Syndicate's Pawns (5 page)

 

CHAPTER 4

MORWYN

The Advent War presented the Humanis and the Machina with a unifying enemy: the false machine god better known as the Pontifex. It was in the wake of its defeat that the eternal peace known as the Covenant was signed, with the intention no doubt being that there would never again be conflict between the Humanis and Machina. Eternity, however, is an unfathomably long time and the Covenant will have to face the greatest enemy of peace: complacency.

—­Serlena Chol,
Zerok scholar and author of
The Fragile Eternity,
13th of SSM–04 1445 A2E

17th of SSM–11 1445 A2E

“I
f you had the choice, Lizbeth, where would you travel to?” Captain Morwyn Soltaine was lying on his back beneath one of the main bridge's consoles and making certain that all the astrocharts and navigational computer wires were properly plugged into their appropriate slots. A month had passed since Jessie Madison's rescue and subsequent awakening. Normally Morwyn was quite neat and proper, however, given the fact that the
Jinxed Thirteenth
was nowhere close to being starflight worthy, he had stopped shaving in the interests of time and now sported three weeks of thin facial hair. Kelthans were not known for their beards. That was the domain of the Wolvers and Thegrans.

Seated at the helm, with several long black wires plugged into her back and palms, pilot Lizbeth Harlowe gave Morwyn's question some thought before answering him. “I have always wanted to visit Uldur. Would you believe me if I told you that I have never seen a forest before?” When she spoke, her voice was modulated, almost electronic.

Lizbeth was a clone from the nation of Lotus, vat grown and tailored from birth to be an astrogator and pilot, with well over half her body replaced by augments and synthetic pieces so that she could better interface with any vessel she was charged with. Harlowe had been donated to the Covenant when it was discovered that she would not use her skills on military operations. Her former owners had thought she was defective. The Covenant had thought differently. She was a thin woman, her head bald, and her eyes milky white. She wore a single silver thermskin suit, and her skin was pale with a cream-­like quality to it.

“I would believe you.” Morwyn plugged in a fiber-­optic cable and smiled when it glowed green.

“Our astrocharts are back online.” Lizbeth was visibly happy as she called this out. She would need those charts if there were to be any hope of safe return to Central Point. Plugged into the ship, she was now capable of “seeing” through the various cameras and sensors on board. The
Jinxed Thirteenth
was effectively an extension of her body. And while Morwyn had a personal neurolink interface grafted at the base of his neck that allowed him to upload situational combat information to any operative under his command once he was plugged in, he could not begin to imagine what it was like to “feel” the entirety of the ship as part of oneself.

Morwyn pulled himself out from beneath the console. “Good to know we will be able to find our way back to Central Point when we are mobile once more.”

“Could be a long while before we get ourselves to that point,” a snarky voice barked out over the coms link. Morwyn looked out the main bridge view port to see two shapes walking along the hull outside. One was almost a giant in a clunky orange repair lifesuit. The person in the lifesuit was Kolto, a top graduate from the Engineering Academies of Alexandros. The other, much shorter and in a low-­tech life-­rig made out of fibers rather than composite plastics and metal, was Oran Arterum Nem'Troy, the oldest serving member of the
Jinxed Thirteenth
and lead machinist.

“My love and starfire is correct in her assessment, Captain Morwyn,” Kolto added in his deep booming voice, thick with a Thegran accent.

“Of course I'm right! Name one instance where I've been wrong,” Oran snapped back at Kolto. The two of them were presently hard at work repairing the ship's damaged mobility drive.

“What new problems have you discovered, Machinist Oran?” Morwyn resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Nothing was ever simple.

A little more than a standard year ago, Morwyn Soltaine had been languishing as a Pax Police officer in the violent streets of Barsul, sentenced to uphold the Hegemon's iron laws in this starkest of ghettos on the world of Ambrosia. Following the council of his friend and mentor Commander Eliana Jafahan, Morwyn had chosen to abandon his claim to Pax Humanis citizenship in exchange for serving the common Humanis good with the Covenant.

He had been able to gather a skeleton crew for the
Jinxed Thirteenth,
and Covenant Command at Central Point had given him their blessing. He had then been sent out on his first training mission in End Space. The test was simple enough—­could Morwyn command his crew? Given that they had just barely survived their first rescue mission, his ego-­free assessment of the situation was: he could have done much better.

“
Jinxie
's mobility drive we can fix no prob.” Oran's voice was sour. She usually sounded as if she were in a foul mood, although Morwyn had seen her smile once or twice when Kolto managed to sneak in a compliment. The two had met during Kolto's first tour of ser­vice on the
Jinxed Thirteenth
and had not only fallen in love, but been promptly wed. Having come from the homogenized Pax Humanis, where mixed unions were typically frowned upon, it had warmed Morwyn's heart to see that these two truly did love one another.

“What is the problem then?”

“We ain't got the parts required to repair the slipdrive,” came Oran's reply.

“Once again, Captain Morwyn, my solar flare and I are in agreement. We can repair most of
Jinxie
from here, but unless we get the parts we need for the slipdrive, namely a new fuel line and regulator, we won't be able to safely slip anywhere,” Kolto explained, his tone both jolly and surprisingly optimistic given their current situation.

“If we don't strain our life-­support any more than we have to, we could probably send out a distress message to Central Point, sit tight and wait for backup.” Lizbeth's eyes darted left and right as she scanned various holographic data screens being flashed in front of her.

“The coms array is fully operational. And while we don't have an InstaNet signal this far out in End Space, we could send out a tight beam on the distress frequency. That would place rescue anywhere from a week to three months.” Morwyn silently listened to Lizbeth's explanation then pursed his lips a moment in thought.

These days had been long and incredibly uneventful, and Morwyn was aware that he should be grateful for this. There was no active threat or danger to the crew or his vessel. Rather they would have to be patient and wait. Oran and Kolto were the only two members of the crew, three if one counted Chord, who were qualified to perform any repairs. Morwyn was certain he could have thrown the weight of his command around to make the duo work harder and faster, but what would that have accomplished? Better the task be done slowly and well than quickly and risk being botched.

Otherwise, there was not a whole lot Morwyn could do, which relegated him to supervising and overseeing the process. “Your proposal is a sound one, Pilot Harlowe. I will send out a message on our tight beam.”

“I don't care who you have to suckle to get the parts we need as long as you get them,” Oran grunted. “Until then we'll just finish this repair job on the mobility drive and spend the next few months with our thumbs up our collective nethers.”

“Sounds like a very fun time, Machinist Oran. Perhaps I could record the event and upload it on the InstaNet once we're back home,” Lizbeth replied in a wry tone.

“Why bless me if the cloner girl hasn't developed herself a sense of humor!” Oran's following snort was both rude and dripping in sarcasm.

“The Infinite is full of miracles, Machinist Oran,” Morwyn said. “Carry on, and be careful out there.”

“Don't need your humping concern.”

Kolto quickly interjected. “It is, however, appreciated, Captain Morwyn.”

Morwyn allowed himself a half smile. “Do what you must then.” Oran was far from being one for decorum, and given that no one else on the
Jinxed Thirteenth
knew the ship like she did, this afforded her a certain amount of freedom with regards to niceties. Morwyn made a mental note to himself that one day he would have to ask how a Wolver from the galactic nation of Troy, a world recognized as a practitioner of the Living Green, had come to be so familiar with the complex piece of technology that was the
Jinxed Thirteenth
.

“I will send out the tight beam on your command, Captain Sir,” Lizbeth Harlowe called out to him. “Then perhaps we can continue our conversation?”

Morwyn's smile grew even larger. He really had appreciated the time spent getting to know Lizbeth Harlowe. Before joining the Covenant, he had been under the impression that all clones were the same. Nothing could have been further from the truth, and he was glad to have been proven wrong.

While her voice was electronic and most of her body artificial, she was nonetheless, in his opinion, Humanis. Morwyn had learned that it was Lizbeth's goal to fly to every world in the Covenant and collect a trinket or memento from each. Who knew, perhaps she would one day accomplish that goal.

“I would like that very much, Lizbeth.”

Lizbeth Harlowe nodded and with a wave of her hand brought up a green holoscreen. “I've opened up a broadcast line. You can speak whenever you are ready.”

“This is Captain Morwyn Soltaine of the Covenant Patrol vessel
Jinxed Thirteenth
. Our slipdrive has suffered a critical malfunction and requires repairs. We are no longer capable of starflight. Requesting any available ships to home in on our coordinates. Necessary part specs will be uploaded on this tight beam. Infinite guide you. Morwyn Soltaine out.”

Morwyn had been worried that he would not be able to maintain his command without the help of his former mentor Commander Eliana Jafahan or his closest friend Private Beatrix Jarent Dreck, both of whom were presently in carbon sleep. They were not necessary crew, and now that Jessie Madison had been awakened the option to wake either of them was no longer available to him. It hadn't mattered as he had found everyone, Phaël excluded, to be agreeable with him.

Rousing Jessie Madison would not have been his ideal choice, but then again, he had not expected her antiquated sleeper tube to short-­circuit either. It had been a miracle that the thing had remained functional for the time that it had. It had been even more fortunate that Marla Varsin had just finished inoculating her before the malfunction in the first place.

“What are you thinking about?” Lizbeth's tone was more familiar than he would have expected.

“Jessie Madison.” Morwyn sat himself down on one of the seats on the bridge and leaned back on it. “I did not consider it at the time, but now that we have nothing but time on our hands . . . well.” Morwyn gave his scruffy chin a scratch. “What are we to do with her? She has no legal papers, no citizenship, nothing.”

“Not to mention, she is incredibly unique,” Lizbeth added.

“A fair point. I would not wish to make a decision for her. But I have no idea what Patrol Command or Covenant officials will want to do with her once we've returned to Central Point.” Morwyn realized that being the only living Ancient Human made Jessie Madison an incredibly valuable prize for many less than scrupulous individuals. Which was why he had not mentioned her in his message. It was better, in his view, to deliver her personally to Central Point and make sure she was in the hands of ­people he knew he could trust.

“Until I make my official report, if anyone asks, we suffered a malfunction during a failed rescue operation. We need to keep Jessie Madison's existence hidden.”

“We are fortunate then, Captain.”

“How so?”

“Apart from us, who else knows about our newest passenger?”

“I count that as a blessing, Lizbeth.” Morwyn dug into his breast pocket and pulled out a small silver flask, he unscrewed it open and took himself a stiff sip of his brandy, his one and only vice. “A blessing indeed.”

 

CHAPTER 5

DOMIANT

Nothing is ever impossible. Fortune favors both the prepared and the ambitious alike.

—­Common Zerok saying, origins unknown

17th of SSM–11 1445 A2E

“H
umping Green lovers should just concede that tech won the war for convenience.”

Niko Taem was an abomination in the eyes of both Domiant and the Living Green. A former privateer for the Galasian Khans, his body was a patchwork of high-­tech and low-­tech augments, all of them no doubt harvested off the victims of pirate raids. For instance, there was no mistaking his left arm as anything but artificial—­jet black, shiny and grafted onto the shoulder of his massively muscular frame. His right arm was covered in black metal buttons. His eye colors, one a dark purple, the other sky blue, were mismatched, and the irises were octagonal instead of round.

“Big words from someone who gave up his life's essence to be turned into a monster.” Sopherim sneered at Niko when she spoke the words.

“I've told you before, dog, we speak PaxCom around here or nothing at all.” From across the
Althena
's tiny kitchen table, Niko glared back at Sopherim. His nose was crooked and he sported a cleft chin. His face was crisscrossed with several battle scars, making him truly repulsive. Niko deftly twirled a long serrated knife in his hands, his eyes zeroing in on Sopherim.

A foul-­smelling vapostick dangled in Niko's lips. Despite orders to do otherwise, he smoked these constantly and the lingering smell of stale nicotine had now infested the air of the kitchen.

“Cross that table, soulless pup, and see if you are as big as your words,” Sopherim snapped back at him. And while on any other day it would have given Domiant no small amount of pleasure watching his sister put Niko back in his place, there was a sixty trillion contract that took precedence over this.

“Mister Taem, loath as I am to admit it, you will be needed alive and intact if we are to accomplish our mission. So with all the politeness of the Infinite, be silent. I can assure you that your employer will not appreciate you being rude to her favorite daughter.”

Niko let out a contemptuous snort. “Hide behind your ma if that will make you feel safe, little prince.” Niko Taem might not have been the brightest of men in the cosmos, but even he wasn't foolish enough to think he could survive very long if Ynarra Kuaro took it upon herself to see him punished. “Just tell me who I have to hurt.”

Seated next to Niko was a skeletally thin, visibly nervous and almost fragile-­looking Kelthan man. His hair was thick and orange like fire, his eyes were small and muddy brown. He sported a long unkempt beard and his clothes were dirty with many sweat stains on them. His name was Jerkol Loc, a former inmate from the Galasian prison colony of Rust. The rest of Jerkol Loc's sentence had been purchased by Ynarra because she had needed an exceptional pilot for the
Althena
. Whether Jerkol Loc qualified for this particular adjective was open to debate in Domiant's opinion. However, when the talent pool was former convicts and deserters serving time in the Galasian prison system, one took what one could.

Jerkol Loc was almost permanently bound to his pilot's seat in the cockpit of the
Althena
, and there he would remain until his debt to Seft Kuaro had been repaid in full. To many this would have seemed unfair and harsh. To Jerkol, it was certainly far better than the alternative of serving the remainder of his sentence.

Jerkol Loc gave Domiant a nervous look. He was, rightfully so, afraid of saying anything that might offend, or be perceived as an offence. It was a most useful trait to have in a servant, in Domiant's not-­so-­humble opinion. “Where are we off to? And what is the mission?”

“And how long? I want to wrap this little trip of ours up and get back anywhere with a consistent InstaNet signal.” Mikali was sitting cross-­legged on the kitchen floor picking her teeth.

“Our destination.” Domiant tossed a folded piece of paper to Jerkol Loc, who failed to catch it and was forced to crawl under the table to pick it up.

Once he was seated again, Loc unfolded it and squinted at what was written. “These astro-­coordinates are in End Space.”

“Indeed they are.”

“What the living hump is there for us in End Space?” Niko was none too pleased with this. “I was told one job, then back home for me. Nowhere did it say that we'd be making a stop in the pits of the cosmos.”

“Mother allowed me to inform you all that you will be paid triple your standard payment upon the accomplishment of this task.” The clock was ticking and Domiant did not wish to waste any of it convincing his “talent” to take up the job at hand. In any case this payment would be nothing but a drop in the ocean of the sixty trillion reward.

Domiant's response seemed to please both Mikali and Niko. They gave each other a fist bump then turned to give him their undivided attention. Zanza, leaning against a nearby wall, well away from everyone, stared at Domiant, and he thought he could make out a smile on her reptile-­like lips from beneath the shadows of her hood.

“This is what you all need to know. These coordinates will lead us to a crippled Covenant Patrol vessel named the
Jinxed Thirteenth
. I am told they have no weapons systems and an inexperienced crew.”

“Ain't enough credit that'll convince me to make an enemy of the Covenant.” Mikali dismissively threw up her hands.

“Interrupt my brother again and I will slit your throat, monster,” Sopherim called back at her in broken PaxCom. Niko's and Mikali's eyes flared with rage when they heard this. Niko sat bolt upright and pointed the tip of his knife at her menacingly. Mikali's hand dropped to the matte-­black plastic butt of her blaster pistol, holstered at her side.

“You try that on my partner, dog! See what happens.” Niko punctuated his jab with a crude doglike bark at Sopherim. It was common knowledge that the worst insult one could throw at a Wolver was “dog.” And while any other Wolver would have lost his or her temper, Sopherim did not once lose her cool as she took a deliberate step toward Niko.

“It would be my pleasure to show you the difference between perfection and abomination,” she said in Wolven.

“I told you to speak to me in PaxCom, dog, or not at all,” Niko snarled, and with quicker reflexes than one would have expected from a man of his size, he slashed his knife at Sopherim's throat. Her reaction speed was a testament to Wolven martial arts. Sopherim quickly caught onto his wrist and brought her prehensile foot to his throat, having drawn a razor sharp knife with it in one fluid motion. Niko paused, looking down at the blade resting on his neck and at Sopherim.

“You better kill me right now, girl.”

Mikali was already on her feet, her blaster drawn and pointed at Sopherim. “Kill him and I do both you and your brother next.”

Sopherim was visibly unimpressed by this. “Typical Kelthan, thinking that having a gun somehow automatically grants them victory.”

“ENOUGH!” Domiant shouted before letting out an exasperated sigh. “You can measure the strength of your genitals once the job is done!” Sopherim gave Niko and Mikali a deliberate look before releasing his arm and lowering her foot. Mikali slowly holstered her blaster, letting out a relieved breath as she did.

Niko felt his neck; Sopherim had been in control the entire time, not so much as scratching him with her blade. Niko snorted loudly and spat on the kitchen floor before sitting himself back down, not once glancing away from Sopherim. “Believe me, this little chat between you and me ain't done yet.”

“That is most unfortunate for you,” Sopherim muttered under her breath.

“Good. Now that we are done with this display of sheer idiocy, may I get back to the briefing at hand? The sooner I am done, the sooner we can get this started and the sooner we can collect our individual rewards and be done with each other.”

“When we get to these coordinates, what are we to do?” asked Zanza, who had silently observed this entire exchange, her voice as always a soft yet clear whisper.

“Finally, an intelligent question.” Domiant considered his next words carefully. Under no circumstances could the cutthroat members of the
Althena
know what the true value of the mission was.

“We are to take control of the
Jinxed Thirteenth
. Capture the crew, as unharmed as possible.” Domiant paused to look at Niko when he said this before carrying on. “The ship and all cargo are to be kept intact and untouched. We will be paid upon delivery.”

“Crew intact?” Niko, the violent brute, was no doubt upset that he would not be able to fully exercise what was arguably his one-­and-­only talent: finding ways to hurt ­people.

“Stealing a Covenant ship and murdering an entire Covenant crew are two entirely different crimes, mister Niko. Which one of the two options do you think will truly make you an enemy in their eyes?”

Niko scratched the back of his head, pondering both options and with visible difficulty (Infinite help him but this man was an imbecile) finally nodded. “Option . . . one?”

Domiant clapped his hands slowly and rudely. “Yes, mister Niko, that is indeed the right answer.”

Niko opened his mouth to say something and thought better of it. Arguing with Sopherim, Domiant's “bodyguard,” was one thing. Arguing with the man in charge of this sortie? That was another thing altogether.

“How soon can you get us to our destination, mister Loc?”

Jerkol Loc looked to the coordinates on the paper and back to Domiant. “Four standard days, I think.”

This would not do. Ynarra had informed Domiant that theirs would not be the only crew gunning for the
Jinxed Thirteenth
. Fortunately for them, what the
Althena
lacked in weapons and armor it more than made up for in speed. “You will get us there in three, Jerkol, or I will have Sopherim claim one of your toes for each day beyond that.”

“And just how are we going to board and claim a Covenant Patrol ship, little prince?” Mikali added the last title with as much insolence as could be allowed.

“Oh, Mikali. Do not trouble what little faculty for thought you possess on this matter. I have started to formulate a plan, and if you all play your part and try not to kill one another, we will come out of this rich and powerful.”