by Jamie Sawyer
But I realised that something was different this time.
A heavy pistol was aimed directly at my face, the muzzle locked against my face-plate. The owner of the gun was a woman, but I barely got to see her before I made extraction.
“Surprise,” she said, as she fired the pistol.
“Fuck y—”
At that range, I didn’t stand a chance. The kinetic shattered the face-plate and hit me squarely in the forehead. Right through the skull, and the braincase. Then probably out the other side, along with the insides of my head.
Another dead skin.
I extracted into my real body, almost simultaneous to Riggs breaching the simulator. He hurled the power wrench at the tank, and the canopy finally shattered. The tank’s liquid insides poured out across the SOC’s deck, and fragments of glass showered my naked body. I grasped for the emergency control again.
“This is your problem, Keira,” said Riggs. “You think that everything can be solved by making the next transition.”
The wrench slammed into my temple, so hard that I fought to stay conscious. I scrambled around inside the simulator, and broken glass lacerated my arms and legs. You’re naked when you go into the tanks, and you’re naked when you come out: this place was supposed to be a place of sanctuary, of safety, for an operator. Now, it was anything but.
Riggs got purchase on me, and my data-ports popped in sequence as the force was enough to disconnect me from the tank. I kicked out with both legs, into Riggs’ body.
“Will you please just give it up!” Riggs shouted, grabbing a leg with one hand.
The last thing I saw was Riggs’ face, contorted in a mask of fury, teeth bared in an animal snarl that would’ve done Novak proud. Not for the first time, I found myself asking what I had ever seen in him. You’ll be the death of me, I thought.
I was vaguely aware in that sort of I’m about to lose consciousness way that the Jackals were out of their tanks and that things were happening around me. Clipped shouts. Gunfire somewhere nearby. Screams from the corridor outside. Other naked bodies, dark coloured shapes in the SOC.
Help me, P! Please! Help us! I projected the thought. Desperately searched for the mental link between us.
I tasted blood in my mouth. I hurt. A lot.
The power wrench landed in my face, one last time, and there was nothing at all.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
“Time to wake up, you lazy bitch.”
Dark. Cold. Water in my face. No, not water. The pain in my head was so powerful that I felt sick, but it slowly receded, just enough for me to stay standing. There was something damp on my temple, and my vision blurred. Everything was sort of red-tinged; I had blood in my eyes. The air smelt of oil. I’m in Engineering. One of the Valkyrie’s work bays.
Someone was crying nearby, in choked sobs. It sounded like Zero.
“You hurt her badly,” came another harshly accented voice. “This is not good. We need her to talk.”
“Yeah, well,” said Riggs, pacing the deck in front of me. “She’s been a real problem for me, you know?”
“She can die, but not yet.”
Riggs wasn’t in his real skin any more. The bruises that Novak had given him were gone, and the face that looked back at me was freshly decanted. He wore a combat-suit without a helmet, a Widowmaker pistol strapped to his thigh. That he was skinned meant his real body was somewhere either in the Valkyrie’s SOC or aboard a nearby ship. The idea that the bastard was using our own technology against us repulsed me. His combat-suit definitely wasn’t from our armoury, because it was blank and unbadged.
I tried to turn. Found that my arms were pulled over my head, and I was chained by the wrists, attached to a cargo rail or gantry. The chain had enough give that I could stand, but not that I could do anything else. My limbs were already numb, and the restraints bit into my wrists. That pain, however, was nothing compared to the storm inside my skull. Around me, the Jackals were in a similar situation. All five of us, now dressed in shipboard fatigues.
Phoenix Squad were lined up on the other side of the bay. Ving’s face was downcast, but he managed a flicker of his eyes in my direction. In the dim light, I made out that everyone had taken a beating. Bodies were bloodied, bruised, injured. One of Phoenix Squad—a trooper I’d never even known the name of—looked as though he might already be dead; hanging limp from a chain.
Light filled the bay, so intense that it burnt my eyes. The figure held an emergency flare in one gloved hand, and it fizzed, under-lighting an old woman’s face.
“She has spirit!” she said. Her voice was dry and parched, like the crushing of old bones. “That is to be applauded. We are same, you and me, da? My foot soldiers are my family. I care for them. They are my sons.”
“Who the fuck are you?” I asked, even though I already recognised the face. It was the woman from the vid-feed of the attack on Sanctuary…
“I am Major Mish Vasnev.”
Novak’s reaction was nothing short of nuclear. He roared. It was the sound of a possessed animal, a man gone completely feral. Has he ever been this close to the woman responsible for killing his wife and child? I wondered. The animosity and hate and frustration seemed to explode out of him in a wave that enveloped the compartment. He frothed at the mouth, eyes bulging. He’d been beaten like the rest of us, but no amount of punishment was going to stop him.
Novak lashed out with his legs, the only parts of his body that were free. He struck one of the captors—a figure dressed in heavy space armour—directly in the chest. The rail overhead creaked as it took Novak’s weight, and the tango sprawled backwards.
“I kill you!” Novak screamed, flecks of spit escaping his lips.
A dozen figures in full hard-suits, covered with Russian military tags and gang markings, appeared from the shadows. These were the Sons of Balash, and they were Vasnev’s kill team. They dripped with weaponry, from holstered handguns to multiple assault rifles strapped across their backs, and now they surrounded Novak, waving improvised melee weapons. If any of these assholes recognised Novak from his gang days, they weren’t showing it.
Although Novak was bigger than Vasnev by a significant degree, the old woman stood her ground. Caught by the jittering light of the emergency flare, her face was impassive and unimpressed.
“Are you finished, my son?” she asked.
“I am not son! I am Jackal!”
Vasnev broke into a poisoned smile. “Ah, but you will always be a Son of Balash. That is your role in life, Leon Novak. What has happened to you?”
“I leave that behind,” Novak said. “And you pay me by killing my Anwar and Vali!”
“Who are they?” Vasnev asked. Some of the other figures around her laughed, and it was a dark, mocking sound. “So many names. I am an old woman. I cannot be expected to remember everyone.”
“You know who they are. You order them dead!”
“It was you who killed them,” Vasnev said, “when you turned your back on bratva. I had no choice but to order redress. Their blood is on your ledger, Leon Novak.”
A stream of Russian expletives spilt from Novak’s mouth. He lashed out again, but after the first casualty, the other gangers were more careful. They stood in a wide circle around Novak.
Vasnev paced between the lines of captured troopers, looking us up and down. She wore an exo-suit that covered most of her body. Like its wearer, the armour was grizzled and battered, but it was more advanced than the suits worn by the rest of the gang. Only Vasnev’s head was exposed, and her skin was so sun-baked that it looked positively ancient: the tone and texture of old leather. Cyrillic script was tattooed across her cheekbones and forehead, dark reflections of Novak’s gang markings. Her hair, plaited down to the small of her back, was the colour of faded platinum. There was a patch on her shoulder; words in Russian, with a flag.
Riggs followed Vasnev. His face twitched, and he trailed the power wrench across the deck, producing a tail of
blue sparks.
“This is the Major’s private army,” said Riggs, his arms open to encompass the occupants of the cargo bay. “The Sons of Balash. They’ve been extremely helpful in planning this whole operation.”
Vasnev’s face remained neutral. Her hand still rested on the stock of a carbine, which was slung across her shoulder. Old as she was, the years had done nothing to diminish her threatening aura. I could imagine this woman clawing her way up the greasy pole of the criminal underworld—every death, every atrocity, only adding to her reputation.
“Fuck that,” a prisoner said. “We’re Phoenix Squad, and—”
Vasnev’s carbine was up. It aimed at the speaker, and barked once. The body sagged, dead. Together with the guy who was already dead, that put Phoenix Squad two men down. Only three bodies left.
Ving gasped. “No, no, no!” he shouted.
Adrenaline and panic and horror mixed into a debilitating concoction, and my blood froze.
Vasnev shrugged. “Next time, it will be one of your team-mates, Leon Novak. You are all going to behave, and give me the information that I require.”
Novak shuddered, the rage clattering around behind his eyes. He had a big cut to his temple, and blood down one side of his face. There was still defiance there, but Novak was no fool. He waited, silently.
“A demonstration is in order,” Vasnev said.
She waved the flare towards the end of the bay, at an auxiliary airlock. Commander Dieter’s face appeared at the inner lock. She was slamming her fists against the interior view-port, in a desperate attempt to escape. A ganger had taken up a post beside the airlock controls. The implication was clear: they were going to space Dieter.
“The Warlord was very specific about this one,” Vasnev said. “She is called Dieter. She and he have history, da? They were together on Barain-11. She could have saved him.”
Riggs bowed his head in perverted respect at mention of Warlord’s name.
“Are you really going to let her do this?” I asked.
“No, I’m not,” he said. “Because one of you can stop it.”
Vasnev nodded, with a wave of the flare. The aged hydraulics in the limbs of her suit whined as she moved. “Daneb Riggs speaks truth. You can change this. We have come for the alien. Tell us where it is.”
“What alien?”
“Do not try to be smart,” Vasnev said. She circled me, coming closer. She smelt of burnt wood and sweat, even over the chemical odour of the bay. “We seek the pariah-form.”
You haven’t found P? I thought. Hope detonated inside me like a grenade. I hadn’t realised it until now—and I scanned the chamber, looking for them—but Dr Saito and Captain Heinrich weren’t here, either.
“We don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Lopez.
Vasnev exhaled slowly. “Ligachev, open the comms-channel into the airlock. Let us hear the commander speak.”
The ganger did as ordered and Commander Dieter’s panicked voice filled the bay.
“… I didn’t do this! I went back for him. I was on Barain, but I tried to save him! You have to believe me! I thought I loved him, but I thought he felt the same way—”
“Enough,” said Riggs. “She’s a liar. Warlord never loved her.”
The ganger didn’t act on Riggs’ command, but waited until Vasnev gave her assent. She nodded once and the comm-unit crackled. Dieter was silenced.
“Where is the alien?” Vasnev levelly repeated.
“I’m pretty sure that you should tell the old woman,” said Riggs. “I meant it when I said these guys were crazy. She’ll do this.”
Lopez and Zero were beside me, and they rattled their chains. There were cries of anguish, and of protestation, but it was all wasted energy.
“We can’t let this happen!” Zero said, half turning to me, using all the leeway the chains would give her.
“Would you rather that one of your squad was executed?” Vasnev said, swivelling the carbine in our direction.
“Do it!” demanded Riggs. “Ghost these useless fucks.”
Vasnev’s gun settled on Feng, the muzzle against his forehead. He valiantly—or foolishly, depending on how you look at it—stared Vasnev down.
“I’m not telling you anything,” Feng said.
“You won’t when you’re dead,” said Vasnev. Her finger was tight against the trigger.
“Don’t kill him!” Zero blurted. “P was in Medical.”
“That is not true,” said Vasnev. “We have searched the Medical Deck. It is absent. Tell me where it has gone.”
Vasnev dropped the gun down to her side again and nodded at her subordinate, beside the airlock. Dieter’s face still filled the port. Her eyes grew wide, and although she wouldn’t be able to hear what was being said, it was clear that she realised what was happening.
“It was in some sort of chrysalis,” said Zero, babbling now, talking faster and faster. “We thought that it had become infected on Sanctuary. I’m telling the truth, I promise!”
Vasnev narrowed her eyes. “We find this chrysalis, but no alien. One last chance, da? Where is it?”
“It died, in the cocoon,” I said. “We don’t know why. Riggs could’ve told you that. The data is all on the mainframe.”
“My access codes are locked out,” complained Riggs. He looked like he wasn’t sure whether he believed me or not. “I can’t verify it.”
“It was infected with Harbinger,” Lopez said, developing the lie. “The Spiral did something on Sanctuary.”
Riggs bit his lip. Vasnev was poised.
“It went into a… a chrysalis,” Zero repeated. “The viral strain was weaponised. We… we tried to do everything we could to save it, but we didn’t have the equipment here.”
“So this may have been a wasted trip,” Vasnev concluded. “When did this happen?”
“Novak and Riggs had a confrontation,” I said. “It happened after that. Some time last night.”
Riggs’ expression brightened. “It looks like we didn’t fail on Sanctuary after all. So the fish really was infected with Harbinger?”
I nodded as grimly as I could. “Yes. Pariah was infected. We had no choice but to space it.”
Vasnev regarded me with deep green eyes that must’ve been augmented. They unnaturally contrasted with her near-gold skin tone. She made a decision.
Vasnev nodded at the airlock hatch. The ganger keyed the activation control. The airlock’s warning lamp flashed red. Dieter’s mouth opened wide in a perpetual scream, and she was gone. The airlock opened to vacuum. Dieter vanished. Around me, the bay degenerated into shouts and cries.
“What are you doing?” Lopez shouted. “Put me down!”
The gangers had unchained Lopez. Three of them pulled her into the centre of the bay. Vasnev barked orders in Russian, and the gangers dragged Lopez out of the chamber. She clawed at the hatch frame as she went, but the resistance was token.
“We’ve already told you what happened to P!” I shouted.
“And I believe you,” Vasnev said. “We have searched ship, and there is no sign at all. We know that some of your crew are still here, but there is no alien. It does not matter, really. We will destroy ship, with you on it.”
Novak had resumed his berserk thrashing. His muscles strained against the chains, in a concerted attempt to get free. Two, three, four gangers descended on him, deploying shock-batons. He roared like a wounded bear, slamming feet into everyone that came near, taking the pain.
“You can’t take her!” I yelled.
The Jackals and the remains of Phoenix Squad were joined in protest, screaming at Vasnev and Riggs.
“I am sorry that your story could not have happier ending, my son,” Vasnev said to Novak. She’d opened the hatch to the engineering bay, and was poised there, surrounded by a cadre of gangers. “But sometimes, this life is unfair. Kill them.”
“Let me do it,” said Riggs, drawing his pistol. “I want to make this mean something.”
“V
ery well,” said Vasnev. “We go to our ship now.”
“You can go without me,” said Riggs. He glared at me and smiled. So Riggs’ real body was on Vasnev’s ship. “I’ll extract when you leave the system.”
Vasnev tossed the emergency flare onto the deck. It was burnt to the nub, throwing off jittering shadows and juddering red light. The engineering bay door whined shut.
Alone with us now, Riggs prowled between the rows of dying simulant operators. He had the power wrench in one hand, his Widowmaker in the other. The pistol was armed, and Riggs held it up. It reflected the flare’s twitchy illumination.
Riggs paused in front of me. “This could’ve turned out so differently, Keira,” he said.
“Don’t ever call me Keira.”
“The Aeon are gone. No power readings from the surface. Maybe you’re right, and the Pariah is dead. Maybe it escaped in an evacuation-pod. Like Vasnev says, it doesn’t really matter any more.”
I spat at Riggs. There was more blood than spittle in the gobbet of liquid that landed on his cheek, but it felt good nonetheless. Riggs wiped his face.
“Goodbye, Keira,” said Riggs. He reached out to touch my cheek with his hand, and I wriggled away. “I’m going to find my father in the Maelstrom. I’m going to find him, and rescue him. Dominion come, thy will be done.”
“He died on Barain,” I growled. “He was the last to go, and it was painful, and the nest absorbed him like the rest of the Iron Knights!”
Riggs shook his head, cancelling my truth.
“The Jackals always had a problem with Phoenix Squad,” he said, pausing in front of one of Ving’s team. “It must’ve been a real blow when you found out you were working with them.”
“Don’t even think—” Ving started.
Riggs snapped his pistol up and executed one of Phoenix Squad. Blood spattered the bulkhead, and the body hung there. Ving’s face contorted in panic and horror. There were no words for what had happened.
Riggs didn’t stop. He moved on to the next body. The trooper tried to squirm, but there was nowhere to go. Gun up. Bang. Another dead soldier. He slung the power wrench over his shoulder, and strolled along the line of troopers.