Syndicate's Pawns (16 page)

 

CHAPTER 30

MORWYN

Contrary to what many might believe about me, I do not hate the Pax Humanis, rather I pity those who make their lives under its shadow. Their existence is one dedicated to becoming one of many cogs in a great unfeeling machine. And once the piece is used, it is discarded and replaced. We are fortunate to have our belief in the living cosmos. For there is a sacred meaning to our rituals. They help bring meaning to the lives of those who experience them. Realizing and experiencing that meaning is never without value.

—­Edwina Derun Nem'Troy, Elvrid,
13th of SSM–07 1440 A2E

20th
of SSM–11 1445 A2E

D
uring the early years of his life, Morwyn's older brother Somus had taken him on a tour of the shipyards on their native Sunderlund. There he had met Captain Coren Selt, a veteran captain of the Pax Fleet. She had smiled when Morwyn revealed to her that it was his dream to one day sail the cosmos, commanding his own ship. A year from that day he would be shipped off, at the age of thirteen, to the Pax Combat Academies of Barathul. But the words she had told him had stuck with Morwyn to this day.

“A good captain needs to know her ship better than she knows her lover, her family and herself.”

When he had first set foot onto the
Jinxed Thirteenth
, Morwyn had made it a point to explore and commit as much of the vessel's layout to memory as he could. He had done his best to commit everything from man-­sized vent shafts and intelicam blind spots to where the floor squeaked, to memory. He knew that it would be no easy task. But one day, he had thought, he would thank himself for it.

Today was that day, and as Morwyn slipped down the lesser-­used ser­vice corridors, he reminded himself to thank Captain Coren in person once he had the chance. It would probably do him good to thank Somus for bringing him to the shipyards in the first place, but his older brother had long ago turned away from his life of ser­vice, opting for a retirement in the forests of Uldur. The decision had not pleased their father and truth be told Morwyn had not spoken to his brother in years. He hoped he was all right.

Morwyn thought it strange that in this dangerous moment he found his thoughts being flooded by the ­people he loved. Somus would have told him that everyone had loved ones, that the desire to see them again before welcoming death was often a source of near limitless strength. Having been a former infantryman, Morwyn was fairly certain that his older brother had been speaking from personal experience.

Morwyn's body felt like it had been bruised all over, and while the beating he had received at the hands of Sopherim had in no way been a delicate one, he was fortunate that she had shown enough restraint not to break any of his limbs or cause any lasting damage. The Infinite alone knew how he would have been able to reclaim his ship if that had been the case.

Every time he tried to remember how he had broken free, the memories were fogged; the narcotics lacing the air supply no doubt had a serious role to play in all this. Or at least, that was what he kept on telling himself. However, it felt like an important detail had been revealed to him. Was his release another ploy from Domiant? Had they somehow tricked him?

He chased these thoughts away. Second-­guessing every single detail would only cause him to abandon all hope. Surely his foe could not divine every move he would make or could possibly conceive of.

Because if that were the case, they would already have taken Jessie Madison,
he reminded himself.

Domiant not being able to foretell the future was precious little comfort to Morwyn, as he was presently alone with no way of being able to physically take on a crew of competent mercenaries. Never mind that he had no way of knowing how many ­people Domiant had under his command.

His progress was maddeningly slow, as he could not risk making a sound and had to hop from intelicam blind spot to blind spot. The cams moved back and forth in a pattern along the ceiling, like the stock enemies of a child's trideo-­game. Eventually Morwyn had made it past the cantina, through the ship's living quarters, and was now just a few steps away from the arsenal. There he was hoping to replace his rebreather with a sealed and soundproofed helmet. It would do him no good to confront Domiant only to have the latter order him to put his pistol in his mouth and pull the trigger. And given how easily Morwyn had surrendered Jessie Madison's true nature, it had to be presumed that it could be a possibility.

He still felt the heady rush of the Somapoline trip running its course through him. The flashing red emergency lights all cast extended auras about him and even the most mundane of sounds seemed to beg for his attention. Any time he felt the need to stop and surrender to the trip, Morwyn would pinch the webbing between his thumb and index. It was a trick shown to him by Eliana Jafahan, and one that was meant to make him focus.

For the moment it was working, although he had no way of knowing how long it would be before he was free of the airborne Somapoline's effects. Morwyn found himself walking slower and slower, every part of his body feeling heavier and heavier. When he reached the doors to the arsenal he was forced to support himself on a nearby exhaust beam. He rubbed his eyes furiously, hoping that it would somehow shake off his current condition.

The Infinite erode him. He needed to overcome this. His crew had rescued Jessie Madison, and he would commit himself to the cold vacuum outside before he let her be captured once more. She had suffered through enough.

Without warning, the doors to the arsenal whooshed open, startling Morwyn, who raised his ser­vice pistol. It was his military training that prevented him from pulling the trigger and firing blindly.

Staring at him through the visor of her air mask was Private Chance. Her eyes, like his own, were dilated. And while both of them were surprised to see each other, Morwyn was nonetheless pleased to finally recognize a friendly face.

Chance let out a sigh of relief and spoke through her lifesuit's comm-­speaker. “Captain Sir. I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me. I raised my pistol, pointed it at Phaël. I would have killed her, too, sir. Infinite help me. I would have killed her.”

Morwyn gave Chance a quick hug as she broke into soft sobs. Chance was a prodigal sharpshooter, who had passed all of her virtual augmented reality training on Barathul with flying colors. But in the real world, she had found herself categorically opposed to taking a life. “I won't kill those, those motherless humps, Captain Sir. But I am going to hurt them—­that is a promise.” She sniffled, then added, “What did they make you do?”

Morwyn looked away from Chance, suddenly feeling very ashamed. “I revealed to them who Jessie Madison truly is.” It was his turn to suddenly be comforted as she took him in her arms. Chance's grip was far stronger than he would have expected the mousy private's to be.

He took a deep calming breath, and pulled away from her. “Private, who else is awake?”

“Doctor Varsin and Lucky are sealed off in the medical bay.”

Morwyn permitted himself a smile. The medical bay had its own untainted air supply. At last the Infinite had tossed them a scrap of good fortune. “Good, we'll regroup with them.”

“Neither one of you are going to live long enough to make it.” Morwyn looked over his shoulder to see Sopherim, her right hand firmly clutched around the hilt of her dangerous blade. Her golden eyes fell upon both Chance's and Morwyn's pulse pistols. There was something about her stance that made Morwyn think that beneath the snarling wolf mask of her helmet, Sopherim was smiling.

To their credit, Morwyn and Chance both drew their pistols and fired a shot each. Sopherim was able to read their body language and easily avoid the salvo of pulse pistol. She rushed forward drawing her blade out as she did. Morwyn felt like he was moving through thick molasses as he tried to draw a bead on Sopherim, but he simply could not get a clear shot as she fearlessly zigzagged toward them. Before Morwyn could squeeze off a second shot Sopherim had already closed the distance and was upon them.

 

CHAPTER 31

JESSIE

Of our many evolutionary edges, I do not believe that strength is the one that has allowed us to make it this far. I think that it is our compassion, our ability to feel another's pain and joy that has taken us this far. The Machina do not harm the living because it goes against their protocols, while most Humanis choose not to harm the living because it is the right thing to do.

—­Atrien Silenus,
Pax Humanis Prefect of the
Ambrosian City of Mosayin,
12th of SSM–06 1444 A2E

20th of SSM–11 1445 A2E

J
essie and David had once gone on a tour of the haunted asylums on the continent of America. These places had been converted into amusement theme parks using artificial light projections as ghosts. What Jessie had felt during the guided tours of these “haunted” sites was not so much the spirits of the angry dead, mainly because she had never believed in ghosts. Rather, what she had felt was the heavy air of despair and pain that seemed to permeate the walls of these sites of horror.

That same lingering feeling was heavy in the air as both she and Phaël stepped past the airlock doors into a tightly crammed storage bay of the
Althena
. The lights flickered and cast uneven shadows across secured transport crates. Jessie was thankful for her present company, as Phaël did not appear to be as nervous as she was.

In fact, as she thought about it, Jessie realized that Phaël was incredibly eager and comfortable in their present situation. How many ships had she boarded like this in her past? There was something about Phaël that made Jessie think that her companion was no stranger to warfare and suffering. This struck her as sad. Not that she could really tell the ages of these new species of humans, but Phaël did not seem to be much older than she was.

As they cautiously progressed through the cargo bay, Jessie spotted a large pool of dried blood on the floor. Whoever had cleaned it had done so quickly and badly. Jessie was thankful for her air filter right now as she was certain that this room would no doubt reek of stale blood and death.

­People had been killed here, and probably in a very unpleasant manner given what Jessie had seen so far. Who were these criminals? And most importantly, how had they figured out that Jessie was even here in the first place? That was the question that worried her the most. As far as she could tell, they were all presently beyond the borders of Covenant space. The
Jinxed Thirteenth
had stumbled upon her rescue beacon by pure chance. Yet another silent testament to how far Ancient Humanity's domain had once stretched and fallen. How in the Hells had the
Althena
been able to track them down?

“There are no coincidences,” she muttered to herself.

“That is truth.” Phaël's spoken agreement was a soft purr. There was a feline-­like grace and weariness about her as she clutched a long curved dagger in one hand and her vine whip in the other. Her arsenal was a stark contrast to all the technologically advanced weapons Jessie had seen so far. What was even more shocking was that Phaël had been able to overcome this apparent disadvantage time and time again.

I'm starting to like her
. Jessie kept this thought to herself. There would be plenty of time for admiration once they were done besting their opponents.

The storage bay led to a single branching hallway, the path forward led to yet another storage bay, and Jessie could see that this one had been converted into a bedroom/harem of sorts. To their left the hall led to a small kitchenette, and past that Jessie could make out the ship's cockpit. A lone individual was seated in the pilot's seat. Phaël pointed to the pilot and the two silently crept up toward him.

As she got closer Jessie could see that whoever this pilot was, he was presently chained to his seat by the wrists. He suddenly spun around. He had a long unkempt red beard and wild hair. His face was sullen and his eyes were lined with heavy bags. There was a look of pure exhaustion ­coupled with terror on his face as his eyes fell on Phaël and Jessie.

“You aren't supposed to be here!” His hand darted toward what looked like a speaker. There was a crack as Phaël quickly unfurled her whip, catching him by the wrist. There was a bone-­cracking snap and the pilot let out a pathetic whimper as he pulled his hand back and cradled it weakly against his chest.

Before Phaël could say or do anything else Jessie interposed herself between the two. Whoever this man was, he was clearly a victim of something and not in the same league as the crimson mercenary they had faced outside the ship. As if to punctuate the point, the man started to nakedly sob and Jessie could see that Phaël's vine had broken his wrist.

“What are you doing?” Jessie ignored Phaël's question as she held out her hand and examined his injury delicately. The man kept on silently blubbering and pulled his hand back fearfully.

“Do not worry,” Jessie said in PaxCom, “my friend and I do not want to hurt you.”

“It is not the worst injury I've suffered on this cursed ship,” the man replied.

“My name is Jessie Madison. What is yours?” Once more she took his hand in hers and looked it over. His wrist was already swelling, and she could tell by the bruises around them that he had been shackled to his seat for a very long time indeed.

The pilot looked to both Phaël and Jessie as if expecting to be harmed should he not give the right answer. “Kendric Loc.”

Jessie took a moment to examine Kendric more closely. He was chained to his seat, malnourished and incredibly feeble looking. She was fairly certain that her omni-­gloves could make short work of his bindings. This poor man had the look of the enslaved and Jessie wanted nothing more than to free him.

Before she could do anything, Phaël caught Jessie by the wrist and pointed to beneath Kendric Loc's seat. There was a blinking fist-­sized silver sphere. This one grafted onto the chair itself along with what appeared to be some sort of metal pressure plate. Jessie pulled her hand free but not before giving Phaël an appreciative nod.

“How is the bomb on your seat triggered?” Phaël asked.

Kendric Loc, who was slowly realizing what was being done, flashed them a look of gratitude. “If I get up, or if anyone tampers with the monofilm grenade, it will go off.” His shoulders slumped forward. “And if boss Domiant learns that I helped you, my death will be a slow one.”

As he said this, the brief look of hope faded away from Loc's face. “He is going to kill me.”

“Kendric, is it? I need you to listen to me.” Jessie cupped Kendric's face in both her hands, locking eyes with him. “You are not dying today.”

She released him and Kendric Loc stared at his hand for a moment then at Jessie. He composed himself and nodded at her. “I believe you.”

“I cannot get you out right now. So I want you to seal yourself in here. You stay out of our way while we take care of the ­people who did this to you, and I promise that we will not punish you for your part in all of this.”

Phaël interjected. “You can't make that promise.”

“Well, I have,” Jessie snapped back.

“Captain won't be pleased.”

“He seems to be the type who rarely is. And you seem to be the type who does not give a shit.” Phaël beamed back in agreement when Jessie said this.

Jessie looked back to Kendric Loc. “We are going to step out of here and take care of your friend Niko.”

Loc's indignant look was all she needed to see to indicate his contempt for the man just outside the
Althena
trying to make his way in. “That motherless hump is no friend of mine. Do your worst. I will not mourn his loss.”

“Good to know.” Jessie was about to turn around and step out of the cockpit when Kendric Loc stopped her with a hand.

“You need to hide.” All three of them looked down the hallway as they heard the ominous sound of the airlock opening back in the cargo bay Jessie and Phaël had come from. “Niko is an animal. He will kill both of you.”

“And what of your leader, Domiant?” Phaël asked.

Kendric Loc shuddered. “If given the chance, he will do far worse.”

T
hey made sure to seal the cockpit door behind them. From there it was Jessie's hope that Loc would be kept safe until they could do something for him. Truth be told though, she was more concerned about the armed lunatic they were sharing this incredibly enclosed space with.

Niko's voice carried down the hall to them. “WOLVER DOG! I'M GOING TO SKIN YOU AND MOUNT YOUR HEAD LIKE A TROPHY!” Jessie and Phaël both looked to each other.

“You can stay with the pilot.” Phaël put her hand on Jessie's stomach. “Otherwise you risk too much.”

Jessie held Phaël's hand for a moment. David, in his final moments, had made a similar offer:
run my love, hide and survive
. He had died, she had lived, and that was, in her opinion, the essence of tragedy. Now facing a similar option with someone who had been a hateful stranger toward her only a few hours ago, Jessie shook her head no and swallowed back the fear she was feeling.

“We are here together, and that is how we are going to take down that asshole.”

Jessie could see Phaël smile a relieved smile from beneath the membrane of her strange air mask. “He is both loud and stupid,” she whispered, and guided Jessie's hand to the butts of her plasma cutters. “Let us introduce him to the Huntress.”