EVE®: Templar One (40 page)

It was a setback, but she was insatiably eager to please her masters.
Once those tasks were complete, she would trek back to the colony perimeter to resume her hunt.
Isolating a Templar would be ideal.

That would feel wonderful … like sheer bliss.
She couldn’t wait to begin.

THANATOS didn’t realize, nor would she be concerned if she had, that CONCORD had just committed an act of war against the Gallente Federation.

*   *   *

VINCE HAD BEEN SCOUTING THE BADLANDS
for hours now.

He was lightly armed and had shed the heavier body armor in favor of mobility and speed.
Aside from the occasional Vex patrolling overhead, all the sounds he heard were natural to this wonderfully strange ecosystem—which was endlessly fascinating to him.

Along the way, he’d stumbled upon some atrocities that made him reflect.
There were several torched Valklear corpses, gagged and bound together, clearly set ablaze by the Paladins who caught them.
His training—the religious institutionalizing that was a part of him now—told him that these were exactly the horrors that Templars were created to end.

But something else was present in that notion now.
He focused on the cruelty of the sight—the charred, blackened faces, forever locked in anguish.
Holy men had tortured those soldiers and left them to die an excruciating death.
Immortal or not, he could have just as easily suffered the same fate, feeling every bit of pain right up until the moment when his biocybernetic heart ceased beating.

And then he would awaken anew, fresh with that bitter memory, and live to right that wrong, even if it took eternity to do so.

Vince moved on.

A short time later, not far from where he found the corpses, he saw the Federation gunship land.
Before he could act, he spotted the female assassin approach and then stealthily kill its pilot and copilot, noting that she preferred to use her hands instead of weapons.

Intrigued, he followed her movements ever so quietly, tracking her from the very limits of his augmented senses from the farthest range possible.

He saw everything she did.

Aware that he was disobeying another direct order, he made up his mind to not inform Lord Victor about this development.

At least, not yet.

29

LONETREK REGION—KAINOKAI CONSTELLATION

THE TSUKURAS SYSTEM—PLANET II

ECHELON ENTERTAINMENT DEVELOPMENT STATION

“Ladies, we’re about to depart,” the pilot announced.
“I’m required by law to remind you both to fasten your safety harnesses.”

“Right, sure,” Lorin Reppola said dismissively, sipping from her glass.
It was filled with expensive wine.
“Thank you!
We’ll get those on right away.”

Amile looked at her impatiently.

“Mom, you should listen to her,” she said, pulling the straps over her shoulders.
The cabin was obscenely spacious—the troop transport configuration could seat more than a hundred soldiers in full drop kit—and furnished like a designer lounge in downtown Hueromont.
This Ishukone-stock Kuratta-class gunship was remodeled for luxury passenger amenities, despite the fact that most flights were just a few hours long at most.
It was, in effect, a pleasure yacht on the inside but a powerful military craft on the outside.

Lorin rolled her eyes.

“Amile, I’ve been planning this for months,” her mother said.
“Try to let your hair down.
It’s time to have some fun!”

Wearing the straps was absolutely mandatory during undocking, atmospheric entry, and landing.
It wasn’t just a formality: The straps were part of the Kuratta’s survival system during emergencies, pulling passengers into lifeboats or pods that were ejected from the craft.

“Months?”
Amile asked.
“I thought this was a spur-of-the-moment plan.”

“You’re so naïve sometimes,” her mother answered.
“You should know by now how long it takes to set up security.”

“Flight time to Myoklar is about forty minutes,” the pilot said.
“Sit back and enjoy the ride.”

“Oh, we will,” Lorin said, handing an overflowing glass to her daughter.
“Let’s get on with it already!”

Amile smelled the beverage and winced.

“You’re sure you took all the right precautions?”
she asked, setting it aside.

“Oh,
come on,
” Lorin said, with a dour look.
“I may have been a little emotional when I told you about this, but believe me, I would never do anything to endanger us.
Everything is going to be fine.”

Two gunship escorts would be taking them all the way in, and a shadow fleet of cruisers and frigates would be within warp range of their location at all times between the station and atmosphere.

“The men with the guns and tech are waiting for us on the ground already,” Lorin continued.
“So even if your father were to find out—and I really don’t care if he does—all the measures that he and his whipping boy Rali would prescribe are already in place.
So just try to enjoy yourself!
Misbehave or something.
Cut loose; have some fun!”

The ship lurched as the docking clamps released, and Lorin spilled wine all over herself.

Amile began to smile, then stopped herself.
Turning her gaze toward the viewport, she resumed her worrying as the station’s interior rushed by.

“Months” was certainly a long time to plan anything, and it seemed probable that her mother covered the details well.
It was the ethics of the situation that made her nervous.
In the end, this was about being forced to take a side in a dispute between her parents.
That was the main concern, less so the fact that what they were doing was irresponsible.

Less so,
she kept telling herself.
Because “months,” after all, gave bad people a long time to learn about things.

*   *   *

LIEUTENANT COLONEL KAYLYN LINDEN
had been a pilot for Ishukone Watch, Protective Services Division, for five years.
From the beginning of her career there, she had been assigned to Mrs.
Reppola’s personal security detail, during which time she developed a special respect for the family.
Empathizing with their ordeals and the unbelievable stresses they faced, she cared deeply for their well-being.
Although there were occasions when she thought the security precautions were overly harsh, she always understood the reasons for it.

Which was why she could only shake her head at the debacle unfolding in her cabin, watching Lorin wipe the drink off her chin and laugh about it.
On one hand, it was refreshing to see the woman enjoy herself for a change.
But on the other, the hugely expensive security forces of Ishukone Watch were being used to aggravate a domestic dispute.
This was an outright irresponsible abuse of power, and she could tell that young Amile thought so as well.

It didn’t matter that the detail itinerary itself was professional, and that they were bringing enough firepower with them to raze an infantry company.
The fact was, Mens Reppola didn’t know about this excursion, and Lorin Reppola had threatened a lot of people in the Watch if they didn’t play along.

The worst part was that technically, she had the authority to do this.
It was part of the Watch security protocol for emergencies.
If Mens was ever in imminent danger of being captured by enemies of Ishukone, Lorin was to leave with Amile under Protective Services custody and not tell him where they were going.
That way, information vital to their survival was isolated and couldn’t be coerced.

Needless to say, this hardly qualified as an “emergency.”

Whatever,
she told herself.
Lorin and Amile Reppola were now her responsibility.
Ishukone Watch starships had delivered them here to the Echelon Entertainment station, and her job was to take them the rest of the way in to the resort.

“Harbor Control, this is Vanguard One,” she declared on the military comm channel.
It was time for the convoy to move.
“Requesting permission to undock.”

“Granted,” the station replied.
“Safe travels out there.”

LONETREK REGION—KAINOKAI CONSTELLATION

THE TSUKURAS SYSTEM—PLANET VII, MOON 9

PERKONE FACTORY STATION

Captain Trevor Linden loved flying, but today was the first time he could ever remember regarding his profession with disdain.

Cargo MTACs were still loading his Vaunted-class dropship as he began his preflight inspection.
Not that a visual check would account for the six million things that could go wrong during a planetary landing with a craft this big, but pilots were a superstitious lot.
Tradition was just not something to be tampered with.

Grumbling, he marched beneath its vectored plasma engines.
Punching a command into his datapad, the giant dome rotated through its full range of motion, which is what he wanted to see.
He would need to repeat this ritual for the other three engines.
The flight engineer approached to hand him the shipping manifest, which he summarily grabbed without even acknowledging the man.

“When those loaders are done, you’ll be about six kilos beneath maximum weight,” the engineer said.
“That’s assuming you haven’t gotten any fatter.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Trevor mumbled, reading through the list.
It was a typical colony sortie—lots of industrial equipment, construction vehicles, power-generation modules, and civilians.
The payload seemed a little heavier than it should have been, but nothing the regular shift pilot shouldn’t have been able to handle himself.

“There’s a tropical depression moving through the area,” the engineer said.
“T-storms all over the place.
But I’m sure you knew that already.”

“I did, thanks,” Trevor said.

Normally he was friendly with the good folks in the hangar bay.
But the way he’d been called up during an off-day, to fly this specific sortie, annoyed the hell out of him.

“You alright?”
the engineer asked.

It hadn’t been a “We’re in a bind, can you please come in” sort of request.
It was more of a “Get in here right now.”
Yet from what he could see, no one had called in sick and all the scheduled pilots were accounted for.
Command was just insisting that he fly “this” sortie, no questions asked, no further explanation available, and “Yes, this is in spite of the fact we promised you could have the day off.
Sorry.”

“I’m fine,” Trevor said, looking up and glaring.
“Do you mind?”

The engineer held up both hands in surrender.

“Alright,” he said.
“Fly safe.”

Trevor was using every minute of his downtime to study for the Navy Fighter Combat School’s qualifying exams.
Despite promising aptitude scores in Ishukone basic training, his academics weren’t nearly good enough to earn an exemption.
But he took the tests anyway and failed miserably; his scores were so low that the school encouraged him to try a different profession altogether.

At first he took their advice and found work in a private company as a load master aboard an old industrial hauler that serviced gas mining rigs.
The hauler was equipped with a “boom tug”—a craft smaller than a shuttle used to connect the transfer lines between the ship’s hold and the rig’s tanks.
While traveling endlessly between mining and manufacturing sites, Trevor learned a great deal about astronautics and aeronautics—the latter especially when his company was offered contracts to deliver these commodities to the hundreds of planetary colonies not served by space elevators.
Private companies, particularly fledgling ones, tend to be more lenient insofar as flight regulations and candidate selection.
Trevor was flying cargo dropships within two years.

He would later pass the equivalent State exams and then Ishukone’s more challenging certifications for some of the largest and most advanced cargo dropships in New Eden, like the Vaunted.
After logging thousands of hours, he was finally approaching the minimum number of hours needed to have the academic requirement for NFCS waived.

Trevor would still have to pass the qualifying exams, but he was that much closer to his ultimate goal—flying fighters for the Caldari Navy.
That was his life’s ambition.

Besides, if his sister Kaylyn could do it, he could.
The thought made him smile briefly as he passed the number-3 engine.
Despite her being ten years older, he had always maintained a “no-contest” rivalry with her, if only because she set such a great example for him to follow as a person, a sibling, and a military officer.
After fulfilling her service obligation to the Caldari Navy, she’d landed a high-paying job with Ishukone Watch in their Protective Services Division.
It was “just a bit of a step down” from strafing cruisers with antimatter rounds at eight hundred meters per second, but it was her choice.

“Flight engineer,” he called in.
“Preflight complete.”

“Roger that,” the radio answered.
“Cargo is secured and all civilians are on board.
She’s all yours.”

“Copy,” he said.
It was time, finally.
Myoklar was more than three AUs from here, but they would be hitching a ride with an Ishukone freighter.
Once the Vaunted’s magnetic clamps secured onto the hull, they would literally be piggybacked into warp and conveniently dropped off within a quarter million kilometers of the planet.
They could be on the ground in as little as thirty minutes from now.

And then he’d be stuck down there until tomorrow.

He thought he’d reached an understanding with the supervisor.
This test was important to him.

Stepping into the shuttle lift, he slammed his palm on the knob to raise himself up to the cockpit entrance, some four stories above him.

Nothing happened.

“It’s busted,” one of hangar specialists yelled out, pointing at the scaffolding alongside the craft.
“Stairs.”

THE FORGE REGION—KIMOTORO CONSTELLATION

THE NEW CALDARI SYSTEM—PLANET II: MATIAS

TWENTY-FOUR KILOMETERS NORTH OF KHYYRTH

CALDARI PROVIDENCE DIRECTORATE SECURITY COMPOUND

(FORMERLY THE PRIVATE RESIDENCE OF HAATAKAN OIRITSUU)

Haatakan could barely control her excitement.

Today is the day, today is the day,

Today is the day that I kill him.

Sung to the tune of a children’s rhyme, the verse repeated inside her head.
She skipped through the gardens, occasionally shrieking in delight, drawing the ire of the Provist guards watching over her.
She met their gaze with a smile and changed the rhyme some more: