EVE®: Templar One (8 page)

“What agenda is that?”

“The same as mine: to remove Heth from power.”

“So a mutual enemy makes us allies.”

“A very deceitful ally.
But she knows of something that can protect Ishukone from Heth.
Who knows what she’ll ask for in return.
That’s the risk.”

“What is it?”

Mila paused for a moment.

“Heth’s spies learned that the Amarr have found a way to use empyrean technology for infantry applications.
They think they’re close to testing the first human prototypes of immortal soldiers.”

“That’s impossible.”

“I thought so, too.
But if you knew how many agents died to bring Heth that information, you might reconsider.”

Mens felt his stomach turn over.

“The Amarr have acquired a decisive edge in modern warfare, and Oiritsuu knows where to find it,” Mila continued.
“The same technology that keeps you impervious to harm in space can now do the same on a surface battlefield.”

Mens shook his head.

“Heth would be developing it himself if he knew—”

“He found out by
accident,
” Mila interrupted.
“He was more interested in the superweapon Empress Jamyl used to vaporize the Minmatars at Mekhios.
Instead, his agents stumbled across this.
But the fool still doesn’t think he needs it; he believes too much in the Caldari military instead.”

“Are you saying Heth had a chance to get this technology and
passed
?”

“More likely is that he thought it wasn’t worth the cost of trying to steal it,” she answered.
“Mens, this is how you protect Ishukone from the mega-corporations and the Provists.
Whoever owns that technology will dictate the terms of all negotiations … forever.”

“You’re certain she knows how to get it?”
he asked.

“These drones are capable creatures,” she said.
“VILAMO has been watching her for a long time.
Rali designed him well.
If you trust him, then you should trust the information that his creation is providing.”

Mens considered this.
He had to assume the information was accurate.
But not knowing what Haatakan Oiritsuu would ask for in return was something else entirely.
And there was no way to know if the information she offered was actionable.
That was the greatest risk by far.

But the reward would place Ishukone in an absolute position of power.
It would forcibly restore détente with the mega-corporations, which was exactly what they needed.
Then, and only then, could he conscionably relieve himself of duty, leaving his successor in a much more stable position than the one he had inherited.

Now, Mens felt almost euphoric.
He had come here seeking a way out, and Mila had unfailingly delivered.

“Haatakan is not someone to cross,” she warned.
“You
must
honor the terms of any agreement you reach.
Exiled or not, she was once the most powerful CEO in the Caldari State.
Don’t underestimate what she’s capable of.”

“I won’t.”

“Then I’ll arrange for her to contact you.
Don’t try it yourself: Heth will know immediately.”

“Understood.”

An awkward silence passed.
Mens stood; Mila did the same.

“Thank you,” he said finally, extending his hand.

Mila closed her eyes as she took it.
When they gripped, she felt a warm sensation rush through her chest and neck.

She desperately hoped he felt the same.

The drones exited quietly, satisfied there was no danger.

For Mila, the warmth of holding someone dear so close, after spending so much time alone, was overpowering.

Mens was a married man.
But this was the way things should be.

Her eyes still closed, their lips found each other’s.

A perfect storm of emotions engulfed them, an irrepressible urge for physical contact and a desperate need for intimate understanding.
They had come a long way to find each other.

It was tragic and wonderful, morally reprehensible yet physically divine.
And it was, without question, the most passionate lovemaking that either had ever known.

10

PURE BLIND REGION—MDM8-J CONSTELLATION

SYSTEM X47L-Q

Korvin Lears never felt so alive.

Adrift in space, his senses registered only that he was the pilot of a Myrmidon-class battlecruiser with no crew on board.
The ship’s greenish gray hull was laced with dozens of symmetric cavities, all the lifeboats and escape pods that once filled them long since jettisoned.
The 250mm railguns bristling along either side of the vessel’s stout midline were useless, their ammunition depleted as he fought through harm’s way into an endless expanse of nothingness.

As a traitor to his nation, there was no Gallente port to return to.
He was a kill target for any Caldari warship that chanced upon him.
And then an eternity of imprisonment awaited.

The empathy that Korvin felt for his victims was never stronger than right now.
He could see them all—women, children, old and young—in the star fields and nebulas of his travels, haunting him as his soul searched for a
solution,
of which death, of all things, was not one.

Korvin would have it no other way.
The only way to escape was to redeem his worth, to somehow make right all the wrongs of his privileged life and begin a legacy that was noble and worthwhile.

The only question was how.

*   *   *

THE MLW
MORSE
WAS
a retrofitted
Drake-class battlecruiser
with two of its turret bays removed to accommodate a dropship hangar.
The warship was capable of launching and retrieving Panther-class or smaller gunships, allowing it to participate in limited terra-ops, typically with lightly armed away-teams numbering no more than eight to twelve soldiers per sortie.

But the
Morse
had some teeth as well—six heavy missile bays, to be exact.
Capable of filling space with inordinate amounts of destruction, the Drake was a formidably armed marvel of Caldari engineering, which was, in the words of its present owner and captain, “largely underutilized.”

As with all vessels belonging to the mercenary faction known as Mordu’s Legion, the
Morse
had deployment orders more befitting a peacekeeping force—albeit, a decidedly preferential one.
Founded by veterans of the first Caldari-Gallente War, the Legion was a refuge from the political arm of the two warring nations, offering open borders and a safe haven to those ethnicities displaced by the conflict.
To accept Mordu’s offer of amnesty was to reject the governments of both nations, or else face charges of treason.
Trespassers, spies, and would-be vigilantes looking to settle old scores were executed by firing squad and sent back to their respective nations in flag-draped caskets for proper military burial—a morbid tradition courtesy of the Legion’s harrowed war veterans.

What started as a small colony had grown into an empire in its own right.
Today, the Legion’s population numbered in the millions, having amassed enough technology and resources over the years to become entirely self-sufficient.
As a fugitive on the run from the Lai Dai mega-corporation, Captain Jonas Varitec not only found a home with the Legion but prospered among them.
Highly regarded by pilots and mercenaries alike, he had assembled a talented group of officers who trusted him completely—even if their own eccentricities made for a dysfunctional bridge at times.

*   *   *

THE
MORSE
WAS CURRENTLY
forty kilometers off the UR-E60 system stargate.
They were on a recon patrol, reporting on ships passing through the Pure Blind region.
If anything hostile was spotted, there was heavy cavalry on standby to deal with it.

It was obligatory duty on behalf of the Legion.
But “babysitting” stargates was tedious, especially since ship traffic in these remote constellations was light.
As such, the
Morse
crew was bored.

“So I’m lying there, pretending I’m still asleep—” Miles said.

Jonas rolled his eyes, leaning toward the telemetry projection to his left.

“Oh boy, here we go…”

Despite a reputation as a talented helmsman, Engineering First Officer Miles Lacey often told irritating and largely bogus tales of various social conquests to help pass the time during patrols.
A former native of Arcurio and a Caldari Navy deserter, Miles was—in the opinion of the female personnel on board—a bright, socially inept, and rather unattractive Deteis specimen who used his hands too much when he talked.

“—and instead of just grabbing her clothes and leaving, I hear her sneak into the bathroom.”

Seeking refuge from the incoming fable, Jonas called on his weapons officer.

“Blake, is there anything out there?”

“No gate activity, no new contacts,” she answered, shaking her head.
The Gallente native had bright red hair cut rather harshly over her emerald eyes.
At twenty-two years old, she was the youngest officer on board—although most of the crew knew better than to remind her of that.
“I think I’ve heard this stupid story before.”

“But she’s in there for, like, a half hour, and I don’t hear any water running!”
Miles continued.

Although the
Morse
was more than five hundred meters from bow to stern, the bridge was buried deep within the ship in a cramped space, shaped like an octagon.
Jonas sat at the center on a platform facing three viewscreens.
The captain’s chair was elevated slightly above the stations where Miles and Blake sat on each side of him.
The three could operate most of the ship’s main functions from here, while presiding over a crew of about 150, a third of which was devoted to maintaining the dropship hangar and away-team accommodations toward the rear of the vessel.
This was where the fourth command officer of the ship spent most of his time—a mercenary of Mannar ancestry who answered only to the name
Mack.

“Why don’t you tell Mack this one; I’m sure he’d love to hear it,” Jonas grumbled, raising other displays at his bridge controls.

“So I just
have
to find out what she’s doing in there, because I’m getting all hot and bothered just thinking about it—”

“You know you’re sick in the head, right?”
Jonas snapped.
“There are cures for this kind of shit.”

“Oh, I’m not interested in any remedies, sir,” the young engineer said, without breaking stride.
“So I sneak over there, and just when I’m about to reach the door—”

“—your mom walks out?”
Blake sneered.

Jonas was about to start laughing when the viewscreens brightened and the massive stargate suddenly came alive.
It was the first ship to come through in hours.

Blake and Miles exchanged glances and then settled into professional mode.

“Well,” Jonas muttered, “here comes a welcome change of subject.…”

*   *   *

KORVIN SAW THE DRAKE
parked high above the gate and froze.
Icy, lead tentacles spread across the pit of his stomach as fear took hold of him.
Of all the gates he’d jumped through since his act of betrayal, the reflex became automatic: Align the ship with the nearest celestial navigational reference and warp toward it.
Get the hell out of harm’s way as quickly as possible.

But he knew the Drake was a Mordu’s Legion ship.
There was a chance.
It all depended on how rational its captain was … and how insane Korvin would have to be to trust him.

*   *   *

JONAS’S EYES WENT
as wide as saucers.

“Fed Navy battlecruiser!”
Blake warned.
“Capsuleer pilot!”

“Engines primed, we’re ready to warp out!”
Miles said.
“Captain?”

The Myrmidon was the Federation answer to the Drake; a heavy battlecruiser that mixed drones and railguns to match the firepower of the Caldari missile boat.
It would be a fair fight, except this ship was piloted by an immortal who could react faster and smarter than the
Morse
crew could—and take huge risks without fear of losing his life.

But Jonas had an instinct here that, like all gut feelings, had no logical explanation.

“Put the shield hardeners up,” he said quietly.

“
Captain?
” both officers said in stereo.

“Just do it.
And sound battle stations.”

*   *   *

HE DIDN’T RUN,
Korvin thought.
But there still isn’t enough information to assess intent.

Korvin raised his own hardeners.
The ship’s active sensors began emitting while his targeting computers calculated a firing solution.

*   *   *

“HE’S LOCKING US UP,”
Blake warned.
“Track in five seconds.”

“Return the favor,” Jonas said, rubbing his chin.
Something was bothering him about the ship’s appearance.
“Give me an optical scan, ten times magnification, please.”

Miles was visibly sweating as his fingers danced on volumetric controls.
The Myrmidon’s rack of 250mm railguns filled the screen; each turret was already pointing toward them.

Jonas panned the camera downward, noticed all the missing ejection plates, and felt better about his instincts.

“He’s got us,” Blake said, sounding exasperated.
“Transversal is zero; firing solution is optimal.
Neither of us can possibly miss.
Now what?”

“Now,” Jonas stated, “we find out what’s on his mind.”

*   *   *

“HI,” THE DRAKE CAPTAIN BEGAN.
“Name’s Jonas Varitec, captain of the Mordu’s Legion warship
Morse
.
Since we’ve both dropped our shorts, I thought we should pillow-talk a little.”

Korvin was unaccustomed to this.
He could actually feel anxiety moving in waves up and down his spine—fear of living, fear of dying.
Fear of what to say next to this curiously calm Drake captain.

For a mortal, this guy has a pair.

“So tell me … what’s a Federation Navy capsuleer doing all the way out here?”

An honest query, or a setup question
.
No way to be sure.

Korvin’s only remaining weapons were drones, and they wouldn’t be able to break through the Drake’s shields before getting picked off.

But it was the only way to be sure.

*   *   *

“HE’S LAUNCHING DRONES!”
Blake yelped.
“Five Tech-two Hammerheads!”

Jonas didn’t flinch.

“Are they orbiting him or vectoring on us?”

“
Orbiting,
sir.”

“Turn the hardeners off.”

“
What?
”

*   *   *

“HOLD IT THERE, BUDDY,”
the Drake captain warned.
“That’s not what I want.”

He lowered his defenses.
An act of trust.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not what
you
want either,” he continued.
“You’re not the first broken man to wander through here.”

Korvin felt relief wash over him like a tsunami.

Redemption.

“Look,” the Drake captain said.
“I don’t know what you’re running from.
I don’t want to know.
But you’ve got sanctuary here as long as you leave it behind.
There’s no turning back.
You understand?”

Tears forcibly gushed from Korvin’s eyes, mixing with the neuro-embryonic containment fluid surrounding him.

“Just follow me.
We’ll take you all the way in.”

*   *   *

“BLAKE,” JONAS COMMANDED,
“let HQ know that we’re bringing a capsuleer back with us.
We’re taking him to see the old man: He’s got this thing about meeting all the ex-Navy guys directly.
Ask them to have the escorts back off; we don’t want to spook our guest.”

She nodded, still bewildered.
The Myrmidon had already taken position alongside them, its defenses lowered and drones withdrawn.