by P W Hillard
“Smile, Sergei. You're on camera.” Tamara was guiding Mitch and Trev through the mechbay, filming the latest acquisitions. The new machine in particular was the centre of attention. It made for eye-catching video. “We've done well here. It's a big win for us. We saved the station crew.”
“What's left of them.”
“And,” Tamara said, ignoring her colleague's pessimism, “we destroyed a Black Rose jump ship. Big wins all round.”
“Yeah, you're right. Good news for you anyway, lots you can spin here into videos.”
“Oh, totally. There's also lots of footage of endless ice. Hours and hours of it. Still, some of the shots where the night side meets the day are incredible. It's like an eternal dawn. Plus, there's the fighting itself. The battle for Cyclops, that's what I'm thinking of calling the videos.”
“What about the Black Rose,” Sergei said. “You going to include what we've learnt about them?”
Xander had explained the situation fully, to the co-owners of the company. Atticus had been present, though uncomfortable at being used as a living example. The nature of Black Rose and their members was a grisly one.
The captive in the hold was noticeably different, lacking the implants of the grim cyborgs. They hadn't been much help, remaining stoically silent. Mikal had suggested some unorthodox methods of getting their captive to talk, but Xander had vetoed them. The mercenary wasn't willing to torture information from a prisoner, no matter who they were. It was a line not worth crossing.
“No. Can you imagine how people would react to that? They would either laugh at us or scream at the horror. It's best to keep this between ourselves, and I guess the guild, for now. It's the kind of thing straight from some schlocky webcast, and I should know.” Tamara glanced down at her tablet. The device had a large scratch across the back, damage from back on Hades. She hadn't replaced it, doing so wouldn't feel right. The tablet had travelled with her across the depths of space, a constant companion in her newfound life of battle and chaos. “Bit crazy you ended up commanding the ship, even if it was just for a little bit.”
“It wasn't really anything,” Sergei said. “All I had to do was give the orders, the crew did all the work.”
“That is how being captain works, yes. But I think I know what you mean.”
“Bit crazy you jumped into a dropship and went into an active battle.”
“True, but I got some amazing footage of that beast in action. It was worth it. Scary. But worth it.”
“We're both out of our element a little here, aren't we?” Sergei said.
“We are, but we're adapting. Pretty well, even if I do say so myself.” Tamara waved to her film crew then pointed across the bay, directing them to film another mech being moved into position. “There's more to this. The Black Rose, the Iron War, that mech. You get a nose for these things when you work in the news. Something simmering under the surface.”
“Like how this terrorist group is clearly something more? Everyone already suspected as much when they appeared in the numbers they did, but all this weird technology? There are powerful backers behind them. And they're getting ready for something, otherwise, what's the point? When they make their move and skulk out of the shadows, then we, and by we I mean the Iron Belt, are in trouble.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Xander found himself back where his latest job had started, squeezed into the tiny office of Miranda Yang. After loading itself with as much salvage as it could safely carry, the Sunchaser had jumped back to the station where it had departed from, to report the job had been completed. Xander could have simply reported the mission complete at the job desk, but he felt the need to explain what had happened to Miranda directly. It was hardly the best news he was delivering.
“A shame,” Miranda said finally. She had sat silent for a few moments after Xander had finished recalling the events on Cyclops. “Truly a shame we couldn't save more of our people. You did well. Honestly, considering the circumstances, your performance was impressive. I'll be sure to leave a recommendation on file for your company. That should prove quite the bump to your reputation.”
“That would be very much appreciated.” It didn't seem like much, but a glowing reference from the guild itself was high praise. It would help polish over the tarnish of Xander's involvement. “What are you going to do with the station?”
“Decommission it, most likely. The guilds resources are stretched thin at the moment. With what happened at cyclops we simply can't justify paying for the forces needed to defend the construction. Honestly, striking at us like that is unprecedented. The forces we had employed were token efforts meant to make the workers feel better.”
“You weren't to know you were building a station directly above a Black Rose base. You especially couldn't have known that you were giving them an easy supply of fresh forces.” Xander adjusted himself, the chair he had sat in uncomfortable. “Still, it wasn't smart of them to take those people. They gave themselves away after all. They must be desperate for more recruits.”
“That would make sense. Black Roses terrorist attacks were effective, but they've taken a lot of casualties.” Miranda clasped her hands. “It's disgusting, what they're doing. And worrying. Imagine if that technology got out into peoples' hands. You would have to hope that they wouldn't use it, but you and I know better, I think.”
Xander hadn't even considered that possibility. He suddenly found himself wishing he had ordered the destruction of the facility. “We should destroy the base. Or at least, that technology.”
“Remember that they deleted the data from their systems whilst you were there,” Matthias said. “It would require significant work to reverse engineer it from the pods alone.”
“Agreed,” Miranda said. “I'll petition the guild to deorbit the station. We can't leave it there as is, otherwise, it would be taken by pirates fairly quickly. That should wipe out the base handily.”
“A shame about all the equipment there. That's technically our salvage. We could have sold the location and recovery rights.”
“I think your people came out quite well regardless if the sales listings on the market boards are correct,” Miranda said. “I'll see if I can get the guild to agree to recompense. I can't promise anything though.”
“It would be appreciated, thank you.” Xander stood up and stretched his hand out. “I hope you consider the Paladins for contracts in the future.
Miranda took the outstretched palm and shook it. “Don't take this the wrong way, Mr Cain, but I hope sincerely we don't need you.”
“I understand what you mean. Black Rose won't take this lying down though. They're building for something, getting ready for the next step in whatever their plan might be.”
“Yes well, we'll deal with that if it happens,” Miranda said.
***
The filth of it all rankled at him. The constant dirt and squalor, the cramped buildings punching through the thick pollution. It was an unfathomable crime. Humanity had been offered all of known space, thousands of chances to start anew, and they had just repeated the same thing over and over, crushing everything under the treads of industry. Entire worlds destroyed to make a few credits. It was disgusting.
“Did you know that the people here think the symbol of our forces is a rose?” he said as he stared out through the window. “The rose, a symbol of love. Any idiot can see it's an Anubian lotus. A flower that only grows from a rotting corpse, beauty and renewal springing from death. A metaphor, one that is apparently beyond the philistines of this space.”
“Can you blame them? Their entire society is tuned towards being cogs in a machine, all their drive and focus channelled into the pointless chasing of money.” A woman spoke from the shadows, her form hidden by the darkness of the room. Their meeting had to be clandestine, away from the constantly prying corporate cameras on every street corner.
“It's a machine we will need,” the man said. “If we are to survive. The jump ship we sent to Cyclops did not re
turn. It is safe to assume that the facility is lost. We have to work on the assumption that some element of our plan has been discovered. We need to move up the timetable.”
“Is that wise? I'll pass the message on to the Concourse, but I have no idea if they'll agree.”
“They will. The Concourse is anxious to get moving. This entire plan was too slow for them to begin with. Do you know why I arranged our meeting on this world?”
“I do not,” the woman said.
“This world, Hephaestus, is the largest centre for manufacturing in the Iron Belt. The most industrious planet in the most resource filled region. It's also the one with the most corporations as a result. War rages across its surface, and more mercenaries arrive each day to reinforce the different factions. It is our plan in microcosm. It's already a raging fire, but with a little more kindling it will grow into an inferno. We, are going to provide that fuel.”
***
Atticus was sitting on a bench, eating a greasy kebab, slimy lettuce falling out into the tray as he tried to shovel it into his mouth. He had missed station food, that particular combination of fats and sugars only available from the small carts on the promenade. He had been fed aboard the Sunchaser, but the Paladins had stocked their freezers with microwave meals of reasonable quality. It wasn't the same.
“Ah, a man after my own heart.” Xander took a seat on the bench, an identical tray in his hands. “I'm surprised the guild let you out.”
“Yeah, well, I told them what I knew. Then they poked and prodded me for a bit. Not much they can learn from me unless they cut me up though, so they let me go. Not like I have much to do though, I'm the last member of my company left, and it's not like anyone else is going to hire me once they see what's under this hat.” Atticus was wearing a thick woollen hat, despite the station keeping a pleasantly warm temperature.
“Sounds like you need to find a company that doesn't care about that kind of thing.”
“Hah! We mercs might be more accepting of wetware than most, but you and I know what I have is something beyond that.” Atticus wiped garlic sauce away from the side of his mouth. He took another bite of his kebab, immediately undoing his attempt to look clean.
“Look, I know subtlety isn't exactly in the infantryman's handbook. I'm saying we’ll take you on, the Paladins. We've got some spare cash. I reckon setting up a small infantry unit is a good idea, especially when we've got a jump capable ship like we have. Opens up more jobs to us. We'll need someone to run that squad.”
“You barely know me. Why are you offering me a job?”
Xander shrugged. “It's just something we seem to do. The Paladins that is. Collecting weirdoes. No offence.”
“None taken, I am pretty weird now.” Atticus put his kebab into the tray then placed the foam container on his knees. “You know what, sure. I owe you, and I always kind of wanted to run my own unit. I do have one condition though.”
“Name it.”
“I want to train them my way. If I'm going to be in charge of some infantry, I want to be in charge. No cutting around me or undermining my leadership.”
“Wasn't planning on it. I'm a firm believer in hiring experts and letting them get on with it.” Xander extended a hand towards Atticus. “So, you in?”
Atticus looked at the outstretched palm. He wiped his hand across his trousers, a streak of chilli sauce staining the khaki. He grabbed Xander's hand and shook it. “Sure. Excited to get started.”
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The Void Beyond- Sample Prologue
A wail rang out, the piercing tone of metal being torn away, shredded by malefic talons. Mor’keth cowered behind his station, his hands clasping the sides of his head, his thin auburn fur sneaking through his thick fingers. He shook, rocking back and forth, tears streaming from his eyes, trickling around his stubby snout.
The noise stopped, the snarling creature vanishing from the camera before him, trailing off beyond Mor’keth’s limited view. He peered over the console, summoning all his bravery to do so. The bulkhead he had slammed behind himself had a cluster of thin gashes dug into it, the results of the nightmare thing pursuing him struggling to get in. He let out a long sigh of relief. The door had held, for the time being at least.
He stood up, puffing out his chest in a false display of bravado. There was no-one else in the command centre. No-one else alive at least. Mor’keth was trying his best not to look at them, to avoid his gaze settling on the mangled limbs or self-inflicted gunshot wounds. His impromptu sign of courage was for himself. Salve for a wounded spirit.
He placed one foot on the small step, pulling himself around behind the lectern that held his console in a swinging motion. Gravity was lower than he had expected. The engines must be losing power, he thought. It was too late to do anything about that now, and far beyond Mor’keth’s knowledge anyway.
He pressed one palm to the console’s touchscreen, and it sprang to life. At least this is still working. Mor’keth’s hand danced across the screen, checking status indicators and loading protocols. Satisfied, he pressed the transmit button.
“This is Junior Communications Engineer Keth, third born for the Mor family. Currently in command of Her Radiant Grace. As far as I’m aware I am the sole survivor of the crew. We have failed in our mission. There is no safe worlds out here, no colonies to settle. There is only death and horror. We were fools, we should have listened to the Speakers. They warned us not to leave our solar system, to fly beyond the grace of the Etern
al Mother. They were right.”
His hands pressed another set of icons, a small loading bar appearing beneath the oscillating wave of his recording message.
“Alert!” screamed an automated voice. “Reactor shielding failed on deck seven. Commencing radiation spillage procedure. Bulkheads closing.”
“Out here, in the void, beyond Her light, there is only blackness. Not just the blackness of space, but of being. As I talk something stalks our ship, the blood of my crew dripping from its talons. I…don't know where we are. Our ship is far off course. I pray by Her light that this message returns home, somehow.” Mor’Keth rubbed the sides of his head. He knew, deep down, that it could take centuries to reach home. “Look, I know that maybe, by the time this reaches you, it will be too late. Another ship launched, another crew lost. I just hope that maybe, by some miracle this stops someone, anyone, coming out here. The dead do not sleep easy in the void beyond Her light. I have included recordings of everything. Please, no matter how unbelievable it may seem, understand, that this is the truth.”
Mor’Keth pressed the icon to send the message, and immediately authorised the transmission. The long flowing script of his people flared onto the screen, informing him of its successful sending.
