Resurrection

by Jeffrey Burger

  ■ ■ ■

  A spike of anger rising through his body like fire, prompted the Command Master Chief to lose his temper, standing at the helm station with his back to the bow of the ship, surrounded by the crew, when the android stepped through the hatchway at the back of the bridge. “What the hellion are you doing here?” he growled. “I thought I told you not to come back? How… how the fuck did you even get on the ship?”

  “Captain Jaxon’s personal security code,” she replied, calmly, defiantly folding her arms across her chest. “Which, by the way, you will need, if you hope to get this ship off the pad.”

  “What?”

  She smiled wryly, “Ironic, isn’t it? You hate me… but you need me.”

  “Where is the Captain, android?” asked the new navigator, a slim, dark man with clear blue eyes.

  Andrea’s eyes danced around to each crewmember before stopping on the Chief. “You want to tell them, or should I?”

  “He had another commitment…”

  “Courtesy of the Chief,” finished Andrea. “As a guest of Sentinel Services.”

  All eyes shifted from the android to the Chief. “What’s she talking about?”

  “Yeah,” chimed in the pilot, the only other crewmember to meet the Captain besides Andrea. “What did you do?”

  “He’s a bounty hunter,” offered Andrea. “I hope none of you have any warrants… you never know what could happen if he needs a few credits.”

  The tactical officer rose from where he’d been sitting in the first mate’s chair, “So you turn in your own crewmate and take his ship? I thought you were a brother Shadow with a little integrity…”

  Andrea tilted her head to one side, “A what?”

  The tactical officer pulled up his sleeve revealing a tattoo of a ghostly looking soldier on the underside of his forearm. “Special Weapons And Demolitions Commando. They called us, Shadows.”

  “Hold on just a minute,” objected Daryl, “my integrity is just fine… He had a*250,000 ITC bounty with a legitimate issuer…”

  “Who?”

  “Barrow Insurance, out of their corporate office. But they want him delivered to Rikovik’s Reef…”

  “Everyone knows Barrow Investment Insurance is a front for the Syndicate. At least anyone who’s been to the Reef a couple times does. What’s he wanted for?”

  “It just said extensive damages…”

  “Dammit, Chief, 250,000 is revenge money, they’re going to kill him.”

  “Nooo,” waved Daryl, dismissively. “They used Sentinel Services. There’s a legal track on the money, the bounty, the suspect…”

  Scratching the stubble on his chin, the tactical officer shook his head, “I’m telling you, he’ll disappear. You can’t deliver him… it’s a death sentence.”

  “I’m not. I left him with Sentinel, they’ll arrange transport. Best guess is, they’ll hold him for pickup.”

  “Pickup?!” The SWADEC commando’s ire grew rapidly. “Chief, all due respect. But you’re an asshole. He’ll be lucky to survive the trip. The Syndicate will send their own goons to come get him – they’ll beat and torture him for the whole trip back! How could you do this… to anyone?”

  Daryl rubbed his face in anxious energy. “I knew this felt wrong… dammit. I thought I was doing the right thing… But…”

  “But what?” prompted Andrea.

  Daryl was starting to put the pieces together. The things he’d noticed; the obvious and the obscure. It was all starting to come together, what he refused to believe, preferred to dismiss, and willingly ignored. “He… he took this vessel from its crew. By his account they tried to kill him. And he took them out…”

  “All of them? How many were there?”

  “Four or five. The part that didn’t make sense was, he was wounded… but it had already started to heal. In hours.” His face reflected a sudden startling revelation, “And this morning,” he said slowly, “I saw him without his shirt…” his eyes widened, “the wounds he had - the scars…” he swallowed hard, “they were nearly gone!”

  “How is that possible?”

  “I don’t know.” His eyes still wide, Daryl rubbed his face, “We met on Byas-Kuyol field - he had come from the medical clinic.”

  “Is he a Synth?”

  The Chief nodded and pointed, “Yeah, see, that’s what I thought at first too. But no, I was convinced he wasn’t. Then… when I was getting payout at Sentinel, the guard brought his personal effects for recording and…” His eyes stared blankly down at his empty open palm, “He had a gold medallion - on a chain. One side I didn’t understand; a winged man killing a demon of some kind, with a sword. But the other side…”

  “What was on the other side, Chief?”

  “The emblem of the Architects.”

  “WHAT?!” The Tactical officer threw his arms up, “By the Gods...”

  “And there was a ring too.” He looked up, his eyes glassy.

  “What was on the ring, Chief?”

  Daryl took a deep breath, his chest hurting, his eyes burning, “It was a Knight’s Templar ring.”

  There was a unified groan from everyone on the bridge.

  “What does that mean?” asked Andrea, her face full of concern.

  “We can’t just leave him there,” objected the navigator.

  The tactical officer scrubbed the top of his head, “It means the man the Chief pulled a bounty on, may be a Guardian.”

  Andrea’s face was expressionless, “A Guardian?”

  “Heavenite help me, I may have bountied an Angel,” groaned Daryl, his voice cracking.

  ■ ■ ■

  Jack Steele twisted the ring around his finger, staring at it but not really seeing it, his mind in neutral, random thoughts rolling slowly through his mind. The guards gave him no reason for returning his medallion and ring - he supposed it didn’t really matter why, one way or another, someone at Rikovik’s Reef was going to own them as a trophy. The loss of his MOBIUS was inconsequential, but his ITC cards… Well, he expected someone would figure out how to drain the accounts. Somehow. He glanced at his right thumb, hoping whomever it was, knew the tape trick.

  Jack had put people in jail cells, but he’d never spent much time in one, though this appeared to be cleaner than most. It was a surprise however that with all the technology and electronic wizardry available, the cell had steel bars and grills - not unlike something on Earth. Though there were a few interesting twists, like food delivery coming out of a door in the wall. Food had been relatively bland but edible. Probably the same no matter what planet you’re on.

  Steele laid back on the cot, giving his cell mate on the other side of the small room a non-committal glance - he appeared to be napping, his loose cloak wrapped around him, hood pulled down over his face. There was nothing to look at on the ceiling so he closed his eyes.

  How could he have been so stupid… trusting someone he didn’t know. He should have known better to trust anyone in dark territory. But the bounty had been a real surprise. Realistically, that was something he could never have anticipated. At least they didn’t know his real identity, there’d be no recovery from that.

  Maybe going to Rikovik’s Reef wouldn’t be too bad. He got off that stale, dirty rock once, maybe he could do it again. Of course, the Reef was going to be a fairly long haul, it wasn’t exactly in the neighborhood. Perhaps an opportunity would present itself to extricate himself from his predicament before he even got there…

  “A positive attitude is a key factor…”

  Steele rolled his head to the side, facing his cellmate, still wrapped in his cloak. “Did you say something?”

  The man raised himself up on one elbow, pulling his hood back, revealing a lined, weathered face and a gray beard. “I was simply making an observation; circumstances are temporary. It is best to meet new circumstances with optimism and a positive attitude.”

  Steele stared at the ceiling. “Uh huh.”

  “I’m just saying, mirac
les happen. A man of conviction and determination can take advantage of those opportunities…”

  Steele sat up, swinging his feet off his cot, facing the man, “You talk to me like you know me or something. Have we met?”

  The man sat up to face Jack, his elbows on his knees. “I don’t look familiar to you?”

  Steele studied the old man’s face, “I don’t think so.”

  The old man smiled, pulling a short-squat, liquor bottle and two snifters from the folds of his cloak, pouring a heavy, dark red liquor into the glasses. He handed one to Jack, “Diterian Brandy…”

  It never entered his mind to ask how he smuggled the bottle or the glasses into lockup. Frankly, he didn’t much care. Clinging to the glass, it was sweet, thick and aromatic, “Mmmm. Now, this tastes familiar…” Not too sweet and spiced, it slid down his throat, warming him. “Name’s Jax Mercury,” he volunteered.

  “And I am, Voorlak.”

  ■ ■ ■

  “Mercury!” A guard banged on the bars of the cell, the door clattering, prompted Jack to sit bolt-upright even though he wasn’t even half awake.

  “N-huh?” he blinked sleepily.

  “On your feet, your transport is here.”

  Pulling his leather jacket on, he made a point of adjusting its hang and his sleeves, “Thanks for the drink old ma…” Eyes darting around the small cell, there was no sign of the man who had shared his liquor. “What happened to…”

  “What happened to what?” the guard asked gruffly. “Now turn around.”

  Dutifully, Jack turned his back on the cell door placing his hands behind him, “Nothing. Never mind.” The oddly familiar feeling of electronic handcuffs encircling his wrists, interrupted a small sense of loss he felt for not being able to say thank you. But then again, was it even real or had he dreamt that?

  The guard pulled him out of the cell backward by the elbow, steering him toward the exit, “Let’s go. And behave yourself.”

  ■ ■ ■

  Steele eyed the two security agents dressed in black tactical gear, making a mental note of the gaps and possible strike points. Their helmet visors were mirrored and he tried to catch an angle where the light allowed him to see past the reflections. Of course, when his left eye switched to thermal, he managed see a face but it was too nondescript for any real detail.

  “What are you staring at?” snapped the closest agent, his voice hollow and metallic through his helmet’s speaker.

  Jack shook his head, casting his eyes downward, “No, nothing.”

  “I don’t know, you were looking at me hard enough… do we have an issue?”

  “Sorry. No issue.”

  The agent turned his attention back to the Sentinel Services’ paymaster, “All the records straight? Are we done here?”

  “We’re done,” he replied with a nod, “They’re all yours.”

  “Good.” The agent turned his attention back to Jack, punching him in the gut with his baton, watching him double over. “Just so you know where we stand, convict. I own you - at least until you’re delivered. Give me any shit and you can expect more of the same. Got it?”

  Having folded over more out of anticipation than actual pain or discomfort, Steele looked up, “Got it,” he gasped, feigning pain. Straightening up, he allowed himself to be led by the elbow, out through the double security doors.

  ■ ■ ■

  Painted on the floor, Pad B-6 passed under Steele’s feet as they left the tube out onto the landing pad. Walking to the prisoner transport ship, he looked out through the clear plastic canopy over to B-7 where the Drake had been; its atmosphere canopy open, the pad vacant. Son of a bitch. He was torn between wanting to track down the Master Chief and kill him or leaving his fate up to karma. Killing him would probably be more personally satisfying…

  Yanked by the elbow around a stack of crates, Steele was steered toward the cargo ramp “Pay attention to where you’re going, convict.”

  “Man, that’s gonna’ get old, real quick,” Steele muttered under his breath.

  “You got something to say, convict?” snarled the security agent, stopping short, spinning Jack around by the elbow. Watching the other agent and prisoner start up the cargo ramp, he decided there was enough separation, “I love teaching assholes like you, manners…” he sneered, drawing back with his baton like a pitcher readying a sidearm pitch.

  A spike of adrenalin shot through him and the universe slowed, Steele’s initial reflex was to step back out of reach. But to take away the effectiveness of a blunt handheld weapon in a swing, requires closing the distance, to actually be inside the swing. Leaping forward, his hands still handcuffed behind him, he collided with the agent, the baton whiffing past behind him, the arm with the baton wrapping around him striking its owner in his opposite shoulder with an audible thwhack. The momentum of the collision carried them to the ground, Jack tumbling bodily over, wishing he had the use of his hands. A momentary burning, stunned, tingling sensation that reminded him of a funny-bone strike raced through his wrists and hands as the electronic handcuffs fell away, clattering to the deck. He had no time to consider the reason.

  Both men were on their feet, and undeterred, the agent lunged forward, baton in a wide swing, but Jack’s reflexes were racing well ahead of what could be considered normal, beyond thought, strictly reactionary. He stepped inside the weapons arc, his back to the agent, one hand catching the baton in mid-flight, the other on the forearm, feet planted, helping the swing. The agent bodily followed his arm around, off his feet, traveling around Steele as he leaned back to increase momentum before he released. Flying airborne, the agent crashed into a stack of crates like a ragdoll, dropping to the deck and bouncing before coming to rest, motionless.

  “HEY!”

  Steele spun, his feet wide, dropping into a fighting crouch…

  ■ ■ ■

  The ceiling was gray and dingy, the light poor and it smelled like sweat and piss. Steele wrinkled his nose, “Ughh,” he complained.

  “Hey, you’re awake.”

  Sitting up slowly, he swung his feet off the cot, his body aching all over, “Ow, ow, ow,” he breathed. “What the hell happened?”

  “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  Jack closed his eyes, “I don’t know… A blue flash - I remember a blue flash.”

  “Ah, they shot you with a Stunner. And then they beat the hell out of you.”

  Lifting his shirt Jack examined his black and blue ribs. “My face hurts too…”

  “Yeah, you’ve got a black eye, your nose is bloody, but I don’t think it’s broken.”

  Steele gingerly ran his tongue over his teeth, “Teeth are all here…” He eyed the kid in the other cot, an unruly mop of multi-colored hair, topping his head, “How long was I out?”

  “Three hours.”

  “So, we’re off station?”

  “Have been for well over two hours.”

  “Hmm.” Steele, examined his hands as he flexed his fingers, “How old are you?”

  “Not really sure, been on my own most of my life. Nineteen I as far as I can figure.”

  “What were you arrested for?”

  “Theft.” He shrugged, “Gotta do something to survive.” He leaned forward, speaking softly, “Normally I wouldn’t tell you this, but considering the treatment you took, I know you’re not an agent looking for dirt… I pickpocket ITC cards. I set their accounts to direct deposit to an account I set up, a couple credits a month. Then I sneak their cards back. Most of them never notice - especially the ones with a lot of money. Get a few dozen like that and it’s a nice little income.”

  “How did you get caught?”

  The kid made a look of derision, “Returning a damn card. A waitress saw me and called it in.”

  Steele reached out his hand, wincing with the effort, “Ow. Jax Mercury.”

  “Elvidas,” replied the kid, shaking hands. “But I just go by, Vidas.”

  “Ok, Vidas. I guess we’re going to b
e cellmates for a while.”

  Vidas suddenly slid back on his cot and pulled his feet up off the floor, curling in a ball, “Sssshhh…” he whispered, his fingers to his mouth.

  Steele frowned, sitting back, mirroring his cellmate’s posture, as two guards walked past on the other side of the bars.

  “Slogs are all fed and lights out…”

  “Good. Skipper wants us on the bridge for a briefing.”

  “Why, what’s going on?”

  “Something about a ship shadowing us for the last hour.”

  “So? We’re a prison transport - we don’t have anything anybody wants…”

  As a reflex, Steele recoiled when a streak of blue lightning flashed past the bars, pitching the first agent face-first onto the deck, quickly followed by a second, laying out the other before he even had a chance to react. “Holy shit,” he breathed, “what the hell’s going on?”

  The grill over the lower half of the cell bars was keeping prisoners from reaching the guards on the floor and they weren’t happy about it, yelling and getting violent, the noise rising to a dull, echoing, roar.

  Several streaks of blue lightning flashed past, hitting the bars farther past Steele’s cell, splashing on the walls, “Shut up, you filthy animals!” The figure that appeared from the left moved swiftly, silently, crouched, dressed in dark combat gear, his face painted gray and black, “Mercury. Jax Mercury…” He zig-zagged across the open corridor between the cells, “Jax Mercury…”

  The hair on the back of Jack’s neck bristled, a little voice in his head he hadn’t heard in a long time chattering away, danger, danger. Yeah, no kidding. A little late for that… “I’m Jax Mercury…”

  The man stepped over to him, just the other side of the bars, “You’d better be or I’m going to shoot your ass…” He pulled up a holo-screen on his MOBIUS, and compared the photo to Jack’s face, “Well I’ll be damned, I was beginning to think you didn’t exist.” The screen winked out and he keyed his comm, “This is Two, got him. Pull back to the junction and cover our exfil.” He slung his carbine and waved Jack away from the bars, digging into one of his many pouches. “Stand back and turn away.” Sticking something on the door the size of a beer-bottle cap, he turned away himself, “Breech!” The bang from the small directional charge echoed, blowing a hole through the locking mechanism, broken parts rattling to the floor, the door swinging open on its own. “Let’s go, let’s go,” he waved, unslinging his weapon, making ready, checking up the hall.