie to the question. The humans had carried off their dead. Very wise.

  “For Tigrana,” a voice called softly from the opposite end of the corridor. A golden-furred male detached from the shadows, and Fizgig’s eyes widened when she recognized Mow’s thick mane, a legendary veteran of countless campaigns.

  “For Tigrana,” Leorak called back, softly as Mow had. He moved up the corridor to meet with his fellow claw leader, though their body language made it clear that both knew which was the alpha.

  Fizgig waited a respectful distance away, as did Furk and Mow’s claw. She counted three sets of slitted eyes in the shadows up the corridor, all watching her with casual intensity.

  So seven survivors, which gave them a much greater chance to accomplish their primary objectives. Perhaps Leorak had been right, though given a choice Fizgig would still have attempted to overwhelm the defenders. What would have happened if they’d all attacked the enemy together?

  “What do you think they are discussing?” Furk whispered.

  “Our objective,” Fizgig whispered back, while still watching Mow. “They’ll pick the nearest they think we can disable given our current strength.”

  Leorak and Mow disengaged, and Leorak hurried back to them. He appeared worried.

  “What are your orders, Claw Leader?” Fizgig prompted, drawing his attention.

  His tail swished chaotically behind him. “We are to assault their power core while Mow leads the humans away.”

  Fizgig’s tail sank until it brushed the cold metal floor. Mow had become a legend, because he did whatever it took to succeed. Even if it meant sacrificing his fellow Tigris. On the surface, leading the enemy warriors away seemed dangerous, but Mow would have little problem staying ahead of his pursuers.

  Assaulting a fixed position as he’d asked Leorak’s claw to do, one with a high enough strategic value to ensure staunch defenders, was much more likely to be lethal. If they succeeded, Mow got to claim credit, while his claw avoided combat.

  If Fizgig and her claw failed, then Mow still lived, and could try again. Cold comfort when you were the one being asked to sacrifice yourself.

  6

  Dr. Reid

  Fizgig leaned around the corner, so imperceptibly that a casual observer wouldn’t realize she was moving at all. It was the way of the predator, because nearly all prey was trained to detect movement. Agonizing moments passed, but she finally cleared the edge of the silvery metal with one eye and was able to survey her opponents.

  A short corridor ended in a large room, lit by a pulsing white light. That light was accompanied by a deep whum, whum, and while she didn’t understand the humans’ technology she had no doubt it must be the reactor powering their lunar station.

  Just inside the room the defenders had hastily erected a barricade out of cloth sacks. Those sacks had been filled with some sort of heavy material, probably chosen specifically to stop the projectiles fired by their own weapons. They wouldn’t do anything against a Primo’s plasma weaponry, but they’d certainly stop one of her shuriken.

  Four warriors crouched behind the barricade, but unlike the other warriors she’d fought, these lacked the same kind of relaxed alertness. If she had to guess these were the raw kits, those with some training but no real combat experience. Normally a commander wouldn’t risk putting green troops in charge of such a critical system, which suggested they must possess only a few w
arriors.

  Perhaps Khama’s assault had truly caught them off guard. Or perhaps they believed they had the situation under control.

  “Report,” Leorak whispered. He and Furk were plastered against the wall, each moving nearly as soundlessly as she had. Both were fine warriors, though neither took the art of dealing death as seriously as she.

  Fizgig slid slowly back into cover. “Four warriors in an entrenched position,” she explained quietly. “They are ready for us. The first warrior to appear will likely not survive.” She divorced all emotion from the words, despite the fact that if she was picked it would be her facing those humans.

  “Mmm.” Leorak folded his arms against his chest and leaned back against the wall. He closed his eyes, apparently wrestling with the issue. His tail curled around his feet, and the tip began thudding against the floor. Finally his eyes opened. “We will attempt to find a secondary target, one not so well guarded.”

  Fizgig blinked at him, utterly mystified by his order. “But Mow’s plan….”

  “Mow is not here,” Leorak whispered back, louder than she’d have liked. “We are outnumbered and in a tactically inferior position. They will—”

  Fizgig met his gaze unflinchingly. “We have accepted our role in this plan, and we do not have the luxury of backing away. We face death. We are Pride Leonis.”

  She turned away from the fool, and made no attempt to hide her disgust. Fizgig fished the exploding metal ball from her satchel, then mentally calculated how best to throw it based on her brief look at the enemy position. Tigrana willing, she’d catch all four in the blast.

  Fizgig lobbed the grenade around the corner, and time seemed to slow as she did so. Her gaze touched one of the warriors, a female no older than herself. The woman’s eyes widened, then her hand shot down to her side. She snatched free a metal ball of her own, and hurled it even as the exploding ball Fizgig had thrown landed at her feet.

  Fizgig gave in to her instincts, and shoved down conscious thought. Once battle began, thinking got you killed.

  She leapt forward and wrenched her stolen rifle from around her neck. Instead of using it as the humans intended, Fizgig swung the rifle like a club. She hit the metal ball with the wide stock affixed to the rifle, praying silently that the contact wouldn’t cause the ball to detonate.

  The metal sphere’s course reversed, and it landed in engineering, past the barricade. An instant later the first grenade detonated, and a wave of flame blasted outwards, overpowering the brief screams. Fizgig rolled backwards, her ears flat against her head as the second grenade detonated. The pain was a living thing, as fire burst out all around her.

  Once the blast cleared she flipped to her feet, shoving down the injuries she’d suffered. They were minor, and could be tended if she lived. Fizgig sprinted toward the barricade, which had survived largely intact. The sacks spilled ordinary sand onto the ground now, but beyond a few small fires they’d survived.

  The defenders had not been so lucky. The grenades had landed on either side of their position, blasting them from both directions. All four warriors lay unmoving, their normally pasty skin now a disturbing patchwork of burns.

  Fizgig snapped the rifle to her shoulder and advanced into the room. Leorak and Furk approached behind her, and a surge of irritation rippled across Fizgig’s battle calm. She hated Leorak in that moment. Hated his cowardice. They were a Claw of Leonis, and their deaths were trivial things. The Pride was everything.

  A half dozen humans huddled behind several terminals, which were clustered at the base of a massive hologram. That hologram showed what appeared to be a schematic of their reactor, and corresponded to the large black cylinder on the far side of the room. The deep whum, whum originated from that device.

  “Do you think they can understand us yet?” Leorak asked as he crept into the room. He hadn’t picked up one of the humans’ weapons, and instead held a pair of wickedly curved sha-ka. Fizgig had resisted using her own, as they were difficult to retrieve in the chaos of combat once thrown.

  “One way to find out.” Fizgig strode forward confidently. None of the cowering humans stepped from cover. Each wore a white garment somewhat similar to the robes of a scientist. None bore weapons. She glanced back at Leorak. “These are engineers, not soldiers. They must maintain the reactor, and can probably tell us the fastest way to disable it.”

  “Assuming they’ll cooperate,” Furk pointed out. “Would you? If the engines detonate they’ll die too.”

  “Keep quiet, you fool.” Leorak cuffed Furk, and for a moment Fizgig worried they would begin to scuffle right there in front of the enemy. Thankfully, Furk seemed to think better of it, and dropped his gaze. Leorak loomed over the humans, his tail lashing behind him. “Do you understand my words, you mewling, hairless primitives?”

  One of the humans stepped from cover. His skin had a leathery look to it, and Fizgig assumed that, plus the grey hair, indicated age. “I don’t understand how, but yes, I can understand you. I take it you aren’t speaking English?”

  Leorak took three quick steps forward, then slashed the scientist across the face with his claws. The scientist fell to the deck with a cry, and raised a trembling hand to his ruined face. Leorak loomed over him, his chest swelling as he loosed a deep growl.

  The human began to cry, and his blubbering words could no longer be understood. Leorak laughed. He launched a booted kick into the human’s midsection, and laughed again when the human’s ribs broke.

  “What are you doing?” Fizgig’s tone had gone cold. Utterly emotionless. She was beginning to understand what she’d need to do in order to accomplish the mission, and while she disliked the need she would not flinch from it.

  Leorak delivered another kick. “I am acquiring the information we need.”

  “No, you are abusing a scientist—honorless.” Fizgig unlimbered her claws, and stepped into Leorak’s field of vision. She eyed him coldly. Let him see death approach. “How would we react if our own scientists were treated in such a way? He cannot give you information if he cannot speak. Leave him be, and I will get the information we need.”

  Leorak bared his fangs. “I am in charge. I—”

  “Not anymore.” Fizgig raised the rifle and sighted down the barrel. She aligned the crosshairs over Leorak’s face, and yanked the lever under the barrel. It kicked back into her shoulder, and the metal balls punched through her claw leader’s cheek. The first two rounds merely knocked him back a step, but the third punched through his forehead, and ended his bravado. He slumped to the deck, twitched once, and then lay still.

  Fizgig spun to face Furk. Would he accept the results of the challenge?

  “Worthy, Fizgig!” Furk snapped a fist over his heart, then he moved to one of the dead Marines, and picked up one of the rifles. “My thanks for dealing with that blustering fool. Perhaps now we can accomplish what we came to do.”

  Fizgig merely turned back to the human that Leorak had been abusing. She knelt next to him, and noted how he tried to flinch away from her. “We will not harm you further, if you cooperate. You have my apologies.”

  “W-what do you want?” the human wheezed. He clutched at his belly, which had likely taken the worst of the damage. Fizgig was no medic, but she’d bet this human would probably die from internal injuries.

  “I want you to show me how to overload the reactor.” She placed a hand on the scientist’s shoulder. “If you do so, we will allow you and your companions to leave this place unharmed. Despite my companion’s actions, my race respects scientists.”

  “I will not help you.” The human’s face was locked into a rictus of pain, but his eyes were fixed on her. The hatred was impressive. This man had the heart of a warrior.

  “Very well.” Fizgig stood and turned to the other humans. “Which one of you will assist us? Do so, and we will be on our way with no further bloodshed. Refuse, and we will have to kill you, and then use your explosive devices to destroy the reactor.”

  “Wait!” One o
f the humans stepped from cover. He was young, perhaps not even a full adult. He wore a pair of spectacles on his furless face, and his mane was longer than the others. It was bound behind his head, and dropped nearly to the small of his back. “I’ll help you.”

  Two of the other humans began to protest, but the boy who’d spoken silenced them with a strange, one-fingered gesture, which they seemed to find quite offensive. The boy rolled his eyes. “Shortsighted fools, as usual. If we do a controlled overload it will cause less damage to the station than letting you brutes lumber through it yourselves. I assume you’re trying to kill station power, without blowing up the station?”

  “What is your name, scientist?” Fizgig demanded. She approached the boy, who seemed to have no fear of her.

  He smiled up at her, revealing those strange, flat teeth. “My name is Dr. Reid. I’m the youngest scientist to ever be posted to Luna Station.”

  “Very well, Reid. Overload the engines.” Fizgig lowered her rifle, and turned to Furk. “See if you can find another of their exploding metal balls. We can use those to keep them at bay if more warriors arrive.”

  Furk nodded, and moved to loot the blackened bodies near the door.

  Fizgig turned back to Reid and watched as the boy approached the engines. Everything was happening so quickly, and she didn’t know if she’d made the right decision. Would the scientist really betray his people, and if so, why do it so readily? Perhaps all humans were just as treacherous.

  The human bent to the console, and began typing. Behind her the holographic representation of the reactor began to flash yellow, then red.

  “Claw Leader, I’ve found something.” Furk held up two of the exploding metal balls that he’d apparently liberated from beneath a corpse.

  She nodded, her tail rising. That was something. She’d take as many grenades as she could get her paws on.

  In the distance she heard booted feet approaching. Many booted feet.