Allied enemies, p.1
Allied Enemies, page 1
ALLIED ENEMIES
Gate Ghosts Book 8
S. H. JUCHA
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 by S. H. Jucha
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Published by Hannon Books, Inc.
www.scottjucha.com
ISBN: 979-8-9875305-2-8 (e-book)
ISBN: 979-8-9875305-3-5 (softcover)
First Edition: March 2023
Cover Design: Damon Za
Acknowledgments
Allied Enemies is the eighth novel in the Gate Ghosts series, which relates the stories of the descendants of Earth’s fourth colony ship.
I wish to extend a special thanks to my independent editor, Joni Wilson, whose efforts enabled the finished product. To my proofreaders, Abiola Streete, David Melvin, Ron Critchfield, Pat Bailey, and Tiffany Crutchfield, I offer my sincere thanks for their support.
Despite the assistance I’ve received from others, all errors are mine.
Glossary
A glossary is located at the end of the book.
Contents
1: Problematic Start
2: Strained Negotiations
3: Alternate Plan
4: Can We Talk?
5: Hillside Meeting
6: Resident Evacuation
7: Maiden Voyage
8: First One; Then Many
9: Aliens Galore
10: Critical Disagreements
11: We’ve a Problem
12: Lightning Raid
13: Dangerous Positions
14: Feudal Society
15: Dresat’s Compound
16: Harsh Lessons
17: Now You See Us
18: Let’s Trade
19: Late Arrivals
20: More Sisters and Suits
21: Deception
22: A Better Way
23: Alexander’s Visit
24: Director Treachery
25: Raider Hunt
26: Energy Signatures
27: We Go Now
28: Where Do We Go?
29: Salvage
30: Light the Engine
31: Tell Us the Truth
32: D’Arcy’s Encounter
33: It’s Time
Glossary
My Books
The Author
1: Problematic Start
DARMIAN HOME WORLD
RADAGUL SYSTEM
A Radag warrior skidded to a stop outside the council meeting’s hut. His interruption elicited angry growls and hisses from the chiefs.
Fygthurn, the lead negotiator, held up a hand to request patience. “Speak,” he commanded.
The warrior kept his eyes downcast. It was dangerous to regard a chief directly. There was too great a chance that the chief might take offense.
“Pardon the interruption,” the warrior said contritely. “I deliver a message from control. A ship has been spotted entering the system. It’s headed here.”
“And,” Ogdurg, Fygthurn’s mate and the sub-negotiator, prompted.
“It’s the style of ship of the empire’s invaders,” the warrior replied. “It’s a tri-hull.”
“How soon?” a chief snarled.
“Unknown,” the warrior replied. When the chief tossed his mane and snarled, the warrior took the hint and swiftly retreated.
Then the chiefs regarded the negotiators.
“We’ve learned that the invaders can move their ships through space faster and more accurately than anything the Krackus possess,” Ogdurg said, explaining the reason for the warrior’s lack of information about the expected arrival time.
“Will you meet with the invaders on their ship?” a chief hissed.
“This is unknown,” Fygthurn replied. “There is no precedent for this meeting. It’s best to let the invaders dictate the means by which they wish to communicate.”
“You can’t call the tri-hull, can you?” a chief queried, the sibilance strong as he spoke through his heavy canines.
“In a manner,” Ogdurg replied. “We would broadcast in the open. The tri-hull’s digitals would receive our message and connect with us.”
“Why have they come?” a chief inquired.
“The commanders’ reports from Vokslem, Tritium, and many other worlds within Grageth’s territory indicate the invaders are escalating their attacks to throw the Krackus off many home worlds,” Fygthurn replied.
“Could we expect new contracts to fight the Krackus?” a chief hissed. The snake heads of his split tail rose expectantly over his shoulders.
“Not likely,” Ogdurg replied definitively. When the chiefs growled and hissed their disappointment, she quickly added, “From what we’ve learned, the invaders don’t wish to be the empire’s new masters.”
“What do they want?” a chief demanded.
“This is to be learned,” Fygthurn replied. Despite the chief’s menacing flex of claws, he stood his ground. Council meetings were always a dangerous aspect of the negotiators’ jobs.
When the chiefs began to bicker and distance themselves from one another, Fygthurn and Ogdurg took that as a sign to depart.
“What do you think the invaders want?” Ogdurg asked her mate, when there was no one to overhear them.
“I would think that might depend on who resides aboard the tri-hull,” Fygthurn mused.
“I can tell you who isn’t up there,” Ogdurg quickly replied. “It won’t be the invaders’ leaders.”
“You’re probably right about that,” Fygthurn said. “If their leaders were aboard, then I’d expect to see many ships.” Suddenly, he paused and regarded Ogdurg.
“Yes, that’s who I think would visit Darmian in a single warship,” Ogdurg replied to her mate’s unasked question.
“Alone?” Fygthurn inquired, recalling the commanders’ imagery of Miranda and her partner, Z.
“Would you come alone?” Ogdurg asked.
“I’m reminded of the way the giants visited the Vokslem commanders,” Fygthurn responded, before he invited Ogdurg to continue walking.
“That’s what I recall seeing,” Ogdurg said. “The giants were surrounded by more digitals and those in the colorful suits.”
“The chiefs won’t be easily convinced of the superiority of any of those three conclave types,” Fygthurn offered.
“Agreed,” Ogdurg replied. “Despite viewing the warriors’ recordings of the contests, the chiefs will assume that, with their greater prowess and experience, they’ll be able to defeat the suits and the lesser digital sentients.”
“I think we must do everything possible to prevent those contests taking place,” Fygthurn worried. “We’ve watched the recordings of those bouts many times. The game is obvious.”
“I believe the warriors knew it too,” Ogdurg said. “However, they were able to practice their skills without fear of suffering debilitating injuries.”
“The extent to which the invaders went to prevent harming our warriors was inventive and surprising,” Fygthurn agreed.
“And done without suffering damage to their own bodies,” Ogdurg noted.
“Which is why the chiefs must not offer challenges to the invaders,” Fygthurn reiterated. “Certainly the chiefs would lose, and I fear what that would mean for our warriors to witness their supreme leaders fail.”
“How do you propose to prevent it?” Ogdurg queried. “It’s not like you can refuse the chiefs.” When her mate seemed to consider the quandary overly long, she cuffed his shoulder, drawing blood with a few scratches. “Do remember that I’ve grown fond of you these many annuals. I’ve no desire to take another mate.”
Fygthurn offered Ogdurg a toothy smile, exposing his sharp canines. As for the minor scratches, he’d suffered much worse during their spats and mating rituals. Then the couple continued toward the shuttle control center. It was where they expected to hear from those aboard the tri-hull.
High above Darmian, a Trident circled the Radag home world. The planet was thoroughly surveyed before the ship took up station above the greatest settlement, which had a significant landing pad.
The conference waited patiently for Korvath to try again. He’d had his implant for a mere week, and he’d struggled with it.
At one point, Korvath became so exasperated by his inability to adopt the tech that he came close to requesting the implant be removed.
Ceda came to Korvath’s rescue. Of anyone aboard the Trident, she’d had the most experience with this type of situation. As a clone, she’d been immersed in how to manage the children of elite senior mining executives. Korvath and she spent time alone, as she coached him in how to remain calm and accept the implant as a tool.
“Korvath, it’s not alien tech,” Ceda had said. “Think of it as your Krackus device.”
“I could always put my device down and forget about it,” a frustrated Korvath had replied.
“When you have control, you will learn to ignore your implant by shutting off apps,” Ceda replied.
“Promise?” Korvath asked.
“You have my word,” Ceda said. “Now, it’s time to try again.”
In the present, Korvath took a few deep breaths to focus as Ceda had taught him. Then he sent,
Korvath tapped Escher’s arm and tipped his beak in appreciation of the expansion of his truncated thought.
Nebulon’s glance briefly crossed Miranda, who sent privately,
Miranda replied. Connecting to the shuttleport, she growled,
“This is Fygthurn. We’re honored by your presence. My mate, Ogdurg, and I are the race’s negotiators.”
“The council of chiefs will make the final decision,” Fygthurn replied.
Fygthurn glanced worriedly at his mate.
“Who is speaking to us?” Ogdurg asked, trying to buy time to think.
“We’ve heard these names,” Ogdurg replied. “You’d be the sentient giants.”
Z’s eyebrows twitched several times in opposite directions, and he evaded Miranda’s swift swat.
“There’s been only one occasion when we’ve left Darmian,” Fygthurn replied.
Escher received Korvath’s strangled sending.
Korvath turned to place his beak beside Escher’s ear. “Ask if they were aboard an Imperium transport.”
“Who speaks?” Ogdurg inquired.
“The Vokslem commanders spoke of your kind too,” Ogdurg said. “Are the smaller female sentients aboard your ship?”
“You intend a festive occasion?” Ogdurg queried confusedly.
“That’s not necessary,” Fygthurn replied. He was annoyed that the question hadn’t been evaded. As it was possible that the invaders already knew of their presence, he said, “Yes.”
“Was it Executor Dakargk’s ship?” Korvath whispered to Escher, which he repeated.
“It was,” Fygthurn admitted.
“Are there other invader ships in system?” Ogdurg hissed quietly to the shuttleport controller.
“Negative,” the controller replied adamantly.
When both parties were quiet, Fygthurn sought to restart the conversation. “Would you speak with my mate and me, as opposed to the council?”
Ogdurg motioned at Fygthurn to reply, but he merely shrugged. A good reason hadn’t occurred to him.
“Miranda,” Ogdurg began, “our chiefs are a special breed of Radags. They’ve risen to their positions because of their prowess. As such, they aren’t the best equipped individuals to deal with complex discussions. It’s simpler for your individuals and Fygthurn and me to reach a proposal that we offer the chiefs.”
“Where?” Fygthurn queried.
When the conference call ended, Miranda regarded Korvath.
Escher laughed at the offer.
Escher replied, warding him away with a hand.
Miranda, Z, five suits, Nebulon, and a group of her sisters dropped planetside. Korvath elected to stay aboard.
As their traveler broke through a heavy cloud layer, Nebulon sent,
The passengers focused on the shuttleport’s sidelines via Nebulon’s link. Small vehicles mounted with energy weapons ringed the landing space.
Z remarked, and he rapidly dropped the traveler toward the shuttleport.
A derelict structure, which probably had been the original control tower, was adjacent to the shuttleport. Much of the upper levels had been demolished, but three levels remained.
Z’s swift pass evaporated the empty building.
On the shuttleport, the gunners ducked from the flash of heat and sought the vehicle’s cabins to hide from the rain of ash.
Z hovered the traveler about two hundred meters above the smoldering ruins. He pointed the ship’s bow toward the pad’s surface.
Ogdurg held a furry hand over exposed rows of sharp teeth. Her harsh laughter penetrated the gloom.
Fygthurn regarded his mate, whose distinct reddish brown fur was quickly turning gray. He could imagine that he appeared likewise. Then he joined Ogdurg’s laughter.
When Ogdurg saw the armed vehicles swiftly retreating, she laughed even harder. Finally, she started coughing, having sucked in too much ash.
