Wraithkin (The Kin Wars Saga Book 1)

by Jason Cordova

  “Let this be a lesson to you, recruits,” he said in a soft yet clear voice. With a clean twist and jerk, the loud snap! of bone being broken echoed throughout the barracks. An audible gasp escaped through Nicholas’ lips as he exhaled for the last time as Griffon picked him up and tugged on the neck again, ensuring it was thoroughly broken. Gabriel blinked as he realized Griffon had easily killed Gutierrez with his bare hands. Someone near the back of the room retched loudly as Nicholas’ body voided itself, creating a foul stench which made Gabriel’s eyes water. Griffon kept the pressure on Nicholas’ neck for a second longer before he dropped the corpse to the tiled floor. Gabriel, sickened, watched it fall to the formerly spotless floor. He looked back up at Griffon and shakily wondered how such a man could be so callous regarding human life.

  “Your life is nothing when compared to the greater good of the Dominion,” Griffon said to the silent onlookers, his voice gentle yet firm. “I don’t care if only one of you lives through training to join my beloved Wraiths. If you die here, that’s on you. My job is to weed out those who are a simple waste of time to me and my Emperor. Recruit Gutierrez was obviously a waste of my time and thus has been weeded out by the root. Remember this day, maggots. This won’t be the last body you’ll see in your short, miserable lifetimes.

  “Espinoza, Morales, get your asses over here and clean up this mess. There’s an incinerator out back to throw the trash into. Instructions on how to burn the load are printed on the front. I hope one of you worthless fucks can read. The rest of you, well, you’re going to fail miserably anyways but I want the barracks squared away and orderly by the time these two get back from taking the trash out. Whoever puked, clean yourself up. Now move!” Griffon yelled as he toed Nicholas’ body off his boot, a look of disgust crossing his face. The entire barracks burst into activity as each recruit nearly ran to straighten up their bunks and footlockers, each casting a quick look at the body of their former fellow recruit as they did so.

  Gabriel, followed closely by Esau, hurried over to where Griffon’s imposing figure stood. He did not look at the large sergeant as he knelt down and grabbed the feet of Nicholas’ corpse. Esau moved around to the dead recruit’s arms and together the two hoisted him off the ground. Without looking to Griffon for approval, Gabriel and Esau moved towards the back of the barracks. A door led to the incinerator the sergeant had told them about moments before.

  Gabriel ignored the stench of feces and urine which emanated from the body as he struggled to maneuver the door open. One of the other recruits moved to open the door, his eyes wide as he watched the two men carry the corpse by. Gabriel grunted in appreciation to the recruit and stepped out into the frigid cold air, Gutierrez’s heavy body nearly dropping to the ground.

  “Fucking hell,” Esau whispered fearfully the moment the door was shut behind them, his voice hoarse. He hoisted the body up more as they approached the incinerator. “He just fucking killed him, man. He just...damn. I can’t do this. What did Gutierrez do to deserve this? No burial, nothing!”

  “He’s psychotic,” Gabriel agreed in a quiet voice. He set Gutierrez on the ground gently and twisted the heavy metal handle of the large furnace. Inside was a thin rail with small flames dancing on in. Gabriel’s stomach churned at the thought of Gutierrez being cooked inside the incinerator.

  Just a body, Gabriel told himself as he swallowed the rising gorge in his throat. He coughed and tasted bile, acid on his tongue. Gutierrez is dead, this is just an empty shell. He’s not here, this isn’t anybody. This isn’t anybody. Oh God, I think I’m going to puke.

  “You’re going to do it?” Esau asked, sounding sick himself. Gabriel looked at him with dark, haunted eyes and nodded slowly.

  “If we don’t he’ll probably kill us,” Gabriel pointed out in a low voice and hauled the body up by the shoulders. Esau paused for a moment before he lifted as well. Together the two managed to get the deceased recruit into the incinerator without catching themselves on fire.

  Shivering in the cold, Gabriel looked over the instructions carefully once the door was shut and latched closed. Two buttons were on the front of the machine. After rereading the instructions printed on the metal placard, he punched the green button and stepped back. Esau followed suit, and a faint, familiar smell touched both men’s nostrils. Gabriel felt his stomach flip once again.

  “What’s that smell?” Esau asked. Gabriel, raised on a farm, knew exactly what the familiar smell was. He turned suddenly and dropped to his knees, unable to control his stomach any longer. Acrid and bile tasting filth splattered across the pavement as Gabriel’s lunch staged a revolt against his gut. When he was done, Gabriel muttered something under his breath.

  “What?” Esau asked, looking a little pale as he tore his gaze from the remnants of Gabriel’s lunch.

  “I said, I’m never eating bacon again,” Gabriel murmured as he spat out the last bit of stomach acid from his mouth.

  #

  Gabriel thought he knew what to expect at the Wraith’s training center, located near the center of the base and their barracks. He came to the realization he had been horribly mistaken and every single one of his assumptions was wrong. This awareness came upon him far faster than almost anything he had ever encountered, the incorrect belief of a gentle and eventual absorption into the Wraith machine. That illusion was shattered when he began to truly train to become a Wraith.

  Sleep was optional; they slept only when Griffon told them to, which was hardly ever. His brain, Gabriel quickly learned, could function without sleep thanks to the neural implant each had received on board the transport shuttle before they had arrived on Corus. Gabriel had initially found it odd, never needing sleep. Their bodies needed rest, but not their brains, Griffon had told them as they ran with one-hundred-pound weighted bags on their backs through the small clusters of trees which passed for forests. And if the brain convinced the body it could keep going...

  Most of Gabriel’s time was spent on the computer, his brain soaking all the information uploads through his neural implant like a sponge. New pathways were opened as the computer used the folds of his brain for more storage space, forcing him to adapt or die as his mind was rewired to accommodate the newly imprinted information. His synapses were constantly firing, always seeking to be active as they were stimulated within the training simulations, his mental state repeatedly on the edge of burning out.

  Many of his fellow recruits did burn out. One recruit, from one of the Core worlds of the Dominion, started screaming late one night as their minds were going through another hardwiring session involving the intricacies of operating the highly technologically-advanced Wraith suit. Gabriel had watched the other recruit, horrified, as spittle and phlegm flew from his mouth as he choked on his own blood. After an hour of constant aural bombardment of the recruit losing his sanity, the other trainers had finally removed the man. Griffon had given Gabriel a very measured look before yelling at the other recruits to pick up the pace. Gabriel never let the screaming insanity taking place next to him disturb his learning. He could not afford to.

  “There can be no slacking in your training, maggots,” Griffon had snarled as he exited the training center. “You can quit when you die.” Gabriel was certain the incinerator near the barracks received another corpse that evening.

  They created subroutines while dreaming, their Wraith platforms assisting them with designing Wraith suits to their brain wavelengths. Each machine had to be specifically tailored to match every single thought and function of the Imperfect who would be piloting it. Though the actual suits were interchangeable, the Leviathan cortexes which connected the man to machine had to be specific to each individual Imperfect.

  Gabriel did not see a Wraith suit at all in his first few weeks on Corus. The expensive suits, it was explained, were kept on the ships they served and each individual would be paired with a suit once they survived MITC. From there they would go on to their assignments, to kill and die in the name of the Dominion. Gabriel
could only imagine what sort of suit they would find for him, assuming his mind did not explode.

  Despite his desire to quit, Gabriel couldn’t bring himself to. Every muscle in his body ached, and his head constantly ached from the harsh rewiring required when undergoing the Wraith transformation. His soul screamed for him to stop the madness, stop the training, but the Espinoza family stubbornness reared its ugly head and refused to let him die, which – as far as he knew – was the only way to quit. He could only lay in his rack at night, struggling to sleep as more information was dumped into his brain through the implant. His mind ached from the constant bombardment, but the implant was far from the only thing that caused him to have a continuous headache.

  #

  “This is the Mark Three training pod,” Griffon said to the recruits gathered around him. The muscular sergeant tapped the hull of the pod and grinned. “Very similar to the skin inside your suit; an impenetrable device that should keep you functioning enough to run your Wraith suit. It looks cramped, some of you might be thinking. You have no idea just how cramped it is. It is uncomfortable, stinks and gets really awkward when you’re in it for more than twelve hours at a time. However, it will allow you to live, so it’s a fair trade-off. Espinoza, what’s this skin made of?”

  Gabriel’s head snapped back to the training commander, his silent musings instantly forgotten as he thought back to the training sims that had been forced into his brain. The answer was coming out of his mouth before he even had time to fully remember.

  “The Mark Three’s skin is made up of a tightly-bonded, alkaline-based material woven into synthetically-strengthened nanomolecular fibers,” Gabriel spouted, his eyes looking at the pod. “It is nine-sixteenths of an inch thick and can withstand a direct nuclear blast, though the inhabitant may still be cooked by the massive radiation should it remain exposed long enough to the intense heat of the flash from the explosion. It is identical to the skin inside a Wraith suit.”

  “Ah, someone remembered my favorite part of the skin,” Griffon nodded and rapped his knuckles again on the synthetic substance. “This thing should keep you alive, though it’d be cheaper just to train a new Wraith than to spend all this money on a device to keep your worthless asses alive. Morales, what does the implant in your head allow you to do?”

  “Uh,” the husky man from Solomon blinked for a moment, confused, before answering. “Create a connection with the Wraith suit, sir?”

  “Wrong,” Griffon shook his head sadly. He gave Esau a pitying look. “I thought hanging out with Espinoza would have raised your intelligence a bit. Guess I was wrong.”

  “No, the implant in your head allows you to communicate with the Leviathan cortex, which connects to the Wraith suit once you’re inside the war machine,” Griffon stated as he moved around the pod. “The Leviathan cortex connects and transfers your thoughts and actions to the suit, letting you think every single action you’re doing affects the suit. You are not in the suit; you are the suit. It will react to every motion you intend to make, much like your hand does when you reach out to slap a dumb recruit.”

  “Sir,” Gabriel raised a hand. Griffon looked at him and nodded for him to continue. “Is the skin space-rated?”

  “Yes and no,” Griffon responded. “Good question, Espinoza, although this stuff was already covered in your training. The skin is rated for exposure to space, but if your suit is floating around in space then you really screwed up somewhere. Wraiths are designed to be mobile planetary platforms, however, but are space-rated as well. Remember that. Now, everyone into your pods.”

  The recruits spread out to their respective pods scattered throughout the massive hangar, a remnant from when the planet was used as a base during the war with the Caliphate. Gabriel turned and fell into the pod, his back resting against the smooth shell. He grabbed the breathing mask and secured the box over his mouth. He checked the seal as he had been taught and was satisfied. His eyes were next covered with protective goggles. He double-checked everything once more before he leaned back and closed his eyes.

  He felt the familiar tickling at the base of his skull as the relays inside the pod connected with his implant. He focused on the relay signal as his body felt a warm wetness encompassing him, the jelly-like fluid which would protect his body from impact shock filling the pod. He struggled to breathe slowly as the jelly began to creep up his body, growing closer to his head. He kept his eyes closed and ignored his instincts, which were screaming to get out of the pod before he drowned. The warm fluid crept further up his midsection and he shook slightly, nearly panicking. He swallowed his fear and ignored the jelly which was now putting pressure on his chest.

  “Do not crack open your pods, maggots,” Griffon’s voice came over the comm, surprising Gabriel enough that he opened his eyes. He immediately wished he hadn’t as the jelly oozed up over his face, covering his mask and goggles. His world plunged into a light blue void of nothingness. Griffon continued. “If you crack open your pod, I crack open your skull. The seals on your masks, if you checked them right, will protect you from the jelly. It’s harmless but it can kill you if you inhale it. Or swallow it. Basically, for you idiots in there who still don’t understand, you’ll drown. So keep those masks on.”

  “Sir,” Gabriel gasped, terrified as the jelly covered his entire body. He shivered uncontrollably and tried to relax. “Is it like this every time?”

  “No, you get used to it, Espinoza,” Griffon replied. “Recruits, remember to breathe slowly and calmly. The jelly, combined with secretions from your sweat glands, creates the oxygen for your body. No, I don’t understand it, so I won’t even begin to explain it. So as long as you’re alive, you will have oxygen.”

  “So you’re going to stink,” Gabriel muttered. A few nervous chuckles came over the comm in reply.

  “You should be able to taste it, Gabe,” Esau told him. “Make sure you’re in your own pod, or you’re going to be breathing Joshua’s ass.”

  “Screw you, Morales,” another voice growled over the comm. Gabriel smiled, his nervousness melting away as the barrack-style of banter set him to ease. “You only wish you could breathe my ass.”

  “You guys are weird,” Gabriel laughed into his comm. He suddenly cocked his head, interested. “Comm, solo link Morales. Esau, you hear me?”

  “Oh wow, that’s cool,” his friend replied. “How’d you do that?”

  “He did that by remembering the uploads of communication commands from your classes,” Griffon’s voice came over the comm, overriding their conversation. “Recruits, remember your uploads. Communication between suits is vital, and if you can’t keep others from hearing, then you’re going to be broadcasting to everyone who can hear – including the enemy.”

  “End link Morales, solo link Griffon,” Gabriel muttered as he thought about it. Once he confirmed he had a private connection with the training sergeant, he continued. “Sir, I thought our equipment was encrypted. Isn’t it?”

  “Just because it’s encrypted doesn’t mean it can’t be overridden by command or higher, recruit,” Griffon responded quickly, his voice mildly mocking him.

  “End link Griffon, general broadcast,” Gabriel commanded. The comm switched over seamlessly, impressing him. “This is cool.”

  “Indeed,” Griffon’s voice came over the comm. “Your default setting, until you are assigned to a squad, is for general broadcast. Once you’re in a lance, your default setting is for the squad. You can switch back and forth between your lance and private comms. Only squad leaders have access to higher. Once you have the hang of this, you can do it mentally through your implant. Though that can cause problems as well.”

  Gabriel felt the jelly inside the pod begin to drain out and he sighed.

  “I feel like an egg yolk,” Gabriel mumbled quietly, forgetting he was still on general broadcast. The raucous laughter that filled the comm reminded him quickly of that fact.

  “Come on, Omelet, get out of your egg,” Esau called out to him,
causing more laughter to fill the comm. Even Griffon chuckled at that.

  “Aw, come on guys,” Gabriel complained. He pulled the breathing mask and goggles from his face once he felt the last of the jelly disappear from his body. He clambered out of his pod once the hatch popped open and he sighed. “That nickname sucks. Can’t it be something better, like Nightwalker or something?”

  “He hates it. Omelet it is,” Esau persisted with a huge grin.

  Five minutes later Gabriel found himself back in the pod, practicing rapid extraction techniques while Griffon yelled at them to speed up the routine. While it only took Gabriel fifteen seconds to perform his extraction, some of the others almost a full minute. This had left Griffon in a particularly foul mood; a mood that would only be cured with the blood, sweat and lamentations of recruits later in the evening, when they would be partaking in their usual marathon run.

  “Now what we’re doing next, recruits, is your first simulated drop,” the training commander’s voice came over the comm as Gabriel shifted inside the pod. He felt the now-familiar jelly pool around him, encasing him and making him comfortable. Griffon continued. “You will have access to your visual displays, and you will feel the full effects of your Wraith suit. This is just a simulation, however. You will not feel the wind on your skin like you would when you are fully integrated into your suit, nor the tiny bits of dust which threaten to shred the skin from your bones...if you weren’t protected by your Wraith suit, that is.”

  “Will our pods be inside the suits too, sir?” a voice Gabriel recognized as Bekha Msizi asked. The man was the first he’d ever met who hailed from Anvil, where most Imperfects went to work in the mines to harvest metals for the Navy. Gabriel heard from another recruit one night that it was rare for an Imperfect from Anvil to join the Wraiths, since they were needed deep in the mines which provided the raw materials that drove the Emperor’s massive war machine. Automatons could only do so much before a living, breathing individual was needed.