The Queen's Spawn (The Wrecking Squad Book 4), page 1
The Queen's Spawn
The Wrecking Squad Book 4
Nick Snape
Nick Snape
Copyright © 2025 by Nick Snape
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information please use: nick@nicksnape.com
First Edition
First edition November 2025
Book Cover by Getcovers.com
www.nicksnape.com
(No generative artificial intelligence (AI) was used in the production of this work. The author expressly prohibits the use of this publication as training data for AI technologies or large language models (LLMs) for generative purposes. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative Al training and the development of LLMs.)
Also by Nick Snape
Weapons of Choice Series
Hostile Contact
Return Protocol
Zuri's War
Finn's War
Alien Rebirth
Invasive Species
Legion Earth
Nemesis Earth
The Wrecking Squad Series
The Wrecking Squad
Butcher’s Folly
Warmonger’s Wrath
The Queen's Spawn
The Scorching Standalones
The World in My Hands
Just Press Play
Warriors of Spirit and Bone
A Dragon of the Veil
A City of Ashes
A Queen in Blood
Praise for the Author
'A masterful voice in modern sci-fi’ ★★★★★ SPR
‘Nick Snape's creative storytelling, rich world-building, and engaging characters make this book an unforgettable journey.’ ★★★★★ Literary Titan
‘Stunning series. Very highly recommended.’ ★★★★★ Goodreads
‘Sci-fi with pace, heart and unafraid to tackle deeper questions of what it means to be human.’ ★★★★★ Amazon Customer
‘Wildly creative’ ★★★★½ Self-Publishing Review
For an unsung hero I'm not allowed to name.
Thank you.
Contents
Part One
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
12. Chapter 12
13. Chapter 13
14. Chapter 14
15. Chapter 15
16. Chapter 16
17. Chapter 17
18. Chapter 18
19. Chapter 19
20. Chapter 20
21. Chapter 21
22. Chapter 22
23. Chapter 23
24. Chapter 24
Part Two
25. Chapter 25
26. Chapter 26
27. Chapter 27
28. Chapter 28
29. Chapter 29
30. Chapter 30
31. Chapter 31
32. Chapter 32
33. Chapter 33
34. Chapter 34
35. Chapter 35
36. Chapter 36
37. Chapter 37
38. Chapter 38
39. Chapter 39
40. Chapter 40
41. Chapter 41
42. Chapter 42
43. Chapter 43
44. Chapter 44
45. Chapter 45
46. Chapter 46
47. Chapter 47
48. Chapter 48
49. Chapter 49
50. Chapter 50
51. Chapter 51
52. Chapter 52
53. Chapter 53
54. Chapter 54
55. Chapter 55
56. Chapter 56
The Wrecking Squad Series
About the Author
Books by Nick Snape
Acknowledgements
Wrecking Squad Free Novella
Part One
Chapter 1
Approaching Benetai Space Station
“Are you sure this is the best idea?” asked Savvo, keeping his eyes averted and on the co-pilot’s navcom screen.
“Ooh, let me think of our options,” replied Rebekah with a slight shake of her head. “Option one, Benetai; option two, the black until we run out of fuel.” She knew what Savvo was doing ‒ trying to get her to talk through all her concerns before reaching the dilapidated space station. They had left on what could be called ‘bad terms’ though if she were honest, they had stopped Lieutenant Ormsk from blowing the place into a gazillion pieces ‒ its people and all.
“We could try Windward,” stated Arin over comms. “Become full-blown space pirates. I could wear a headscarf and get a tattoo. Arin the Red, they’d call me. Bane of the space lanes.”
“More like Arin the Dickhead, blight of the back alleys,” cut in Hendricks from engineering, resulting in Arin’s choking cough. “Can’t see we have much choice. We know nothing about this system other than Benetai. I think Mikai will at least give us the lowdown on where else we could lie low for a while.”
Rebekah’s smile was tight, the sigh that followed long and full of tension. The joy of getting Heki and Tremil back was still front and centre, but this was a new start. Their first in three years if you ignored being whipped by Erikson, the Emperor’s Enforcer, into doing his bidding.
“May have to call in some old favours, Dricks,” she said.
“If we didn’t burn through them on the last visit. Oh, hang on, didn’t we kind of set off a fire alarm, kill a few Senti and beat up numerous gang members? One or two may have died along the way …” Arin trailed off.
Rebekah knew Arin’s bitterness wasn’t for the gang member he’d killed in front of Lieutenant Ormsk; that bastard had it coming. But there was Hannah, the girl Tensei had spaced. Was he still around? Mikai Hannos had a space station to calm after the Bustan’s threats. It’d be no surprise if she had decided to let him live, but they would all find it hard spending any time around the gang leader. One to avoid.
Only a few would know they had been directly involved in the gang warfare that had swirled about the wetware. They were around at the time, wanting to buy the kit, and though they had worn full, frosted navy suits when forced to hunt down the wetware, there’d be whispers. Benetai was small, their presence noted, and Arin had been forced to show Ormsk around. And then there was Pshwa. Someone would fill that Senti dream-peddler’s niche. Money always wins out in the end.
“We can’t be blamed for the Bustans, though. That was Baja’s doing, for which he paid a high price,” Savvo said, then tapped at his comms unit, mouthing ‘Hannos’.
Rebekah drew in a breath to replace the sigh, rolling her shoulders and trying desperately not to click her thumbs. One crack, and she switched the channel. “Hannos.”
The cartel leader jumped straight in. “You’ve got to be fucking joking, right? I mean, you’re alive for one, which says to me the Bustans got what they wanted and for some fucked up reason let you live. You got your nose still? Toes?”
“All of them,” she replied, a half-smile intruding. ZZ3 had screwed up the Bustan frigate. She doubted Ormsk would forgive and forget, but there was no reason for him to return. He’d lost and would have to lick his wounds, while his superiors considered stripping his rank.
By any means. Wait until they find out the Butcher is not only back, but powerful as hell.
“I’m not letting you dock,” she said. There was strain in those words, an undercurrent of regret. “You kind of screwed up my fucking paradise when you were last here. The Benetai have long memories, and the story we spun Lieutenant Ormsk is the one I stuck with.”
“And there I was thinking we would be heroes,” replied Rebekah.
“Yeah, well, heroes are dangerous when you live on a tin can in the black. They bring trouble in their engine wake. My people know that. They’ll remember your tactics when you stormed the station, and the sacrifice when you fucked-over the Bustan Navy. They just won’t know which of those you really fucking are. And neither do I.” The comms clicked, and Rebekah could make out muffled voices in the background. “Park in the black and we’ll talk.”
“Thanks,” Rebekah replied. It was something. They were well-stocked with everything but space to breathe.
The airlock cycled, Mikai Hannos and one other waiting on the other side. Once complete, she removed her helmet, her orange-tinged skin looking starker in the Sunstar’s bright corridor, her blonde hair a little greyer than when they last met. Her eyes remained certain, the spark still there and surrounded by the deep creases Rebekah remembered. The bruising around her chin had gone, thankfully. The price the cartel leader paid for the crew’s façade when they had raided the station.
The young man by her side she had seen only once before. A scar across his cheek, but the same eyes. A son, maybe. Definitely related, and a good sign there was some trust. Risking your blood was a sign to Benetai and her own g
Mikai eyed Rebekah, and then surprised her, pulling the ship’s captain in for a bear hug before leaning back and slapping her face gently with a gloved hand. “I said it when I first met you, woman. You got balls. Ormsk nearly blew a gasket when you turned and ran. Now you got anything decent to drink aboard this heap o’ junk?”
Rebekah’s eyes flicked over to the man accompanying her, whose head was slowly shaking, eyes to the ceiling. “She’s on a dry run. Gunports closed, so don’t give her any ammunition, eh?”
Rebekah smirked, instantly liking the young man, and showed them both down the corridor towards the junction. “We’re a dry ship, Mikai. Alcohol and space are a surefire way to hell.”
“Not having alcohol is like bathing in hell’s fucking flames. Andrei here has me as barren as Bustan fucking humour. Come on, you must have something on board.” The ex-Skyrider clomped towards the galley, eyeing the cupboards with expectation in her eyes.
“Herbal tea, coffee, hot chocolate, but other than that, dry as a Shema desert,” said Savvo from the cockpit. “Best that way.”
Mikai shook her head, clamping her helmet to the galley wall with Andrei doing the same before they sat at Rebekah’s behest. She made them both a coffee, almost matching Dricks’ and Arin’s usual combos.
“Alright. Pleasantries over. How did you escape? And more important, why are you back?”
Rebekah had thought long and hard about what to say. But it had to be believable, and she needed to invest some truth and trust in this woman.
“We have a warbot.” That produced the expected splutter. “And we got it on board their ship. Dumped a cargo box as if it was the wetware, then curved out while Ormsk collected it. Fucker still tried to take us down.”
“A fucking warbot? I can see his face now when he undid the bow!” Mikai took a drink, a sour expression across her face when she realised it was still coffee.
“Yeah, well, everything still went shit-faced down. Chased us to Scarva’s ship, sent in Marauders except they died in the decel burn. Their AIs went for us still, but we took them out.” Rebekah took a sip from her flask, then locked eyes with the cartel leader. “You knew Rubel, Rubel Carmen?”
“Trained with him. 7th and High? Didn’t Scarva …?”
Rebekah grimaced. “That’s him. He was on board Scarva’s scummy ship with most of his squad, and died there too when the Marauders boarded. Listen, Mikai. This is going to sound like bullshit, but you need to know the truth. Of what Rubel saw, what we saw and what’s going down in the Almaarian system. There’s a storm coming, one filled with death, and you might be safe here, but our people are going to die once the Butcher starts to flex his fucking muscles.”
“The Butcher? You mean Asham, who Ormsk was after?”
Rebekah leant forwards and spent the next hour souring Mikai and Andrei’s mood. She kept the twins out of it, but talked them both through the events on Daphene as best she could ‒ Countess Segfi, the Butcher’s release and control of the base, the AI’s murder of the majority of military personnel. By the end of it, she needed a beer. Or seven.
“Fuck…” summed up Mikai succinctly.
Andrei finished his second coffee, stood and washed the cup out before placing it in the cleaning unit. His manner reminded her of Savvo. “You think he, it, whatever, will be coming here?”
“I doubt it,” replied Rebekah. “But if he spreads, starts the killing we witnessed aboard the Scourge and the Segfi, then people will come if they can. The scum Senti will be cutting out their dreams by the thousands as they try to escape. Where are they going to go?”
“Windward is the only inhabitable planet, but its ecosystem ain’t up to shit. There’s what, ten thousand down there at most? And they’re fighting a constant battle to keep the bio from contaminating their crops and animals,” stated Andrei, running his fingers down his face, leaving red streaks that faded slowly away.
Time for the kicker. “You’re assuming it’ll be lowlifes.”
“Aw, fuck me, no. The nobility? Coming here?”
“Every engineer I ever knew had a stash in their workroom. Come on, Dricks, I need a shot.”
Hendricks shook her head, sipping at her sugar-filled coffee with a raised eyebrow. “Dry.”
Mikai continued to pace around engineering, hands on hips, chin thrust out, her lips almost curled into a snarl. “Is all this bullshit true?” She waved her arms vaguely towards the bow of the ship. “This Asham crap?”
“Worse, more than likely. But yeah, true. A psycho AI that infects by uploading itself.”
“And the Countess? Fucking cloned soldiers, and that wetware you recovered? He has that too?”
Hendricks shrugged. “You missed out the bit where he has control of a battleship and spaces crews for fun.” She stood, standing in Mikai’s path as the ex-Skyrider paced back her way, finding it more than a little ironic that it was her getting agitated at someone else unable to keep still while they talked. “The question is, when the shit starts flying, what are people going to do? Not just you. Everyone. The Butcher wants to live, to survive. Make sure no one can take him out. That type of paranoia breeds, and ideas take root. And when I start thinking on that, I get the chills. I’ve seen what he did to the crew of the Scourge because he could, the clones he programmed, how he was three steps ahead all the time. What lies three steps ahead when you want to ensure you live forever?”
“You eradicate the threat. One by one. Start with the closest, but you’re saying it won’t ever be enough.”
“You know how I know it’s finally clicking home?” said Hendricks, waiting for Mikai to look directly at her. “You’ve stopped swearing.”
Chapter 2
On Approach to the Unpronounceable
Rohan Michaels smiled briefly at Treni, his co-pilot, another of Scarva’s waifs and strays acquired in the alien’s travels around the systems. A Bustan Navy grunt who’d paid for passage somewhere in the distant past but couldn’t remember why after the Senti’s ministrations. She could, however, remember how to be a mean pilot, had helped him slowly recover after Khan had shot out his shins, and warmed each other during the lonely nights. One good thing to come out of the past few months at least.
“Kefi, are you there?” It was not the Senti’s real name. That approximated the sound of a rotten apple hitting the deck, but Kefi would have to do.
“Yes, Rohan. I am always here. Where else would I be?” the Senti’s reply monotone due to the electronic translator embedded in the back of its mouth. If you spent enough time around them, they all sounded a little different. Rohan couldn’t tell you how ‒ that was beyond his understanding ‒ he just knew from Senti to Senti, as did Treni. They all had their own specific smell too, that adjusted with the moods their faces rarely showed. Some he would even call friends, Kefi prime among them. Scarva most definitely not, though the alien was far from the pure scum that Pshwa manifested.
“I dunno. Maybe you took a holiday? Spent some time in the sun on a beach somewhere.” He grinned at Treni, who was giggling.
“I could think of nowhere less that I would like to be,” stated the Senti, sploshes of blancmange-like noises mixed in with the speech. “Ugh. Transponder activated.”
“Linked,” said Treni, tapping at the controls of the repaired shuttle. “And engaged.”
The shuttle thrusters manoeuvred them into their usual valley on the Unpronounceable’s spinning section. The repairs after Khan’s attack, and the subsequent assault by the Bustan Marauders, had been completed with the usual Senti efficiency. Rohan knew most looked upon the state of Scarva’s ship as reflective of the alien and its crew. But that was the exterior, all for humans to categorise, while their own quarters towards the centre of the ship were kept spotless. The mould was food, anyway, a delicacy they added to their usual fare while in space to maintain their internal gas bladders in top condition. At least, that’s what Kefi told him. It could be a Senti joke for all he knew.
Once the shuttle docked, he unbuckled and left Treni to ensure all the usual checks were undertaken. He needed to speak to Scarva; the Senti was in for a shock that might decide all their futures. He wasn’t looking forward to the gaseous response. He had considered ‒ for the hundredth time ‒ taking the shuttle and running for somewhere in the Almaarian belt, but duty always nagged at him. That and the empty space in the centre of his mind where his memories had been torn from him. Something he and Rubel and the rest had seen, that the countess had been cooking up. He slid a hand under his sweaty shirt, running fingers over the three long scars across his stomach and ribs. Like whip marks.
