EVE®: Templar One (3 page)

“Charge them,” Mens said quietly.
“All of them.
They’ll face a judge here, in Ishukone courts.
Unless they’ve been bribed, our magistrates will convict them.
Post heavy security around the holding location, including extra warships.
Send a very clear message that we’re not taking this any longer.”

“And the press?”
Anton nodded.

“When the story breaks, tell them our version of the truth.
But leave my daughter’s name out of it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Meeting adjourned,” Mens declared, leaning on the table with his knuckles.
“Keep me informed of the CPD’s reaction.”

As the room cleared, Ralirashi was the last to exit.
Mens took him gently by the arm and pulled him off to the side.
His other hand activated a discreet ECM (electronic countermeasure) device.
Nothing electronic, including the room’s own surveillance system, would be able to record their conversation.

“I need a ship,” he said.
“A fast and stealthy one.”

Ralirashi never made eye contact.
“When?”

“As soon as you can.”

The engineer glanced at his datapad.
“There’s a convoy leaving here in an hour.
Take a shuttle to Sigma-Two, in the unfinished deck level.
Construction drones will see you aboard.
Don’t be gone longer than six hours.”

“Thank you,” Mens said, releasing his grip.

“She doesn’t need that damn school,” Ralirashi added.
“I’ll teach her myself everything she needs to succeed.”

“I know.
But enough is enough.
I need to let an old friend know what I plan to do.”

Mens considered letting his wife know that he would be delayed, then thought better of it.

What would be the point now?
he thought.

Ralirashi stole a glance at him before hurrying away.

“Tell her that
this
old friend says hello.”

*   *   *

AS THE CHIEF EXECUTIVE OFFICER
of a Caldari mega-corporation, keeping a low profile was almost impossible.
Those responsible for the safety of Mens Reppola knew his whereabouts and itinerary at all times, positioning armed escorts and sentry technology well ahead of his arrival.
Sneaking away from this security detail was a daft notion, unless aided by the freakishly intelligent and resourceful mind of Ralirashi Okimo.

Station camera footage would show that the Ishukone CEO retired to his quarters to sleep shortly after their meeting, leaving instructions with colleagues and guards that he was not to be disturbed.
Medical AI systems monitoring his health would indicate that he was sleeping soundly, without the assistance of meds.
For added measure, the AI would recommend that he be left in that state for a minimum of six hours to help alleviate evidence of acute psychological stress in his biorhythm.

Of course, all of this data was bogus.
The unfinished hangar of Sigma-Two was taking an unusually long time to complete—tight budgets being what they were—which left it manned entirely by drones, whose memories would be erased after loading the starship capsule containing Mens Reppola into a Wolf-class assault frigate and equipping it with a cloaking device.
When he returned later, this ship and all evidence of its existence would be disassembled and recycled into scrap.

The convoy itself, twenty ships long, was comprised entirely of Minmatar-constructed vessels, a popular choice for freight companies doing business with the mega-corporation, given the attractive cost and performance of its haulers.
Mens would leave with that convoy as an escort, broadcasting an IDENT signature that registered him as a non-capsuleer.
Upon arrival at the next port of entry, Mens would set course alone on a dangerous journey some forty star systems away to the Geminate Region.

Hidden there among the searing stellar winds of the Mjolnir Nebula, he would find Mila Gariushi, and inform her in person of his intent to leave Ishukone for good.

4

BLACK RISE REGION—KURALA CONSTELLATION

THE PRISM SYSTEM—PLANET VI: LIMA PEARL

SOVEREIGNTY: CONTESTED

Killing human beings was effortless for Federation Navy Captain Korvin Lears.

As with all capsuleers, the warship wired directly into the neural pathways of his brain responded like a natural extension of his physical self.
Every aspect of the vessel’s vast capabilities, from the warp engines to its lethal arsenal, was controlled by the will of a single pilot.
Quantum computers aboard the ship—in this case, a
Myrmidon-class battlecruiser
—worked in perfect harmony with the cybernetic implants in Captain Lears’s brain, processing massive amounts of information instantaneously and freeing his will to focus on the decision of the moment—which in this instance was the complete obliteration of a Caldari battleship.

Some of the fiercest fighting between the Gallente Federation and Caldari State was in the Black Rise Region.
The conflict here, as with most of the fighting elsewhere in the Empyrean War, made few headlines in the densest populations of Empire space.
The “losec” regions—constellations surrounding the periphery of high-security space—were sparsely populated before the war began.
Composed mostly of isolated colonies, the habitable worlds of these systems were still being developed by the corporations of nation-states, each of whom shared a vested interest in hiding the true cost—in both credits and blood—of their operations.

The war in space was dominated by the capsuleers, and their power over mortals was staggering.
There were no enforceable treaties in Black Rise, nor conventions regulating the treatment of prisoners.
The conflict was testing the limits of human decency, and every government was complicit in its abominations, whether as direct participants or simply in looking away from these affairs entirely.

Captain Lears, a decorated veteran of the war and regional specialist for operations in Black Rise, was currently fighting alongside Federation warships from the Placid Naval Forces Command in a pitched battle against elements of the Caldari Navy.
Acting on intelligence provided by covert scout patrols, the Federation intercepted terra-ops warships attempting to land mechanized infantry beneath the orbital defenses of Lima Pearl, the sixth planet of the system.
Though outnumbered, the terra-ops ships were fighting valiantly against impossible odds.
As drones and fighters weaved through packs of battlecruisers exchanging fire, Korvin was oblivious to the scale of violence surrounding him.

His concentration instead focused on the plasma bolts of his own railguns as they burned deeper into the Caldari battleship.
Part of his hyper-awareness was tracking information that was utterly nonessential: He was counting the number of lifeboats ejecting from the disintegrating vessel, and comparing that figure with the typical crew complement for that ship class.

The target began breaking apart, splitting in two before exploding violently.
When the bluish white blossom dissipated, a tumbling mausoleum of charred, twisted metal was all that remained.
Korvin fixated on the wreck, adding his count to a running tally that he’d been keeping since the war began.

Then the mausoleum began calling out to him.

Whispering.
Murmuring.
He couldn’t bring himself to turn away from it.

“Gunfighter One-Six, new primaries are stuck in the bubble at mark two.”

The voice of the theater commander was loud and crisp, but Korvin didn’t acknowledge him.
His own camera drones were still focused on the wreckage as the other Federation vessels turned toward the remaining Caldari.
An inhibitor field made it impossible for the ships to escape, as their propulsion engines were crippled by gravimetric interference.
They would barely be able to defend themselves.

“Weapons free,” the commander continued.
“Destroy all remaining targets.”

But Korvin wasn’t listening.
Images of corpses filled his vision as the camera resolution was amplified.
The audio converters of his ship interface were functioning perfectly, but all he could hear was what sounded like a room full of people, where many conversations were happening at once.

A voice rang out from the distance: “Gunfighter One-Six, do you copy?”

The conversations were getting louder.
Sinister things were being spoken.
A resonance of evil arrested the senses of Korvin Lears as his mind focused on one floating corpse in particular.
The skin of its face and scalp had been burned completely off.

A voice from another pilot in the squadron rang out: “Commander, two bogies are Badger-class transports.
Scans reveal persons of interest on board.”

Korvin’s trance was almost broken by the word
transports.
They were unarmed most of the time, relying on escorts for protection.
For terra-ops ships, some of that cargo could be troops, but there would almost certainly be civilians on board.
The sensors of the Myrmidon conveyed that its escorts had already been destroyed.

The sound of the voices was beginning to hurt his ears.
A wicked shout jolted him.
And the corpse, Korvin swore, was smiling at him.

“Copy, Gunfighter One-One,” the commander said.
“Engage the transports and report.”

All the voices screamed at once, while the corpse just stared its frozen, skinless cackle through Korvin’s soul.
He writhed inside the pod containment fluid, convulsing as though his demons were locked inside of there with him.

Another Federation pilot answered the call of duty.

“Roger; two Badgers locked down, engaging.”

Korvin saw the first volley of plasma charges slam into the target, taking its shields down on impact.

“Gunfighter One-Six, what’s your status?”

A second volley ruptured its hull.
A single lifeboat ejected.
The corpse kept laughing.

“One-Six, are you alright?”

He could hear the captain of the transport begging for mercy right before it exploded, and suddenly the voices in Korvin’s mind silenced.

It had all become perfectly clear to him now.

“No,” he mumbled, directing the Myrmidon’s gun turrets toward the other vessels in his squadron.
“I’m not alright.”

Before the commander could answer, he locked his weapon systems on the lead Federation warship and opened fire.

“Lears, what the hell are you doing?”

The second Caldari transport, already crippled from Federation plasma fire, began ejecting lifeboats.
One more volley would destroy it for certain.

Korvin placed a second stream of concentrated railgun fire on the lead Federation ship.
Its shields buckled, and the rounds detonated against its plate armor.

“Friendly fire, cease fire!”
the pilot exclaimed, taking evasive maneuvers.
“Command, I’m under attack from a friendly!
What the hell is going on?”

Korvin locked the other three Federation warships while tracking the number of lifeboats ejecting from the remaining transport.
If one more got free, he could safely assume that he had saved at least 90 percent of the passengers on board.

“Shut your weapons down!”
the commander shouted.
“That’s an order!”

With a thought, the Myrmidon’s railguns spit volleys at each of the remaining Federation ships, disrupting their attack run.
Elation swept through Korvin as the last lifeboat rocketed away from the crippled transport, which by now had only a skeleton crew or even just its brave captain left behind.

“Captain Lears!
Shut your engines down right now!”

He was at peace with himself.

Any moment now, his own comrades would retaliate with lethal force for his inexcusable betrayal.
But he was immortal.
When his ship was destroyed, he would awaken in a cloning vat at a Federation Navy base, surrounded by armed guards with orders to escort him directly to a court-martial and charges of treason.

“Don’t let that son of a bitch escape!”
the commander shouted.

His bliss was replaced with miserable clarity.
The plasma blasts streaked across space for him, and he reflexively took action to secure his survival.

He saw one last escape pod eject from the battered transport.

Do some good with this chance,
Korvin thought, focusing on the tiny craft as it sped away.
Make it worth what I just sacrificed.

With a clear conscience, an uncertain future, and a heavy heart, Captain Lears warped away as bolts of plasma converged on the empty space behind him.