Chains of Destiny (Episode #2: The Pax Humana Saga)

by Nick Webb

  The man eyed the knife with wide eyes. “No. Please. No. Stop. I—I—I don’t want to, I mean, please, no—“

  Ben stooped down and grabbed the man’s shirt, wrenching his head up a foot off the ground.

  “No!” But this voice came from behind. From the cage. Six scurried over to Ben and pawed at him. “No! Please! Please no!” The fawning man wrapped his arms around Stone’s head, shielding him.

  “Six. Move. You’re free now. We can go. My people are here to rescue us—all we need to do is find them and get the hell out of this hole. Just move away.”

  “Just promise you won’t kill him.”

  “I can’t do that, Six.”

  Six fixed his crazed eyes on Ben. “Then I can’t move.” Apparently the picobots were having their effect on the man.

  Ben roared. “Get the fuck away from him you little pile of shit!” he clamped his mouth shut, shocked at his words. He rarely swore. He’d never spoken to anyone like that. But he regarded the broken man beneath him with contempt. How could anyone allow themselves to stoop so low? Even if coerced and tortured?

  Is this how he would have ended up?

  Six cried, joining his voice to the moans of the bloody captor beneath him. Ben softened his voice. “Six. Move. I promise I won’t hurt him. Not yet. We can both decide what to do with him. Please.”

  Six looked up at him. Confusion spread across his face, and he searched for words.

  “My name is Rhys. Before. Before, my name was Rhys. Before I was born there, on that table.” He glanced up at the blood-stained table nearby. “You promise you won’t kill him? I can’t kill my own father. He’s like my father. My Master.”

  Ben felt like vomiting, but kept a straight face. “I promise. Really, Rhys.”

  Slowly, Rhys released his grip on the man’s head and stood up. Ben stood with him. “Ok. Let’s just get the hell out of here. He’s not going anywhere, for now.”

  Doctor Stone whimpered, and tried to move his arms. But he cried out each time he moved. “Wait! Don’t just leave me here! Don’t just leave me here! You can’t leave me here!”

  “Won’t your lab crew come help you?” Ben sneered, as the two men neared the door.

  “I never let them come here! No one will find me for weeks!”

  “Well then,” said Ben, searching for words. He found none. “Good luck!”

  He shepherded Rhys out the door and followed him behind. “Oh, wait, stay there, I need to tell him one more thing,” he said to his new friend.

  Ben slipped back into the room—the dungeon—his prison—and pulled the door closed to a crack behind him before bringing the knife up.

  “What are you doing?” groaned the man.

  Ben held the knife up. “Ending your miserable life. Consider it a favor.”

  Blood trickled from the man’s mouth onto the floor as he laughed. He laughed. The son of a bitch was crazy. The master leered his ghoulishly bloody face at him. “You will hurt those closest to you.”

  Ben cocked his head, staring down at the bitter face.

  “What did you say?”

  “I told you, you’ll hurt those closest to you. Those dearest to you. I command it.”

  Ben rolled his eyes. “What, still deluding yourself with the master act? You must be crazier than I thought.”

  Stone continued, ignoring Ben. “You know what the picobots do?”

  Ben’s fingers twitched around the knife, ready to throw. But curiosity overcame him. He paused.

  The man went on. “Over the next few weeks, they would have let me own you. Control you. You would have wanted me. They would have taught you to want me. I could have programmed you like I programmed Six. But,” he coughed up more blood. “The picobots make you susceptible to suggestion, and the first command is always the most potent. It will stay with you the rest of your life. You’ll never forget it. Never.”

  Ben raised the knife.

  With a swift motion tempered by years of practice under the most renowned combat masters in North America, he flung the knife at the master, and it plunged deep into his forehead.

  “You can’t leave me here,” Stone said, but he spoke slurred, as if on autopilot. The man slumped without another groan.

  Ben slipped out the door and shut it behind him, firmly. “There. I just had to tell him that before we left.”

  Rhys cocked his head as they walked up the stairs. “What did you say?”

  He pulled Rhys along the hallway. “To go to hell.”

  ***

  As the deckplates rumbled with the explosions from the Phoenix’s laser turrets, Captain Titus steadied himself on the command console. “Tactical, redirect the defensive screen to sector eight—there’s a few Rebel fighters breaking away towards us.”

  “Aye, sir,” came the reply.

  Admiral Trajan nodded in approval. Titus found that the man tended to micromanage all the events leading up to military engagements, but would leave the actual operations during battle up to Titus and the other commanders on the bridge.

  A particularly strong blast nearly knocked Titus off his feet. An Ensign at the operations center fell out of his chair, apparently having forgotten to fasten his restraint. Titus made a note to chide the man later.

  “Damage report,” he said.

  “Crews are reporting minimal casualties, sir, but there is decompression on decks nine and ten, forward. Eighty percent of all offensive weaponry undamaged. Gravitics are online, but engineering reports some of the field generators have taken hits.”

  “Very well. Commander Burris? Status of the fighters?”

  The Wing Commander’s voice sounded over the comm. “Not good. We’ve lost half our squadron. We just haven’t had the time to practice with those new drives—“

  “A poor excuse, Commander,” said Admiral Trajan, interrupting. His voice took on a dangerous tone. “I specifically instructed you to make sure our pilots had plenty of time to practice, even if that meant double shifts. I expect to see you in my ready room when this is over, is that clear?”

  Commander Burris hesitated. “Yes, Admiral. I’ll inform the squad leader to—“

  “Sir!” Ensign Evans at communications waved a hand. “The Sphinx has just shifted into orbit and is hailing us!”

  “Open the channel.” Admiral Trajan stood up from the captain’s chair. The Captain’s voice crackled through the comm.

  “NPQR Sphinx reporting as requested. What are your instructions, Admiral?”

  Trajan scratched the rim of his eye socket. “Captain Thracius. A pleasure to hear your voice. If you would be so kind as to direct your fire on the Phoenix and encourage her to surrender. Our goal is to maim and capture, Captain, not to destroy. Mercer is on the planet, and the odds are high that we can take the ship intact.”

  “Very well, sir. On our way to your position.”

  The tactical chief called out, “Sir. The Phoenix has parked herself just meters off our port bow.”

  Trajan raised his eyebrows and turned to Captain Titus: “Prepare the boarding parties. They are to shoot anyone who even remotely resists. If they so much as scowl at our men, they die. We have been far too lenient with these people. Is that clear?”

  “Absolutely, sir,” said Titus. He relayed the order down to the marines, finally sensing the end was near.

  They could soon resume their normal routine, at last.

  ***

  The gun battle raged outside the small brick shack, and an occasional bullet grazed the window frame next to Jake, which sent him ducking for cover, showering him with brick debris.

  “Alessandro, buddy, you watching that door? I don’t want any guards sneaking up on us!”

  The scientist called back. “Yes, friend!” The gangly man had grabbed a rifle from one of the fallen guards and held it up awkwardly to his chest. Unfortunately, it was clear he had never handled a weapon in his life. Luckily, Tovra stood on the other side of the doorway, grasping his assault rifle in a far more competent pos
ition. Jeremiah sat in a corner with his hands covering his ears, squinting against the bright daylight streaming through the window.

  Jake turned back to the scene in the compound. Their team of marines was pinned down behind the crashed shuttles. Dozens of guards raked the craft with fire from the relative safety of their windows and doorways, immobilizing the defenders.

  “They’re not going to make it. They’ve got no way to advance,” said Avery.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Jake saw movement—near the main building of the compound where they had been taken the first day.

  He pointed. “That’s Velar over there, with her entourage. She’s directing a bunch of them towards the other side of the compound.”

  “I did hear an explosion or crash over there the same time our boys came down,” said Avery. “I wonder if it was another shuttle.”

  “Could be. But I think we might have a chance to behead their whole operation. Come on. I think we can thread our way over there. There’s a series of metal bins, a few vehicles, and some brick out-buildings between us and them. Should be enough cover, especially since our boys got them all kinds of distracted.”

  Avery nodded and stood up, following Jake to the door.

  “Stay here,” he told the three others. Jeremiah looked at him with wild eyes. “Don’t worry, son, I’ll be right back. Tovra and Alessandro here will keep you safe.” He paused at the doorway before turning back to the boy. “But if any guards do get in, feel free to go bat-shit crazy on them, ok?”

  To Jake’s delight, the boy nodded vigorously. But he didn’t have time to say another word as Avery had already taken off. He chased the old soldier across the short space between them and the line of metal bins, dusty and full of ore. Sprinting past them, staying as low to the ground as possible, they wove around the vehicles and sidled up to one of the low brick out-buildings near the main structure of the compound.

  “Look. She’s still sending a group off to the other side of the compound. She’s only got two men with her now, both heavily armed. It’s either now, or never. You ready?” Jake glanced to his companion.

  Avery sniffed and wiped his brow. “Let’s do this.”

  “I’ll take the one on the left, you’ve got the one on the right. And if Velar raises her Domitian control device….”

  “I’ll take care of it,” replied Avery, with a grim nod.

  “Alright … now!” They both sprang out and raced the remaining distance between them and the last out-building that blocked their view of the main compound. Taking positions at opposite sides of the structure, Jake fingered a quick three-second countdown, and they popped around their corners.

  Jake aimed as swiftly as he could, getting the man on the left in his sights. He fired off three quick shots: the bullets pierced the man’s chest, spraying the wall behind him with blood. He saw the other man drop as the back of his skull exploded as he jumped out from the building and ran towards Velar.

  She looked surprised, and reached into her pocket for the Domitian device. As she withdrew it, a round of gunfire sounded out, and pierced her wrist. She cried out, and dropped the device just as Jake reached her and kicked her legs out from under her.

  “It’s over, Velar.”

  Avery ran over to them, and punted the Domitian device away from Velar as she began to lean towards it. The sounds of gunfire still raged around them, but to Jake’s ears, it sounded lessened, as if tapering off. Looking to his right he watched as Sergeant Jayce, Sergeant Tomaga, and the pirate Captain Volaski sprinted towards them from one of the nearby buildings.

  Jake held up his rifle at Volaski. “Stop. Not another step, Captain.”

  Sergeant Jayce waved him off. “He’s with us, sir. Risked his neck to get us here.”

  Volaski slowed, and approached. With just steps remaining between them, he lowered his rifle and removed the handgun strapped to his leg.

  Velar managed to struggle onto her knees. “I knew it,” she spat. “I knew you—“

  But before Jake could say anything, Volaski raised the handgun, pointed it at her head, and fired at point-blank range.

  She slumped to the dust at their feet.

  Jake pointed the assault rifle at Volaski. “What the hell are you doing? She was unarmed.”

  Volaski smiled. A grim, heartless smile. “And she’s still unarmed. What’s your point?”

  Several of Volaski’s men approached from the direction of one of the fallen shuttles, which Jake recognized as the shuttle he’d arrived in several days ago.

  Jake stooped to examine her. A single bullet hole, in the middle of her forehead. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Volaski stoop to retrieve something on the ground.

  “And to think we’ve all been held here by this one little box,” the pirate murmured, fingering the Domitian controller in his hand.

  Somehow, it just felt wrong to Jake. The woman had tortured him, enslaved him and his crew—Ben was still missing—but for her second-hand man to just mow her down without so much as a word, either of greeting or taunt, struck him as odd. He stood up and faced Volaski.

  “So what now? Are all the people here just from the city? We can help evacuate them if needed—“

  “No, Captain,” said a sweating, bleeding Sergeant Jayce as he came running up. “You’re needed on the Phoenix. The Caligula is here and there’s a battle and shit going on.”

  Jake swore. Volaski tucked the Domitian controller into a pocket on his vest. “I assure you, Captain, I can handle things from here. Really, I could never have done this without your help.” He extended a hand to Jake with a cold smile, who took it reluctantly.

  “I’ll need a shuttle, or something to get us back to our ship.”

  Volaski nodded. “Of course. There’s one in the hangar. Take it. It’s yours. We’ll keep these damaged shuttles of yours as payment.”

  Jake shook his head. “Unacceptable. Those ships are property of the Resistance and—“

  “Captain,” said Volaski, waving a hand, “I don’t think you have any alternative. Just go, take the shuttle, take your people, and be gone.” He glanced over at Alessandro, and Jeremiah, who’d finally come out of hiding in their brick shack. “Except him,” he continued, pointing at Jeremiah. “He stays here.”

  “Where’s Tovra?” he asked Alessandro.

  The other man shook his head, his face grim. Jeremiah pointed at one of the guards nearby. “Men came for us. Ran at us. Shot at us.” He fell silent.

  Alessandro walked over to Jake. “They pinned us down, and Tovra was hit in the chest. The kid went ape-shit crazy again, grabbed the assault rifle, and stormed the bastards. Took them all out. Every last one. Nearly bashed the last one’s head off with the butt of the rifle. By the time he came back, Tovra was gone. Bled out.”

  Jake balled his fists, and snapped his head back to Volaski. “What in the hell do you think you’re talking about? The kid is not staying here. None of them are.”

  “You heard me. My property stays here. Those are good workers you’re fixing to take. We’ll need every hand we can get to even survive in the coming months.”

  Jake could hardly believe his ears, yet the more he thought about it, the man’s behavior didn’t surprise him. He was, after all, a pirate. “Eat shit,” he said, swinging his assault rifle to bear on Volaski, whose men trained their own guns on Jake. Avery, Jayce, and Tomaga followed suit, forming a tangle of guns each aimed at a different person.

  Volaski laughed. “Fine, Mercer. Take him. But only him. Just get the hell off my planet. There’s money to be made here.”

  Jake maintained the grip on his gun, seeing that Volaski’s men hadn’t lowered theirs. “So, you’re just going to keep your slaving operation going? We’re exchanging one tyrant for another?”

  Volaski held up a hand to his chest as if to say “me?”

  “Tyrant? Give me some credit, Mercer. I don’t intend to hardly ever use these blasted collars,” he said, fingering the Domitian Collar around his n
eck. “Me and some of my boys here have been fixing to do this for months. All we needed was an impetus, if you will. Your boys gave me just the firepower I needed to pull it off, and for that I thank you kindly.” He nodded to Sergeant Jayce and Tomaga, who glared at him now that it became clear what Volaski’s intentions had been all along. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a mining operation to run. Leave your shuttles, they can’t be—“

  An engine roar cut him off, and Jake looked about to see the source. Not finding any, he looked up. A large freighter swung around the compound and throttled its engines as it settled into position overhead. They heard the distinctive whine of the gravitics as it lowered itself to the ground, not thirty meters away, in a dusty clearing near the overloaded ore bins.

  As the hatch opened, Jake couldn’t believe his eyes. Dirty, bloody, and stooping, Ben Jemez hobbled out the exit, a sidearm in each hand. He glanced at the raised guns. “Is this a bad time?”

  More of the Phoenix strike squad, as well as Volaski’s men had congregated around the group with raised guns, all clustered around the fallen body of Velar and her two guards. They looked from one to another, wondering what to do. Jake knew there could be another bloodbath if he didn’t say something. Slowly, he lowered his weapon.

  “On second thought, Volaski, we won’t be needing your shuttle after all.” He took a step forward, eliciting nervous motions from one of Volaski’s guards. Jake extended his free hand. “Regards, Captain Volaski.”

  Volaski waved a hand at his men, who lowered their weapons. “Until next time, Captain Mercer.” He eyed Ben, who held onto the door of the freighter for support.

  Jake turned to go, but glanced back at the old pirate. “Actually, there is one more thing. What we came here for.” He pointed to the freight containers lining the grounds of the compound. “I want that ore. Those are the reject bins anyway, right?”