by Paul Tassi
The man was blond with narrowed amber eyes, which regarded them distrustfully. His armor plating was black and could possibly have been darksteel, which would have made it very valuable indeed. On his chest, as with every other soldier in the facility, was stamped a flaming red sun. Just another gang.
The man ran his hand over a rather long rifle that lay across his lap. It looked newer than anything in the room. It was the sort of weapon Finn Stoller would have a story for.
The man’s face was practically handsome and mostly free of scars, a rarity in the area. As he approached, Noah realized the young man might not be more than a few years older than he was. His voice further betrayed his youth.
“Alright, Zaela, how are you going to waste my time today?” the leader said, rolling his eyes before the group of them even came to a halt.
“Commander Hayne,” Zaela said. “No time wastin’ today. Have an offer for ya.”
Noah looked over at Erik, his brother forever wearing a scowl. The faux demon tattoo had been scrubbed off his face.
Now that they were closer, Hayne could see them more clearly. Conflicting expressions of recognition and confusion crossed his face.
“Is this is a joke, Zaela? Are the Black Wings really that desperate you’re going to try and pull something like this?” Hayne laughed, a few of his men joining in.
“No jokes, Commander,” Zaela said, unsmiling. “I offer ya th’ Earthborn. Fellas snatched ’em up just yesterday. Came to th’ station to score some Paradise, they say. Can’t get it nowhere else these days.”
Hayne shook his head, still chuckling under his breath. He rubbed his gloved hand through his straw-colored hair and stood up, slowly descending the steps in front of them.
“You mean to tell me the two most famous brats on the planet came to our little kingdom here to score halos?”
Paradise was an extremely potent hallucinogen that caused intense pleasure reported to last for days. But the aftereffects included hopeless addiction and severe blood clotting. Regardless, the high was so intense, and it was so expensive to make, it was nearly impossible to find, except for in a charming place like Solarion. But as Hayne eyed them with intense suspicion, Noah realized perhaps this was not one of Erik’s better plans. The young man arrived at the ground and walked toward them. Noah had a solid five inches on him, but his armor made him just as wide. Hayne panned over the two of them to look at Sakai. His breath was rotten.
“Who’s this one, then?” he asked, lifting Sakai’s chin forcefully with his hand. Noah lunged toward him, but Worsaw was holding him in place.
“One of th’ colony tykes,” Zaela said. “Siki, Saka, somethin’ like that. She a pair wit’ one of them, Stream says.”
“You do look familiar,” Hayne said, squinting at her. “Though you were prettier in the feeds. You two certainly look the part, but how do I know you’re not a pair of those Earth-worshipping surgery freaks?”
“That’s exactly who we are,” Erik growled, playing his part. “You really think the Last and First Sons would be dumb enough to come here?”
“They disagree,” Hayne said with a smile, “about their identity. What do you say to that, Zaela?”
“What do oi say?” Zaela said, swinging her braids over her shoulder and thumbing the handle of her knife. “Oi say check th’ genome ya? Th’ shit’s public record.”
It was true. The genome of the Earth strain of Sorans, the humans, was available for all to see in the interest of science. There were certain markers in their DNA that couldn’t be forged or replicated.
Hayne waved a pair of guards over. Lucas, Sakai, and Erik all flinched as the tips of knives ripped into their forearms. Blood droplets were collected and fed into a nearby machine run by an unarmored man dressed in a dirty silver coat.
The test only took ten seconds to process, but it felt like a hundred years.
“No shit,” Hayne said, eyes widening as he surveyed the results on a scroll.
“An’ check th’ Stream,” Zaela said. “Them boys be missing for days now. Missing cause they here.”
Hayne stopped to consider what he was seeing and hearing. The results couldn’t be faked. It was indeed human DNA floating in front of him, helix spinning slowly in midair. Zaela continued.
“Figure th’ SDI would pay a mad mark to see them safely returned,” she said. “A mighty mad mark.”
“Then why didn’t you just ransom them yourself?” Hayne asked, handing off the scroll to the silvercoat. “What have I done to deserve such a tribute?”
“Oi ain’t foolish,” Zaela said. “Oi ain’t gonna pull something like that without talkin’ to you an’ cutting SolSec in. Oi enjoy keepin’ my head on. Plus me an’ SDI got history,” she tapped her left shoulder tattoo.
“You’re not foolish,” Hayne said, eyebrow raised. “Then what’s to stop me from killing you and your men right now, and simply taking these three for myself?”
Zaela smirked.
“They poisoned,” she said. “Gotta mursotoxis compound in they system, mixed wit’ some other lovely stuff. They gotta few days at most. Cure ain’t easy to find ’round here, ’cept one vial I got hidden away somewhere. Deal done, an’ ya get it. Healthy Earthborn. Mad marks comin’ your way. Stoller ain’t gonna risk embarrassment wit’ these ones. He’s got more money than Kyneth and Zurana. He’ll pay right quick.”
The gears were turning in Hayne’s head, that much was clear from looking at him. Finally, he said something that told Noah that Zaela had won.
“How much?”
Zaela gave a wide, yellow smile at last.
“Twenty bill for each of them ya? Five bill for the girl, Siki.”
Hayne burst out laughing, and once again, his men followed suit.
“Twenty billion each? And you said you weren’t a fool.”
Zaela shrugged.
“When Fourth Order snatched that Asha up, they asked for fifty trill. They was tryin’ to feed a whole continent. Oi have smaller aims.”
“Fourth Order got atomized not long after that.”
“They went too far. Gods made ’em crazy. But still, ya can turn ’round and sell ’em back for ten times that much easy, and ya know it. Oi just want my fair share for th’ opportunity.”
Hayne turned to speak in hushed tones with some of the men around him. Noah and Erik eyed each other. Sakai kept her head down.
“Eight bill for each, and girl for one bill.”
Zaela threw up her hands.
“They die then. That’s an insult. Fifteen bill each. Siki for three bill.”
Hayne was starting to get visibly annoyed, but he realized the value in front of him. The corner of his mouth twitched.
“Final offer. Thirty billion for the set. And let me see that other one you’ve got hidden under there,” he motioned toward the hooded Kyra. Noah froze.
Zaela hesitated, but finally nudged Kyra forward. Tannon gave Zaela a hard stare through his goggles and Key and Celton whispered nervously.
“She ain’t one of them,” Zaela said. “She Soran. My new lovegirl. Fresh from th’ homeworld. Cost me a major mark.”
“Hood down, darling,” Hayne said in a velvet tone that made Noah’s temperature rise.
Kyra obeyed. She was sweat-soaked and filthy, but stunning as ever. They hadn’t trusted Zaela’s “fellas” with Kyra or Sakai alone, so they were forced to be integrated into the plan. But this, this wasn’t part of it.
“Amazing,” Hayne said, obviously seeing far more than he was expecting under the hood. “Where did they grow this one? What agency?”
“If ya have to ask, they won’ talk to ya,” Zaela said, folding her arms.
“How much for her?”
“She ain’t no ransom. No one be lookin’ for her.” Noah could hear the nerves starting to creep into Zaela’s voice.
“I have no intention of resale with this one,” Hayne said, Kyra desperately avoiding his eyes. “So I’ll say again, how much?”
“
Not for sale, Commander.”
“A hundred mill, just for her,” he said. That made Zaela’s fall silent.
No, Noah thought. This is not how this is supposed to happen.
But Zaela had marks in her eyes. Despite lending her aide to them, she was a warlord, through and through. And a businesswoman as well.
“If you’ll pay a hundred mill, you’ll pay three,” she said confidently. “If not, you got plenty of tail elsewhere here.”
Hayne glared at her. In a flash, he took Kyra’s cloak in his hands and tore her jacket and dress wide open, revealing smooth skin and form-fitting underwear. Kyra let out an involuntary gasp of horror, but remained still. Both Erik and Noah struggled in their restraints, but their appointed guards cuffed them before they made a scene. They were supposed to have no interest in this girl, this stranger, after all.
“I’m sure you know how hard it is to get choice meat here,” he said, running his eyes up and down her shaking frame. “Unlimited helpings of slop is still slop.” He cast a glance toward a collection of grimy prostitutes in the rear of the room, clinging to SolSec armor plating.
“This …” he said, grazing his gloved hand against the side of Kyra’s tear-stained face and down her neck to her collarbone. Every muscle in Noah’s body tensed as Hayne briefly cupped her breast, a cruel smile on his lips. Erik was downright rabid, struggling against Worsaw’s unrelenting grip. “This is like a ten-course meal at the Golden Leaf,” he finished.
Hayne met Zaela’s eyes.
“Two hundred and fifty million. That must be a hundred times what you paid for her. You’re lucky I’m in a generous mood. I also just so happen to have a delivery for another SDI customer waiting, so this Earthborn ransom will be well-timed.”
“Done,” Zaela said without hesitating. Noah burned with anger. “But my guards stay wit’ all ’em till deal’s done. No messin’ with th’ merchandise before cash in hand. Try anythin’ an’ they all die an’ we all outta luck. An’ you out your new toy too,” she said, nodding toward Kyra who had her hands clasped behind her back and was unable to cover up from the leering faces all around her.
“Agreed,” Hayne said, a sick smile crossing his lips. The warlord and the soldier shook hands. Finally losing control, Noah lunged toward him, and something cracked across the back of his head. Stars gave way to darkness.
When the light returned to his eyes, Noah felt a splitting pain at the base of his skull, and realized he was being dragged across a sticky metal floor.
“Thank gods, he’s awake,” came Worsaw’s voice. “Now he can walk by himself.”
Worsaw and Celton pulled Noah to his feet and he wobbled to find his footing. He was in a corridor facing a long set of stairs, ending in a room with a pale golden glow. He steadied about halfway down and marched the rest of the way. When he arrived at the bottom, he saw Kyra, Sakai, and Erik all gathered in the middle of the space, cuffed and surrounded by Tannon, Key, Razor, and a handful of SolSec guards. Zaela was gone. The dungeon was lit only by the glow of the lightscreens holding other prisoners at bay.
“Block’s full from the recent round-ups,” a fiery-haired Solarion guard said, motioning to the men and women in cells all around them. The prisoners were all stripped of armor and weapons, clad only in rags. Tattoos of what appeared to be rival gang symbols were etched on their skin: forked lightning, horned animals, crossed blades, and the like. Some were unconscious or sickly, but many looked suitably threatening, pale yellow eyes hungry for both food and blood.
“Throw them in with the old man,” one of the helmeted guards said. “He’s harmless, and it’ll be one nice little SDI package for when our guest arrives.”
“Even the girl?” the helmetless soldier said. “She ain’t part of that deal.”
The other man shrugged.
“The Dark Wings bitch will get paid soon, then we’ll just haul her up to the Commander’s quarters so he can start his party. These lot won’t try nothing in the meantime, will you lads?”
Erik glowered at the men as Noah spoke.
“Of course not,” he said. “We’re not animals like you.”
That earned him a blow across the face from a metal glove. Blood trickled from his nose down his lip.
“Take them, then,” the helmeted guard said to the rest of his unit. “Keep an eye on this lot,” he said, nodding to the prisoners. “And especially these ones,” he continued, motioning toward Tannon, Razor, and the others. “If this deal goes sideways, the Commander will have all our heads on pikes at the gates.”
“If you try anything, we’re here to make sure they ain’t no use to nobody,” Razor said so convincingly Noah wondered if he didn’t mean it.
Tannon took off his cloak and wrapped it around Kyra’s torn clothing as they rounded the corner in the dungeon.
“Why bother covering up the whore?” a Solarian guard asked.
“She’s for your boss,” Tannon said gruffly. “Not this rabble, right?” He motioned to the other prisoners.
The red-haired guard tilted his head back and forth.
“Yeah, but I wasn’t minding the view, eh?” He nudged his companion, who chuckled beneath his helmet. Tannon’s mouth was a thin frown, but he said nothing further, and secured the garment around a grateful Kyra.
The Solarion guards led them around a corner past another patrol into a corridor that housed only one cell along its wall. The lengthy containment area was mostly empty, save for one man.
Noah had known Keeper Auran since he started forming memories. He remembered him from his playdates with Kyra, and a long time ago he was in charge of the colony itself, always keeping a careful eye on how the Earthborn he’d helped create were growing. But eventually he retired, and his last visit had been at least five years ago. The colony had turned from a science project into a miniature society. The need for geneticists was replaced by the need for true leadership, and so Tannon stepped in as Watchman. But during the time Noah did know him, he was always full of warm smiles and kind words, dressed in ornate robes signifying his lofty place in Soran society.
The old man in the lightcell was almost unrecognizable. He was gaunt, and whatever robes he’d once worn were soiled and could be smelled from across the room. His normally close-cropped white hair was wild, his eyes almost empty. His body was covered in bruises and scrapes, and he sat huddled on a small stone bench. Though he’d looked disheveled in his video message, seeing him in person was heartwrenching, knowing how regal he’d once looked. Noah’s chest tightened and he watched fresh tears stream down Kyra’s cheeks, though the guards thought she was mourning her predicament, not the state of her grandfather. Noah wondered if SolSec even knew who Auran was, or if they were just happy handing him off to Stoller’s agents without realizing his identity or why he was being sought.
The lightscreen flickered briefly, then faded, and the group of them were shoved inside the cell. Auran’s eyes widened now that he could see them up close.
“Oh gods,” he whispered. “What have I done?”
24
There was no sound in space, but Lucas’s cockpit was alive with flashing alarms and the AI announcing impending doom in the calmest voice possible. The firefight he found himself in was pushing every limit he had, even in his newfound Shadow state. Six heavily armed escort ships wove around him as the Viceroy’s dreadnought sped away as fast as its dozen colossal engines would carry it. Lucas had had a few hours of training inside a fighter that wasn’t even officially listed for service yet. Flying circles around him were men who likely had been in flight school since they could walk, piloting the best ships Sora had built for the war.
Lucas could feel his mind coming apart at the seams as he twisted the ship through the blackness of space to avoid never-ending streams of autocannon plasma and antimatter missiles. His temples were on fire where the neural connectors were interfacing with his mind. His brain felt as if it were roasting on a spit.
Stop! Eject! Die!
Lucas t
ried to summon his dormant influence on the unseen pilots buzzing like hornets all around him, but to no avail. Either they were too maneuverable for him to target, or his brain simply didn’t have the capacity to mold their minds to his will, far too preoccupied with a hundred different other tasks that would ensure his continued survival.
As glad as Lucas was Theta was safe, he wouldn’t have half minded someone in the gunner’s seat other than the ghost of Omicron, but even he had departed for the fireworks.
Lucas finally caught a break when one of the enemy ships lobbed a volley of shots toward him. He veered hard right and the plasma ate into the wing of another passing fighter, causing it to spin wildly out of control. A rare green success indicator lit up in his holographic console amid a sea of red.
“Target damaged,” the AI sang cheerfully as Lucas shifted upward to avoid a missile spiraling toward him. Sweat was dripping into his eyes and his discolored veins were bulging in his arms. A new fighter was on his tail now, its pilot hidden behind mirror black glass.
“Air mines,” Lucas said, finding the listing in the ship’s interface.
A shower of sparks shot out from the rear of his prototype ship and spattered harmlessly across the viewscreen of the pursuing craft.
“Ah, shit!” Lucas cried, realizing his mistake. “Those were flares!” When he did find the mine release a half second later, the ship had already spun out of the way.
All his evasive maneuvering was causing him to lose the Viceroy’s ship, which was racing ahead, well aware it was under siege. The blue engines grew dimmer in the distance.
“Goddamnit!” Lucas said as he stopped spinning and drew the throttle to full force, racing after the dreadnought. While he wasn’t out-shooting his rivals, he could certainly outrun them, and in a flash he had caught up to the Viceroy’s craft, a polished diplomatic vessel thick with armor plating, but no outer defenses, hence the escort. Lucas targeted the engines with a stream of precise shots. Five engines of twelve were struck, and three went out completely. The ship involuntarily lurched starboard, slowing dramatically, but Lucas couldn’t fire another volley as the fighters had caught up with him. He dove under the ship and banked left, taking the firefight away from the craft. He needed the Viceroy alive, after all.