Syndicate's Pawns (12 page)

 

CHAPTER 19

MORWYN

You are all going to learn what it feels like to be broken down, physically and emotionally. That way you won't be surprised when you experience it on the field of battle.

—­Sergeant Leonid Marko of the Pax Humanis,
Garthem drill instructor

20th of SSM–11 1445 A2E

I
am not ready for this,
Morwyn realized. He struggled to fight the voice of doubt creeping up in his mind as his armored foe rushed toward him. His doubts were not unfounded. Morwyn had seen most of his training as an officer; he was to command from the safety of an ops center, not on the battlefront.

He recognized the woman's ornate battle armor as the work of the metalsmiths of Troy. He had once seen an older piece in the Sunderlund museum of foreign cultures. The old worn-­out piece of armor on display had been taken from a fallen Troyan warrior during a skirmish between the fleets of Troy and Sunderlund. It was a moment in history that the Pax Humanis would no doubt come to pay for.

Being a Kelthan came with the benefit that most technology and combat techniques were designed to his race's standard. The drawback was that one could not make up for the unorthodox techniques of Wolvers. Their foot hands made most of their moves next to impossible to predict.

His foe's first strike was an open-­palmed savate directed at his chest. Morwyn was able to sidestep the blow and grab onto her armored elbow. He was about to strike her with his stun-­baton but his opponent moved like quicksilver; her fully segmented armor gave her complete mobility. She arched her back, completely avoiding the blow and grasped onto Morwyn's ankle with her foot.

The sudden shift caused Morwyn to fall off balance and a surgical knee strike drove into his sternum. His impact vest buckled and Morwyn gagged as the knee strike was promptly followed up with a knife-­hand chop to the side of the neck. Had his impact vest not had a throat guard, the blow would have no doubt crushed his windpipe and Morwyn would have choked to death.

Fortunately for him, that was not the case and instead he saw a veritable cosmos of stars pepper his vision as he felt his fingers tingle and go limp. His foe wasn't done with him yet. Another open-­palmed strike to his wrist caused Morwyn to drop his baton. Now it was her turn to grasp onto his arm and, using it as a lever, she effortlessly tossed him over her shoulder and slammed Morwyn onto the ground.

He rolled out of the way as the Blade Dancer raised her foot above her head before driving down armored-­heel first toward his skull, and hitting the floor instead. “You are faster than I expected.”

Morwyn tried to get himself back up, but his opponent offered him no such chance. She aimed a side kick to his ribs and Morwyn was barely able to bring up his guard fast enough to block the blow. He winced and buckled.

The Wolver let out a powerful yell and struck his chest with both her closed fists. This time Morwyn heard his impact vest crack and was unable to resist falling on his backside. Nor was he able to avoid the accompanying knee shot just under his chin.

His head snapped back and he fell flat. Before he could say or do anything, the Wolver pinned him to the ground with her foot, pointing the tip of her razor sharp blade in his face. Morwyn knew that no matter what happened next, this fight was over and there was no way he would be able to best his foe on his own.

“I yield.” He raised both his hands up in surrender.

“The wisest choice you've ever made in your life, Kelthan.” There was a hint of disappointment in her chilled voice as she added. “That was pathetic.”

Morwyn winced, blinking away the stars in his eyes and tasting the copper sting of blood in his mouth. “I'm sorry to have disappointed you.”

Her armor gave off some well-­oiled clicks as she shrugged and sheathed her sword. “The Infinite is a vast place. Somewhere I will find a worthy opponent.”

She then pulled out a piece of leather rawhide and rolled Morwyn onto his stomach. With deft hands she quickly bound his feet and hands together like he was hog. She then dragged him to a nearby wall and tied him to a vent pole.

“Why are you doing this?” Morwyn did not struggle. Had his foe wanted him dead she no doubt could have killed him a dozen times by now. Whatever the reason, he was needed alive, which still gave him a fighting chance, should he find the opportunity to escape and gather his troops. Suddenly there was a loud ship-­wide groan as the grav rings ground to a halt. Morwyn found himself floating a few inches off the ground, as his bindings would not allow him to go any higher.

The Wolver woman stared at him with her cold golden eyes for a moment before answering. She was still standing on the floor; her suit or armor was probably equipped with some sort of magnetic boots. “My brother will be on your ship soon enough, and I am certain he will be more than happy to tell you in person.”

She went down to her knees and took a deep relaxing breath. “Until then you can float there and wait, in silence.”

“You must know that you won't get away with this,” Morwyn said in the vain hope that perhaps his opponent could be reasoned with.

This elicited a snort of laughter from the Blade Dancer. “Stupid Paxist. We already have.”

 

CHAPTER 20

PHAËL

The Adoran Liberation War is the darkest chapter in our nation's history. I say this because never before have I witnessed both sides of the conflict stooping to any and every conceivable depth to achieve victory. If ever there was an instance of means justifying ends, it would be those horrific years of conflict that I and the ­people I now serve put ourselves through. I often lay awake at night and ask myself: was our freedom really worth all the blood, and would we as a ­people ever be able to really be clean of it?

—­President Valtris Doran of Ador,
19th of SSM–09 1440 A2E

20th
of SSM–11 1445 A2E

W
hile she would never have admitted it to her companion, Phaël was glad to no longer be alone. And if she were being honest with herself, it was not the first time that Phaël had found herself working alongside ­people she could barely stomach. Why, when she had first met Lunient Tor, a man she considered to be nothing less than her brother, she had wanted to snap his neck and send him to meet the Huntress.

Jessie Madison had sand; to call Phaël a coward had taken a strong nerve. The Living Green often spoke of the old days where all Humanis were enslaved to the will of the Pontifex on Terra as the darkest in all chronicled history. And yet even those times of enslavement were a paradise compared to the horrors that the First Humans had created.

To Phaël and many Wolvers like her, Ancient Humanity was the monster used to frighten children. Even the Huntress had refused to lead their cursed spirits to the Great Beyond. And yet there was nothing outwardly monstrous about Jessie Madison. Her smell was slightly odd, in as much as Phaël had never smelled anyone quite like her, but upon first inspection she could very well have been confused for an extremely sick Thegran.

The duo had made their way silently down the corridors, and found that most of the doors were now sealed shut. Normally this would have been a problem, but Jessie Madison had shown herself quite capable. She had only needed Phaël's help to find the door wires so that she could sever them and they could progress forward. “When in doubt, follow the wires,” Jessie had said in her incredibly broken Pax Common.

It had been a valid point and one that Phaël made herself remember. It never hurt to know more weaknesses to exploit against the machines. Another warning of the Elvrids was that the day would come when the Machina and Humanis would go to war with one another. On that day, any and all weaknesses would be exploited by Wolver-­kind until not a single machine Intelligence remained.

With perhaps Chord being the exception. The Green help her, but she was conflicted by all this. It was getting harder and harder for her to reconcile her spiritual beliefs and the practicality of reality. She found herself secretly pining for the days of the Adoran Liberation War. Certainly the days of warfare she had lived through had been horrific, but they had also been incredibly simple. Now, in the ser­vice of the Covenant, being forced to work alongside different ­peoples in the spirit of cooperation and trust was something altogether new for her.

Jessie was bravely pushing forward, although Phaël could tell by her labored breathing that this was more physical activity than she was used to. “Huntress skin us both, learn how to breathe properly!”

When Phaël said this, Jessie gave her a quizzing look then snapped something back at her in Late Modern while flashing her the middle finger. A sign, in Wolver, that was meant for someone to go hump themselves. Typically an insult, and one Phaël was shocked to see Jessie use. Who could possibly have told her about it?

T
hey both got to the medical bay with no further incident. Their foes were clearly uninterested in the ship's doctor or the medical supplies for that matter. Phaël could tell by the stale smell of the air that their life-­support had been shut down. If Jessie realized this, she did not seem to show it, and Phaël was not in the mood to waste their time pointing it out for her. If they were lucky, Doctor Varsin would be capable of explaining.

The duo could now make out the medical bay. To any outside observer, Doctor Varsin would have looked like she was sitting in a circle, holding hands with two others. Jessie was about to step forward when Phaël quickly caught her by the arm and pulled her down to her knees.

She pointed to both her eyes then to Marla Varsin. Jessie followed Phaël's instruction and watched patiently. The doctor was still alive; Phaël could tell as much by the rise and fall of her chest, indicating that she was still breathing. From a distance it looked like she was unharmed.

But that wasn't what worried Phaël.

It was the fact that the doctor and her two companions, whom Phaël now recognized as Lucky and Chance, were unguarded. So far their foes had displayed an uncanny amount of resourcefulness and cunning. And Phaël believed them far too ruthless to make the amateurish mistake of leaving three members of the crew behind untended.

The same conclusion seemed to be dawning on Jessie as she pointed to Marla Varsin's hands. They were tightly clasping a small gray sphere. She was trembling, and they could now see that both Lucky and Chance were also holding similar gray spheres. Phaël resisted the urge to curse; she had seen similar spheres in her past. They were all holding armed monofilm wire grenades. Her flattened ear gave out a nervous twitch as she saw this.

Jessie stepped out of the shadows and made her way toward Marla Varsin. Her eyes went wide when she saw Jessie and just now it dawned on Phaël that even this trap was a bit too easy. Marla Varsin, Chance and Lucky all shook their heads “no,” their eyes urging both Phaël and Jessie to step back.

“Huntress hump me!” Phaël quickly caught Jessie by the sleeve before she could step past the door into the medical bay. And now the fullness of the trap was revealed to them. Marla Varsin, Chance and Lucky were all holding armed monofilm grenades surrounded by criss-­crossing laser tripwires. Once triggered they would unleash their deadly payload of laser sharpened razor thin wires, which would slice through bone, skin and muscle as if they were nothing.

Phaël pointed to the little spheres in Marla's, Lucky's and Chance's hands. She then mimicked an explosion with her hands. Jessie looked to the spheres then to Phaël and nodded while adding, “Boom?”

Worse
, Phaël thought, but figured there was little point in trying to mention the specifics or details behind how the monofilm grenades worked. And not just because she had no humping clue how the cursed weapons worked. Only that they did, all too well. Her flat ear nervously twitched once more as a flash of her family being sliced into thin pieces played itself out in her mind. She prayed that the Huntress had delivered an end both cruel and slow to the soulless humps who had used their knowledge of science to create the damnable things in the first place.

The three grenades, however, were not the worst part of all this. Phaël could now make out about a dozen more patched onto the walls of the med bay with several crisscrossing laser tripwire grids. Anyone foolish enough to step in was going to trigger a chain reaction that would result in the death of every last person in that room.

Their foes had anticipated a rescue attempt, and they wanted to make sure that anyone who did paid for it in blood. It was a tactic she had seen used by the Argentine occupiers during the Liberation War on Ador. Usually the grenade would be attached to a wounded companion, with the end goal, of course, being to completely demoralize troops and break spirits.

Jessie also now spotted the crisscrossing laser trip wires and let out a silent curse in her Late Modern, then gave Phaël a quizzing look. “What do we do?”

Before Phaël could answer, the gravity in the ship stopped working and both she and Jessie were floating up toward the ceiling. Phaël reacted quickly, grabbing onto a floor panel with both her feet and catching Jessie's ankle before she could float into the med-­bay. Phaël noted that their three trapped companions were all secured to the floor.

There were very few ways that this situation could get any worse. But somehow Phaël felt like all of this was just the blade's tip. They were being methodically hamstrung. Control, if it ever had been theirs to begin with, was now lost.

 

CHAPTER 21

JESSIE

Competition does not breed excellence. Overcoming obstacles does.

—­Shock Legion motto

20th of SSM–11 1445 A2E

O
ne of the things Jessie had found both endearing and sometimes incredibly infuriating about her late husband, David, had been that he had the habit of always saying: “Hey, things could always be worse.” Of course they could always be worse! Jessie had yet to have lived the moment in which things couldn't have been worse, although the present moment was definitely competing for the silver medal of lowest moment in her life ever, David's murder at the hands of a machine Intelligence being the current champion.

“Thoughts?” Jessie felt more alert and ready than she had since she'd awakened on the
Jinxed Thirteenth
. By all the known gods she swore that if she lived through this, she would never be so foolish as to let her guard down like that ever again. She could tell by the way Phaël was glowering that the Wolver felt the same way.

They had all allowed themselves to be caught off guard, had let the boredom and autopilot mode of routine to kick in. That was the only reason the sons of bitches that were messing with them right now had been able to pull off all of this. Jessie couldn't help but admire their cleverness. If she was going to render the standing crew of a vessel next to useless, then deactivating the ship's gravity was probably one of the best bets.

Live long enough and maybe you'll get to use this little trick on someone who deserves it,
Jessie thought to herself as she quickly scanned the inside of the med-­bay for anything that might help them.

Jessie instinctively switched to English as she called out, “Marla, stay calm. Phaël and I are going to get you out of there.” Jessie made sure to keep eye contact with Marla Varsin. The doctor's eyes were wide with fear, bordering on panic, and who could blame her? Jessie didn't kid herself into believing that she would be acting any differently if the roles were reversed.

Jessie had never been one to show an interest in military tech. But the little she did know about grenades was straightforward enough and she doubted that much had changed since she had entered criosleep. One pulled a pin, or something to that effect, to arm the grenade. Once it was released, there usually was a countdown followed by the boom.

The doctor and her two companions were all desperately gripping their grenades; if they dropped them, countdown and boom. If Phaël or Jessie went through the laser grid trip wires, countdown and boom. And before she could do anything, she would need to get closer.

Phaël must have had the same idea because her brow was furrowed in clear frustration. Neither of them wanted to step into the room and yet if they didn't they'd lose a chance to regroup and shore up their numbers.

Jessie pulled herself down onto the floor with her hands whilst Phaël maintained a firm grip on her leg. Once Jessie was certain she was anchored, Phaël sprang up and floated to the ceiling. She twirled until she was facing the doorway, took a deep breath and propelled herself from the ceiling to the floor, landing just in front of the door and grasping the frame with both her feet.

Four hands are better than two,
Jessie thought, finding herself envious of the fact that Wolvers effectively had two sets of hands. Phaël motioned for Jessie to jump toward her.

Jessie didn't hesitate for a moment and vaulted herself forward with her arms. She enjoyed the brief moment of “flight” before Phaël caught her. Jessie helped as she braced herself against the frame.

She now had a closer view of the scene and could better make out the spheres in Marla Varsin and company's hands. Each of their thumbs was pressed down on a button. It was amazing to Jessie how in thousands of years of technological advances, removing the pin had been the main improvement for the good old hand grenade. The chrome casing made it look quite harmless. Under different circumstances, Jessie might have even confused the spheres for a child's toy.

Jessie gave the medical bay a closer examination and let out a “yes” when she spotted the solution to their problem. On a nearby wall was what Jessie recognized as a first aid kit. She remembered Marla Varsin pointing to it and showing her its contents. Among them had been rolls of gauze and medical tape.

The first aid kit could be reached, if both she and Phaël formed a chain. Jessie pointed to the first aid kit. Phaël's eyes lit up when she saw this and she gave Jessie an approving thumbs-­up. She took a moment to readjust herself, grasping onto Jessie's heel with one of her feet and firmly holding on to the door frame's edge with her hands.

“I'm ready,” Jessie said in PaxCom.

With a muscle control that would have impressed even the greatest gymnasts of her time, Phaël slowly stretched herself past the door frame; Jessie used Phaël's body as a support beam as she floated past the doorway and beneath a series of crisscrossing laser wires. All eyes in the room were on her, and Jessie was certain that everyone's breath was now being held as she extended her arm and her fingers were able to catch onto the first aid kit. She delicately pulled it off the wall and motioned for Phaël to pull her back.

Phaël started to slowly reel Jessie toward the hostages. “We are getting you all out of here,” Jessie said in her halting Pax Common, hoping to reassure the other two hostages. Jessie opened the kit and quickly pulled out the gauze and medical tape.

Phaël released one of her hands and performed a perfect split, which allowed her to offer assistance. Jessie quickly took the gauze and rolled it up into three separate heavy balls. The task done she delicately took Marla Varsin's grenade, making sure that the button was not released.

Jessie then took one of the three balls of gauze, slipped it between her thumb and the button and rolled up the tape around it tightly. Now was the real test as she released the button. She winced for a moment and counted in her mind.
One, two, three, four, five, six . . .
When Jessie had reached ten without any kind of boom, she let out a sigh of relief. One down, three more to go.

T
hey were all floating safely in the medical bay. Or as close to safe as they could possibly be given the circumstances. Jessie had repeated the process two more times and Phaël had done her part by displaying incredible prowess and zigzagging between the laser trip wires to disarm them one by one. This had come as a shock to Jessie; at first glance, bomb disposal was not one of the skills she would have pegged Phaël as having.

Jessie had now loaded the silver spheres into a shoulder bag and under better conditions she would have loved to examine them more closely to figure out how they worked. Yet another thing she would have to do once she knew a little bit more about this new world and its rules.

The feeling of relief that everyone in the room was feeling was quite palpable. Marla Varsin had given Jessie a deep hug once she was free. “Infinite's love and gratitude to you both, Jessie Madison and Phaël Farook of Ador.”

There was very little time for celebration or introductions, although Jessie could tell that both of Varsin's new companions were equally as grateful. They both looked a bit tired but otherwise no worse for wear. Jessie was fascinated by the wonders of carbon sleep, another miracle and product of this time. Where awakening from any stint in criosleep would result in shakes and uncontrollable nausea, both Chance and Lucky were only a little bleary-­eyed, as if they had just awakened from a long nap.

Chance was a young Kelthan woman with short, military cut black hair and pale skin. She had a certain mousy quality to her and she nervously chewed on her fingernails. Despite her outward shyness, there was a quiet certainty to her. Jessie could tell at least part of her mousiness was for show, as she silently observed and sized everyone up.

Lucky was an older Wolver male. He had a chinstrap beard and leathered wrinkled skin. Despite his obvious age, his green eyes were alert and sharp.

“You have my thanks,” Lucky said as he dug into his pockets and pulled out what looked like a long plastic cigarette. He slipped it into his mouth and took a deep haul from it, exhaling cinnamon flavored vapors, then handed it to Jessie, who politely refused. There would be plenty of time to smoke whatever was in that stick once they had regained control of the ship.

“We have little time to waste,” Marla Varsin started to explain. “The woman in control of Chord, Mikali Zahur, was planning on spiking the ship's air supply with some sort of agent. That was fifteen minutes ago.”

Jessie pondered these words for a moment. “Right. Doctor, during my day the air supply to the med-­bays were typically sealed off from the rest of the ship's,” she said in English.

Marla Varsin nodded as she took a haul from Lucky's vapostick. “That is still the case today.”

Jessie turned to Phaël, and asked in PaxCom, “Do we have weapons?”

“Yes, in the armory.”

Jessie turned back to Doctor Varsin. “Okay. Phaël, myself and Chance here are going to make our way to the armory and suit up. Then we are going to take back our ship. Does that sound like a plan?”

Marla Varsin nodded, then took a moment to explain Jessie's plan to the rest of the ­people gathered in the med-­bay. Chance and Lucky nodded in agreement, as did Phaël. The only person who did not seem to be too certain was Marla Varsin.

“There will be a spare lifesuit for you, Jessie Madison. But once you are suited and armed, you must promise me that you will do your best to let Chance and Phaël do the majority of the risk-­taking. You have already risked enough.”

Jessie couldn't help but feel touched by Marla Varsin's concern and she gave her a quick hug. “I promise.”

Jessie shouldered the bag with the grenades. Chance, Phaël and Jessie then floated out of the medical bay and Marla Varsin sealed the door shut behind them. Jessie had had enough of these games; it was time to reclaim their ship.