EVE®: Templar One (24 page)

“Mind telling me about it?”

“Yes, I do mind,” Jonas snapped.
“That’ll be all for now, Korvin.
Dismissed.”

23

CITADEL REGION—AREKIN CONSTELLATION

THE AHYNADA SYSTEM—PLANET IV: KRYSKOS MAR

BLACKBOURN CITY—VALOMER DISTRICT ACADEMY

SOVEREIGNTY OF THE CALDARI STATE

Thirty Years Ago

Immobilized at the wrists by stun cuffs, Vince Barabin was ushered down a featureless hallway by Lai Dai police officers into an imposing courtroom.
His arrest had taken place within minutes of the fight and quickly became a public spectacle.
Every moment of the incident had been recorded by security cameras, and the footage was now playing in the courtroom, ending with the growing pool of blood beneath the victim’s skull.

It took the Caldari due-process system weeks to investigate the case and formally press charges.
Vince spent the entire time in jail doing hard labor.
The detectives assigned to his case determined that he was safer there than anywhere else.
Téa didn’t fare much better.
Although she was legally allowed to continue her enrollment, the academy was sending a clear message that she was no longer welcome there.
No one, not even the instructors, would speak to her, and on more than one occasion her belongings were vandalized.

Vince now stood before the court magistrate, who was seated high above the floor studying the incident recording.
The seal of the Caldari State was emblazoned on the wall behind him, and his podium was etched with the mega-corporation seal of Lai Dai.
Opposite him were a handful of benches; seated at the front were Téa and some uniformed State employees.
Vince glanced at her as he shuffled by.
The wounds on her face had long since healed.
But he remembered them as if it had happened yesterday.

The officers led him to the podium base, where he was joined by a court-appointed attorney—a confident-looking fellow with heavy facial modifications and cybernetic implants.
Dressed in flamboyant but impeccable business attire, the man greeted him with a disingenuous smile and handshake.
Before he could speak, the magistrate’s voice thundered in the hall.

“Vincent Barabin,” he started.
“You are charged with murder in the first degree.
How do you plead?”

Wearing a tattered prison uniform, Vince was weary beyond words.
He’d hardly slept in prison.
He was barely able to stand, let alone find the strength to comprehend that he was moments away from being sentenced to a life term.

The attorney spoke for him jovially.

“My client pleads not guilty to first-degree, Magistrate.
As his legal representative, if I may consult you for a plea on a lesser charge—”

“Vincent,” the magistrate repeated.
He was an older man, a Deteis, with harsh features and piercing eyes.
“Do you understand the charge brought against you?”

Again, the attorney spoke up.
“My client is fully apprised of all the facts in accordance—”

“Quiet,” the magistrate fumed.
“I’m talking to your client.”

Vince’s eyes weren’t even focused.

“You murdered someone,” the magistrate continued.
“The court is obligated to assign a punishment fitting the crime.
Do you have anything to say?”

The projections of the fight continued, revealing each pivotal moment.
Moving about forty kilometers per hour, the street cleaner was able to stop but couldn’t raise its ice-melting heat plow in time.
The corner struck the reeling cadet square in the temple, badly fracturing his skull on impact.
A few centimeters up or down might have spared his life.
But by the time his body came to rest in the street, he was beyond saving.

“Vincent?”
the magistrate asked again.

“What’s going to happen to my sister?”
Vince finally mumbled.
“She won’t have anyone to take care of her.”

The magistrate sat back and studied the broken young man before him.

“The State performs detailed background checks on all family, friends, and acquaintances of the accused,” he said, sighing forcefully.
“We learned a lot about you in the last four weeks.”

Vince looked on impassively.

“I know about your father,” the magistrate said.
“You and your sister should have been placed in protective custody a long time ago.”

Vince hadn’t seen or heard from his dad since the day before the fight.

“All the signs of abuse were there,” the magistrate continued.
“It should have been reported.
The fact that it wasn’t is a crime.
To that end, there are others who share in the blame for this, and they will be held responsible.”

The attorney nudged Vince in the shoulder, as if it was his brilliant legal maneuvering that somehow inspired compassion in the judge.

“Our academies are supposed to produce soldiers, not thugs,” the magistrate said.
“I’ve watched this footage a hundred times, and for me, the compelling factor is that you didn’t go out looking for trouble.”

The projections showed Vince landing the strike combination that stunned the older cadet, and the kick to the chest that sent him reeling backward into the street.

“You defended yourself and your sister, effectively,” the magistrate continued.
“But whether you saw that vehicle coming or not, that kick wasn’t necessary.”

Vince blinked, unable to believe that the boy on the projection was him.
At best, he had a blurry recollection of the event.
But he remembered being just as horrified at the injured cadet on the street as all the other bystanders.

“I’ve been in fights before,” the magistrate continued, maintaining his stern demeanor.
“They can get out of hand.
But you are responsible for that cadet’s death, and I’m compelled to judge you for it.”

The magistrate waited for a response.
Vince felt another nudge from the attorney.

“I just wanted them to leave my sister alone,” Vince mumbled.
“I never wanted to hurt anyone.”

“I believe you, Vincent,” the magistrate said.
“The charge of first-degree murder is therefore dropped.
However, this court finds you guilty of voluntary manslaughter.
You are hereby sentenced to five years in a Lai Dai vocational penitentiary, after which time you’ll be remitted for corporate assignment.”

Vince turned to look at his sister.

“They’re transferring me there as well,” she said.

“And Dad?”
Vince asked.

Téa looked away, then at the State employees beside her.

“We don’t need to be afraid of him anymore,” she said.

Vince looked back up at the judge.
His bottom lip quivered and then he began to cry.

IMPERIAL NAVY REVELATIONS-CLASS DREADNOUGHT
DOYSTOYOV

FINAL APPROACH TO HEIMATAR REGION—HED CONSTELLATION

AMAMAKE SYSTEM—PLANET II: PIKE’S LANDING

Present Day

Vince let the subtle rumble of the ship’s reactors soothe his nerves, taking time to reflect on Scripture and the mission at hand.
Five fellow Templars were with him, strapped in four-point harnesses within the armored cabin of a Vex-class assault gunship.
The remaining Templars were in a separate Vex, along with dozens of other craft and equipment crates inside the massive siege bays of the
Doystoyov
.

Their plan was to hit the Core Freedom colony from two separate directions simultaneously, using conventional forces as a diversionary frontal assault to disguise Templar-led pincer movements on the perimeter flanks.
Unlike previous attacks that amassed troop numbers beyond the range of the colony’s deadly antiship defenses, this attack would risk those same defenses to place a small “multiplied” force precisely where they could inflict the most casualties.

It was extremely dangerous—completely unheard of by conventional standards.
But the Templars were created to take these kinds of risks.

Specialized armored vehicles containing Templar clones and supporting state-transfer technology would be dropped from the
Doystoyov
’s siege bays into locations outside the range of fixed artillery positions.
They would be supported by gunships like the Vex, plus air-dropped armored tanks, speeders, and APCs.
The Navy’s standing orders were to avoid damaging the space elevator at all costs and to perform thorough sweeps of its surface anchors and cables to ensure that the Valklears didn’t sabotage them.

There was only enough time for the
Doystoyov
to deliver a single orbital strike, and the target was Core Freedom’s northwest vehicle hangar.
Imperial Command was adamant about minimizing collateral damage to preserve the colony’s orbital defenses if the ground assault was successful.

Strapped across Vince’s chest was a prototype Viziam ARML-20 plasma rifle, just like the one he had trained with; he was carrying about five hundred charges in clips lining his vest.
His kit also contained a standard paramilitary Duvolle Labs SG-19 combat vowrtech with two extra charge packs; three 10m flay trap antipersonnel mines; six HE grenades for the underbarrel launcher of the ARML; four sets of stun cuffs; one Boundless Creation SM-15 12mm sidearm with two eighteen-round clips; one nanite injector with three 120ml canisters; and one combat knife.

The surface gravity of Pike’s Landing was exactly 1.2 G’s.
As if Vince wasn’t hauling enough weight, the primary kinetic barrier of his body armor was a 20mm layer of depleted uranium plating.
Altogether, Vince and the other Templars were wearing at least sixty kilos of weight over their body mass, but he would be able to move fluidly thanks to the enhanced musculoskeletal system of his clone.

Vince felt warm—and he had ever since emerging from virtual storage.
His body temperature was 39 degrees Celsius, which according to Instructor Muros was normal for his anatomy.
His sense of awareness was surreal: Every detail of his surroundings was vivid and fascinating.
He was also utterly without fear.
To be going to war and knowing for certain that tomorrow would come was the most empowering feeling he had ever known.

He could see the same conviction in the Templars seated around him.
The implants allowed them to communicate without sound; software integrated with the cybernetic devices permitted them to “hear” others with the same degree of emotion and conviction conveyed in spoken words.
Mission data and instructions from Imperial Command—directed by Lord Victor Eliade himself—were provided on an augmented-reality TACNET that interfaced with their vision.

Aside from Vince, they were all True Amarr, assorted men and women with distinctly Amarrian ethnic looks but with the clone’s pale hue and deep veins that made them appear almost sickly.
They had no names; they knew each other only as Templar Two, Templar Three, and so on.

Vince was Templar One.

His TACNET sprang to life with a message from the Vex pilot:
Atmospheric entry in six minutes.

And within seconds of that notification, Templar Six began to malfunction.

MLW
MORSE

GEOSYNCHRONOUS ORBIT

THREE HUNDRED KILOMETERS ABOVE PIKE’S LANDING

“Why are you wearing makeup?”
Miles asked, without looking away from his display.
“You never, ever wear makeup.
What’s up?”

“Afternoon, Miles,” Blake said.
“Why don’t you go sit in the airlock for a little while?”

“You’re out of your league with him,” Miles warned, his fingers deftly moving splashes of ship data through the air.
His ability to multitask was legendary, if not annoying.

“Seriously,” he continued.
“I don’t mean to be a dick, but a guy like that—”

“Do you know what this is?”
Blake interrupted, holding up a fist.
“This is the future, when I smash your face in for not minding your own business.”

“I get it, Blake: You’re lonely,” he said.
“I’m just saying, these immortals eat groupies like you for lunch,” he said, pausing for a moment.
“I mean, literally.
Eat.
You.”

“Shut up, Miles.”

“… And for breakfast, if you’re still not satisfied…”

“Fuck you,” she growled.

“Happily!”
he exclaimed.
“And gently, given the chance.
At least I’d really appreciate it.
You think that guy would?
Please.”