Which was why her act of sabotage was so out of character. Was there something Morwyn had missed? Infinite help him and everyone else on the Jinxed Thirteenth if that happened to be the case.
“I have movement near your location, headed toward the grav rings, sir.” Harlowe’s voice was a welcome comfort on Morwyn’s comm-link. “Still no visual. Whatever she did, Phaël was able to blind me, sir.”
“Not to worry, pilot. I’m on it.” Morwyn picked up his pace. The grav rings turning around the Jinxed Thirteenth were perpetually in motion, creating gravity for the ship. If Phaël managed to sabotage them, then everyone on the ship would be floating. This was not an acceptable condition for Morwyn. But then again, unless she was wearing a pair of magboots, that move would in no way benefit Phaël either.
“What is her endgame?”
Morwyn stopped cold in his tracks as he suddenly spotted Phaël standing at the end of the hallway, as if she were just waiting for him. Before he could say or do anything, she bolted away from him and turned a corner. Morwyn ran down after her, and once more spotted Phaël standing at the end of the corridor, silently waiting for him. Behind her was the door to the grav ring power core.
Morwyn lowered his weapon, not wishing to appear threatening. “Private Phaël, what is the meaning of all this?”
“You will never know, Captain.” She sauntered through the door to the grav ring power core and out of sight. Morwyn resisted the urge to fire a warning shot. He slowly and deliberately stepped toward the door’s archway.
“Private Phaël, I know where you came from and the horrors you experienced during the Adoran Liberation War.” He raised his blaster pistol, keeping his trigger finger relaxed. Of the many possible outcomes, accidentally shooting Phaël was not one he wanted.
Phaël did not respond.
“You have my word that if you stand down with no incident, I will not send you back to Rust Prison.”
Again there was no reply. Morwyn carefully approached the archway to the grav ring. “There is no way you will be able to take over the ship. Whatever you were planning will fail.”
Morwyn checked his blind spot as he stepped past the door. The whoosh of razor sharp metal slicing through the air was all the warning Morwyn had. His combat academy training kicked in and he dropped to his knees as a dark curved blade sliced through the space where his head had been a split second ago.
His attacker was a Wolver woman in a dark purple laminate metal armor. Cold golden eyes stared at him from behind a plain helmet with a mouth guard shaped in the likeness of a snarling wolf. Her long curved blade had a two handed hilt and long round guard. She did not pause or allow Morwyn to catch his breath as she stabbed forward with perfect form. Morwyn was barely able to avoid being skewered as he rolled back in a desperate attempt to create distance between himself and his foe.
He quickly raised his blaster and fired two shots. The sword woman casually stepped to one side, avoiding his shots and closing the gap between them. She swung down at Morwyn as he sprang forward, catching her elbows and preventing her sword from cutting into his skull. He needed to lock her limbs up, prevent her from swinging that dangerous weapon. She was quick to react, dropping her sword and striking him open-palmed in the face.
Morwyn saw stars and tasted blood in his mouth as he staggered back, dropping his service blaster in the process. He shook his head only to see his armored adversary pick up her blade and point its tip at him. “Kelthan. No doubt trained in the Paxist Military Academies.” When she spoke, her Wolven was cool, calm and calculated.
Morwyn spat out blood on the floor and clenched his stun-stick tightly. “You guess correctly,” he replied to her in her language.
“Ah, so the Paxist has limited understanding of my tongue.” She cracked her neck once before stepping between Morwyn and his discarded pistol. “Let us put your limited combat abilities to the test then, shall we?”
CHAPTER 17
JESSIE
There are two families in one’s life. First the biological one, whom we cannot choose. Then there is the family of the soul, the one we choose, the gathering of friends, siblings and companions whom we are drawn to. The word “family” in this manner describes a most sacred connection we eventually accept to be a part of.
—Icarius Odenshaw
20th of SSM–11 1445 A2E
Fear. Gods, did Jessie ever hate that emotion and the utter hopelessness that accompanied it. Lying against the wall, hyperventilating, she did not know which was worse; the fact that she was unable to get back to her feet, or control her breathing. Every second she spent helpless on the floor of her quarters was another second that let Chord get closer to her.
She was living the nightmare of a machine attack once again. And it was disturbing to her that the feeling of safety she had developed in the past month was suddenly gone. If she wasn’t secure on the Jinxed Thirteenth, then where would she be?
“Get up, Jessie. Get up!” she said harshly, and tried once again to pull herself to her feet. She quickly gave up as her legs trembled weakly and refused to support her. Her breathing quickened and the stabbing pain in her abdomen became more acute.
She let out a sharp cry and cradled her stomach, all while trying to control her breathing and shivering. Jessie was frightened right now, more frightened than she had ever been in her entire life. She had lost David, the love of her life, and now the only part of him that remained was the child they had conceived together that was taking shape in her womb. Jessie was afraid of losing that tiny life, that reminder that she was not truly alone. During her thousands of years in criosleep, she had dreamed of Malory and had lived countless lives with her in the dream world within her mind.
And while Malory was still an unborn fetus, Jessie believed that the dream had been real and that she knew her daughter better than any other mother could. She loved her and was willing to do almost anything to insure her survival.
Jessie was suddenly aware that she was no longer alone. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw the familiar shape of Phaël in her door frame. She was short and lean, her muscles lithe and incredibly fit. Her hair was braided with jade rings entwined in the strands. Her skin was covered in a thin layer of tanned fur, and shaggy sideburns lined her face. Jessie could make out two long curved daggers tucked neatly in her belt. Upon first examination, it looked like Phaël had been in a fight. Her flat ear twitched as she glared at Jessie and nervously clasped a jade turtle pendant around her neck. Phaël scanned their surroundings before kneeling down next to Jessie.
It was an odd sense of relief to suddenly not be alone, even if she was next to someone who disdained her. Another stab of pain in her abdomen caused Jessie to let out a whimper. Phaël sprang forward, quickly covering Jessie’s mouth and making a “shhh” sign at the same time.
“I’m in pain,” Jessie whispered.
Phaël shook her head, clearly not understanding Jessie’s spoken Pax Common. Not that it took verbal understanding to piece together Jessie’s condition. Phaël placed one of her feet, which had fully prehensile fingers instead of toes, on her stomach. The warmth was a welcome comfort. Phaël then put her hand on Jessie’s chest and one on her own. She took a long deep breath and let out a soft and barely audible om-like chant. She motioned to Jessie to do the same.
Jessie breathed in deeply and exhaled. Phaël said something in a tongue that sounded oddly musical. And while Jessie did not understand it, she could pick up from the tone that she was being encouraged. She found herself preferring Phaël’s language to the almost mechanical Pax Common.
Jessie breathed in once more, accompanied by Phaël’s whispered words of encouragement in her musical tongue. With each breath, Jessie could feel her fear melt away and her courage return to her. She felt her body relax and the pain in her abdomen gradually subsided. By her tenth such breath she could feel the strength returning to her l
egs.
Phaël must have been able to see the change in Jessie because she nodded to her and spoke in an extremely accented Pax Common. “Good to move?”
Jessie nodded a yes and got up. “Thank you.” She made her way to her duffel bag, pulling out both her plasma cutters and slipping them into her waistband. She then slipped on her omni-gloves.
Phaël kept watch while Jessie did all this, peering past by the entrance of Jessie’s room into the corridor. “Speak Wolven?”
Jessie shook her head. “No.”
Phaël let out what sounded like a curse then glared back at Jessie. “Of course. All speak PaxCom.”
“What is going on?” Jessie made sure to speak each and every one of her words as slowly and clearly as possible.
“Humped if I know.” Phaël shot Jessie a reproachful look. “And don’t speak to me like that. I am not an idiot for hating the tongue you are using.”
Jessie grasped Phaël’s shoulder. “Chord attacked Doctor Varsin.”
“She is no healer.” Phaël snorted and rudely pushed Jessie’s hand aside.
“That is a matter of opinion!” Jessie fired back as she secured the wrist seals of her omni-gloves and shouldered a bandolier of spare plasma cutter bolts. Once fired, the harmless looking bolt would be superheated and could cut through almost anything. Granted her plasma cutters only had six shots each and, being rigged tools, would have an incredibly limited range, they were still better than nothing. “I think Chord and the man in red took Marla Varsin to the medical bay. I will not let that . . . thing harm her!”
Phaël’s eyes were like daggers as they bore into Jessie. She wasn’t too certain if the Wolver had understood her or not. Jessie didn’t care; she rudely shoved Phaël aside and stepped into the hallway. She turned around to face her. “I am going to help her. You can stay back here like a coward if you want.”
Jessie was unprepared for Phaël’s sudden angered snarl. She slammed her fist open-palmed against the wall. “I killed the last person who called me a coward.” Her nostrils were flaring.
Jessie stood her ground and puffed up her chest, resisting the urge to tremble. Despite this, her hands slowly went down to the handles of her plasma cutters. She wished she had some way other than her broken PaxCom to communicate. They would need to work together if they were to get through this, and she hadn’t even progressed beyond present tense. “What will you do about it?”
Phaël let out a string of angry melodic words that she was certain were more curses. Once the tirade had been spoken, she took a deep breath then flashed Jessie her sharp teeth in a frightening grin. “You are brave, Jessie Madison. I hope your courage doesn’t lead us both to our death.”
Jessie smiled and breathed a smile of relief. “We regret together if it does.”
CHAPTER 18
MIKALI
If there is one thing to avoid in life, it is an evenly matched fight.
—Zephra Nolir, Adoran mercenary,
14th of SSM–08 1345 A2E
20th of SSM–11 1445 A2E
Mikali Zahur had always preferred the simpler plans. In her long years as a career criminal and code slicer, she had often found that each moving part or variable was another potential chance at failure. Making her way down the halls of the Jinxed Thirteenth with her newly found puppet and Niko close behind her, Mikali looked to the view screen in front of her. She had thirty minutes to make her way to the ship’s life-support, override it and install a clear green canister that Domiant, the little princeling himself, had cooked up in the days leading up to their arrival.
She had no idea what exactly the contents of the clear green aerosol can were, and had known better than to ask. The pupling prince had assured her that once unleashed into the ship’s air, they would no longer have to worry about the remaining active crew. Domiant had been crystal clear that she; Zanza, that useless Kohbran; and Sopherim, that frigid bitch, were to have their air masks on once Mikali was done with her task. That was enough information for her, at least for the moment.
Why in the humping Infinite they had to keep the bloody crew of this vessel alive and intact was beyond her. Especially given that their previous job to wipe out the Zin triad had not been one of mercy. Both she and Niko, with their combined arsenal, could have easily snuck onto the ship and murdered every last one of the waking crew. Mikali had worked several jobs for Domiant and his mother, Ynarra, and “averse to violence” was not something that best described either of them.
Why waste all this effort and time? Infinite help them all, the tech on board the Jinxed Thirteenth alone would have easily made this a great find for any smuggling operation. Not to mention all the tech that could easily be stripped for parts and sold for a tidy profit. Who was going to make their way to End Space and investigate? Mikali, who had jettisoned countless bodies into the cold voids of space, knew for a fact that the cosmos was an incredibly vast place where anything could go missing.
It would take her two calls on the Elusive Frequency to secure a black market salvager and a great payday to boot. So why this game of chess? Why was Domiant so insistent that the crew of this miserable ship be kept alive? The answer was obvious enough to Mikali; there was something of greater value than the ship itself on board. And the fact that she, Zanza and Niko were being kept in the dark about it made them all expendable. And while she couldn’t give a rat’s cup of piss about what happened to that freakish Kohbran woman, it was not a position she enjoyed being in.
Whatever this mystery cargo was, it was worth more than the triple payday she was being promised. Which meant that she was going to be on the lookout for an opportunity to secure this priceless cargo for herself. If she could find a way to dispose of Domiant and his sister Sopherim, always breathing her insults in Wolven and looking down on her and Niko, then Mikali would be an incredibly happy woman.
“Maybe I’ll get you to choke the life out of them, my little puppet.” Mikali gave Chord a pat on the shoulder. Of all the good turns of fortune, the Machina had been a great one. Mikali had learned how to slice into digital code when she was a little girl, and it was something that came naturally to her. She had used her talents as a slicer to override countless security systems. And Machina protocols, for all their complexity, were still just code.
From beneath her helmet, Mikali smiled a predatory grin as she reached her destination. Her audio gear picked up the sound of conversation between two people. One voice was deep, Thegran, and jolly, the other was that of a Wolver woman, and angry. The Machinists, as predicted, had been rushed to the life-support engines. Zanza had at least been able to sabotage the right place. It was important that whatever active crew there was on the Jinxed Thirteenth remain divided, scattered and right where Domiant wanted them.
A task easier said than done, as Humanis were not just mindless pieces on the board of a game. Contrary to what their fearless chief—who conveniently was not risking his own hide—would love to believe. That snotty cubling was many things, but a leader by example was most definitely not one of them. Truthfully, in her given profession, Mikali had yet to encounter any of those types.
She stopped herself just short of the entrance then turned to face reliable old Niko and Chord, who was following a simple “follow me” subroutine she was running off of her personal cloaked InstaNet signal. The Machina stopped in its tracks and, despite her pressing desire to complete the present task, Mikali could not help but take a moment to admire her find.
A fully operational Machina Pilgrim Shell, its parts, and more importantly the neural processor, would nab her quite the hefty payday if she chose to dismantle it. Normally the Machina would have resisted her doing this, but it was a moot point as Mikali had accessed and overridden everything but Chord’s motor skills. “Two of your friends are in that room, Machina. Take them out, quickly.”
She then looked to Niko. “And you get ready to
back up the Machina if this goes tits up.”
Niko cranked his carbine before giving Mikali a fist bump. “I look forward to it. I was getting bored here.”
There was a split second in which the Machina appeared to hesitate. Mikali rolled her eyes. The Chosen Behavioral Protocols that prevented the Machina from killing were not written into their personal codes, but rather hardwired into their Shells. There was little she could do about this as erasing them would require her actually dismantling Chord completely. That would easily take her months, if not years, as even the most complex Humanis-written data-code were like children’s scrawling when compared to Machina Binary.
That being said, Chord was still her loyal puppet and would follow each and every one of her commands, without question, within the parameters of whatever Protocols hardwired into its Shell. Which was a problem, but once this job was over Mikali was certain one of her contacts would be able to solve it for her. All truths confessed, Mikali would have gladly accepted the Machina as payment for this job; for the moment, it was the frosting on her sweets.
“I don’t need them dead.” Not yet in any case. And if the time came where the deed needed to be done, Mikali and Niko had worked plenty of jobs together and were not averse to getting their hands dirty. Unlike little Domiant, the fragile mastermind genius, safely waiting for them in the comfort of the Althena.
Chord stepped past Mikali and into the life-support bay. The sensocular chip she had grafted into Chord’s optical array allowed her to hear and see everything the Machina did. It was like Mikali was watching a trideo film, one in which she could control the outcome.
The two machinists were hard at work. One was a Thegran with a red beard, the other an older Wolver woman with an incredibly angered look to her. Neither one seemed put off by Chord’s sudden arrival—in fact, the Thegran was now beaming.
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