“Ancestors blessing, you are a welcome addition, Machina Chord.”
The Wolver looked Chord up and down, and there was something about her squinted eyes that made Mikali think that she suspected that something was off. “Would have thought you’d be with the captain helping him deal with our little traitor.”
Mikali thought the response and through her neurolink spoke for Chord. “The captain has apprehended her. He ordered me to assist you both with the repairs.”
The Wolver woman gripped a plasma flame cutter in her hand. “So you ain’t a ‘this unit’ anymore?”
Mikali let out an annoyed sigh. Once more she had allowed her Humanis vernacular slip into the Machina’s speech. “No, I am not.” Mikali overrode the physical commands and forced Chord to grasp the Wolver woman by the arm. The Machina’s reaction time was incredibly fast, and its strength inhumanly strong. With one swing, Chord effortlessly tossed the Wolver into a nearby wall; she did not get back up from the fall.
The Thegran let out a deep rage-filled bellow and rushed Chord, swinging at it with a lead pipe. The impact of the blow caused Chord to stagger back a few steps, and Mikali realized that her new toy might not make it through this encounter. Thegrans were incredibly strong and durable. They were also probably the only breed of Humanis who could physically go toe-to-toe with a machine and win. That simply would not do.
Mikali motioned for Niko to step in and he was more than happy to oblige. She was reassured as she saw Niko set the dial of his clunky Thegran auto-carbine to stun. “Hey, big one, over here!” Niko shouted as he stepped into the life-support bay.
The Thegran noticed this, but was now locked in a grapple with Chord. Niko’s auto-carbine let out a high-pitched hum as he fired a blue blast of energy into the Thegran’s chest. This merely caused him to release Chord, where any other Humanis would have dropped to the ground unconscious.
It took three more concentrated blasts before the Thegran dropped to one knee and keeled over to his side, unconscious. As Niko lowered his weapon, Mikali realized she was breathing heavily and nervously. That had been . . . well, closer than she had wanted it to be.
She had no idea how long the effects of Niko’s blaster would last on the Thegran, so Mikali quickly found and accessed the security panel and entered the override code the doctor had given her back in the medical bay. She then pulled the pressurized green canister out from her satchel. She pointed to a valve connected to the ship’s air vents.
“Machina, I need you to connect these two.” Mikali pointed to both the canister in her hand and the valve.
There was no hesitation from the Machina this time as it stepped forward, took the canister in one hand and examined the valve closely with the other. Its fingers then mechanized into various tools. Infinite praise Machina ingenuity, as they had designed their shells to be compatible with any technology. The proper tools prepared, Chord started silently connecting the canister to the air valve.
Mikali allowed herself a moment to lean back against the wall and overlook the carnage. She was going to need a hit of Frost soon, but for the moment she had to admit that the thrill of all this action was enough of a buzz for her. She didn’t know the canister’s contents—only that Domiant had spent the entirety of their voyage to this ass-end-of-nowhere sector of the cosmos producing it.
“We done good, Kali.” Niko gave Mikali another fist bump and walked over to the unconscious Thegran, giving him a poke with his boot.
“We always do good, don’t we, Niko?”
“Once we collect on this job, mark my words, we are straightlining it to Hiralia for a year of well-earned dirty pleasure.”
Mikali nodded in agreement with Niko. The prospect of unregulated hedonism in the nation of Hiralia—one of the few places in the cosmos where all appetites were catered to and satisfied—brought a smile to her face.
“Might even bring flex girl back in the cargo bay with us as a treat,” Niko added.
“You are one sick hump.”
Chord was almost done securing the canister. Once the task was completed, in thirty minutes no one on this ship would be a threat to them. “Mission humping accomplished.” Mikali spent the next few minutes imagining how much Frost she would be purchasing with this payday.
CHAPTER 19
MORWYN
You are all going to learn what it feels like to be broken down, physically and emotionally. That way you won’t be surprised when you experience it on the field of battle.
—Sergeant Leonid Marko of the Pax Humanis,
Garthem drill instructor
20th of SSM–11 1445 A2E
I am not ready for this, Morwyn realized. He struggled to fight the voice of doubt creeping up in his mind as his armored foe rushed toward him. His doubts were not unfounded. Morwyn had seen most of his training as an officer; he was to command from the safety of an ops center, not on the battlefront.
He recognized the woman’s ornate battle armor as the work of the metalsmiths of Troy. He had once seen an older piece in the Sunderlund museum of foreign cultures. The old worn-out piece of armor on display had been taken from a fallen Troyan warrior during a skirmish between the fleets of Troy and Sunderlund. It was a moment in history that the Pax Humanis would no doubt come to pay for.
Being a Kelthan came with the benefit that most technology and combat techniques were designed to his race’s standard. The drawback was that one could not make up for the unorthodox techniques of Wolvers. Their foot hands made most of their moves next to impossible to predict.
His foe’s first strike was an open-palmed savate directed at his chest. Morwyn was able to sidestep the blow and grab onto her armored elbow. He was about to strike her with his stun-baton but his opponent moved like quicksilver; her fully segmented armor gave her complete mobility. She arched her back, completely avoiding the blow and grasped onto Morwyn’s ankle with her foot.
The sudden shift caused Morwyn to fall off balance and a surgical knee strike drove into his sternum. His impact vest buckled and Morwyn gagged as the knee strike was promptly followed up with a knife-hand chop to the side of the neck. Had his impact vest not had a throat guard, the blow would have no doubt crushed his windpipe and Morwyn would have choked to death.
Fortunately for him, that was not the case and instead he saw a veritable cosmos of stars pepper his vision as he felt his fingers tingle and go limp. His foe wasn’t done with him yet. Another open-palmed strike to his wrist caused Morwyn to drop his baton. Now it was her turn to grasp onto his arm and, using it as a lever, she effortlessly tossed him over her shoulder and slammed Morwyn onto the ground.
He rolled out of the way as the Blade Dancer raised her foot above her head before driving down armored-heel first toward his skull, and hitting the floor instead. “You are faster than I expected.”
Morwyn tried to get himself back up, but his opponent offered him no such chance. She aimed a side kick to his ribs and Morwyn was barely able to bring up his guard fast enough to block the blow. He winced and buckled.
The Wolver let out a powerful yell and struck his chest with both her closed fists. This time Morwyn heard his impact vest crack and was unable to resist falling on his backside. Nor was he able to avoid the accompanying knee shot just under his chin.
His head snapped back and he fell flat. Before he could say or do anything, the Wolver pinned him to the ground with her foot, pointing the tip of her razor sharp blade in his face. Morwyn knew that no matter what happened next, this fight was over and there was no way he would be able to best his foe on his own.
“I yield.” He raised both his hands up in surrender.
“The wisest choice you’ve ever made in your life, Kelthan.” There was a hint of disappointment in her chilled voice as she added. “That was pathetic.”
Morwyn winced, blinking away the stars in his eyes a
nd tasting the copper sting of blood in his mouth. “I’m sorry to have disappointed you.”
Her armor gave off some well-oiled clicks as she shrugged and sheathed her sword. “The Infinite is a vast place. Somewhere I will find a worthy opponent.”
She then pulled out a piece of leather rawhide and rolled Morwyn onto his stomach. With deft hands she quickly bound his feet and hands together like he was hog. She then dragged him to a nearby wall and tied him to a vent pole.
“Why are you doing this?” Morwyn did not struggle. Had his foe wanted him dead she no doubt could have killed him a dozen times by now. Whatever the reason, he was needed alive, which still gave him a fighting chance, should he find the opportunity to escape and gather his troops. Suddenly there was a loud ship-wide groan as the grav rings ground to a halt. Morwyn found himself floating a few inches off the ground, as his bindings would not allow him to go any higher.
The Wolver woman stared at him with her cold golden eyes for a moment before answering. She was still standing on the floor; her suit or armor was probably equipped with some sort of magnetic boots. “My brother will be on your ship soon enough, and I am certain he will be more than happy to tell you in person.”
She went down to her knees and took a deep relaxing breath. “Until then you can float there and wait, in silence.”
“You must know that you won’t get away with this,” Morwyn said in the vain hope that perhaps his opponent could be reasoned with.
This elicited a snort of laughter from the Blade Dancer. “Stupid Paxist. We already have.”
CHAPTER 20
PHAËL
The Adoran Liberation War is the darkest chapter in our nation’s history. I say this because never before have I witnessed both sides of the conflict stooping to any and every conceivable depth to achieve victory. If ever there was an instance of means justifying ends, it would be those horrific years of conflict that I and the people I now serve put ourselves through. I often lay awake at night and ask myself: was our freedom really worth all the blood, and would we as a people ever be able to really be clean of it?
—President Valtris Doran of Ador,
19th of SSM–09 1440 A2E
20th of SSM–11 1445 A2E
While she would never have admitted it to her companion, Phaël was glad to no longer be alone. And if she were being honest with herself, it was not the first time that Phaël had found herself working alongside people she could barely stomach. Why, when she had first met Lunient Tor, a man she considered to be nothing less than her brother, she had wanted to snap his neck and send him to meet the Huntress.
Jessie Madison had sand; to call Phaël a coward had taken a strong nerve. The Living Green often spoke of the old days where all Humanis were enslaved to the will of the Pontifex on Terra as the darkest in all chronicled history. And yet even those times of enslavement were a paradise compared to the horrors that the First Humans had created.
To Phaël and many Wolvers like her, Ancient Humanity was the monster used to frighten children. Even the Huntress had refused to lead their cursed spirits to the Great Beyond. And yet there was nothing outwardly monstrous about Jessie Madison. Her smell was slightly odd, in as much as Phaël had never smelled anyone quite like her, but upon first inspection she could very well have been confused for an extremely sick Thegran.
The duo had made their way silently down the corridors, and found that most of the doors were now sealed shut. Normally this would have been a problem, but Jessie Madison had shown herself quite capable. She had only needed Phaël’s help to find the door wires so that she could sever them and they could progress forward. “When in doubt, follow the wires,” Jessie had said in her incredibly broken Pax Common.
It had been a valid point and one that Phaël made herself remember. It never hurt to know more weaknesses to exploit against the machines. Another warning of the Elvrids was that the day would come when the Machina and Humanis would go to war with one another. On that day, any and all weaknesses would be exploited by Wolver-kind until not a single machine Intelligence remained.
With perhaps Chord being the exception. The Green help her, but she was conflicted by all this. It was getting harder and harder for her to reconcile her spiritual beliefs and the practicality of reality. She found herself secretly pining for the days of the Adoran Liberation War. Certainly the days of warfare she had lived through had been horrific, but they had also been incredibly simple. Now, in the service of the Covenant, being forced to work alongside different peoples in the spirit of cooperation and trust was something altogether new for her.
Jessie was bravely pushing forward, although Phaël could tell by her labored breathing that this was more physical activity than she was used to. “Huntress skin us both, learn how to breathe properly!”
When Phaël said this, Jessie gave her a quizzing look then snapped something back at her in Late Modern while flashing her the middle finger. A sign, in Wolver, that was meant for someone to go hump themselves. Typically an insult, and one Phaël was shocked to see Jessie use. Who could possibly have told her about it?
They both got to the medical bay with no further incident. Their foes were clearly uninterested in the ship’s doctor or the medical supplies for that matter. Phaël could tell by the stale smell of the air that their life-support had been shut down. If Jessie realized this, she did not seem to show it, and Phaël was not in the mood to waste their time pointing it out for her. If they were lucky, Doctor Varsin would be capable of explaining.
The duo could now make out the medical bay. To any outside observer, Doctor Varsin would have looked like she was sitting in a circle, holding hands with two others. Jessie was about to step forward when Phaël quickly caught her by the arm and pulled her down to her knees.
She pointed to both her eyes then to Marla Varsin. Jessie followed Phaël’s instruction and watched patiently. The doctor was still alive; Phaël could tell as much by the rise and fall of her chest, indicating that she was still breathing. From a distance it looked like she was unharmed.
But that wasn’t what worried Phaël.
It was the fact that the doctor and her two companions, whom Phaël now recognized as Lucky and Chance, were unguarded. So far their foes had displayed an uncanny amount of resourcefulness and cunning. And Phaël believed them far too ruthless to make the amateurish mistake of leaving three members of the crew behind untended.
The same conclusion seemed to be dawning on Jessie as she pointed to Marla Varsin’s hands. They were tightly clasping a small gray sphere. She was trembling, and they could now see that both Lucky and Chance were also holding similar gray spheres. Phaël resisted the urge to curse; she had seen similar spheres in her past. They were all holding armed monofilm wire grenades. Her flattened ear gave out a nervous twitch as she saw this.
Jessie stepped out of the shadows and made her way toward Marla Varsin. Her eyes went wide when she saw Jessie and just now it dawned on Phaël that even this trap was a bit too easy. Marla Varsin, Chance and Lucky all shook their heads “no,” their eyes urging both Phaël and Jessie to step back.
“Huntress hump me!” Phaël quickly caught Jessie by the sleeve before she could step past the door into the medical bay. And now the fullness of the trap was revealed to them. Marla Varsin, Chance and Lucky were all holding armed monofilm grenades surrounded by criss-crossing laser tripwires. Once triggered they would unleash their deadly payload of laser sharpened razor thin wires, which would slice through bone, skin and muscle as if they were nothing.
Phaël pointed to the little spheres in Marla’s, Lucky’s and Chance’s hands. She then mimicked an explosion with her hands. Jessie looked to the spheres then to Phaël and nodded while adding, “Boom?”
Worse, Phaël thought, but figured there was little point in trying to mention the specifics or details behind how the monofilm grenades worked. And not just because she
had no humping clue how the cursed weapons worked. Only that they did, all too well. Her flat ear nervously twitched once more as a flash of her family being sliced into thin pieces played itself out in her mind. She prayed that the Huntress had delivered an end both cruel and slow to the soulless humps who had used their knowledge of science to create the damnable things in the first place.
The three grenades, however, were not the worst part of all this. Phaël could now make out about a dozen more patched onto the walls of the med bay with several crisscrossing laser tripwire grids. Anyone foolish enough to step in was going to trigger a chain reaction that would result in the death of every last person in that room.
Their foes had anticipated a rescue attempt, and they wanted to make sure that anyone who did paid for it in blood. It was a tactic she had seen used by the Argentine occupiers during the Liberation War on Ador. Usually the grenade would be attached to a wounded companion, with the end goal, of course, being to completely demoralize troops and break spirits.
Jessie also now spotted the crisscrossing laser trip wires and let out a silent curse in her Late Modern, then gave Phaël a quizzing look. “What do we do?”
Before Phaël could answer, the gravity in the ship stopped working and both she and Jessie were floating up toward the ceiling. Phaël reacted quickly, grabbing onto a floor panel with both her feet and catching Jessie’s ankle before she could float into the med-bay. Phaël noted that their three trapped companions were all secured to the floor.
There were very few ways that this situation could get any worse. But somehow Phaël felt like all of this was just the blade’s tip. They were being methodically hamstrung. Control, if it ever had been theirs to begin with, was now lost.
CHAPTER 21
Syndicate's Pawns Page 12