Syndicate's Pawns (11 page)

 

CHAPTER 16

MORWYN

A trap is only effective when the prey has no clue they are walking into it.

—­Wolver proverb

20th of SSM–11 1445 A2E

N
othing about any of the present situation added up. Nothing. Why had Phaël chosen this moment to betray the crew? With the ship crippled and in need of repairs, there was nowhere she could run to. And since Lizbeth Harlowe had locked down the main bridge there was no real way that Phaël, or anyone else for that matter, could assume full control of the
Jinxed Thirteenth
.

He gripped the handle of his blaster pistol tightly, wishing he had taken the time to gear up with more than just an impact vest. But Morwyn had thought it safer to have Harlowe lock down the armory as well.

“If I was planning a mutiny it would be the first place I went to,” he grumbled to himself. Of course it was quite possible that Phaël had already armed herself. Morwyn would have to trust that even if it were the case, her worship of the Living Green would not allow her to use any technology produced by Machina.

“Of course her dedication to her spiritual practice might also be a ruse,” Morwyn thought aloud. Cautiously making his way down the halls toward the medical bay, Morwyn had thought to prevent what he expected Phaël's next move would be, and that was reawaken her slumbering partners, Lunient Tor and Morrigan Brent. He had found it particularly worrisome that he was unable to raise Doctor Varsin on coms.

While every part of him wanted to run, he knew that would be the best way to stumble into an ambush. Fortunately Phaël's first act of sabotage had taken place less than thirty minutes ago. Which meant that even if she had managed to wake up her partners in crime, they would both need at least an hour of recuperation from the effects of carbon sleep before they could be of any use.

Morwyn cleared one corner. Holding his pulse pistol pointed forward and close to his chest with his stun-­stick in the other hand, it was easy for him to let his basic combat training kick in. The pulse pistol would be more for show, to keep Phaël at bay should she try to attack him head-­on. He doubted that she would; everything he had read about Wolvers had led him to believe that she would prefer to remain hidden and attack from the shadows when an opportunity presented itself.

Which was why her act of sabotage was so out of character. Was there something Morwyn had missed? Infinite help him and everyone else on the
Jinxed Thirteenth
if that happened to be the case.

“I have movement near your location, headed toward the grav rings, sir.” Harlowe's voice was a welcome comfort on Morwyn's comm-­link. “Still no visual. Whatever she did, Phaël was able to blind me, sir.”

“Not to worry, pilot. I'm on it.” Morwyn picked up his pace. The grav rings turning around the
Jinxed Thirteenth
were perpetually in motion, creating gravity for the ship. If Phaël managed to sabotage them, then everyone on the ship would be floating. This was not an acceptable condition for Morwyn. But then again, unless she was wearing a pair of magboots, that move would in no way benefit Phaël either.

“What is her endgame?”

Morwyn stopped cold in his tracks as he suddenly spotted Phaël standing at the end of the hallway, as if she were just waiting for him. Before he could say or do anything, she bolted away from him and turned a corner. Morwyn ran down after her, and once more spotted Phaël standing at the end of the corridor, silently waiting for him. Behind her was the door to the grav ring power core.

Morwyn lowered his weapon, not wishing to appear threatening. “Private Phaël, what is the meaning of all this?”

“You will never know, Captain.” She sauntered through the door to the grav ring power core and out of sight. Morwyn resisted the urge to fire a warning shot. He slowly and deliberately stepped toward the door's archway.

“Private Phaël, I know where you came from and the horrors you experienced during the Adoran Liberation War.” He raised his blaster pistol, keeping his trigger finger relaxed. Of the many possible outcomes, accidentally shooting Phaël was not one he wanted.

Phaël did not respond.

“You have my word that if you stand down with no incident, I will not send you back to Rust Prison.”

Again there was no reply. Morwyn carefully approached the archway to the grav ring. “There is no way you will be able to take over the ship. Whatever you were planning will fail.”

Morwyn checked his blind spot as he stepped past the door. The whoosh of razor sharp metal slicing through the air was all the warning Morwyn had. His combat academy training kicked in and he dropped to his knees as a dark curved blade sliced through the space where his head had been a split second ago.

His attacker was a Wolver woman in a dark purple laminate metal armor. Cold golden eyes stared at him from behind a plain helmet with a mouth guard shaped in the likeness of a snarling wolf. Her long curved blade had a two handed hilt and long round guard. She did not pause or allow Morwyn to catch his breath as she stabbed forward with perfect form. Morwyn was barely able to avoid being skewered as he rolled back in a desperate attempt to create distance between himself and his foe.

He quickly raised his blaster and fired two shots. The sword woman casually stepped to one side, avoiding his shots and closing the gap between them. She swung down at Morwyn as he sprang forward, catching her elbows and preventing her sword from cutting into his skull. He needed to lock her limbs up, prevent her from swinging that dangerous weapon. She was quick to react, dropping her sword and striking him open-­palmed in the face.

Morwyn saw stars and tasted blood in his mouth as he staggered back, dropping his ser­vice blaster in the process. He shook his head only to see his armored adversary pick up her blade and point its tip at him. “Kelthan. No doubt trained in the Paxist Military Academies.” When she spoke, her Wolven was cool, calm and calculated.

Morwyn spat out blood on the floor and clenched his stun-­stick tightly. “You guess correctly,” he replied to her in her language.

“Ah, so the Paxist has limited understanding of my tongue.” She cracked her neck once before stepping between Morwyn and his discarded pistol. “Let us put your limited combat abilities to the test then, shall we?”

 

CHAPTER 17

JESSIE

There are two families in one's life. First the biological one, whom we cannot choose. Then there is the family of the soul, the one we choose, the gathering of friends, siblings and companions whom we are drawn to. The word “family” in this manner describes a most sacred connection we eventually accept to be a part of.

—­Icarius Odenshaw

20th of SSM–11 1445 A2E

F
ear. Gods, did Jessie ever hate that emotion and the utter hopelessness that accompanied it. Lying against the wall, hyperventilating, she did not know which was worse; the fact that she was unable to get back to her feet, or control her breathing. Every second she spent helpless on the floor of her quarters was another second that let Chord get closer to her.

She was living the nightmare of a machine attack once again. And it was disturbing to her that the feeling of safety she had developed in the past month was suddenly gone. If she wasn't secure on the
Jinxed Thirteenth
, then where would she be?

“Get up, Jessie. Get up!” she said harshly, and tried once again to pull herself to her feet. She quickly gave up as her legs trembled weakly and refused to support her. Her breathing quickened and the stabbing pain in her abdomen became more acute.

She let out a sharp cry and cradled her stomach, all while trying to control her breathing and shivering. Jessie was frightened right now, more frightened than she had ever been in her entire life. She had lost David, the love of her life, and now the only part of him that remained was the child they had conceived together that was taking shape in her womb. Jessie was afraid of losing that tiny life, that reminder that she was not truly alone. During her thousands of years in criosleep, she had dreamed of Malory and had lived countless lives with her in the dream world within her mind.

And while Malory was still an unborn fetus, Jessie believed that the dream had been real and that she knew her daughter better than any other mother could. She loved her and was willing to do almost anything to insure her survival.

Jessie was suddenly aware that she was no longer alone. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw the familiar shape of Phaël in her door frame. She was short and lean, her muscles lithe and incredibly fit. Her hair was braided with jade rings entwined in the strands. Her skin was covered in a thin layer of tanned fur, and shaggy sideburns lined her face. Jessie could make out two long curved daggers tucked neatly in her belt. Upon first examination, it looked like Phaël had been in a fight. Her flat ear twitched as she glared at Jessie and nervously clasped a jade turtle pendant around her neck. Phaël scanned their surroundings before kneeling down next to Jessie.

It was an odd sense of relief to suddenly not be alone, even if she was next to someone who disdained her. Another stab of pain in her abdomen caused Jessie to let out a whimper. Phaël sprang forward, quickly covering Jessie's mouth and making a “shhh” sign at the same time.

“I'm in pain,” Jessie whispered.

Phaël shook her head, clearly not understanding Jessie's spoken Pax Common. Not that it took verbal understanding to piece together Jessie's condition. Phaël placed one of her feet, which had fully prehensile fingers instead of toes, on her stomach. The warmth was a welcome comfort. Phaël then put her hand on Jessie's chest and one on her own. She took a long deep breath and let out a soft and barely audible om-­like chant. She motioned to Jessie to do the same.

Jessie breathed in deeply and exhaled. Phaël said something in a tongue that sounded oddly musical. And while Jessie did not understand it, she could pick up from the tone that she was being encouraged. She found herself preferring Phaël's language to the almost mechanical Pax Common.

Jessie breathed in once more, accompanied by Phaël's whispered words of encouragement in her musical tongue. With each breath, Jessie could feel her fear melt away and her courage return to her. She felt her body relax and the pain in her abdomen gradually subsided. By her tenth such breath she could feel the strength returning to her legs.

Phaël must have been able to see the change in Jessie because she nodded to her and spoke in an extremely accented Pax Common. “Good to move?”

Jessie nodded a yes and got up. “Thank you.” She made her way to her duffel bag, pulling out both her plasma cutters and slipping them into her waistband. She then slipped on her omni-­gloves.

Phaël kept watch while Jessie did all this, peering past by the entrance of Jessie's room into the corridor. “Speak Wolven?”

Jessie shook her head. “No.”

Phaël let out what sounded like a curse then glared back at Jessie. “Of course. All speak PaxCom.”

“What is going on?” Jessie made sure to speak each and every one of her words as slowly and clearly as possible.

“Humped if I know.” Phaël shot Jessie a reproachful look. “And don't speak to me like that. I am not an idiot for hating the tongue you are using.”

Jessie grasped Phaël's shoulder. “Chord attacked Doctor Varsin.”

“She is no healer.” Phaël snorted and rudely pushed Jessie's hand aside.

“That is a matter of opinion!” Jessie fired back as she secured the wrist seals of her omni-­gloves and shouldered a bandolier of spare plasma cutter bolts. Once fired, the harmless looking bolt would be superheated and could cut through almost anything. Granted her plasma cutters only had six shots each and, being rigged tools, would have an incredibly limited range, they were still better than nothing. “I think Chord and the man in red took Marla Varsin to the medical bay. I will not let that . . . thing harm her!”

Phaël's eyes were like daggers as they bore into Jessie. She wasn't too certain if the Wolver had understood her or not. Jessie didn't care; she rudely shoved Phaël aside and stepped into the hallway. She turned around to face her. “I am going to help her. You can stay back here like a coward if you want.”

Jessie was unprepared for Phaël's sudden angered snarl. She slammed her fist open-­palmed against the wall. “I killed the last person who called me a coward.” Her nostrils were flaring.

Jessie stood her ground and puffed up her chest, resisting the urge to tremble. Despite this, her hands slowly went down to the handles of her plasma cutters. She wished she had some way other than her broken PaxCom to communicate. They would need to work together if they were to get through this, and she hadn't even progressed beyond present tense. “What will you do about it?”

Phaël let out a string of angry melodic words that she was certain were more curses. Once the tirade had been spoken, she took a deep breath then flashed Jessie her sharp teeth in a frightening grin. “You are brave, Jessie Madison. I hope your courage doesn't lead us both to our death.”

Jessie smiled and breathed a smile of relief. “We regret together if it does.”

 

CHAPTER 18

MIKALI

If there is one thing to avoid in life, it is an evenly matched fight.

—­Zephra Nolir, Adoran mercenary,
14th of SSM–08 1345 A2E

20th
of SSM–11 1445 A2E

M
ikali Zahur had always preferred the simpler plans. In her long years as a career criminal and code slicer, she had often found that each moving part or variable was another potential chance at failure. Making her way down the halls of the
Jinxed Thirteenth
with her newly found puppet and Niko close behind her, Mikali looked to the view screen in front of her. She had thirty minutes to make her way to the ship's life-­support, override it and install a clear green canister that Domiant, the little princeling himself, had cooked up in the days leading up to their arrival.

She had no idea what exactly the contents of the clear green aerosol can were, and had known better than to ask. The pupling prince had assured her that once unleashed into the ship's air, they would no longer have to worry about the remaining active crew. Domiant had been crystal clear that she; Zanza, that useless Kohbran; and Sopherim, that frigid bitch, were to have their air masks on once Mikali was done with her task. That was enough information for her, at least for the moment.

Why in the humping Infinite they had to keep the bloody crew of this vessel alive and intact was beyond her. Especially given that their previous job to wipe out the Zin triad had not been one of mercy. Both she and Niko, with their combined arsenal, could have easily snuck onto the ship and murdered every last one of the waking crew. Mikali had worked several jobs for Domiant and his mother, Ynarra, and “averse to violence” was not something that best described either of them.

Why waste all this effort and time? Infinite help them all, the tech on board the
Jinxed Thirteenth
alone would have easily made this a great find for any smuggling operation. Not to mention all the tech that could easily be stripped for parts and sold for a tidy profit. Who was going to make their way to End Space and investigate? Mikali, who had jettisoned countless bodies into the cold voids of space, knew for a fact that the cosmos was an incredibly vast place where anything could go missing.

It would take her two calls on the Elusive Frequency to secure a black market salvager and a great payday to boot. So why this game of chess? Why was Domiant so insistent that the crew of this miserable ship be kept alive? The answer was obvious enough to Mikali; there was something of greater value than the ship itself on board. And the fact that she, Zanza and Niko were being kept in the dark about it made them all expendable. And while she couldn't give a rat's cup of piss about what happened to that freakish Kohbran woman, it was not a position she enjoyed being in.

Whatever this mystery cargo was, it was worth more than the triple payday she was being promised. Which meant that she was going to be on the lookout for an opportunity to secure this priceless cargo for herself. If she could find a way to dispose of Domiant and his sister Sopherim, always breathing her insults in Wolven and looking down on her and Niko, then Mikali would be an incredibly happy woman.

“Maybe I'll get you to choke the life out of them, my little puppet.” Mikali gave Chord a pat on the shoulder. Of all the good turns of fortune, the Machina had been a great one. Mikali had learned how to slice into digital code when she was a little girl, and it was something that came naturally to her. She had used her talents as a slicer to override countless security systems. And Machina protocols, for all their complexity, were still just code.

From beneath her helmet, Mikali smiled a predatory grin as she reached her destination. Her audio gear picked up the sound of conversation between two ­people. One voice was deep, Thegran, and jolly, the other was that of a Wolver woman, and angry. The Machinists, as predicted, had been rushed to the life-­support engines. Zanza had at least been able to sabotage the right place. It was important that whatever active crew there was on the
Jinxed Thirteenth
remain divided, scattered and right where Domiant wanted them.

A task easier said than done, as Humanis were not just mindless pieces on the board of a game. Contrary to what their fearless chief—­who conveniently was not risking his own hide—­would love to believe. That snotty cubling was many things, but a leader by example was most definitely not one of them. Truthfully, in her given profession, Mikali had yet to encounter any of those types.

She stopped herself just short of the entrance then turned to face reliable old Niko and Chord, who was following a simple “follow me” subroutine she was running off of her personal cloaked InstaNet signal. The Machina stopped in its tracks and, despite her pressing desire to complete the present task, Mikali could not help but take a moment to admire her find.

A fully operational Machina Pilgrim Shell, its parts, and more importantly the neural processor, would nab her quite the hefty payday if she chose to dismantle it. Normally the Machina would have resisted her doing this, but it was a moot point as Mikali had accessed and overridden everything but Chord's motor skills. “Two of your friends are in that room, Machina. Take them out, quickly.”

She then looked to Niko. “And you get ready to back up the Machina if this goes tits up.”

Niko cranked his carbine before giving Mikali a fist bump. “I look forward to it. I was getting bored here.”

There was a split second in which the Machina appeared to hesitate. Mikali rolled her eyes. The Chosen Behavioral Protocols that prevented the Machina from killing were not written into their personal codes, but rather hardwired into their Shells. There was little she could do about this as erasing them would require her actually dismantling Chord completely. That would easily take her months, if not years, as even the most complex Humanis-­written data-­code were like children's scrawling when compared to Machina Binary.

That being said, Chord was still her loyal puppet and would follow each and every one of her commands, without question, within the parameters of whatever Protocols hardwired into its Shell. Which was a problem, but once this job was over Mikali was certain one of her contacts would be able to solve it for her. All truths confessed, Mikali would have gladly accepted the Machina as payment for this job; for the moment, it was the frosting on her sweets.

“I don't need them dead.” Not yet in any case. And if the time came where the deed needed to be done, Mikali and Niko had worked plenty of jobs together and were not averse to getting their hands dirty. Unlike little Domiant, the fragile mastermind genius, safely waiting for them in the comfort of the
Althena
.

Chord stepped past Mikali and into the life-­support bay. The sensocular chip she had grafted into Chord's optical array allowed her to hear and see everything the Machina did. It was like Mikali was watching a trideo film, one in which she could control the outcome.

The two machinists were hard at work. One was a Thegran with a red beard, the other an older Wolver woman with an incredibly angered look to her. Neither one seemed put off by Chord's sudden arrival—­in fact, the Thegran was now beaming.

“Ancestors blessing, you are a welcome addition, Machina Chord.”

The Wolver looked Chord up and down, and there was something about her squinted eyes that made Mikali think that she suspected that something was off. “Would have thought you'd be with the captain helping him deal with our little traitor.”

Mikali thought the response and through her neurolink spoke for Chord. “The captain has apprehended her. He ordered me to assist you both with the repairs.”

The Wolver woman gripped a plasma flame cutter in her hand. “So you ain't a ‘this unit' anymore?”

Mikali let out an annoyed sigh. Once more she had allowed her Humanis vernacular slip into the Machina's speech. “No, I am not.” Mikali overrode the physical commands and forced Chord to grasp the Wolver woman by the arm. The Machina's reaction time was incredibly fast, and its strength inhumanly strong. With one swing, Chord effortlessly tossed the Wolver into a nearby wall; she did not get back up from the fall.

The Thegran let out a deep rage-­filled bellow and rushed Chord, swinging at it with a lead pipe. The impact of the blow caused Chord to stagger back a few steps, and Mikali realized that her new toy might not make it through this encounter. Thegrans were incredibly strong and durable. They were also probably the only breed of Humanis who could physically go toe-­to-­toe with a machine and win. That simply would not do.

Mikali motioned for Niko to step in and he was more than happy to oblige. She was reassured as she saw Niko set the dial of his clunky Thegran auto-­carbine to stun. “Hey, big one, over here!” Niko shouted as he stepped into the life-­support bay.

The Thegran noticed this, but was now locked in a grapple with Chord. Niko's auto-­carbine let out a high-­pitched hum as he fired a blue blast of energy into the Thegran's chest. This merely caused him to release Chord, where any other Humanis would have dropped to the ground unconscious.

It took three more concentrated blasts before the Thegran dropped to one knee and keeled over to his side, unconscious. As Niko lowered his weapon, Mikali realized she was breathing heavily and nervously. That had been . . . well, closer than she had wanted it to be.

She had no idea how long the effects of Niko's blaster would last on the Thegran, so Mikali quickly found and accessed the security panel and entered the override code the doctor had given her back in the medical bay. She then pulled the pressurized green canister out from her satchel. She pointed to a valve connected to the ship's air vents.

“Machina, I need you to connect these two.” Mikali pointed to both the canister in her hand and the valve.

There was no hesitation from the Machina this time as it stepped forward, took the canister in one hand and examined the valve closely with the other. Its fingers then mechanized into various tools. Infinite praise Machina ingenuity, as they had designed their shells to be compatible with any technology. The proper tools prepared, Chord started silently connecting the canister to the air valve.

Mikali allowed herself a moment to lean back against the wall and overlook the carnage. She was going to need a hit of Frost soon, but for the moment she had to admit that the thrill of all this action was enough of a buzz for her. She didn't know the canister's contents—­only that Domiant had spent the entirety of their voyage to this ass-­end-­of-­nowhere sector of the cosmos producing it.

“We done good, Kali.” Niko gave Mikali another fist bump and walked over to the unconscious Thegran, giving him a poke with his boot.

“We always do good, don't we, Niko?”

“Once we collect on this job, mark my words, we are straightlining it to Hiralia for a year of well-­earned dirty pleasure.”

Mikali nodded in agreement with Niko. The prospect of unregulated hedonism in the nation of Hiralia—­one of the few places in the cosmos where all appetites were catered to and satisfied—­brought a smile to her face.

“Might even bring flex girl back in the cargo bay with us as a treat,” Niko added.

“You are one sick hump.”

Chord was almost done securing the canister. Once the task was completed, in thirty minutes no one on this ship would be a threat to them. “Mission humping accomplished.” Mikali spent the next few minutes imagining how much Frost she would be purchasing with this payday.