Fall of Zona Nox: Part One (Warpmancer Book 1) Read online

  Fall of Zona Nox

  Part 1

  Nicholas Woode-Smith

  Warpmancer © Nicholas Woode-Smith 2013

  Part One Edition

  Published in Cape Town, South Africa

  Originally published 2013

  First Edition published 2016

  License Notes

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the Republic of South Africa. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.

  This book respects property rights and allows owners of the book to lend and give copies at their leisure. It does, however, prohibit reproduction of the book for commercial purposes. Reproducing it is strictly prohibited.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Disclaimer: The persons, places, things, and otherwise animate or inanimate objects mentioned in this novel are, for the most part, figments of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to anything or anyone living or dead is coincidental and unintended by the author.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1. Galis

  Chapter 2. Mafia

  Chapter 3. Night

  Chapter 4. Siege

  Chapter 5. Outpost

  Chapter 6. Tundra

  Chapter 7. Dreams

  Chapter 8. Insects

  Chapter 9. Armour

  Chapter 10. Watchers

  Chapter 11. Titan

  Chapter 12. Pebble Rock

  Chapter 13. Arrival

  Chapter 14. Extraction

  Chapter 15. Informants

  Chapter 16. Escape

  Chapter 17. Failed

  Chapter 18. Buy-out

  Chapter 19. Tunnels

  Chapter 20. Rescue

  Chapter 21. Drugs

  Chapter 22. Mobilization

  Fall of Zona Nox: Part 2 and the full volume available on most platforms.

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  “If I was to pay one compliment to humanity, that would be its persistence to not stay down even after being shot, beaten, and crippled.” – Martyr Grexus of Xerl, Imperial General, 3550 T. C

  Chapter 1. Galis

  A stray bullet ricocheted off the concrete tiling of a nearby shop as the boy narrowly dodged the projectile. The guard was in pursuit and gaining speed by the second, firing as he ran. The boy was fast but that made little difference against bullets. Luckily, the guard was too incompetent to stop and aim. The skidded into an alleyway, knocking over dustbins to try hinder his pursuer. He had done this hundreds of times without a problem, but today, he felt it might be his last.

  Loose concrete and red sand fell as he grappled onto the roof of a low lying shanty, the guard still in pursuit. The roofing was as it had always been - grey, damaged and flat. He had grown up in this city and this loathsome sight was normal and even of some relief to him. It was a strange feeling, gaining pleasure from the sight of grit and dirt. The boy had come to accept this, and become better for it.

  The guard lifted himself onto the roof, being weighed down only slightly by his cumbersome armour. Before the guard could grab the boy, he leapt across a small opening to another roof, once again escaping capture. The boy needed to get to the Poor District to have the slightest chance of escape. He sped across the grey surface, darting away from incoming fire. This route had already been set up by multiple thieves as an escape route and the boy only had to jump the occasional gap. This was, in fact, a hindrance as he did not typically mind jumping gaps, while the make-shift bridges allowed his heavily armoured pursuer an easier route.

  He had thought that stealing an X51 Battery to sell on the black market would be easy, but it looked as if he had been wrong, and was now regretting it. The victim of his crime was a rich off-world merchant with ties to multiple corporations. The X51 Battery had enough energy to power a house for six months and was only the size of a portable communicator. It apparently utilized a new substance from Nova Zarxa, a hybrid fuel made from varying types of crystals and chemicals.

  He had heard rumours of the battery and decided it was a worthy prize. A little bit of credit in the right pocket and he found out that the merchant was meeting his client in the southern Merchant District to conduct the trade. All information had stated that the merchant was without private protection and was utilizing the easily bribed guards of the local tavern.

  The reports had been wrong. The merchant had, in fact, replaced many of the tavern staff with his own personal retinue of hired gunslingers.

  Luckily, the boy’s stealth had allowed him to pilfer the battery without raising any attention. The alarm had sounded after he had reached the end of the street and was the signal for a band of eight heavily armed mercenaries to give chase. It seemed they were not used to Galis, and as they drew their guns, they were met with others from jumpier mercenaries; a fire fight ensued and left only one guard to pursue the boy.

  They had been running for about half an hour and the boy had been able to replace much of his need for stamina with adrenaline. He had the advantage of speed and a near-inhuman stamina, but the guard had a gun, so that evened the odds - somewhat. The guard only needed a steady hand and good aim. He lacked both. He did, however, possess a commendable diligence, and never gave up the chase.

  The boy was gaining a little bit of speed across the rooftops. The combined feeling of danger and the wind buffeting against him was thrilling and terrifying at the same time. He jumped up to catch another ledge, he felt the impact of his hands upon the edge of the higher roof and was about to pull himself up when the guard caught hold of his ankle. Only the boy’s tight grip on the edge of the roofing stood between him and punishment. The guard was strong and the boy would not be able to hold on much longer.

  He kicked the guard in the jaw but realised that he was wearing a mask, like most guards who worked for the corporations in Galis. He struggled to squirm free. His grip was all that was between a robber’s execution and freedom. He lowered himself an inch feeling the guard relax, thinking that he was giving up. Then the boy hooked his foot under the bottom of the guard’s mask and flipped it up. Before he could react, the boy kicked him in the jaw again. This time, it connected with a satisfying thump. The stunned guard loosened his grip on the boy’s ankle for just a moment, but that was all it took.

  He climbed onto the ledge while the guard recovered and the chase resumed. Roof top by roof top, the boy leapt and dashed. Neither of them had gained anything but a few bruises and a lot of fatigue. Then he noticed that he had crossed the invisible border between the Poor District and Merchant District. This border had nothing to signify it, and only reputation allowed people to know where it was. He turned to notice that the guard had lost sight of him. He wouldn’t pass up this chance. Hastily lowering himself through a sky light, he landed on the top floor of a building he knew to be a saloon. The saloon was called the Rusty Trooper, a popular hangout for gangsters and ruffians. The owner was a friend, family of sorts, and secretly, a fence for the Galis Black Market.

  Years ago, there had been no organised black market and people would have to sell their stolen goods on the streets This was highly risky, as the passing victim may give exception to the act. Black market fences would purchase stolen goods and make sure that no one knew who stole them; they also put bounties on certain items, like the battery that the boy had stolen.

  He lowered himself into a corner, holding his breath slightly, and
waited. Minutes later he could hear the guard run right past the sky light. The heavy footsteps banged loudly on the concrete and tin roof, making the guard’s identity unmistakable.

  The boy had escaped and kept his prize.

  Skulking out of the shadows, the boy revealed his features. He was of the typical city dweller variety; dark brown, almost black hair, pale skin and green eyes. He was slightly taller than most, but not enough to brag about. Overall, James was an average looking Galisian teenager.

  Assured of his safety, James descended the stairway. Like most buildings in Galis it was crafted of concrete and metal; only the corporation housing could afford alternatives. As he climbed quietly down the steps, he could hear sounds of merry-making and smell the scent of fresh meat and vegetables mixed in with the acrid smell of low-shelf booze and unwashed men. The Rusty Trooper was a good bar for both food and drink, but no saloon could expect respectable clientele in such a location.

  The saloon floor was covered with metal tables, seating a number of ruffians who looked to be gambling or drinking. Very few ate at this time, but the owner would have already started cooking for the evening meals by now.

  The person of James’ interest and the owner of the establishment was Billy Roman, who was currently shining mugs behind the old metal counter of the saloon. James walked casually to the counter where he took a seat. If he was anyone else, no one would have suspected him of returning from a heist. Alas, his fame went before him, and he was known throughout the bar. Fortunately for him, no one cared where he got his money. Blight, they often had worse sources for their incomes.

  ‘James, I didn't see you come in,’ Billy greeted without lifting his head. This was a common occurrence.

  ‘I used the scenic entrance,’ James replied snidely, as he always did.

  ‘You know that X51 Battery that the Board wanted?’ James continued.

  ‘What about it?’ Billy asked, still not looking up from his oh-so-important shining of the glass mug.

  James took the battery out of his jacket. ‘That will be five thousand Credits.’

  Billy finally looked up and gawked at the battery. ‘By the Imperial Council, you’re the best damn thief in Galis! I heard reports that that merchant was packing his own private army.’

  ‘At one time, I thought that this would be my last theft for that very reason. It wasn’t that hard though, now that I think about it. Corporates got spooked quite early on and started shooting each other; only got marked by one.’

  Billy looked impressed, and so he should be. James, at an early age, had been the breadwinner of the household, even if Billy was the one who had given him a family. It was James’ skill which had kept them alive for so long.

  Taking out his wallet, Billy handed James five thousand credits in the form of the green notes common to the north. The note was a Galisian Dollar, crafted of paper fibre which by itself was worth more than the silver and steel common to Zona Nox. Paper was hard to come by in the north.

  ‘Regardless, you still managed to jump a Titan tech trader. That’s no mean feat.’

  He raised his mug in toast, ‘To the best damn thief in Galis.’

  Some people cheered quietly while the others raised their mugs. Billy served him a mug of beer and continued serving the other customers, evidently bored of his pointless scrubbing of the single glass mug.

  The Rusty Trooper was quite a bland tavern, actually; grey walls, tin or metal tables and a plastic countertop made to look like wood, but it was still quite popular in this part of town, and was known for its iconic neon sign of a drunken Trooper wielding an assault rifle and glass bottle.

  James, personally, admired the practicality. The Rusty Trooper was a front and a drinking-hole for career gangsters; it didn’t need to be flashy.

  As he sat down, finally easing the strain on his legs, the door opened and two strange figures entered. The glare of light hid their features but James could see that they were definitely not human. One was tall and thin, with stringy arms. The other was short and hunched. The door closed and, as James’ vision adjusted to the light, the figures revealed themselves to be aliens – a short Exanoid and a Gray. As people realised what they were, everyone turned to stare at the new entrants to the tavern. There was no law segregating different races, but normally, this saloon was only used by humans. James tensed up, ready to act if necessary.

  The aliens walked in, the Exanoid looking relaxed and the Gray, watchful. Before they could reach the bar counter, a man by the name of Ryan blocked their path. James turned in his seat, ready to intervene. He normally didn’t particularly care what happened to aliens, or other people for that matter, but didn’t want trouble in Billy’s saloon. Additionally, if a fight was to break out, it could attract unwanted attention, attention which James sorely wished to keep away.

  He had never really spoken to Ryan, but knew him to be an enforcer in the Marzio family, a gang in which James was a made-man. Ryan was notorious due to his stature and strength. James had to admit to being a bit threatened by the large muscular man. He didn’t only perform well; he looked the part - shaved head, goatee and all.

  ‘This bar is for humans only, alien,’ Ryan slurred, obviously drunk. He tilted from side to side occasionally; his eyes seemed to be hazy. Evidently, he was not past the point of incapacitation, however – unfortunately.

  Oh great, James frowned, a brute and a drunk; just my luck.

  James carefully changed his seating position. If a fight was going to break out, he wanted to be able to move fast.

  ‘There is no sign stating we can’t drink here,’ replied the Exanoid calmly, ‘we only wish for bed and drink.’

  ‘Leave them alone, Ryan,’ Billy called coolly, betraying his sentiments through tensing up. He had stopped serving customers. His one hand had disappeared below the counter top. James knew what Billy was touching, and he hoped that he would not have to use it.

  The man shouted back, spitting at the same time, ‘This pig face and Gray skin don’t deserve your hospitality, Billy.’

  The Exanoid countered. ‘We have money, no need for trouble.’

  Ryan spat at the alien again. ‘I don’t bloody care if you have money! You aliens are always trouble. You kill our families and take our land. The Troopers do nothin’ because they’re in your pocket, the whole bloody lotta ‘em! Someone is gonna have to take care of all you off-worlders. Better it be me!’

  Before anyone could react, Ryan launched his fist at the Exanoid. James and a few others jumped up to intervene, but just before impact, the Gray caught the brute’s arm and twisted it.

  ‘Now, can we drink?’ asked the Gray in heavily accented English.

  The man began to sob, his arm twisted at an odd angle and his mouth blabbering out an apology. The Gray released his grip and allowed Ryan to fall limply to the floor as he clutched the damaged appendage in silence.

  Bar fights happened often but a strong Gray was a rare sight. James could see a lot of people were as startled as he was. The Exanoid and Gray strolled up to Billy and asked for two beers. Seeing that no more violence would erupt that night, James once again took his seat and drank his beverage in silence, only just concealing his discomfort at the presence of the Exanoid and Gray beside him.

  

  Billy normally allowed James to sleep at the saloon free of charge since his parents had died. Tonight, however, James felt that he could do without the charity. He refused to lodge for free and instead rented his own room. The Gray and Exanoid took a room next to him. He managed to suppress most of his discomfort and slept reasonably well. But, he was still thinking about the Gray.

  What he had heard of Grays was that they were a weak race, normally captured as slaves. He had seen groups of them congregating around corporate ships at the starport and had surmised that their enslavement was most probably due to their anatomy. They were not built to fight. A weak physique, pale skin and skeletal arms; It was a wonder they were even used in physical labour at all.


  Its presence was an oddity in itself. Any alien was a rare thing to see in Galis. The city, as well as all of Zona Nox, was human-owned. Aliens were seen occasionally at the starport or in the civic district, but overall, they were a rarity. Even though the aliens downstairs had obviously been peaceful, James could understand Ryan’s racism. Many people’s relatives and friends had been killed by aliens. The Empire of Xank were those aliens, and had been attacking every month now.

  The Trooper outposts could handle them most of the time, but every once in a while, a Xank attack force would get through. A few months back, a mob of Zangorians, bird-like troops of the Xank, were rampaging through the Poor District. Ninety people had died, including five Troopers.

  James had walked past the scene on his way to a gang meeting and could still not get over his revulsion. The bodies were fresh and blood was everywhere. It was different to the violence of the gangs. The people were torn apart. He had since numbed himself to such scenes. The world didn’t care about his constitution or delicate desires. James had learnt this the hard way. Life was hard.

  The aliens in the bar were not of the Xank Empire, James knew that much at least. Exanoids and Grays were regarded as Free Races, even though many Grays were anything but free, but that did not stop a lot of people’s hatred towards them. People would always find a target for their frustration. If something varied from the norm, the ignorant tended to attack it, and these aliens were definitely not of the norm.

  Grays were thin and skeletal creatures, called Grays because of their skin colour. They typically didn’t carry that much muscle and were only effective in labour if accompanied by large groups of their kind. Their eyes were generally quite large, and they possessed only two slits for a nose.

  James remembered hearing somewhere about what people thought they were like thousands of years ago. People back then had thought that the Grays were a race capable of advanced technology and mind powers. This couldn’t have been any farther from the truth. Grays were, rather, a tribal race until the Imperial Council, Humanity, and many other races found them and enslaved or civilised them.