Syndicate's Pawns (13 page)

 

CHAPTER 22

PHAËL

The easiest plunder is taken from those who have become complacent.

—­Genji Suun, Galasian Khan, 1200 A2E

20th of SSM–11 1445 A2E

I
t was good to be in the arsenal. And it felt even better to be looking at her living skinsuit, Oricia. They had found the halls of the
Jinxed
eerily silent. The air was growing staler and staler by the minute and every second they dallied about was another second in which they risked breathing in whatever poison the ship's atmosphere was being laced with. Phaël was ashamed to admit that she, Morrigan and Lunient had used similar tactics while plundering Argentine vessels during the Liberation War.

It was a particularly dirty yet effective way of disposing of a combat ready crew. Back then she had used several justifications to herself for what she had done. Namely that had the roles been reversed, the Argentine would have done the same, or worse, since they did not consider anyone Adoran-­born to be truly deserving of any dignified or fair treatment.

It was an easy and lazy excuse, and if there was one thing that the Living Green cosmos loved, it was irony and balance. “Commit an evil deed and it will be visited back upon you, no matter what your motives or circumstances might have been,” the Elvrids had told her during her choosing ceremony on Uldur, where her suit had bound itself to her for life.

Part of her had wanted to tell the Elvrids of Uldur that it was easy for them to say that. Their world had never been under the thumb of merciless rulers or in the crosshairs for the expansion of galactic hegemonies like the nation of Argent or the Pax Humanis. She had of course not spoken these thoughts out loud, although she was fairly convinced that the Elvrids had known about them. It was next to impossible to hide any detail from the spiritual voices of the Living Green.

The Elvrids had an incredible knowledge of plants and life in general. They were capable of growing and crafting concoctions that could turn a person into a fearless warrior or a mindless slave. They could create salves and natural medicines for almost any known disease. After all for each sickness, be it spiritual or physical, there existed a cure in nature.

Chance was presently assisting Jessie into one of the ship's emergency photosynth lifesuits. While Jessie might have been too tall for it, the suit was remarkably versatile and adjustable. It was fortunate for them that the young sharpshooter Chance was well versed in suiting up.

For her part, Phaël took a moment to admire Oricia. It had a dark brown, chitin-­like exterior with black stripes. It was fully segmented, so once she was in it she would be able to move as well as she could without it. In essence it would become an extension of her body. The inside of the suit was lined with hundreds of tiny white suction cups, the suit's neuro-­tendrils, would allow it to better feel what Phaël felt.

It was not an unpleasant feeling as the suit wrapped itself up and around Phaël, and she could feel an impression of happiness on her suit's part. Of course it would be happy, even excited, at the prospect of stepping out of the ship. There was no need to explain to it that this was merely a safety precaution, to protect them from whatever was going to be in their air very soon.

Phaël gave her shoulder an affectionate pat and a gelatinous, transparent membrane unfurled itself from a pouch at the base of her suit's neck. The membrane wrapped itself around her head and would act not only as an oxygen supply but an air filter for Phaël. Her suit sealed up, Phaël quickly sheathed her dozens of knives and two dense vine whips at her side. Now she felt ready for the miserable humps that had managed to get the drop on her.

For her part Chance had just finished sealing Jessie's helmet. The durable plasti-­suit parts were all extendable or collapsible and had been adjusted for Jessie's height. Chance took a moment to make sure that Jessie's air supply was turned on before starting to get into her own combat armor: a standard-­issue Pax Infantry suit, with fully articulated limbs and finger pieces.

Jessie was loading up her warped pistols and holstered them at her side and slipped on her omni-­gloves. She had already slung the confiscated grenades over her shoulder in a magnetized bag. Her gearing up done, Jessie was testing the mobility of her new suit.

While not as fluid as either Chance's combat armor or Phaël's skinsuit, Jessie appeared to nonetheless be incredibly impressed. “This shames the life-­rigs of my day,” she said in PaxCom.

“Anything we do or have done would put your time to shame, Jessie Madison,” Phaël quipped back at her.

Jessie flashed Phaël her middle finger once more. She then turned to offer Chance assistance with her suit. The young woman was just finishing with her chest plate and arms and was about to slip on her helmet when suddenly the ship's intercom went off. A young man's voice, confident and calm spoke.

“Members of the
Jinxed Thirteenth
, I am Domiant Kuaro Nem'Uldur. Know now that mine is the only voice you will obey. I know you are housing a living specimen of Ancient Humanity. I order any and all standing ser­vicemen and women to surrender and help me in securing said incredibly valuable specimen, and to kill anyone who gets in your way.”

“BOTH OF YOU, STAND DOWN!” Chance suddenly barked in an uncharacteristically bold tone.

It was at this point that Phaël noticed Chance's dilated pupils and raised ser­vice pulse pistol pointed at them. She was biting her lower lip as if struggling internally with herself. “Take off your air masks right now!” Tears were welling up in her eyes, and her trigger finger trembled.

There was a look of confusion and fear playing itself out nakedly on poor Chance's face, and former Paxist or not it broke Phaël's heart when she heard her helplessly whimper: “I'm sorry.”

 

CHAPTER 23

DOMIANT

In the wrong hand, wisdom can be used to unravel the very cosmos. It is why we are so uncompromising with who will be one of us.

—­Slena Toir Nem'Uldur,
High Elvrid, 1360 A1E

20th of SSM–11 1445 A2E

“I
s this ship not a lovely improvement from our previous living arrangements, mister Niko?” Brimming with pride, Domiant stepped once more onto the
Jinxed Thirteenth
. The plan was moving along like clockwork so far and he would have to congratulate his three pieces for a job well done.

Niko gave the ship's deserted halls a quick glance. “Will be good to have a room to call my own.” Niko was carrying an incredibly heavy looking Thegran model pulse carbine in his armor-­clad arms. Were it not for his unnatural augmented muscles, Niko would have been unable to carry it. It was no surprise to Domiant that a man completely lacking in any creativity or tact would have chosen such a thing to be his weapon of choice.

And as long as he did not fire it in the ship, there would be no problem.

“Captain's being held in the gravity ring. Figured you'll want to have chat with him.” Mikali spoke to Domiant through Niko's comm-­link.

“Have you secured the main bridge yet?”

Mikali's significant pause was answer enough for him. “The captain ordered the bridge sealed off before we could do anything. Standard protocol, really.”

“I do not like excuses, Mikali.” Domiant looked to Niko. “Go assist Mikali with her task. I can find my way to the captain on my own.”

S
opherim and Zanza were both waiting for him, although they were at opposite ends of the room from each other. Morwyn was tied to the ground and floating just above the floor as far as his bindings would allow him.

Captain Morwyn shot him a baleful look. His eyes, however, were, to Domiant's satisfaction, dilated, and his head kept on rolling back and forth as if all of his muscles were now relaxed.

Domiant walked over to Morwyn, knelt down and examined him closely. Morwyn's left eye was swollen shut and his lip was cut.

“What did you do to me?” Morwyn managed to get out.

Domiant ignored the question and grabbed Morwyn's chin, examining his face. Morwyn was about to try to pull back. “Be still!” Domiant commanded. Morwyn complied, the confusion plain to see on his face. The sight filled Domiant with much satisfaction.

“You are lucky. Sopherim could have done far worse.” Domiant patronizingly ruffled Morwyn's hair before getting back up. “To answer your question: Somapoline. That's what you and the rest of your crew have been breathing in for the past fifteen minutes. It's a personal concoction of mine.”

Domiant paced around Morwyn. “Traditionally, it is used by the Elvrids during their initiation. You see, the post of Elvrid is an incredibly honored and trusted one. And that trust is earned because no Elvrid has ever betrayed that trust and lived to brag about it.”

“Somapoline, which is produced by the vine Soma Divinorum, or Diviners' vine, gives you quite the psychedelic trip, which I'm certain you are experiencing right now. But that is just a by-­product of the vine's true power.”

“Brother, can we move this along?” Sopherim was clearly in no mood for one of his long-­winded lessons. Of course she wouldn't be interested, a weapon such as her, forged to kill, would have little interest in the “why” of things.

“You should never waste an opportunity to educate, sister.” Domiant passed a hand through his hair before continuing. “But you are right. We do have a schedule to maintain. So I will be brief, Captain Morwyn. What I was saying was that the true power of Somapoline lies in its property to strip its user of any free will, rendering them compliant and unable to refuse any command.” Domiant paused, giving Morwyn a malicious grin. “And your crew has just been ordered to obey me.”

“Interesting,” Zanza whispered from the side as she made certain that her re-­breather mask was securely fastened to her face.

“Whenever an Elvrid initiate wishes to take his or her trial, they are given a powerful dose of Somapoline. Then the Elvrids will ask the initiate precisely WHY they want to become an Elvrid. Since they are unable to refuse a command or lie for that matter, they are forced to reply truthfully. If the answer is satisfactory then the initiate is made into an Elvrid. If it isn't, they are put to death in a manner both cruel and painful, and they are ordered not to resist.”

Domiant shuddered as the memory of old wounds flared up along hundreds of puncture scars on his chest, arms, leg and neck, all of which he kept concealed beneath the finest clothes he could find. Sopherim, in a rare display of empathy, gave him an affectionate rub between the shoulders.

“The past is dead and gone.”

“Indeed it is, sister, indeed it is.” Domiant closed his eyes and gave his neck a crack before opening them once more and fixing his attention on Captain Morwyn.

“Captain Morwyn Soltaine of the
Jinxed Thirteenth
, I know that you have found and awakened someone of incredible value on your ship.”

It was great to see such a proud man struggle in vain against him. To his credit, Morwyn resisted longer than Domiant would have expected from a Kelthan. “Yes, we have.”

Domiant smiled when he heard this. So his initial guess and order before boarding the ship had been the right one. “Very good, Captain, very good. Now tell me, just where is this priceless cargo located?”

Again Morwyn tried in vain to resist, but he could not fight the narcotics coursing in his bloodstream. “She was in the cantina.”

“Mikali told me she had only found the doctor in the cantina,” Sopherim interjected.

“Then she lied to you in order to mask her damned incompetence, sister.” Domiant scratched beneath his chin for a moment before formulating his next question.

“Who is the Ancient Human on your ship?”

Morwyn struggled again, trying once more to resist. He bit down on his lip and tightened all of his muscles, letting out a deep growl. Beads of sweat were forming on his brow and he was visibly trembling. Domiant leaned against a nearby wall and watched with his arms confidently crossed over his chest.

There was nothing more entertaining to him than watching someone struggle against the inevitable. There wasn't a Humanis mind in the Infinite that could resist the effects of Somapoline. Like countless had before him, the Captain's will would eventually crack then break altogether. Domiant patiently watched and smiled as he waited to get what he wanted.

 

CHAPTER 24

JESSIE

It's not enough for me to best my opponents. I need to make them regret crossing me in the first place.

—­Leonid Marko, Garthem drill-­instructor

20th of SSM–11 1445 A2E

I
t was a good thing for Jessie to see that Phaël was not as shocked as she was at what was happening right now. Not that she was that comfortable with someone, a stranger she had just met for that matter, pointing a weapon at her. It was easy enough to deduce that there was something in the air forcing Chance's hand, as she was visibly trembling, as if struggling with herself.

In her past Jessie had once read an article about a narcotic named Scopolamine. It could be absorbed through the skin and was both tasteless and odorless. When ingested the subject was supposed to experience quite the trip and become incredibly compliant. Could the air of the ship have been laced with some sort of aerosol variant? If that was the case, Jessie could not help but feel that much worse about the situation playing itself out before her.

“Don't move. I need to assist the voice.” Chance took a step back, making her way to an intercom panel on a wall behind her. “He needs to know that you are here, Jessie Madison.”

“You are not weak, Kelthan girl. You can fight this.” Phaël's expression was surprisingly calm from beneath the membrane of that jellyfish-­like helmet she was wearing. One hand was raised up in a calming gesture while the other was inconspicuously reaching behind her.

Once more Chance stopped, looking less and less like a person and more and more like a machine that was trying to process a set of conflicting orders. Jessie could see what Phaël was trying to accomplish, but Chance was clearly a trained soldier and she never let her weapon drop.

It looked like Chance was going to break down and sob. “Please, Phaël, stop. I don't want to kill you but I know that if he orders me to do it I won't be able to resist.”

Jessie could see that Phaël was reaching for one of her whips. However she would not be able to get any kind of drop on Chance as long as she remained focused on her. “Listen, Chance, is it?”

Chance looked to Jessie, but kept her weapon pointed directly at Phaël. Jet-­black with a red charge counter on it. Jessie had never liked guns and she found that even in this time, they looked just as menacing. “I . . . you're what the voice wants. The human.”

Jessie slowly stepped between Phaël and Chance. “That's right, shoot me and you fail.”

Chance visibly hesitated and lowered her weapon. It was all Phaël needed. The Wolver vaulted herself over Jessie's shoulder and slung out her whip. The vine wrapped itself around Chance's wrist. The young woman was much faster to react than Jessie would have expected as she tossed the pistol into her other hand. But before she could get a shot off, Phaël yanked on her whip and pulled Chance toward her. She balled up her feet into fists and slingshotted herself into Chance. Both fists connected on the young private's temple and Chance went limp, floating unconscious.

Jessie rushed over to Chance and quickly fastened on her helmet. There was a pressurized hiss accompanied by a green light, which Jessie interpreted as good. In her time green lights had always been a good sign; hopefully things hadn't changed that much in the thousands of years she had slept.

Phaël shot Jessie a thumbs-­up before examining Chance more closely. “She seems like a nice enough girl, despite being a Pax-­Born Kelthan.”

“Will she be all right?”

Phaël shrugged as she rolled her whip up and holstered it in a pouch in the small of her back. “She will be sore and have a massive headache. I did my best to soften the blow, but couldn't risk a firefight in a closed space.”

“Fair enough.” Jessie quickly tied Chance down to a bench in the armory. She made sure the straps were easily detachable, Chance would probably regain consciousness and Jessie would have felt awful if the poor girl was helpless and unarmed when it happened. Which was why she also reholstered her sidearm. Jessie hoped the effects of whatever drugs in Chance's system would be done by then.

“What are you planning?” Phaël asked as she watched Jessie do this.

Jessie took a step toward the airlock and looked out. She could now make out the tiny vessel that had docked with them earlier today, the
Althena
. Their ship was overtaken, and Jessie did not relish the prospect of her and Phaël having to go toe-­to-­toe with any other active member of their crew on top of the mercenaries who had taken over their ship.

She was fairly confident that the
Jinxed Thirteenth
could hold about thirty ­people comfortably. The
Althena
? It was much smaller; there was no way their numbers were in the double digits. If most of them were now on the
Jinxed
, that meant that their foe's nest would be unguarded.

She had the bag of explosives, she had her plasma cutters and she had Phaël at her side. Jessie had been running and hiding for longer than she could remember, and she was tired of it. The time had come for action.

“They messed with our ship, so I say we go mess with theirs.” Jessie nodded toward the
Althena
and gave the bag of confiscated grenades a pat, in case her spoken Pax Common wasn't clear enough for her companion to understand.

There was something incredibly predatory about Phaël's grin when Jessie did this. She gave her an approving look. She looked back at Chance and, confident that the young private was safe, she pulled the lever on the airlock.

For the first time since she had awakened, Jessie stepped out of the safety of the
Jinxed Thirteenth
into the Infinite Void. They had been playing defense all day today. It was time to take the fight to their enemies.

It was time to reclaim her goddamned ship.