“The Relisse mission? We’ve gone over it multiple times already.”
“Refresh my memory. Humor me.”
Behind the screen, Chanta let a sly smile settle on her lips. It was no secret that business and efficiency was something of a turn on for Philo. She lowered her voice and slowed her speech, letting each word drip like honey from her lips. “The Strike Force Retaliation team was sent to Relisse to derail the Yasta mining operation. The mission was a setup which confirmed what we had already suspected: there is a leak within the Carbonari. In order to narrow down the suspects, the Grand Council of Masters changed the SFR team’s mission objective at the last possible minute. The only people who knew about the change were the members of the Strike Force, the inhabitants of Shelter Number Fifty-Six on Sirsette, and the Grand Council itself. If the new mission was compromised, it would mean the traitor was in one of those three groups. As suspected, the team fell victim to a Yasta trap. Shelter Number Fifty-Six was later discovered to have been destroyed. There was only one survivor.”
“I think we can rule out a member of the Grand Council as suspects. A lot more damage could have been done if the traitor was that high up.” Philo steepled his fingers in his lap thoughtfully. “My instincts are telling me the traitor has to be in the Strike Force.”
Chanta perched herself on his lap and allowed one hand to rest lightly on his upper thigh. “Your instincts are usually correct.”
Just as he was about to lean in to kiss her, a chime interrupted them. An exasperated sigh hissed from between his lips. “Go see what that’s all about.”
The screen on the communications tablet lit up to show an incoming call. Chanta picked up the thin rectangle, and initiated the proper sequence to allow the transmission to come through. Seneca’s furrowed brow filled the screen. “The recovery team just contacted me. I’m afraid the news isn’t good.”
Two
Theo’s ears were ringing. Waves slapped him. He felt himself beginning to be swallowed up by the water. A hand hooked under his armpit and pulled him towards something. It was hard and jagged. The person in front of him was moving their lips, but he couldn’t hear any words. The glassy expression in Theo’s eyes earned him a scowl from the man who was trying to communicate with him.
“I can’t babysit you! Hold on to the damn wreckage!” Makram put his hand over Theo’s, and made him grab the floating debris. He was wasting precious time with this green recruit when he could be helping the other members of his team.
Red swirled and bobbed from behind another chunk of the crashed cargo ship. Makram’s heart hammered away in his chest. Blood? No. His brain tried to make sense of it. The texture was wrong. Blood would be diffusing into the surrounding water. Cherish! He swam towards the mass of red hair writhing in the water.
“How bad is it? I-I can’t run a self-diagnostic.” Cherish looked at Makram with one eye. Half of her head was dented in an unnatural way. The skin of her cheek hung in tatters. Scarred metal underneath her flesh glinted in the light. Her voice was distorted. Each syllable jumped from too high to too low.
“Pretty bad.” It was hard for Makram to see her like that. She was a member of his team. He blamed himself for the damage she had sustained. “Can you keep yourself afloat?”
“Y-y-y-y-y-y-yes.” The mechanical stutter was accompanied with a glitchy head twitch.
Makram pried himself away from her to look for any other survivors even though it pained him to leave her like that. He caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye. Hojae was treading water. One set of his arms worked to keep him afloat. The other set was busy holding on to Hubard and Cierra.
“I have them.” Hojae noticed Makram looking at them and waved him off with one of his hands dedicated to swimming.
Nodding, Makram looked around for the last three members of his team. Coughing and spluttering behind him caught his attention. Makram turned himself around in the water. Irane and Rix clung onto a floating cushion from one of the acceleration couches. Even though he couldn’t talk because he was coughing up the water in his lungs, Irane gave Makram a thumbs-up.
The water around the wreckage swelled. Something was surfacing not far from them. Makram looked around for a blaster or an impact gun. They were sitting ducks out in the open. None of his team was in any shape to fight, if this was another sabotage attempt by the Yasta. His eyes managed to spot one of the yoke columns from the cockpit. Makram’s bruised and stiffening fingers wrapped around the metal rod. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was better than nothing.
A submarine bobbed to the surface. The dark metal was designed for stealth. The ship could have belonged to anyone. Who had found them first? Did the Council even get Makram’s distress signal?
The Strike Force Retaliation leader prepared for the worst. No one was going to take him without a fight. The top hatch hissed and opened. A familiar face popped out of the vessel. Makram almost cried with joy. Janus. Makram had seen Janus around several times at different shelters and bases. He worked closely with Hubard to improve the Brotherhood’s technology.
Janus slid down the curve of the hatch to the sub’s surfacing deck. A few more men that Makram didn’t recognize followed suit. Several of them jumped into the water and began rescuing the battered crew of the wreckage. “It’s good to see you, cousin.” Janus reached out his hand towards Makram once the commander had swum into range of the deck.
Clasping each other’s forearms, Makram was able to lever himself out of the water. His body was shaking from a powerful cocktail of cold, shock, and adrenaline. “Man, am I glad to see you.”
One by one, the other members of his team were pulled out of the wreckage by the recovery team. “Is this everyone?” Janus scanned the injured crew. A gurgling noise issued from Irane’s throat. It was clear the boy was still struggling to rid his lungs of water. Janus took a step closer. “What? I couldn’t understand what you said.”
“Kurga,” Irane forced the word out of his stinging throat.
Kurga. Makram looked around in panic. He hadn’t seen Kurga at all since the crash. “Kurga? Can you hear me?” His voice echoed off of the water that surrounded them, but there was no reply.
The wreckage bucked and turned in the waves. As one of the larger chunks rotated towards the submarine, they saw it. The red in the water was unmistakably blood. Kurga’s body was impaled on a jagged portion of the hull. His white hair was matted and ruddy with his own blood.
“Kurga!” Makram started to jump back into the water, but Janus held him back. The world shifted as Makrum’s knees gave out from under him. The impact of his body on the hull let out a dull, lifeless ringing noise.
Two members of the recovery team dove into the water and swam over to their fallen cousin. Blood swirled around their waists in the water. One of them reached up to check for a pulse. His face fell. Makram watched as the diver moved his hand from Kurga’s neck to his eyes. In a silent moment, the rescuer’s fingers gently closed Kurga’s eyes for the last time.
Three
Senator Philo’s submarine emerged into the underwater base’s docking bay. Climbing out of the hatch, he talked over his shoulder to Chanta. “I want all of the remaining members of the base to take the SFR’s personnel into custody the moment the recovery team gets back with them. Split them up. I don’t want to give them the opportunity to sync up their stories. The ones that need to be healed should be under constant supervision.”
“Yes, sir.”
He had half a mind to disband them immediately. They couldn’t even handle returning to base without messing everything up. “I want Makram taken to interrogation room ‘C’ when they arrive. From the reports we received, he seems to be the one in the best shape.”
The Carbonari symbol of the pickaxe and the shovel over the flame was carved into the wall above the tunnel that lead to the rest of the base from the docking bay. Years of foot traffic had worn the floor smooth. Without the proper footgear, the passage often proved to be
slippery—especially if the person passing through had not bothered to be careful enough to keep their feet dry when disembarking from their vessels. The damp smell of the docking bay faded the deeper into the compound they went.
“How did the parliament meeting go, cousin?” A recruit whose name Philo couldn’t quite remember.
“They are stuck in the past and unable to see anything past the end of their own noses. It’s a miracle Carristoux has survived this long under such leadership. We might as well just fling open our doors, welcome the Yasta inside, and say, ‘come and get it, boys! Here we are on a silver platter!’”
The recruit seemed a little shocked at the crudeness of the reply. Chanta stepped in to smooth things over. “The senator has a lot on his mind right now. Perhaps it would be best for you to return to your duties so that he may attend to his.”
Philo watched as the recruit closed his slack-jawed mouth, and scampered off to find something useful to do. “Too much?” He cast a sidelong glance at his aide.
“Perhaps just a little.”
“At this rate, I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to retire. If it’s not one thing, it’s another.”
“Rebellion rarely has room for retirement, unless it comes in the form of death.” Chanta checked that the orders she had punched in on her tablet had been received by the division leaders. They used a trickle-down effect to manage a base this size. Each of the Grand Council masters and their aides had a distribution list for the division leaders. Orders were sent out to those designated people, who were then responsible for the personnel in their departments.
A fountain in the middle of the reception chamber had three figures carved into it. The first was a man wielding a pickaxe, the second was a man gripping a shovel, and the third was a woman holding a lit torch. Sometimes in the bio-lighting, Philo thought the flame flickered like it was alive. Water bubbled up from the center and splashed down into a small pool at the foot of the statue. It was not uncommon to see argents lining the bottom of the fountain under the water. Some of the members thought it was good luck to make a wish and toss a coin into the fountain before a dangerous mission. The most common wish was that they would make it back to the base alive. Unfortunately, not all of those wishes came true.
“The recovery team just got back. The SFR team is in custody. Those that need medical attention are being taken to sickbay.”
“And Makram?”
“He’s being taken to the interrogation room as we speak.”
“Good.”
Chanta smiled at him. Their past had bonded them more than most business partners, though most romantic endeavors had been put on hold with the Yasta threat as potent as it was. There were times that she missed him holding her at night, but business was business, and the Council always came first. “If you manage to get away early, I could leave the door unlocked for you.”
Her sultry eyes dared him to sneak away with her for a few minutes. Philo closed his eyes. He remembered the last time he had fallen asleep with her in his arms. The problem was that he was so stressed at the moment that he wasn’t getting very much sleep at all. Even if he went to her room, his constant tossing and turning would only keep them both awake. There was no reason to ruin her sleep as well. As tough as it was, he opened his eyes and shook his head with determination. “Not tonight. Maybe some other time. I want to get these interrogations underway while the incident is still fresh in their minds.”
“You better hurry then, senator.” The last word lingered like a light kiss on her lips.
He gave her a look that said even though her teasing was appreciative, he was still firm in his decision. Philo continued through the reception chamber and made a left on the other side of the room. The hallway smelled faintly of cleaning products and sterilizing agents. Not all interrogations went smoothly. The Brotherhood thought that the ends were worth the means, if it got them an upper hand on anything the Yasta monks were involved in. Granted, the specific techniques used to get the results they wanted were not common knowledge, even to the other members of the Carbonari. It was easier to keep a clean conscience and fuel idealistic views if the lower levels of the organization were kept in the dark on the less savory aspects of their operations. Philo stopped in front of interrogation room ‘C.’ He put on the stern face he often used during parliament meetings and opened the door.
“You may step outside, Danthois. I believe we can conduct this interrogation just between the two of us, don’t you agree, little brother?” Philo’s eyes were cold and emotionless as he addressed first the massive cyborg warrior behind Makram and then Makram himself.
“I don’t see why not.” Makram peered out at the man in front of him through the slit of a swollen eye that was already darkening to a dusky purple.
Danthois gave a curt nod to the senator before taking his leave of the room. Philo waited a few moments in silence after the door shut behind the guard, before he spoke again. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”
“Why don’t you start by telling me why my team was arrested after barely surviving a crash? You’re treating us like Yasta scum. I’ve been through all my training. Most of my team has been through all of their training as well. Why don’t you show us a little respect?”
“Because, little brother,” Philo sneered the derogative pet name at the beaten pulp before him, “one of you most certainly is Yasta scum. Until we suss out the traitor in our midst, you will all remain under strict supervision.”
“One of our members just died in the crash!”
“Yes, and I’m sure that you are feeling the sting of Kurga’s death right now, but—”
“Don’t you dare say his name!” Makram cut off his superior. He could handle any abuse they wanted to throw his way, but messing with his team and insulting the memory of their fallen comrade was unacceptable.
Philo raised his voice and continued over Makram. “BUT, I’m sure you can understand that if we do not find this traitor, there will be many more deaths—more of your own included in that list of casualties, no doubt. You’ve already lost two, haven’t you? Yareck and Kurga?” Philo saw the muscles in Makram’s jaw tighten. “So, why don’t you start from the beginning?”
“The mission on Relisse started out fine. Looking back, maybe we should have known it was too easy.” Makram went over the events of what they had just gone through. “We took the lack of presence at the mining operation to mean the monks had simply automated most of process, so they could spend their time kicking kittens, or whatever it is those Yasta bastards do in their free time. Cherish managed to get the bomb in place before they surrounded us. Karl was the one behind it all. I don’t know how he knew about what we were planning, but he did. Gave me a pretty good beating when I wouldn’t tell him anything. He threatened to throw Hojae and I out of an airlock. Somehow, Hojae managed to escape from the guard holding him. He took off somewhere. They dragged me back to the room the others were being held in. It wasn’t too long after that, that the bomb went off. We all managed to stay low to the ground and miss most of the impact. Karl and his men were not as fortunate. After an impact like that, he’s most certainly dead.”
“Why did the cargo ship you were on crash?” Philo steepled his fingers on the table in front of him.
Makram scoffed, but the sarcastic chuckle made him wince in pain. “Well, I guess that would be your fault.”
“My fault?”
“That ship was not designed to endure so much force. We had to accelerate so quickly that it added unnecessary stress to the ship. If you had sent us in with proper equipment, there wouldn’t have been a malfunction when we reentered the atmosphere. And don’t tell me it was a budget concern. I know all about your Aquacruiser.”
Anger slowed Philo’s speech in a dangerously metered way. “The way the Grand Council spends its funds is not your concern.”
“It is when one of my men dies because of it!” Makram pounded his fist on the table.
“If you wer
e better at your job, maybe you could figure out who the spy is that is compromising your team’s missions, because let me tell you, that is the person who is responsible for Kurga’s death and your crash and your failure to procure any more Relissarium. So, Makram, who do you think the traitor is? Who is it on your team that has outsmarted you at every turn?”
Petty indignation salted Makram’s tongue. “Just what exactly are you trying to say, senator? Are you insinuating that I’m the reason my team is in this mess? Cut the political beating-around-the-bush crap and come out and accuse me, if that’s what you’re getting at!”
“There’s that temper that’s always clouding your judgement, little brother. If I thought it was you, you would be gutted in a back alley and left to rot. Now, I’m going to ask you one more time. Who do you think the traitor is?”
Makram bit the inside of his cheek. The salty, copper taste of his blood and the fresh pain of his teeth sinking into the delicate skin cleared some of the anger from his head. “Honestly, if Shelter Number Fifty-Six hadn’t been destroyed along with all of the recruits there, I would have said it was one of them. They were the only other ones that knew about the change in our objective. I trust my team. It wasn’t them.”
“About that,” Philo raised one eyebrow at the man across the table from him, “someone from that shelter did survive. They arrived earlier this morning.”
Four
“A survivor? Who was it?” Makram sat up straighter and leaned in.
“I think I’ll keep that to myself for now.” Philo stood up and walked towards the door. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?” Makram shook his head no. There were a lot of things he would love to say to his interrogator, but none of it would help him or his crew. “Very well, then.”
Philo knocked on the door three times, and Danthois opened the door obediently. “Let’s go.” The cyborg’s voice was deeper than Makram had expected.
The Relissarium Wars Omnibus Page 20
